I'll start the ball rolling by sharing one of seven second person short stories I wrote for each of the players in my long-running Eberron campaign back in 2007, about their respective characters.
Arnoron Deneith
Pain shoots through your side. You no longer have those moments of anger and shock at the feel of your father’s boot connecting with your unprotected flesh. You’re older now, and you understand. You respect your father for exploiting every weakness in your stance, every lapse in judgement, every overeager thrust of your sword. No longer a practice sword, not for the past two years. Your father fights to the blood. Not yours, only his. When you can draw blood, he extends a hand to help you up, or claps you on the shoulder firmly if you’re still standing. Today has been a particularly difficult one. Your father hasn’t even broken a sweat, and he’s in full plate. Meanwhile, your sweat is causing stains on the training room floor and you’re only wearing a loose loincloth. No boots for you. Right, boots. You roll with the boot to the side just in time to miss a sword thrust at your head, and come up again with a thrust between his legs, and sweep it back towards you, to cut at his right thigh. He easily springs on to one leg, places his boot on the blade, and comes up with his other boot as he springs off of it, nearly breaking your nose. You can feel the blood pouring down your face, but it only makes you want to try harder. You want your father to know who you are. You are Deneith. You will make him proud. You can see his Mark, covering his face like a tribal tattoo, an ancient birthmark that looks like it was marking births before Eberron coiled sorrowfully around its murderous sibling, and was only stopping by on your father’s face to let the world know his place was one of prophecy and legend.
“Stop daydreaming, Arnoron!” your father bellows as he chops halfway into your good arm. You grit your teeth, but you’re smiling slightly through the pain. He’s not going easy on you today, or else he would have went for your off-hand. You switch hands and slice at his face as you drop to the left, hoping to feint up and to the right to slice between the plates around his left armpit. He anticipates this and smashes the back of your head with the butt of his blade as he curves the blade around to slice at your back. You arch your back and spring out of the way just in time, not even noticing such a glancing wound as a head bash. Now he’s not taking you as seriously anymore, or he would have started with the blade and followed up with the hilt. Damnit. Why do you always have to be so textbook with your approaches? You know the unexpected is what your father wants from you, so why can’t you deliver? You grunt as you steel yourself for your father’s charge, making quick calculations about where he could go, and where you could dodge that would take into account most of those places. You move quickly, but not into the ideal position, as he rushes past you and swings back, slicing the tendons in the back of your left leg. You go tumbling to the ground, but your father doesn’t let up. He pivots on his heel, and you can feel the ground pounding at the same rate as your blood out your wounds as he rushes back towards you. Angry, not at him but at yourself for being such a disappointment, you thrust back up towards his face, and manage to not only roll out of the way but cut off a bit of moustache before he stabs you through your not-so-good-right now arm’s not-so-good-anymore shoulder. You can feel the blade scraping against bone and you betray your pain through clenched teeth with a squeal trailing into a moan. You grab the blade and pull yourself up along its bloody length to slice at your father’s face, forcing him to retreat in surprise.
“Stupid move, Arnoron. You took too long coming up the length. If you’d been fighting with anyone more lenient than I am, you’d have come out of that less one limb.”
You think he might be secretly pleased with you, but since you can’t tell, you use his moment of speech as an opportunity and charge at him, screaming in pain as your arm muscles tense around the new wound. He easily sidesteps your attack and slices your back open, but you’re moving too fast, so it’s only a flesh wound. You pivot and manage to swing with enough momentum to knock his sword clear out of his hand. Your father makes a scoffing noise in the back of his throat, but now you know he’s pleased. You slice at his side, and miss…but that’s what you intended. As he moves out of the way from a move he thought was meant for in between two of the plates on his right side, you swivel around behind him and thrust, intending to catch him under his gauntlet to cut at his wrist or palm. Your blade barely glances off his armoured wrist as he tightens the bottom plating to the plating of his armour. Your father is one of the best, and not without good reason. And he isn’t even using his Mark of Sentinel. You hear footsteps approaching that sound like the feet making them are barely touching the ground as they run, but don’t turn towards the doorway. You’ve made that mistake before. You press the attack as your father glances momentarily towards the doorway.
“Jorlan! Sir!” the out of breath voice of your archery trainer, Rannel, bursts into the room. “It’s Althar sir!” Your father’s face is easily recognizable, and you’re already starting to comply before the command leaves his mouth. “Hold!” He turns to Rannel. “This had better be good, Rannel.” Rannel nods briskly. “A stray arrow was heading towards your son, and…Jorlan, your son is Marked! The arrow dropped to the ground and he complained of a burning pain on his lower back. We looked…he is Marked! Althar is Marked!”
As your father runs out of the room with nary a word to you, his heavily wounded 13 year old son, you know everything is about to change in exactly the way you don’t want it to. Rannel gives you a pitying glance, only confirming what you know to be true. He calls for a healer for you as he runs after your father. You fall to your knees and howl out, unsure if it is the physical pain setting in without the adrenaline, or the fresh emotional pain ripping through you like the Mark you wish you had.
“Stop daydreaming, Arnoron!” your father bellows as he chops halfway into your good arm. You grit your teeth, but you’re smiling slightly through the pain. He’s not going easy on you today, or else he would have went for your off-hand. You switch hands and slice at his face as you drop to the left, hoping to feint up and to the right to slice between the plates around his left armpit. He anticipates this and smashes the back of your head with the butt of his blade as he curves the blade around to slice at your back. You arch your back and spring out of the way just in time, not even noticing such a glancing wound as a head bash. Now he’s not taking you as seriously anymore, or he would have started with the blade and followed up with the hilt. Damnit. Why do you always have to be so textbook with your approaches? You know the unexpected is what your father wants from you, so why can’t you deliver? You grunt as you steel yourself for your father’s charge, making quick calculations about where he could go, and where you could dodge that would take into account most of those places. You move quickly, but not into the ideal position, as he rushes past you and swings back, slicing the tendons in the back of your left leg. You go tumbling to the ground, but your father doesn’t let up. He pivots on his heel, and you can feel the ground pounding at the same rate as your blood out your wounds as he rushes back towards you. Angry, not at him but at yourself for being such a disappointment, you thrust back up towards his face, and manage to not only roll out of the way but cut off a bit of moustache before he stabs you through your not-so-good-right now arm’s not-so-good-anymore shoulder. You can feel the blade scraping against bone and you betray your pain through clenched teeth with a squeal trailing into a moan. You grab the blade and pull yourself up along its bloody length to slice at your father’s face, forcing him to retreat in surprise.
“Stupid move, Arnoron. You took too long coming up the length. If you’d been fighting with anyone more lenient than I am, you’d have come out of that less one limb.”
You think he might be secretly pleased with you, but since you can’t tell, you use his moment of speech as an opportunity and charge at him, screaming in pain as your arm muscles tense around the new wound. He easily sidesteps your attack and slices your back open, but you’re moving too fast, so it’s only a flesh wound. You pivot and manage to swing with enough momentum to knock his sword clear out of his hand. Your father makes a scoffing noise in the back of his throat, but now you know he’s pleased. You slice at his side, and miss…but that’s what you intended. As he moves out of the way from a move he thought was meant for in between two of the plates on his right side, you swivel around behind him and thrust, intending to catch him under his gauntlet to cut at his wrist or palm. Your blade barely glances off his armoured wrist as he tightens the bottom plating to the plating of his armour. Your father is one of the best, and not without good reason. And he isn’t even using his Mark of Sentinel. You hear footsteps approaching that sound like the feet making them are barely touching the ground as they run, but don’t turn towards the doorway. You’ve made that mistake before. You press the attack as your father glances momentarily towards the doorway.
“Jorlan! Sir!” the out of breath voice of your archery trainer, Rannel, bursts into the room. “It’s Althar sir!” Your father’s face is easily recognizable, and you’re already starting to comply before the command leaves his mouth. “Hold!” He turns to Rannel. “This had better be good, Rannel.” Rannel nods briskly. “A stray arrow was heading towards your son, and…Jorlan, your son is Marked! The arrow dropped to the ground and he complained of a burning pain on his lower back. We looked…he is Marked! Althar is Marked!”
As your father runs out of the room with nary a word to you, his heavily wounded 13 year old son, you know everything is about to change in exactly the way you don’t want it to. Rannel gives you a pitying glance, only confirming what you know to be true. He calls for a healer for you as he runs after your father. You fall to your knees and howl out, unsure if it is the physical pain setting in without the adrenaline, or the fresh emotional pain ripping through you like the Mark you wish you had.
The 20th Century Fox logo appears with the Fox musical theme followed by the Hasbro films logo. Cue music.
A young Kalashtar named Halharath looks at the sea of Stillstone Holt while his father, Wyenharath speaks behind him.
Wyenharath: "You miss Lanharath young Halharath."
Halharath turns towards his father. "Sometimes, I can hear him call to me in my dreams."
Cut to a scene where Halharath is sparring with Sword, a Warforged. Halharath is using a white bladed mindblade.
Wyenharath: "Your training as a Shadowblade is increasing, young Halharath."
Cut scene back to the Sarlona docks. Sword, Halharath, and the young female Changling telepath named Kyp disembark.
Halarath: "I must be strong, I must be ready. To save Lanharath from the Riedrans."
Cut to a scene where Sword fights a mighty Reidran Warrior, only to plunge his sword in the Riedran's heart.
A Fist of Dal Quor named Qilharag, is armed with a black bladed mindblade. He is taunting Sword, Halharath, and Kyp.
"You three will not escape Sarlona. Not you, freaks, and not you. Traitor."
Kyp runs across the snow, transforming into a snow wolf using her metamorphosis power.
Sword pulls out the arms of a powerful Inspired.
Kyp and Halharath share a passionate kiss.
Halharath is in a mighty battle clashing with Qilharag. "You are pretty impressive, traitor!" Halharath buries his mindblade through Qilharag's shield, and then cuts off his bladearm. "I'm full of surprises."
Qilharag SCREAMS TO HIGH HEAVEN as the pain overtakes him.
Halharath, Kyp, and Sword are seen in a prison, with an Inspired leader holding a mind-dagger to Lanharath's throat. "You will never see your brother, alive. Son of Harath."
Fade to black. Dramatic pause.
Ends with the Title of the film.
Eberron: Sarlona
===============================
The 20th Century Fox logo appears with the Fox musical theme followed by the Hasbro films logo. Cue music.
Open with a sad scene of the dead King of Breland.
Narrator 1 (man's voice): "The King of Breland is dead."
Narrator 2 (woman's voice): "What will happen now?"
The Prime Minister is seen at Breland's Parliament, talking.
Narrator: "We form a new nation, but the forces of Breland's enemies; are moving . . ."
An army of Warrior Mages is marching in Aundair, with Queen Aurala of Aundair watching the precession.
Queen Aurala: "At long last, the Kingdom of Galifar will be United again!"
A lieutenant of the Citadel walks back and forth.
Citadel Lieutenant: "We have a dangerous mission for a squad of you. I will need a Controller, a Striker, a Defender, and a Leader. Now who will step forward?"
An outsider raises his hand.
Outsider: "I, I will do it."
A halfling healer named Karin and a human named Blaine are surrounded by Aurala's Warrior Mages.
A longtooth shifter is angry and tears into a Aundairese Warrior Mage.
A Warrior mage shoots a fire ball into a maniple of goblins; the fireball explodes. The goblin in the center is incinerated while the other nine suffer serious burns and are scattered by the blast.
A Half-Elf storm mage named Hathaway calls down a lightning bolt that strikes an Aundairese soldier. The soldier lights up like a Christmas Tree.
Cannith West Noble: "We will build and activate a Creation Forge."
Fade to a cute scene of Brelish provincial villagers, who are dancing and singing together with great joy.
Aspen (leader of the Aundarese Army): "Kill them, kill them all."
Argonith is under attack by Aundairese gryphon riders.
fade to black.
A scene, in the Lhazaar Principalities show an organic chamber with a sleeping, naked Half green dragon adult elf woman inside.
Necromancer: "The time for your rebirth is almost here, Lady Vol."
Fade to black screen. Dramatic pause.
Ends with the title of the film.
Eberron: Breland
Theatrical release date appears.
==========================
Brokeback Mournland
Shot of lightning rail going by a broken down caravan and a few trees near a dusty little town on the outskirts of a fortress with a bone motif.
Lightning rail continues by an orc in scale mail leaning against the wall of the gigantic fortress, his backpack full of equipment on the ground in front of the gates.
Cuts to a lithe, dextrous halfling in studded leather leaning against a sleeping tyrannosaurus.
A Karrnathi commander, decked out in bone motif full plate, opens the gate.
Karrnathi Commander: If you're looking for work, I suggest you get in here pronto. Fade to black.
Psionic Focus Features
Fade to both of them on raptors, looking out at a field of skeletons in old Cyre.
Fade to the halfling leaning forward in his saddle, and the orc leaning back, with his head down.
Cut back to more skeleton watching, then walking down the main road inside the fortress as dialogue begins, then drinking in a bar as dialogue finishes.
Halfling: Well, since we're gonna be workin' together, I reckon it's time we start drinkin' together.
Cut to more riding on raptors, and then the orc lining up a shot with his mighty composite greatbow and firing. The halfling pushes him excitedly, yelling "WOOO-HEEEAAYY! YEAH!" as the orc rights himself.
Cut to the orc riding a raptor and guiding a raptor with equipment and food strapped to it up a mountain side, cut to a horrid bear growling and the orc being bucked off his raptor. Fade to black.
It Was A Friendship
Cut to the halfling handing the orc a cloth for his head wound from falling off the raptor.
Cut to the orc cuddling up behind the halfling in their tent.
Cut to the halfling whipping off his studded leather jacket in the tent.
That Became A Secret (superimposed over the orc sitting by a pup tent and watching over the skeletons at night)
Fade to the orc walking up to the halfling, who is lying down on a hill watching the skeletons.
Halfling: It's nobodies business but ours. (as the orc sits down next to him, greatbow in hand)
Cut to the halfling riding his t-rex with his backpack hanging from its neck, and looking forlornly into a hand mirror hanging off his backpack at the orc walking in the distance. Fade to black.
There Are Place We Can't Return
Fade to the orc scavenging from corpses in the Mournland.
Cut to the halfling riding a raptor in a desert setting with several clans of Talentan halflings looking on and clapping. Camera focuses on a young halfling woman looking on as he is bucked from the raptor.
Cut to the halfling and the female halfling making out on the back of a stegosaurus.
Cut to the orc with arm around a female orc on a tyrannosaurus.
Cut to orc marrying the female orc in a Silver Flame church.
Silver Flame Priest: You may kiss the bride.
Cut to halfling's wife with a baby in her arms, and the halfling looking in and smiling.
Cut to the orc bringing his two kids into a general store, one under each arm. Fade to black.
There Are Lies We Have To Tell
Fade to the orc and his wife washing dishes.
Orcwife: Do you know somebody named Jak?
Fades to the orc walking away with Sivis message in hand.
Orc: We was fishin' buddies.
Cut to Jak arriving outside of the orc’s home in Karrlakton and they embrace warmly. Fade to black.
There Are Truths We Can't Deny
Fades white to them riding through some trees on raptors.
Cuts to them standing near a fire that's cooking a pot of something, the orc has his arms around Jak, raptor in the background.
Jak: You know it could be like this, just like this, always.
Cut to the orc shaking his head in the glow of firelight.
Orc: This thing grabs hold of us at the wrong place, and we're dead.
Jak looks down.
Cut to two men looking suspiciously out of a stable with a sleeping raptor in it.
Cut to the Karrnathi Commander.
Karrnathi Commander: You boys sure found a way to make the time pass up there.
Cut to Jak's shocked face.
Cut to the orc's wife shaking her head.
Orcwife: You don't go out there to fish.
Orc (grabbing her arm): You don't know nothin' about it.
Cut to orc's wife crying, holding one of their children against her chest.
White fade to scenic view of a tree-covered mountainside and a valley with text.
From
Academy Award®-Nominated Director
Zhang Yimou
Fade to single lightning rail train going across a vast field at sunset.
And
Pulitzer Prize-Nominated Authors
Reynolds Price
And
Anne Tyler
(if anyone gets the award jokes I put in here, you’re awesome)
Jak standing on a bridge, looking into the water as dialogue begins, the orc riding on a t-rex with Jak, closing his eyes tight as his line begins, fade to him beating his fists against the side of the fortress and collapsing as his line closes. Cut to them hugging as Jak's next line begins.
Jak: You have no idea how bad it gets.
Orc: If you can't fix it, you gotta stand it.
Jak: I wish I knew how to quit you!
Cut to the orc punching out Jak, cut to the orc riding away on raptorback, cut to Jak wiping his eyes while riding his t-rex.
Cut to Jak dancing with his wife.
Cut to the orc being hugged from behind by his wife.
Orc smoking a pipe, flipping his prestidigitation flame on and off on the tip of his index finger.
Vin Diesel
Jak with a distant look and faint smile.
Stephen Colbert
Jak’s wife riding up on raptorback.
Sarah Jessica Parker
Orc’s wife putting laundry on a line.
Alicia Silverstone
Orc taking bloodied studded leather jacket out of closet and hugging it.
Orc standing in front of magical fireworks going off, staring at his wife, who is off with their two children in the near distance, sheltering them. Fade to black.
Brokeback Mournland
Fade to credit screens.
Psionic Focus Features And
Lyrandar-Orien Entertainment Present
A Zhang Yimou Film
Vin Diesel Stephen Colbert
"Brokeback Mournland"
Busy Philipps Uma Thurman
Sarah Jessica Parker
Alicia Silverstone and Sala Baker
Casting by David Spencer Costume Designer Wayne Reynolds
Music Supervision Kathy Nelson
Music by Gustavo Santaolalla
Edited by David Spencer
Production Designer Wayne Reynolds
Director of Photography Andrew Lesnie
Co-Producers David Spencer Marri Knadle
Exectuve Producer Keith Baker
Music Supervision Kathy Nelson
Producers James Wyatt Jason Bulmahn Stan!
Based on the trailer by Ang Lee and the Eberron Campaign Setting by Keith Baker
Screenplay by Reynolds Price and Anne Tyler
Directed by Zhang Yimou
www.brokebackmournlandmovie.com
Psionic Focus Features
Shot of lightning rail going by a broken down caravan and a few trees near a dusty little town on the outskirts of a fortress with a bone motif.
Lightning rail continues by an orc in scale mail leaning against the wall of the gigantic fortress, his backpack full of equipment on the ground in front of the gates.
Cuts to a lithe, dextrous halfling in studded leather leaning against a sleeping tyrannosaurus.
A Karrnathi commander, decked out in bone motif full plate, opens the gate.
Karrnathi Commander: If you're looking for work, I suggest you get in here pronto. Fade to black.
Psionic Focus Features
Fade to both of them on raptors, looking out at a field of skeletons in old Cyre.
Fade to the halfling leaning forward in his saddle, and the orc leaning back, with his head down.
Cut back to more skeleton watching, then walking down the main road inside the fortress as dialogue begins, then drinking in a bar as dialogue finishes.
Halfling: Well, since we're gonna be workin' together, I reckon it's time we start drinkin' together.
Cut to more riding on raptors, and then the orc lining up a shot with his mighty composite greatbow and firing. The halfling pushes him excitedly, yelling "WOOO-HEEEAAYY! YEAH!" as the orc rights himself.
Cut to the orc riding a raptor and guiding a raptor with equipment and food strapped to it up a mountain side, cut to a horrid bear growling and the orc being bucked off his raptor. Fade to black.
It Was A Friendship
Cut to the halfling handing the orc a cloth for his head wound from falling off the raptor.
Cut to the orc cuddling up behind the halfling in their tent.
Cut to the halfling whipping off his studded leather jacket in the tent.
That Became A Secret (superimposed over the orc sitting by a pup tent and watching over the skeletons at night)
Fade to the orc walking up to the halfling, who is lying down on a hill watching the skeletons.
Halfling: It's nobodies business but ours. (as the orc sits down next to him, greatbow in hand)
Cut to the halfling riding his t-rex with his backpack hanging from its neck, and looking forlornly into a hand mirror hanging off his backpack at the orc walking in the distance. Fade to black.
There Are Place We Can't Return
Fade to the orc scavenging from corpses in the Mournland.
Cut to the halfling riding a raptor in a desert setting with several clans of Talentan halflings looking on and clapping. Camera focuses on a young halfling woman looking on as he is bucked from the raptor.
Cut to the halfling and the female halfling making out on the back of a stegosaurus.
Cut to the orc with arm around a female orc on a tyrannosaurus.
Cut to orc marrying the female orc in a Silver Flame church.
Silver Flame Priest: You may kiss the bride.
Cut to halfling's wife with a baby in her arms, and the halfling looking in and smiling.
Cut to the orc bringing his two kids into a general store, one under each arm. Fade to black.
There Are Lies We Have To Tell
Fade to the orc and his wife washing dishes.
Orcwife: Do you know somebody named Jak?
Fades to the orc walking away with Sivis message in hand.
Orc: We was fishin' buddies.
Cut to Jak arriving outside of the orc’s home in Karrlakton and they embrace warmly. Fade to black.
There Are Truths We Can't Deny
Fades white to them riding through some trees on raptors.
Cuts to them standing near a fire that's cooking a pot of something, the orc has his arms around Jak, raptor in the background.
Jak: You know it could be like this, just like this, always.
Cut to the orc shaking his head in the glow of firelight.
Orc: This thing grabs hold of us at the wrong place, and we're dead.
Jak looks down.
Cut to two men looking suspiciously out of a stable with a sleeping raptor in it.
Cut to the Karrnathi Commander.
Karrnathi Commander: You boys sure found a way to make the time pass up there.
Cut to Jak's shocked face.
Cut to the orc's wife shaking her head.
Orcwife: You don't go out there to fish.
Orc (grabbing her arm): You don't know nothin' about it.
Cut to orc's wife crying, holding one of their children against her chest.
White fade to scenic view of a tree-covered mountainside and a valley with text.
From
Academy Award®-Nominated Director
Zhang Yimou
Fade to single lightning rail train going across a vast field at sunset.
And
Pulitzer Prize-Nominated Authors
Reynolds Price
And
Anne Tyler
(if anyone gets the award jokes I put in here, you’re awesome)
Jak standing on a bridge, looking into the water as dialogue begins, the orc riding on a t-rex with Jak, closing his eyes tight as his line begins, fade to him beating his fists against the side of the fortress and collapsing as his line closes. Cut to them hugging as Jak's next line begins.
Jak: You have no idea how bad it gets.
Orc: If you can't fix it, you gotta stand it.
Jak: I wish I knew how to quit you!
Cut to the orc punching out Jak, cut to the orc riding away on raptorback, cut to Jak wiping his eyes while riding his t-rex.
Cut to Jak dancing with his wife.
Cut to the orc being hugged from behind by his wife.
Orc smoking a pipe, flipping his prestidigitation flame on and off on the tip of his index finger.
Vin Diesel
Jak with a distant look and faint smile.
Stephen Colbert
Jak’s wife riding up on raptorback.
Sarah Jessica Parker
Orc’s wife putting laundry on a line.
Alicia Silverstone
Orc taking bloodied studded leather jacket out of closet and hugging it.
Orc standing in front of magical fireworks going off, staring at his wife, who is off with their two children in the near distance, sheltering them. Fade to black.
Brokeback Mournland
Fade to credit screens.
Psionic Focus Features And
Lyrandar-Orien Entertainment Present
A Zhang Yimou Film
Vin Diesel Stephen Colbert
"Brokeback Mournland"
Busy Philipps Uma Thurman
Sarah Jessica Parker
Alicia Silverstone and Sala Baker
Casting by David Spencer Costume Designer Wayne Reynolds
Music Supervision Kathy Nelson
Music by Gustavo Santaolalla
Edited by David Spencer
Production Designer Wayne Reynolds
Director of Photography Andrew Lesnie
Co-Producers David Spencer Marri Knadle
Exectuve Producer Keith Baker
Music Supervision Kathy Nelson
Producers James Wyatt Jason Bulmahn Stan!
Based on the trailer by Ang Lee and the Eberron Campaign Setting by Keith Baker
Screenplay by Reynolds Price and Anne Tyler
Directed by Zhang Yimou
www.brokebackmournlandmovie.com
Psionic Focus Features
House of ir’Ithen
The Ithen are a half-elf noble family that has speared form the city of Thaliost to the high reaches of the church of the Sliver Flame, the shadows Royal Eye of Aundair and the Glades of The Eldeen Reaches . The Ithen line started in Thaliost before the kingdom of Galifar. They began as rich merchants in the city, controlling its shipping and textiles. The house became ennobled when the Galifar I conquered Thaliost.
The house slowly grew over the centuries until 838YK when the regent of Aundair gave away large tracts in the eastern planes that will become The Eldeen Reaches. The leader of the house and holder of the noble title, Baron Daren ir’Ithen of Thaliost had to two children and his youngest, Kara ir‘Ithen , saw the tracts of land as a way to get away from the city life and in to the nature, which she loved, as well as allow her not to fading away as her bother lead the house if she stayed. She bought land between the edge of The Towering Wood and what will become Havenglen, hindered a small band of rangers and used one of her family’s ship, she sail to off for her new life. As she exploring her new lands for a places to start building settlement she found a Gatekeeper Observatory on a cliff. Seeing the beauty of the ruins and feeling the magic of nature in the places she built her manor around it. Kara spent 15 years learning the ways of druidism as well as creating field, orchards and vineyards with her lands. As she set up her estates he father die and her brother came to power. He and Kara never lot along and he thought that since Kara had been giving the money to buy her land form the family he had the right to it and any money that it producted. After he had demanded most of the money she had made and her sumission to him as the owner of the land and publicly installed her, she broke tires with her brother. This event created the first two branches of the House ir’Ithen, with the Thaliost branch believe the other stole family land bought with family money and the other believe that the Thaliost branch is try to steal there land, destroy them in public and installed there druidic believes. The two branches continued to grow and gain power. The next event that change the house would also shape the history of two nations.
Tensions started to flare in the Thaliost branch when Baron Daven ir’Ithen of Thaliost die and left leadership of the house and the title to his twin sons, Tharden and Aven. With the political storm browning over the secession to the kingdom Galifar the twin started to fight over who they would support. Tharden wanted to support Wrogar because they were Aundairians and they believed that Mishann should rule but Aven was a follower of the Sliver Flame and believe that they should stand with Thalin because he had the divine right to the throne. The attack on Thaliost triggered the brake. As the invaders entered the city Aven and his follower join the attack in the hopes to gain power in Thrane. In the meantime Tharden and his followers got what ever they could get there hand on and fled the city but several where cut down my there own family. Aven was not disappointed after the Tharne won, he was reward with land of his former friends as well as getting an estate in Shadukar and the title of Duke. He didn't have much time to enjoy this because he die in the attack on Shadukar. He left his land to his son and daughter, Dairden and Jolrana.
The two had very different views on the Church becoming rule of the country. Jolrana believed that the church had its place but not as ruler of the nation which makes her a Throneholde, some she her as a Queen Jolrana, who she is named after, who will restore rule of Thrane to the crown and her bother hopes she meets the same end as her name sack. Dairden became a Cardinal in the Church of the Sliver Flame. They made an agreement with each other to split the land and not talk to each other. This does not mean they do not drag each other thought the mud when every they can or try to get each other arrested or killed. This subdivide the Thrane branch with Duchess Jolrana ir’Ithen-ir’Marktaros in Tholiat and Cardinal Dairden ir’Ithen-ir’Garthen leading his branch form Flamekeep. As the Thrane line gained in power the Aundair branch was regrouping. Many of the Tharden followers and himself made it on of the city on some of the family ships. They made it to Fairhaven and stated to regroup. Tharden did not lead them in there regroup because he died in the counterattack to regain Thaliost. His death left the leader ship of his branch to his daughter Raven ir’Ithen. Raven felt the same way as her father so she joined the Royal Eye and set up a network of agents at her family ancient villa-manor on the shoes of Lake Galifar. Most of the mission she gives out has some thing to do with Thrane But she has started to move in to the Eldeen Reaches as well. She also owns shipping in the white roof district in Fairhaven and is closely related to House Lyrandar. She believe that she is the right heir to all the land held by the other braches.
The Ithen are a half-elf noble family that has speared form the city of Thaliost to the high reaches of the church of the Sliver Flame, the shadows Royal Eye of Aundair and the Glades of The Eldeen Reaches . The Ithen line started in Thaliost before the kingdom of Galifar. They began as rich merchants in the city, controlling its shipping and textiles. The house became ennobled when the Galifar I conquered Thaliost.
The house slowly grew over the centuries until 838YK when the regent of Aundair gave away large tracts in the eastern planes that will become The Eldeen Reaches. The leader of the house and holder of the noble title, Baron Daren ir’Ithen of Thaliost had to two children and his youngest, Kara ir‘Ithen , saw the tracts of land as a way to get away from the city life and in to the nature, which she loved, as well as allow her not to fading away as her bother lead the house if she stayed. She bought land between the edge of The Towering Wood and what will become Havenglen, hindered a small band of rangers and used one of her family’s ship, she sail to off for her new life. As she exploring her new lands for a places to start building settlement she found a Gatekeeper Observatory on a cliff. Seeing the beauty of the ruins and feeling the magic of nature in the places she built her manor around it. Kara spent 15 years learning the ways of druidism as well as creating field, orchards and vineyards with her lands. As she set up her estates he father die and her brother came to power. He and Kara never lot along and he thought that since Kara had been giving the money to buy her land form the family he had the right to it and any money that it producted. After he had demanded most of the money she had made and her sumission to him as the owner of the land and publicly installed her, she broke tires with her brother. This event created the first two branches of the House ir’Ithen, with the Thaliost branch believe the other stole family land bought with family money and the other believe that the Thaliost branch is try to steal there land, destroy them in public and installed there druidic believes. The two branches continued to grow and gain power. The next event that change the house would also shape the history of two nations.
Tensions started to flare in the Thaliost branch when Baron Daven ir’Ithen of Thaliost die and left leadership of the house and the title to his twin sons, Tharden and Aven. With the political storm browning over the secession to the kingdom Galifar the twin started to fight over who they would support. Tharden wanted to support Wrogar because they were Aundairians and they believed that Mishann should rule but Aven was a follower of the Sliver Flame and believe that they should stand with Thalin because he had the divine right to the throne. The attack on Thaliost triggered the brake. As the invaders entered the city Aven and his follower join the attack in the hopes to gain power in Thrane. In the meantime Tharden and his followers got what ever they could get there hand on and fled the city but several where cut down my there own family. Aven was not disappointed after the Tharne won, he was reward with land of his former friends as well as getting an estate in Shadukar and the title of Duke. He didn't have much time to enjoy this because he die in the attack on Shadukar. He left his land to his son and daughter, Dairden and Jolrana.
The two had very different views on the Church becoming rule of the country. Jolrana believed that the church had its place but not as ruler of the nation which makes her a Throneholde, some she her as a Queen Jolrana, who she is named after, who will restore rule of Thrane to the crown and her bother hopes she meets the same end as her name sack. Dairden became a Cardinal in the Church of the Sliver Flame. They made an agreement with each other to split the land and not talk to each other. This does not mean they do not drag each other thought the mud when every they can or try to get each other arrested or killed. This subdivide the Thrane branch with Duchess Jolrana ir’Ithen-ir’Marktaros in Tholiat and Cardinal Dairden ir’Ithen-ir’Garthen leading his branch form Flamekeep. As the Thrane line gained in power the Aundair branch was regrouping. Many of the Tharden followers and himself made it on of the city on some of the family ships. They made it to Fairhaven and stated to regroup. Tharden did not lead them in there regroup because he died in the counterattack to regain Thaliost. His death left the leader ship of his branch to his daughter Raven ir’Ithen. Raven felt the same way as her father so she joined the Royal Eye and set up a network of agents at her family ancient villa-manor on the shoes of Lake Galifar. Most of the mission she gives out has some thing to do with Thrane But she has started to move in to the Eldeen Reaches as well. She also owns shipping in the white roof district in Fairhaven and is closely related to House Lyrandar. She believe that she is the right heir to all the land held by the other braches.
Midnight Plunge
Kaine couldn’t help but feel a rush as he plummeted through the midnight rain, angling his drop towards the street across the gap between towers. Most citizens of Sharn called what Kaine was doing “Death Diving”, the crazy act of jumping between towers to get to a location beneath much faster than normal. The only way to survive such a feat of bravery (or stupidity) was to have an enchanted token that would wrap you in magic and slow your descent at the last possible moment, turning a leg shattering drop into a simple long-jump. Of course if you mistimed activating the brief magics, you could end up with broken shins or worse.
So as Kaine fell through the rain he relished every second of it, the thrill of knowing that his latest death dive could very well be his last. But Kaine was a master of the technique, so much so he used it in most hits, especially when he spotted his quarry in an act of good fortune while moving through the streets on another errand.
The City of Sharn was also known as the City of Towers for a good reason. Powerful magic held colossal towers aloft, some piercing the clouds over a mile above the ground. Traversing the distances between the towers either meant using enchanted elevated walkways, found few and far between or hiring skycabs, special boats and coaches that could fly effortlessly between the towers. Neither suited Kaine in his roles, he needed to be quick, efficient and unnoticed when traveling on a job.
Reaching into his pocket Kaine felt the familiar wooden token carved in the shape of a feather and gripped it tighter, reached for his shortsword with his right hand and drawing it. Judging the distance Kaine activated the token, feeling the magic expand out from the token and coalesce around him, drawing the edge off his descent and slowing him down to a safe speed.
Kaine kicked both his legs forward and angled his blade just right for when he landed. Catching his quarry by surprise Kaine landed amidst the group of four toughs, actually landing atop the thug in the middle and using the momentum of his drop to plunge the blade straight into his back and out his chest. In a smooth motion Kaine kicked back, drawing his sword out the slumping dead man and leaping slightly back, lashing out with his gauntleted left hand and catching the nose of the thug behind him, feeling the satisfying crunch as he broke her nose.
The two thugs in front shook away the shock of Kaine suddenly dropping in and cutting down one of their own, drawing longswords in unison and lashing out with overhead chops. Kaine brought his shortsword up at an angle, deflecting off both strikes. Hearing the ring of a third blade being drawn, Kaine flicked his head to look behind and see the woman with the broken nose drawing a wicked looking scimitar out and slashing at his head. Using what momentum he had left from the parry against the two shortsword thugs, Kaine spun on the rain-slick stone ground and dropped down, ducking just under the whistling scimitar. Going with the momentum Kaine continued the spin and lashed out with his blade, gashing the thigh of the thug on the left with Kaine back to facing the two longsword wielding toughs. Letting out a curse the tough hunched over slighting, clasping at the wound with his free hand in an effort to stifle the blood flow.
Grinning despite his situation, Kaine drew a dagger with his free left hand, holding it by the handle with the blade pointed down and lashed out behind him, catching the woman’s scimitar with a hooking strike just above the hand-guard, pulling the blade aside and stabbing the woman in the stomach with his shortsword. Pulling back from the stab Kaine used the movement to his advantage, bashing the man with the gashed thigh in the nose with the pommel of his shortsword.
The woman with the scimitar dropped to her knees, both hands clutching at her stomach while the thug with the gashed thigh and smashed nose crumpled into a heap unconscious. The lone unharmed thug stood nervously before Kaine, trembling in the rain.
“Your masters send their regards” Kaine said in a harsh whisper
Letting out a yelp the long survivor dropped his longsword, spun around and ran, cloak rippling behind him. Kaine shook his head and tossed his dagger up, catching it by the blade and throwing it forward. The meaty sound of it plunging up to the hilt in the fleeing thugs back confirmed the aim. Kneeling down and cleaning his blade on the cloak of the dead man he landed upon, Kaine took stock of the people he’d attacked. All human, all dressed in the plain browns of commoners, all wearing hide armour and carrying simple blades that were common to thugs, toughs and the usual rabble that the Boromar Clan hired to do their protection racket work or put the pressure on a merchant that didn’t pay “the taxes”.
Looking behind him Kaine wondered who the woman with the scimitar was. She didn’t seem to fit in with the thugs she had been conversing with, the unusual blade and way she didn’t scare like the rest marked her apart.
Kaine’s musings ended when he heard the whistle of the Sharn Watch. Looking up he saw a group of guards coming around the bend, enchanted light orbs hovering over their shoulders patiently and illuminating the gloom.
“Keepers Luck” Kaine cursed and darted forward to retrieve his dagger from the back of the fallen thug
With a quick yank Kaine withdrew the blade and hastily wiped the blood on the man’s back before sheathing it. Taking stock of the seven guards approaching Kaine calculated he didn’t have nearly enough gold to bribe them to go somewhere else. Looking around he saw that the platform hanging off the tower proper was a dead end, the only way out was down the alley the guards were charging from.
Turning around Kaine made a quick decision and with another curse, broke into a run, sheathing his shortsword as he did. Making for the lip of the platform Kaine kicked off the ground and over the edge. Once again the familiar pull of gravity took hold and Kaine felt himself plummeting into the rainy darkness. Looking up he saw the rapidly shrinking guards make it to the edge and look down, the light illuminating their shocked faces before that too was lost to the rain and darkness.
Looking down Kaine saw he was fortunately angling towards a walkway between towers and thanked the Sovereigns. A dark thought entered his mind and Kaine checked his pockets, before feeling a second enchanted token beside the first. It was a fortunate night for Kaine indeed.
At least that was what Kaine thought till he saw a skycoach flying perpendicular to the walkway approaching beneath. Kaine had performed enough death dives to know how speed and angles worked, quickly adding up the numbers he realised that if the skycoach didn’t deviate he was going to crash into it. Desperately reaching into his pockets Kaine fumbled around as the skycoach rapidly loomed, before finally finding the token. Kaine activated the magics, but just as they began to coalesce around him the skycoach lurched upwards. There was an almighty crunch as Kaine smashed through the wooden roof of the skycoach, pain lancing through his body at the sudden impact. He landed with a horrid thump on the carpeted floor of the skycoach, wooden debris scattered around him. Kaine shuddered from the pain and managed to open an eye, vision blurry from the pain of the impact. He saw a vaguely humanoid blur standing before him, shouting words in a clear voice to the driver. The assassin couldn’t make out what was being said, his eardrums were ringing from the fall.
Letting out a final groan Kaine fell slack as the soothing darkness claimed him.
Kaine couldn’t help but feel a rush as he plummeted through the midnight rain, angling his drop towards the street across the gap between towers. Most citizens of Sharn called what Kaine was doing “Death Diving”, the crazy act of jumping between towers to get to a location beneath much faster than normal. The only way to survive such a feat of bravery (or stupidity) was to have an enchanted token that would wrap you in magic and slow your descent at the last possible moment, turning a leg shattering drop into a simple long-jump. Of course if you mistimed activating the brief magics, you could end up with broken shins or worse.
So as Kaine fell through the rain he relished every second of it, the thrill of knowing that his latest death dive could very well be his last. But Kaine was a master of the technique, so much so he used it in most hits, especially when he spotted his quarry in an act of good fortune while moving through the streets on another errand.
The City of Sharn was also known as the City of Towers for a good reason. Powerful magic held colossal towers aloft, some piercing the clouds over a mile above the ground. Traversing the distances between the towers either meant using enchanted elevated walkways, found few and far between or hiring skycabs, special boats and coaches that could fly effortlessly between the towers. Neither suited Kaine in his roles, he needed to be quick, efficient and unnoticed when traveling on a job.
Reaching into his pocket Kaine felt the familiar wooden token carved in the shape of a feather and gripped it tighter, reached for his shortsword with his right hand and drawing it. Judging the distance Kaine activated the token, feeling the magic expand out from the token and coalesce around him, drawing the edge off his descent and slowing him down to a safe speed.
Kaine kicked both his legs forward and angled his blade just right for when he landed. Catching his quarry by surprise Kaine landed amidst the group of four toughs, actually landing atop the thug in the middle and using the momentum of his drop to plunge the blade straight into his back and out his chest. In a smooth motion Kaine kicked back, drawing his sword out the slumping dead man and leaping slightly back, lashing out with his gauntleted left hand and catching the nose of the thug behind him, feeling the satisfying crunch as he broke her nose.
The two thugs in front shook away the shock of Kaine suddenly dropping in and cutting down one of their own, drawing longswords in unison and lashing out with overhead chops. Kaine brought his shortsword up at an angle, deflecting off both strikes. Hearing the ring of a third blade being drawn, Kaine flicked his head to look behind and see the woman with the broken nose drawing a wicked looking scimitar out and slashing at his head. Using what momentum he had left from the parry against the two shortsword thugs, Kaine spun on the rain-slick stone ground and dropped down, ducking just under the whistling scimitar. Going with the momentum Kaine continued the spin and lashed out with his blade, gashing the thigh of the thug on the left with Kaine back to facing the two longsword wielding toughs. Letting out a curse the tough hunched over slighting, clasping at the wound with his free hand in an effort to stifle the blood flow.
Grinning despite his situation, Kaine drew a dagger with his free left hand, holding it by the handle with the blade pointed down and lashed out behind him, catching the woman’s scimitar with a hooking strike just above the hand-guard, pulling the blade aside and stabbing the woman in the stomach with his shortsword. Pulling back from the stab Kaine used the movement to his advantage, bashing the man with the gashed thigh in the nose with the pommel of his shortsword.
The woman with the scimitar dropped to her knees, both hands clutching at her stomach while the thug with the gashed thigh and smashed nose crumpled into a heap unconscious. The lone unharmed thug stood nervously before Kaine, trembling in the rain.
“Your masters send their regards” Kaine said in a harsh whisper
Letting out a yelp the long survivor dropped his longsword, spun around and ran, cloak rippling behind him. Kaine shook his head and tossed his dagger up, catching it by the blade and throwing it forward. The meaty sound of it plunging up to the hilt in the fleeing thugs back confirmed the aim. Kneeling down and cleaning his blade on the cloak of the dead man he landed upon, Kaine took stock of the people he’d attacked. All human, all dressed in the plain browns of commoners, all wearing hide armour and carrying simple blades that were common to thugs, toughs and the usual rabble that the Boromar Clan hired to do their protection racket work or put the pressure on a merchant that didn’t pay “the taxes”.
Looking behind him Kaine wondered who the woman with the scimitar was. She didn’t seem to fit in with the thugs she had been conversing with, the unusual blade and way she didn’t scare like the rest marked her apart.
Kaine’s musings ended when he heard the whistle of the Sharn Watch. Looking up he saw a group of guards coming around the bend, enchanted light orbs hovering over their shoulders patiently and illuminating the gloom.
“Keepers Luck” Kaine cursed and darted forward to retrieve his dagger from the back of the fallen thug
With a quick yank Kaine withdrew the blade and hastily wiped the blood on the man’s back before sheathing it. Taking stock of the seven guards approaching Kaine calculated he didn’t have nearly enough gold to bribe them to go somewhere else. Looking around he saw that the platform hanging off the tower proper was a dead end, the only way out was down the alley the guards were charging from.
Turning around Kaine made a quick decision and with another curse, broke into a run, sheathing his shortsword as he did. Making for the lip of the platform Kaine kicked off the ground and over the edge. Once again the familiar pull of gravity took hold and Kaine felt himself plummeting into the rainy darkness. Looking up he saw the rapidly shrinking guards make it to the edge and look down, the light illuminating their shocked faces before that too was lost to the rain and darkness.
Looking down Kaine saw he was fortunately angling towards a walkway between towers and thanked the Sovereigns. A dark thought entered his mind and Kaine checked his pockets, before feeling a second enchanted token beside the first. It was a fortunate night for Kaine indeed.
At least that was what Kaine thought till he saw a skycoach flying perpendicular to the walkway approaching beneath. Kaine had performed enough death dives to know how speed and angles worked, quickly adding up the numbers he realised that if the skycoach didn’t deviate he was going to crash into it. Desperately reaching into his pockets Kaine fumbled around as the skycoach rapidly loomed, before finally finding the token. Kaine activated the magics, but just as they began to coalesce around him the skycoach lurched upwards. There was an almighty crunch as Kaine smashed through the wooden roof of the skycoach, pain lancing through his body at the sudden impact. He landed with a horrid thump on the carpeted floor of the skycoach, wooden debris scattered around him. Kaine shuddered from the pain and managed to open an eye, vision blurry from the pain of the impact. He saw a vaguely humanoid blur standing before him, shouting words in a clear voice to the driver. The assassin couldn’t make out what was being said, his eardrums were ringing from the fall.
Letting out a final groan Kaine fell slack as the soothing darkness claimed him.
Milo d'Orien
“Kol Korran bless this coin, and see you through to greater wealth!”
Hmph. Dwarves. Of course he’d give you a measly crown and try to make it seem like a flight of dragons. You hope his package got damaged in transit. Not that you’d ever damage a package in transit, even if you knew and hated the guy beforehand. You’re one of the best, and that is a reputation you wouldn’t ruin to show up your worst enemy, much less some greedy dwarf. Hard to tell he was a dwarf from the name though, he had one of those…race-neutral names that indicates a human or a khoravar usually. They take your gold and now they have to take your names, too? Six take those covetous moneylenders. But you answer him with a smile, a “Thank you very much, sir!” and a stylish pivot. You know your stuff. You are a rising star in the ranks of your House, and your Mark became Lesser just last summer. You’ve even been training on the side with Denneg d’Orien, one of the best Blades of Orien there is, and the mentor of the famous Milya d’Orien. You’re not learning much, but then again you’re too focused on your job right now. Maybe if you take a vacation you can dedicate more time to learning how better to utilize your dimension leap. For now, you’re content to disappoint Denneg and make a tidy sum delivering faster on foot than most of your Guildmates can on horseback. You appreciate more and more the gift of boots your uncle got you last week, and are glad your father’s armour fits you. You know it isn’t magical, your uncle’s cousin told you as much, but you feel inexplicably faster wearing his mithril chain shirt. You feel safer, but that is explicable. It’s the last thing of either of your parents’ personal belongings that you still possess. They took everything else with them when they left…the letter you received little more than a month before the Mourning only raised more questions, and after the Mourning, it didn’t allay your fears that they were dead anymore. For all you know, the “safe” place they were hiding was in Cyre.
You shake those thoughts out of your head and look around. Brightness be! You realize you’ve been walking briskly (more than a run for most people) at random through the town. You’ve never even been to Daskaran before today, and you were barely able to read the map (you got lost three times before you found the house, but still got there three hours ahead of schedule…being as fast as you definitely has its benefits). The street goes left and right. You pull out your tip and flip it. Heads left, crowns right. Right it is. You head down the right road a ways, and see far up ahead of you another branch. You flip your coin again as you walk. Right again. As you turn down the right, you see that it’s a dead end with some houses yet to be restored after whatever the last battle to hit this town was. You’re not up on your history, even as recent as the decade or less since this town was last hit. Kol Korran…wealth, but not luck. Why couldn’t that moneystack have invoked Olladra instead? You see a flash of movement between the burnt husks of houses. Have two strings for your bow…this might get dicey. You whip out your bow, and allow yourself a nervous chuckle at the fitting nature of that Aundairian saying. Ironically, you only have the one string for your bow. That doesn’t make you feel any better, so you stop chuckling.
All of a sudden, a warforged, a human and two khoravar leap out from both sides of the street in front of you, cutting off your escape. You turn around, and all that’s there is the wall at the end of the alley. You quickly let loose an arrow at the human. In your experience, warforged have too much armour, and khoravar have this annoying “unity of my people” thing that might make the other one really angry if you took out his friend. The human jumps up and to the left, taking it in his arm, and rolls with it. He springs back up and a dagger is in his hand. The khoravar each pull longswords out of their sheaths. You pray to the Host that these ones don’t still have enough elf blood in them to make them particularly skilled with those blades. The warforged just wrenches a blackened drainage pipe off the side of one of the houses and charges at you. You run. You don’t think, you just run. You can feel him thumping behind you, the ground pounding with his heavy metal footfalls. You squeeze your eyes tights, and clutch your bow in one hand and that crown in the other.
And all of a sudden, you’re moving up the wall. You open your eyes wide, and look over your shoulder to see the bewildered thugs (probably desperate war vets, now that you think about it) staring up at you. You look back ahead only to discover the top of the roof rushing up at you. You feel a sickening crunch as your nose impacts with the stone. Whatever this is, you’re going to have to practice it. You wonder if it’s connected to your Mark…but you didn’t feel the telltale burning sensation. But at least you’re safe. Wait, what’s that noise? A heavy, steady crunching sound getting ever closer. You peer over the edge, and you see that the ‘forged’s hands have become some sort of spear-head looking climbing attachment. He’s climbing up after you. You run to the other edge of the roof, and look down. Another area with burnt out houses…and a 50 foot drop. You wonder whether or not your wall running ability works downwards as well. You don’t want to try. You look back over your shoulder and see a spearhead thrust up and become a metal hand, gripping the side of the roof. You want to try. You look over the edge, and then remember what happened when you came up and over without gravity aiding your impact. You might very well be knocked out, and chopped to pieces by this ‘forged.
You turn to face him, and whip off an arrow, which glances off his armour…body? You don’t care right now. You decide that maybe Denneg’s advice would be worth listening to if you get out of this alive. As it stands, you just want to leap or door as far away as possible. Right as you focus on your Mark to do so, the ‘forged barrels across the debris-free roof and slams into you, knocking you off the roof. In your surprise, your door goes off trajectory, and you end back in the alley you started in, and it only takes them a moment to recover from the surprise. They move to surround you, and slash at you. One khoravar’s blow glances off your armour as you duck beneath the blade of the other, catching the dagger in the shoulder. You carry your dodging duck into a tumble beneath the legs of the taller khoravar, and then run down the alley. As they chase after you, calling for “Crusher” (the ‘forged, you presume), you focus on the warm Mark, heating it up until you’ve leaped ahead…right in front of the opposite alley’s wall. You should really look where you leap. You turn to face them, and whip off another arrow, which misses them all by at least 10 feet. You wish you were home in Passage right now. You can picture the fireplace your uncle sits by, the large brown rug of indeterminate fur in front of it, your uncle’s chair, the table next to the wall nearest the door to the dining room, the stain on the opposite wall your uncle only partially covers with a painting of a warforged with an Orien crest on his back racing a lightning rail. You clench your eyes shut as they charge at you, screaming their war cries. “For Aundair!”
That’s ironic. Today, your last day, is just full of irony.
Your Mark burns so hot it hurts, and you feel warm. You look down, and open your eyes, expecting blood. But instead, you see the brown rug under your feet, a couple of drops of blood from your broken nose descending rapidly towards it, staining it. You look up, and realize the warmth spreading on your stomach and chest is from the fireplace. You turn around, and your uncle is sitting in his chair, clutching his chest.
“How…I think my Mark just…I think I teleported! My Mark feels like it's on fire, even worse than when…Uncle Sertic…are you all right?”
Hmph. Dwarves. Of course he’d give you a measly crown and try to make it seem like a flight of dragons. You hope his package got damaged in transit. Not that you’d ever damage a package in transit, even if you knew and hated the guy beforehand. You’re one of the best, and that is a reputation you wouldn’t ruin to show up your worst enemy, much less some greedy dwarf. Hard to tell he was a dwarf from the name though, he had one of those…race-neutral names that indicates a human or a khoravar usually. They take your gold and now they have to take your names, too? Six take those covetous moneylenders. But you answer him with a smile, a “Thank you very much, sir!” and a stylish pivot. You know your stuff. You are a rising star in the ranks of your House, and your Mark became Lesser just last summer. You’ve even been training on the side with Denneg d’Orien, one of the best Blades of Orien there is, and the mentor of the famous Milya d’Orien. You’re not learning much, but then again you’re too focused on your job right now. Maybe if you take a vacation you can dedicate more time to learning how better to utilize your dimension leap. For now, you’re content to disappoint Denneg and make a tidy sum delivering faster on foot than most of your Guildmates can on horseback. You appreciate more and more the gift of boots your uncle got you last week, and are glad your father’s armour fits you. You know it isn’t magical, your uncle’s cousin told you as much, but you feel inexplicably faster wearing his mithril chain shirt. You feel safer, but that is explicable. It’s the last thing of either of your parents’ personal belongings that you still possess. They took everything else with them when they left…the letter you received little more than a month before the Mourning only raised more questions, and after the Mourning, it didn’t allay your fears that they were dead anymore. For all you know, the “safe” place they were hiding was in Cyre.
You shake those thoughts out of your head and look around. Brightness be! You realize you’ve been walking briskly (more than a run for most people) at random through the town. You’ve never even been to Daskaran before today, and you were barely able to read the map (you got lost three times before you found the house, but still got there three hours ahead of schedule…being as fast as you definitely has its benefits). The street goes left and right. You pull out your tip and flip it. Heads left, crowns right. Right it is. You head down the right road a ways, and see far up ahead of you another branch. You flip your coin again as you walk. Right again. As you turn down the right, you see that it’s a dead end with some houses yet to be restored after whatever the last battle to hit this town was. You’re not up on your history, even as recent as the decade or less since this town was last hit. Kol Korran…wealth, but not luck. Why couldn’t that moneystack have invoked Olladra instead? You see a flash of movement between the burnt husks of houses. Have two strings for your bow…this might get dicey. You whip out your bow, and allow yourself a nervous chuckle at the fitting nature of that Aundairian saying. Ironically, you only have the one string for your bow. That doesn’t make you feel any better, so you stop chuckling.
All of a sudden, a warforged, a human and two khoravar leap out from both sides of the street in front of you, cutting off your escape. You turn around, and all that’s there is the wall at the end of the alley. You quickly let loose an arrow at the human. In your experience, warforged have too much armour, and khoravar have this annoying “unity of my people” thing that might make the other one really angry if you took out his friend. The human jumps up and to the left, taking it in his arm, and rolls with it. He springs back up and a dagger is in his hand. The khoravar each pull longswords out of their sheaths. You pray to the Host that these ones don’t still have enough elf blood in them to make them particularly skilled with those blades. The warforged just wrenches a blackened drainage pipe off the side of one of the houses and charges at you. You run. You don’t think, you just run. You can feel him thumping behind you, the ground pounding with his heavy metal footfalls. You squeeze your eyes tights, and clutch your bow in one hand and that crown in the other.
And all of a sudden, you’re moving up the wall. You open your eyes wide, and look over your shoulder to see the bewildered thugs (probably desperate war vets, now that you think about it) staring up at you. You look back ahead only to discover the top of the roof rushing up at you. You feel a sickening crunch as your nose impacts with the stone. Whatever this is, you’re going to have to practice it. You wonder if it’s connected to your Mark…but you didn’t feel the telltale burning sensation. But at least you’re safe. Wait, what’s that noise? A heavy, steady crunching sound getting ever closer. You peer over the edge, and you see that the ‘forged’s hands have become some sort of spear-head looking climbing attachment. He’s climbing up after you. You run to the other edge of the roof, and look down. Another area with burnt out houses…and a 50 foot drop. You wonder whether or not your wall running ability works downwards as well. You don’t want to try. You look back over your shoulder and see a spearhead thrust up and become a metal hand, gripping the side of the roof. You want to try. You look over the edge, and then remember what happened when you came up and over without gravity aiding your impact. You might very well be knocked out, and chopped to pieces by this ‘forged.
You turn to face him, and whip off an arrow, which glances off his armour…body? You don’t care right now. You decide that maybe Denneg’s advice would be worth listening to if you get out of this alive. As it stands, you just want to leap or door as far away as possible. Right as you focus on your Mark to do so, the ‘forged barrels across the debris-free roof and slams into you, knocking you off the roof. In your surprise, your door goes off trajectory, and you end back in the alley you started in, and it only takes them a moment to recover from the surprise. They move to surround you, and slash at you. One khoravar’s blow glances off your armour as you duck beneath the blade of the other, catching the dagger in the shoulder. You carry your dodging duck into a tumble beneath the legs of the taller khoravar, and then run down the alley. As they chase after you, calling for “Crusher” (the ‘forged, you presume), you focus on the warm Mark, heating it up until you’ve leaped ahead…right in front of the opposite alley’s wall. You should really look where you leap. You turn to face them, and whip off another arrow, which misses them all by at least 10 feet. You wish you were home in Passage right now. You can picture the fireplace your uncle sits by, the large brown rug of indeterminate fur in front of it, your uncle’s chair, the table next to the wall nearest the door to the dining room, the stain on the opposite wall your uncle only partially covers with a painting of a warforged with an Orien crest on his back racing a lightning rail. You clench your eyes shut as they charge at you, screaming their war cries. “For Aundair!”
That’s ironic. Today, your last day, is just full of irony.
Your Mark burns so hot it hurts, and you feel warm. You look down, and open your eyes, expecting blood. But instead, you see the brown rug under your feet, a couple of drops of blood from your broken nose descending rapidly towards it, staining it. You look up, and realize the warmth spreading on your stomach and chest is from the fireplace. You turn around, and your uncle is sitting in his chair, clutching his chest.
“How…I think my Mark just…I think I teleported! My Mark feels like it's on fire, even worse than when…Uncle Sertic…are you all right?”
However, I do have the introduction I wrote for a campaign I'm going to run with my gaming group as soon as I get back from vacation. That might be fun.
The campaign starts about twenty years after the official start time in the books.
FYI: Argos Wrex was one of the more charismatic characters from the previous campaign. He was a Cyran national who was just outside the border near Valenar when The Mourning happened and spent a few years learning how to live like the Valenar and how to handle his sorcerous abilities.
-----------------------------------
Show
Five years ago the unthinkable happened. The mists surrounding The Mourning disappeared. Villagers, Merchants, and Adventurers near the wasteland all bore witness to the event. Where once there was a towering wall standing ominously above, now there was nothing. Sometime during the night, when all were sleeping, the mists had receded back to whence they came.
At first no one was sure whether to rejoice or panic. Was it over or was this just signs of the worst yet to come? Brave souls, alone and in groups ventured into the unknown. After a few days they returned and quickly word spread around Khorvaire. The monsters and Warforged under The Lord of Blades were still there but the land was whole again! Things grew! Life had returned to Cyre. The established governments of Korvaire went into a frenzied panic. Suddenly thousand upon thousands of square miles of land were available to any power that had the resources and gumption to take it.
Plans were set into motion that could have resulted in the beginning of another great period of war. In all likelihood it would have had it not been for one letter sent out by Orien courier to every single power, no matter how big or how small. It was a short letter, fitting on one page of parchment and undersigned by the likes of The Speaker of The Flame, The King of Cyre, The Church of Dol Dorn, The Kalashtar Council in Sharn and Warforged Right's leaders. It was a letter written by a man known as Argos Wrex wherein he, along with his companions, claimed credit to undoing the morning and made a staunch declaration that what was once Cyran land is now Cyran once more. Anyone who challenged that claim would face the wrath and scorn of all those listed in the letter. After the claims and alliances in the letter were verified, all those interested in taking the land had to take a step back. It was no longer a simple task. Plans would have to be changed, patience employed. A more subtle approach would be needed. It soon seemed to the people of Eberron that Cyre had been restored and life would slowly get better.
But all was not well.
In the weeks following The Restoration, rumors of magical anomalies around the world grew exponentially. Magic users who had always been used to a poorly prepared spell or ritual failing now found that sometimes even when all the parts were right, their magics would fail or worse, they would lose control of what was happening. Combat spells would strike too hard or at the wrong target. Creation spells would make the wrong object or make it the wrong size. Binding spells sometimes wouldn't stick or wouldn't work at all. Summonings were incredibly haphazard as too much of the specific creature would be summoned or something unexpected might appear in the circle. The phenomena affected people regardless of their background. Priests, shamans and arcanists alike all found their work going haywire. Even with the best minds working, an explanation was not immediately forthcoming.
To the common layperson and many of the middle class, this meant little. To the magewrights, houses and others it was a hefty blow to the Arcano-Industrial Complex. Work orders were no longer guaranteed. Dragonmarked Houses' services became less trustworthy. By no means did permanent magical effects seem to fail but all of the house spells and rituals no longer worked as well. Public faith in the current economy dwindled. The flow of money through market places slowed down and the steady expansion seen after the end of The Last War had come to an end. A noticeable increase in traditional, magic-free services appeared. Still, for the most part, life went on.
However, if you listened enough to the right groups of people you'd find yourself stumbling across wild rumors. Dragonmarks appearing on different races than before, aberrant dragonmarks becoming rampant, strange lights and sounds appearing and leaving suddenly, bizarre creatures coming out of the night, normal people going mad and whispers of unspeakable things.
Scholars combed through books with worry tense upon their brow. Astronomers scanned the heavens looking for clues and found none. Draconic Prophets were struck with a puzzled despair. Mystics when sitting still, felt a great sense of unease. Gatekeeper Druids looked at their planar seals and wondered. Cyre may have been restored but it was clear to those who paid attention that something else had happened to Eberron. None knew what or how sinister but all could not help but feel fear.
All asked the same question:
What would become of the world?
The world gave no reply.
At first no one was sure whether to rejoice or panic. Was it over or was this just signs of the worst yet to come? Brave souls, alone and in groups ventured into the unknown. After a few days they returned and quickly word spread around Khorvaire. The monsters and Warforged under The Lord of Blades were still there but the land was whole again! Things grew! Life had returned to Cyre. The established governments of Korvaire went into a frenzied panic. Suddenly thousand upon thousands of square miles of land were available to any power that had the resources and gumption to take it.
Plans were set into motion that could have resulted in the beginning of another great period of war. In all likelihood it would have had it not been for one letter sent out by Orien courier to every single power, no matter how big or how small. It was a short letter, fitting on one page of parchment and undersigned by the likes of The Speaker of The Flame, The King of Cyre, The Church of Dol Dorn, The Kalashtar Council in Sharn and Warforged Right's leaders. It was a letter written by a man known as Argos Wrex wherein he, along with his companions, claimed credit to undoing the morning and made a staunch declaration that what was once Cyran land is now Cyran once more. Anyone who challenged that claim would face the wrath and scorn of all those listed in the letter. After the claims and alliances in the letter were verified, all those interested in taking the land had to take a step back. It was no longer a simple task. Plans would have to be changed, patience employed. A more subtle approach would be needed. It soon seemed to the people of Eberron that Cyre had been restored and life would slowly get better.
But all was not well.
In the weeks following The Restoration, rumors of magical anomalies around the world grew exponentially. Magic users who had always been used to a poorly prepared spell or ritual failing now found that sometimes even when all the parts were right, their magics would fail or worse, they would lose control of what was happening. Combat spells would strike too hard or at the wrong target. Creation spells would make the wrong object or make it the wrong size. Binding spells sometimes wouldn't stick or wouldn't work at all. Summonings were incredibly haphazard as too much of the specific creature would be summoned or something unexpected might appear in the circle. The phenomena affected people regardless of their background. Priests, shamans and arcanists alike all found their work going haywire. Even with the best minds working, an explanation was not immediately forthcoming.
To the common layperson and many of the middle class, this meant little. To the magewrights, houses and others it was a hefty blow to the Arcano-Industrial Complex. Work orders were no longer guaranteed. Dragonmarked Houses' services became less trustworthy. By no means did permanent magical effects seem to fail but all of the house spells and rituals no longer worked as well. Public faith in the current economy dwindled. The flow of money through market places slowed down and the steady expansion seen after the end of The Last War had come to an end. A noticeable increase in traditional, magic-free services appeared. Still, for the most part, life went on.
However, if you listened enough to the right groups of people you'd find yourself stumbling across wild rumors. Dragonmarks appearing on different races than before, aberrant dragonmarks becoming rampant, strange lights and sounds appearing and leaving suddenly, bizarre creatures coming out of the night, normal people going mad and whispers of unspeakable things.
Scholars combed through books with worry tense upon their brow. Astronomers scanned the heavens looking for clues and found none. Draconic Prophets were struck with a puzzled despair. Mystics when sitting still, felt a great sense of unease. Gatekeeper Druids looked at their planar seals and wondered. Cyre may have been restored but it was clear to those who paid attention that something else had happened to Eberron. None knew what or how sinister but all could not help but feel fear.
All asked the same question:
What would become of the world?
The world gave no reply.
In nine ninety eight, the Last War has been won.
And Lyrandar's favorite scion had a job they needed done.
Which brought Illyria to a party in need of healing art.
Who found her mix intriguing, a scoundrel with a heart!
From the halls of dwarven Mror holds to the shores of the Aereni.
There was never a vixen that's tougher, a Daring Dragoon is she.
She'll halt the crazed advance of the hordes of Xoriat.
There aint a Cyran or pirate rogue who dont know Illyria!
From the halls of dwarven Mror holds to the shores of the Aereni.
Flyin' round the bloody world to defend House monopoly.
And when ya need a gal to help ya flee the militia.
Just ask the bloke right next ta ya - (parrot: "Damn right!") - its Illyria! :D
http://www.eberronbestiary.com/index.php?p=features#spiderlords
The articles about the Spider Lords of the False Presage.
It's the "sequel" idea I had. I ran a campaign focused around the party tracking down a Lords of Dust Raksasha and stopping him from freeing his master Ran'Ishiv the Unmaker from beneath the mountains of Adar. There were some unresolved goals certain characters had and I took one of them and stretched it out a bit. It's kind of long for a forum post, 3,750 words, but spoiler tags can thankfully fix that.
Hopefully the ad-hoc formatting doesn't look terrible.
EDIT: Ok hopefully that fixes it. Man I wish "Preview Post" didn't give me a blank page.
Show
Chapter One
Allen sighed for what must have been the hundredth time that day. Gate duty at Morgrave University was one of the least liked jobs amongst Sharn’s City Watch. Mind you, the mortality rate was almost non existent but there was simply next to nothing that needed his attention. Students would approach him, flash their identification and he would wave them in. This process would repeat itself constantly for as long as he was assigned to be at the school. He had three weeks left. He reminded himself once again that as much as everyone hated Captain Dobson, the man had power. And it was a bad idea to make jokes at his expense when he was right behind you, intently listening. Allen let out a yawn and turned around in the booth he was stationed in. He took a few swigs out of the jug of water on the table, let out a satisfying belch and turned around. Immediately a distant figure caught his attention.
It appeared to be a man walking up the avenue, making a beeline for the gate. He was walking in a manner that was unlike the students of the university. Most students took their time with a nonchalant stride. This man travelled as if he were going to war. As he got closer details became apparent. He was tall and slender with a fine robe. He appeared to be in his late thirties and had black hair. There was a green sash around his chest that supported a large object on his back. Upon further inspection Allen saw that is was a weapon. He could tell even from a distance it was a very well made. It looked like those odd double bladed staffs he would see on occasion except the blades were curved. Wasn’t that design something the Valenar employed?
That’s when it hit him. Only one human man with that kind of appearance and that much swagger had ever wielded a Valenar double scimitar. He hadn’t been seen around civilization for over a decade but everyone knew about him, where he’d been, what he’d done. The book based on his adventures was a best seller after all. Still, the last thing Allen expected was to have The Legendary Argos Wrex come walking up to the gate of Morgrave University on a sunny afternoon. Allen was so star struck that he let the man walk by the gate unchallenged. He cursed under his breath and left to follow him.
“Excuse me? Mr. Wrex?”
Allen’s words were ignored.
“Johnny!” Allen shouted above him to the rafters. “Get the boys down here!”
After a minute of following behind Argos, Allen was joined up by the rest of the City Watch at the college. They were a handful of new recruits who did patrols at the school to ease themselves into the job. Johnny, being the most senior of the newbies, spoke first.
“What’s the matter sir? Who’re we following?”
“You ever heard of Argos Wrex, son?”
Johnny gulped.
“My uncle says he’s killed gods! Why, is that him?” He asked nervously.
“I think it is.” Allen replied.
Johnny looked around at the rest of the recruits then back to his superior with a panicked look in his eyes.
“We’re not going to try and stop him, are we sir?”
“By the Nine, no! We’re just going to follow him and watch. No sense getting ourselves killed, eh?”
Johnny decided to stay silent and nod his assent.
The Watch followed the man into the main office, past the terrified receptionist and over to the Xendrik Studies building. The entire time Argos never gave any acknowledgement that he was being followed. Argos entered the building and immediately headed for the stairs. Allen was sure by his movements that Argos knew where he was going. Four stories up and one hallway down Argos stopped in front of a door. Argos forcefully flung the door open and marched inside. He stood in the middle of the room with a haughty expression on his face. Allen poked his around the corner of the door to see an office covered in books. The placard on the door said Shia Goldwood, Mythic History Department Head. A white haired Changeling woman popped up above the pile of books, blinked rapidly for a moment and then let out a long sigh.
“Allen is that you back there?” The woman asked.
“Yes ma’am. This man did not announce himself when he entered. Were you expecting him?”
“No, I was rather hoping I’d never have to see Mr. Wrex again but it seems he has other plans. I’ll be alright though, please go back to your posts.”
Allen let out a relieved sigh and disappeared back down the stairs.
Inside the office, Argos and Shia were locked in a staring contest. Argos bore an expression of pure mirth while Shia looked despondent. After a moment she looked down, put her head in her hands and let out another long sigh.
“What do you want Argos?”
Argos didn’t respond but instead grabbed a package out of his robe and dropped it on top of Shia’s desk. The resonating impact caused her to look up. Argos had dropped a large package wrapped in burlap and secured with twine. He looked down at her with a wide smile.
“I think I’m on to something.” He said.
Shia felt a sudden cold chill shoot down her spine. Argos? On to something? That could not be good. Argos motioned towards the package and Shia hesitantly opened it. Inside were several books, some new and some ancient. Shia grabbed the top book and began to flip through it. It was fairly new and contained disorganized notes written in common. She moved on to the other books. There were a couple other books full of notes, some of the books in the stack had the House Cannith seal, others marks and symbols she knew were associated with the Cults of the Dragon Below, and a couple had markings she didn’t recognize. Shia looked back up at Argos.
“So what’s all this for?” She asked.
Argos began pacing.
“I’ve spent the last fifteen years on and off looking for a way to undo The Mourning and restore my homeland to its former glory. I’m not entirely sure how I’m going to do that but you know things and I think these books would help you figure it out. My wife took most of the notes and did the most reading. She thinks a House Cannith experiment backfired.”
“As intriguing as that sounds I’ve got a full time job here at Morgrave. I can’t just drop everything and start this.” Shia said motioning toward the pile of books.
“That’s fine. Take your time, I know you’re curious. I’ll be at The Burning Wheel Inn once you’re ready to join me. Seeyas!”
Argos left before Shia could respond. Exasperated, she looked down at the pile of books Argos had left her and let out a quiet curse. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. She was very curious. If the tomes of knowledge he had brought her had enough information to even hint at a complete picture of what caused The Mourning then Argos Wrex may have come across the most astounding discovery in contemporary history. The woman let out a sigh and grabbed the first book in the pile. It was going to be a long series of nights.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Wulfgar let out a happy sigh. The sermon had been a good one. Not one of his best but definitely the sort of thing that would bring in a few new converts to the Church of Dol Dorn. After things had wound down from the events in Adar, he had come back to the Church in Sharn and began working as a priest once more. A few years ago, Father Benjamin had retired and passed the position onto Wulfgar. It was only recently that he had gotten used to everyone referring to him as Father Wulfgar. After the congregation had filed out he noticed a familiar woman walking up to him. He smiled at first until he noticed she looked positively exhausted.
“Shia, it’s good to see you! Are you feeling alright?”
“It’s good to see you too Wulfgar. I’m alright; I’ve just been doing a lot of reading recently.” She said.
“Reading? I thought you had spells for that?” He asked.
“Only for absorbing the knowledge, not for synthesizing it. Can we talk in your office? I’d like to sit down.”
“Of course! But here, let me help you.”
Wulfgar placed his hand on Shia’s arm and muttered a brief prayer. Soon the woman’s posture improved and the exhaustion was all but washed away from her features.
“Thanks Wulfgar. Please, lead the way.”
Wulfgar lead them into his office, sat down and poured himself a mug of ale. Shia sat down in the chair opposite his desk.
“Would you like something to drink?” Wulfgar asked.
“No I’ll be fine.”
“Then what did you want to talk to me about?”
“We’ve got a problem.” Shia said, her expression intently serious.
“What kind of a problem?”
“An Argos Wrex kind of a problem. He’s back. And he’s on to something.”
Wulfgar spit out the ale he’d been drinking.
“What?! Are you serious?”
Shia maintained her stare.
“Dol Dorn’s Mighty Fist, you are serious.”
Wulfgar poured himself another mug of ale and drank it in one smooth motion.
“What exactly is he on to?”
“He dropped by my office a few days ago with a stack of notes and ancient books he had gathered over the last fifteen years. After cross-referencing the information in the books I’ve got a decent idea of why The Mourning happened and a couple of hints on how it might be reversed.” She said.
Wulfgar took a slow, shuddering breath.
“So he thinks he can undo The Mourning?”
“And return his homeland back to its former glory. His words.”
“He had that serious, ‘Fury May Care’ look in his eyes didn’t he?” Wulfgar asked.
Shia nodded.
“The last thing he said to me was the he’d be waiting at The Burning Wheel for me to join him. I’m assuming he meant the rest of us as well. Now by no means am I suggesting that we should gather up everyone together and join him on this escapade but I do feel like it’s worth discussing it as a possibility.”
“I agree.” Wulfgar said with a slight nod. “Wait here. I’ll send a message to everyone about what’s going on and that we should meet here in Sharn.”
Shia waited in Wulfgar’s office while he completed his spell casting. About half an hour later Wulfgar came back in slightly worse for the wear. Shia looked at him expectantly. Wulfgar sat back down at his desk and took a deep breath.
“I tried Persephone first. She said she had too many duties to tend to personally in the Eldeen Reaches and would not be able to make it. Talon was a little difficult to get a hold of but he said he was in the middle of leading a war against The Lord of Blades and would not stop for anything until the militant Warforged were defeated. Hammer however is free. Apparently business with Rek is slow going right now. He’s also in the city and will be here in less than an hour.”
“Well at least someone is available.” Shia said. “It’s not that late; we should probably go to where Argos is staying and finish this tonight. What do you think?”
“That sounds good to me. I’m going to go down to the kitchens and get some dinner while we wait for Hammer. Would you care to join me?” Wulfgar asked.
“That sounds lovely.”
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Hammer walked leisurely down the platforms and bridges of Sharn. He hadn’t changed all that much in the last decade and a half. His body was still the deep gray color of high quality adamantium and besides a few nicks and gouges he remained unchanged since the day of his first awakening. He even still carried the large hammer that was his namesake.
The group had gone their separate ways after stopping the release of Ran’Ishiv and didn’t make much effort to contact each other. Hammer was the only person who even moved around. He would occasionally see the others or hear news about them as he travelled with Rek and his crew. The only person he never heard any news of was Argos, so when Wulfgar contacted him saying the man was back in town and potentially on to something big, Hammer got curious. With a quick word to Rek about what he was doing and a promise to let him know any details Hammer headed off into the middle wards.
As he walked he noticed that Sharn, like him, hadn’t changed much in the few years since he had last come through. The towers and skyways were still noisy and full of people, anything smaller than six feet tall still scurried out his way at the sight of him. Hammer chuckled at that. Even after all this time the effect of his physical presence on the common person still amused him. He figured it would never get old.
After a walking a little while he could make out The Church of Dol Dorn in the distance. Even from far way he could tell the fortified nature of the church had been improved upon in his absence. As a warrior and an artificer this pleased him greatly. He approached the front of the building to find the engraved, large metal front doors closed. Hammer let out a short sigh and knocked. After a few moments a bar in the door slid open to reveal a young half elf peeking out.
“Is there something I can help you with?” The boy asked.
“I’m here to see Wulfgar. Tell him Hammer’s here. He’s expecting me.”
The boy looked hesitant for a moment before nodding.
“Yes, sir. Hold on a moment.”
Hammer waited, though waited was perhaps a misnomer. He paced erratically and kicked the stone walkways on occasion. In a matter of moments there was permanent cosmetic damage to the church’s entryway. After a time Hammer heard footsteps coming from just beyond the door. The door opened and Hammer stepped back with the practiced efficiency of a career soldier.
“Hammer! Welcome!” Wulfgar said.
“Hey there. So what’s this all about?”
“Come on.” Wulfgar said motioning with his hand. “I’ll let Shia tell you when we’re inside.”
Shortly after Hammer recovered from Shia’s revelation the trio made their way to The Burning Wheel Inn to meet Argos.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
The Burning Wheel was a moderately expensive inn and restaurant in the northern section of the middle wards. It was designed to entertain travelers who wanted to be close to the heart of the city while still avoiding most of its clamor. It was built at the top of one of the smaller towers in the city out of whole logs. Above the entryway was the establishment’s namesake, a wagon wheel permanently wreathed in illusory flame. It was well into the seventh hour of the evening and traffic in and out of the building was steady. They entered the front doors to an open dining room with a bar on the right side. It took no time at all to see the animated man talking to a crowd of people on top of a table. It was Argos doing what he did best; telling wild stories about himself. Wulfgar and company paused just inside the door to listen.
“…then; at the last possible moment that I turned on the brigands I had deceived, pointed my blade at their leader and declared ‘No one can kill Argos Wrex!’ My allies seconds behind me we quickly dispatched the interlopers and sent the rest of them running back to the dark corridors they came from. The Cult of Storms would not be robbing House Lyrandar on that day. It was another clean victory for Argos Wrex.”
“Clean?!” Hammer interrupted. “Their leader gutted you moments into the fight!”
“And you probably would have been dead if I hadn’t have been there to heal you.” Wulfgar shouted soon after.
The entirety of the room turned to the group standing near the doors with startled expressions. Argos looked shocked until he realized who had spoken. He quickly took on a delighted expression as he spoke.
“Hammer! Wulfgar! My friends, you’re here!”
Argos leapt gracefully off the table and walked over to them.
“Shia! There you are. I couldn’t see you standing behind Hammer. You’re looking as lovely as ever, I see.” He said with the kind of charm that could melt any woman’s heart.
Shia glared silently. She was immune to him at this point.
“Sorry my friends but no more stories tonight.” Argos said, turning back to the crowd.
There was a collective grunt of disapproval.
“But worry not for your entertainment, the next round’s on me!” He shouted and tossed a large coin to the bartender.
The declaration brought cheers from the restaurant. Argos turned to his friends.
“Come on, I’ve got a good room on the third floor. We’ll talk there.”
They followed Argos up to a moderately sized room with a bed, a couple of dressers and a large table with chairs around it. Argos motioned for his friends to sit. Hammer chose to stand for the sake of the furniture. Argos then pulled out a bottle of wine from the cupboard and poured two glasses. He placed one in front of him as he sat and offered the other to Shia. She looked up at him with a puzzled expression.
“Try it. I bought it with you in mind.” Argos said to her.
Shia took a hesitant sip. She quickly took on a surprised expression. It was good. Though a red wine, it wasn’t very heavy and the undertones of tropical fruits made it very refreshing. She took another sip and looked back up at Argos.
“Thanks. I just didn’t expect you to be so considerate.”
“Well, my dear, I’ve had fifteen years of marriage with which to grow as a person. I’m sure I act a little more than half my age now.” Argos said, earning him a few chuckles.
“That reminds me, where is your wife Argos?” Wulfgar asked.
“Oh.” Argos replied, suddenly seeming nervous. “She’s busy back home.”
“Busy how?” Hammer asked.
Argos muttered something under his breath.
“What?” Shia asked.
“She’s busy being pregnant.”
Shia nearly spit out her drink.
“Well that’s great news! Congratulations!” Wulfgar declared.
“Thanks.”
“Congratulations?” Hammer asked. “Are you sure? It’s difficult imaging Argos raising a child.”
Shia nodded her head, winking at Wulfgar. He took the hint.
“That’s true Hammer; I might have to file a formal complaint with The Church of Arawai.” Wulfgar said.
“Hey! I’m not that bad. I know you guys haven’t seen me in over a decade but I’m older and wiser enough now to have a kid!” Argos shouted, standing up.
The others in the room looked at him for a moment with blank expressions before breaking out into laughter.
“Y-your face!” Shia chortled.
“Oh Argos, we’ve missed you.” Wulfgar said.
“Yes, as much as I hate to admit I have missed your attitude.” Hammer said, patting Argos on the shoulder.
Argos looked around in shock for a moment before falling back into his chair with a bemused expression on his face. After a moment the group settled down and began talking about more serious matters. Argos presented his findings and added in a few extra pieces of information. From his research and observations, Shia and Wulfgar concluded that in all likelihood, a rogue Cannith experiment had backfired in the worst way possible. They would need further information from inside The Mournland before they could get a complete picture of what had happened. Fixing it seemed like a possibility. Planar orbits, ancient binding rituals and a dragonmark or two could easily be required items. Figuring that part out would likely require searching outside of The Mournland. A rough plan was set up, starting with returning to a Cannith research outpost near the border with Breland to give it a more thorough examination. It was toward the end of their planning that Shia spoke up.
“I think we need more people.”
“What for?” Hammer asked. “Between the four of us we have enough of a comprehensive knowledge base to figure out anything we come across.”
“True, but a larger number of different perspectives couldn’t hurt. That and I’m not much of a fighter.”
“Isn’t this supposed to be a research mission, though?” Wulfgar asked.
“So was our little sojourn to Xendrik.” Shia replied.
Wulfgar gave a grunt of assertion.
“Did you have anyone in mind?” Argos asked.
“Well, if we can get Talon working with us that would be a great help but he’s probably going to be busy for quite some time. Other than him, I can’t think of anyone else of the appropriate caliber.”
“I’ve got an idea.” Hammer said. “Do any of you remember Saffron?”
“Saffron? The name does sound familiar. Who is she?” Wulfgar asked.
“She was the woman who helped us escape imprisonment when we were in Thrane.”
“Oh. I remember her.” Argos said, a faint blush appearing on his cheeks. “I thought she was a simple lay-priest?”
“She was, but a few years after we met her she joined a monastery on the eastern coast of Thrane. It’s near a small town called Olath. I didn’t really hear anything about her until a couple of years ago. Turns out she had spent her time training to be a warrior monk without peer. Reports had pointed her as the leader on a number of daring raids against cults, brigands and a couple powerful monsters. If the stories are true, she’ll make a good fighter and her time spent studying in the monastery will probably give us some clues along the way.”
“That sounds good. How about this then, we’ll go see if we can recruit Saffron, head down to New Cyre to resupply and then head off to look at the Cannith research station?” Wulfgar asked.
Everyone quickly agreed. First they would rest and then on the morrow they would head off to Thrane to begin their journey.
Allen sighed for what must have been the hundredth time that day. Gate duty at Morgrave University was one of the least liked jobs amongst Sharn’s City Watch. Mind you, the mortality rate was almost non existent but there was simply next to nothing that needed his attention. Students would approach him, flash their identification and he would wave them in. This process would repeat itself constantly for as long as he was assigned to be at the school. He had three weeks left. He reminded himself once again that as much as everyone hated Captain Dobson, the man had power. And it was a bad idea to make jokes at his expense when he was right behind you, intently listening. Allen let out a yawn and turned around in the booth he was stationed in. He took a few swigs out of the jug of water on the table, let out a satisfying belch and turned around. Immediately a distant figure caught his attention.
It appeared to be a man walking up the avenue, making a beeline for the gate. He was walking in a manner that was unlike the students of the university. Most students took their time with a nonchalant stride. This man travelled as if he were going to war. As he got closer details became apparent. He was tall and slender with a fine robe. He appeared to be in his late thirties and had black hair. There was a green sash around his chest that supported a large object on his back. Upon further inspection Allen saw that is was a weapon. He could tell even from a distance it was a very well made. It looked like those odd double bladed staffs he would see on occasion except the blades were curved. Wasn’t that design something the Valenar employed?
That’s when it hit him. Only one human man with that kind of appearance and that much swagger had ever wielded a Valenar double scimitar. He hadn’t been seen around civilization for over a decade but everyone knew about him, where he’d been, what he’d done. The book based on his adventures was a best seller after all. Still, the last thing Allen expected was to have The Legendary Argos Wrex come walking up to the gate of Morgrave University on a sunny afternoon. Allen was so star struck that he let the man walk by the gate unchallenged. He cursed under his breath and left to follow him.
“Excuse me? Mr. Wrex?”
Allen’s words were ignored.
“Johnny!” Allen shouted above him to the rafters. “Get the boys down here!”
After a minute of following behind Argos, Allen was joined up by the rest of the City Watch at the college. They were a handful of new recruits who did patrols at the school to ease themselves into the job. Johnny, being the most senior of the newbies, spoke first.
“What’s the matter sir? Who’re we following?”
“You ever heard of Argos Wrex, son?”
Johnny gulped.
“My uncle says he’s killed gods! Why, is that him?” He asked nervously.
“I think it is.” Allen replied.
Johnny looked around at the rest of the recruits then back to his superior with a panicked look in his eyes.
“We’re not going to try and stop him, are we sir?”
“By the Nine, no! We’re just going to follow him and watch. No sense getting ourselves killed, eh?”
Johnny decided to stay silent and nod his assent.
The Watch followed the man into the main office, past the terrified receptionist and over to the Xendrik Studies building. The entire time Argos never gave any acknowledgement that he was being followed. Argos entered the building and immediately headed for the stairs. Allen was sure by his movements that Argos knew where he was going. Four stories up and one hallway down Argos stopped in front of a door. Argos forcefully flung the door open and marched inside. He stood in the middle of the room with a haughty expression on his face. Allen poked his around the corner of the door to see an office covered in books. The placard on the door said Shia Goldwood, Mythic History Department Head. A white haired Changeling woman popped up above the pile of books, blinked rapidly for a moment and then let out a long sigh.
“Allen is that you back there?” The woman asked.
“Yes ma’am. This man did not announce himself when he entered. Were you expecting him?”
“No, I was rather hoping I’d never have to see Mr. Wrex again but it seems he has other plans. I’ll be alright though, please go back to your posts.”
Allen let out a relieved sigh and disappeared back down the stairs.
Inside the office, Argos and Shia were locked in a staring contest. Argos bore an expression of pure mirth while Shia looked despondent. After a moment she looked down, put her head in her hands and let out another long sigh.
“What do you want Argos?”
Argos didn’t respond but instead grabbed a package out of his robe and dropped it on top of Shia’s desk. The resonating impact caused her to look up. Argos had dropped a large package wrapped in burlap and secured with twine. He looked down at her with a wide smile.
“I think I’m on to something.” He said.
Shia felt a sudden cold chill shoot down her spine. Argos? On to something? That could not be good. Argos motioned towards the package and Shia hesitantly opened it. Inside were several books, some new and some ancient. Shia grabbed the top book and began to flip through it. It was fairly new and contained disorganized notes written in common. She moved on to the other books. There were a couple other books full of notes, some of the books in the stack had the House Cannith seal, others marks and symbols she knew were associated with the Cults of the Dragon Below, and a couple had markings she didn’t recognize. Shia looked back up at Argos.
“So what’s all this for?” She asked.
Argos began pacing.
“I’ve spent the last fifteen years on and off looking for a way to undo The Mourning and restore my homeland to its former glory. I’m not entirely sure how I’m going to do that but you know things and I think these books would help you figure it out. My wife took most of the notes and did the most reading. She thinks a House Cannith experiment backfired.”
“As intriguing as that sounds I’ve got a full time job here at Morgrave. I can’t just drop everything and start this.” Shia said motioning toward the pile of books.
“That’s fine. Take your time, I know you’re curious. I’ll be at The Burning Wheel Inn once you’re ready to join me. Seeyas!”
Argos left before Shia could respond. Exasperated, she looked down at the pile of books Argos had left her and let out a quiet curse. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. She was very curious. If the tomes of knowledge he had brought her had enough information to even hint at a complete picture of what caused The Mourning then Argos Wrex may have come across the most astounding discovery in contemporary history. The woman let out a sigh and grabbed the first book in the pile. It was going to be a long series of nights.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Wulfgar let out a happy sigh. The sermon had been a good one. Not one of his best but definitely the sort of thing that would bring in a few new converts to the Church of Dol Dorn. After things had wound down from the events in Adar, he had come back to the Church in Sharn and began working as a priest once more. A few years ago, Father Benjamin had retired and passed the position onto Wulfgar. It was only recently that he had gotten used to everyone referring to him as Father Wulfgar. After the congregation had filed out he noticed a familiar woman walking up to him. He smiled at first until he noticed she looked positively exhausted.
“Shia, it’s good to see you! Are you feeling alright?”
“It’s good to see you too Wulfgar. I’m alright; I’ve just been doing a lot of reading recently.” She said.
“Reading? I thought you had spells for that?” He asked.
“Only for absorbing the knowledge, not for synthesizing it. Can we talk in your office? I’d like to sit down.”
“Of course! But here, let me help you.”
Wulfgar placed his hand on Shia’s arm and muttered a brief prayer. Soon the woman’s posture improved and the exhaustion was all but washed away from her features.
“Thanks Wulfgar. Please, lead the way.”
Wulfgar lead them into his office, sat down and poured himself a mug of ale. Shia sat down in the chair opposite his desk.
“Would you like something to drink?” Wulfgar asked.
“No I’ll be fine.”
“Then what did you want to talk to me about?”
“We’ve got a problem.” Shia said, her expression intently serious.
“What kind of a problem?”
“An Argos Wrex kind of a problem. He’s back. And he’s on to something.”
Wulfgar spit out the ale he’d been drinking.
“What?! Are you serious?”
Shia maintained her stare.
“Dol Dorn’s Mighty Fist, you are serious.”
Wulfgar poured himself another mug of ale and drank it in one smooth motion.
“What exactly is he on to?”
“He dropped by my office a few days ago with a stack of notes and ancient books he had gathered over the last fifteen years. After cross-referencing the information in the books I’ve got a decent idea of why The Mourning happened and a couple of hints on how it might be reversed.” She said.
Wulfgar took a slow, shuddering breath.
“So he thinks he can undo The Mourning?”
“And return his homeland back to its former glory. His words.”
“He had that serious, ‘Fury May Care’ look in his eyes didn’t he?” Wulfgar asked.
Shia nodded.
“The last thing he said to me was the he’d be waiting at The Burning Wheel for me to join him. I’m assuming he meant the rest of us as well. Now by no means am I suggesting that we should gather up everyone together and join him on this escapade but I do feel like it’s worth discussing it as a possibility.”
“I agree.” Wulfgar said with a slight nod. “Wait here. I’ll send a message to everyone about what’s going on and that we should meet here in Sharn.”
Shia waited in Wulfgar’s office while he completed his spell casting. About half an hour later Wulfgar came back in slightly worse for the wear. Shia looked at him expectantly. Wulfgar sat back down at his desk and took a deep breath.
“I tried Persephone first. She said she had too many duties to tend to personally in the Eldeen Reaches and would not be able to make it. Talon was a little difficult to get a hold of but he said he was in the middle of leading a war against The Lord of Blades and would not stop for anything until the militant Warforged were defeated. Hammer however is free. Apparently business with Rek is slow going right now. He’s also in the city and will be here in less than an hour.”
“Well at least someone is available.” Shia said. “It’s not that late; we should probably go to where Argos is staying and finish this tonight. What do you think?”
“That sounds good to me. I’m going to go down to the kitchens and get some dinner while we wait for Hammer. Would you care to join me?” Wulfgar asked.
“That sounds lovely.”
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Hammer walked leisurely down the platforms and bridges of Sharn. He hadn’t changed all that much in the last decade and a half. His body was still the deep gray color of high quality adamantium and besides a few nicks and gouges he remained unchanged since the day of his first awakening. He even still carried the large hammer that was his namesake.
The group had gone their separate ways after stopping the release of Ran’Ishiv and didn’t make much effort to contact each other. Hammer was the only person who even moved around. He would occasionally see the others or hear news about them as he travelled with Rek and his crew. The only person he never heard any news of was Argos, so when Wulfgar contacted him saying the man was back in town and potentially on to something big, Hammer got curious. With a quick word to Rek about what he was doing and a promise to let him know any details Hammer headed off into the middle wards.
As he walked he noticed that Sharn, like him, hadn’t changed much in the few years since he had last come through. The towers and skyways were still noisy and full of people, anything smaller than six feet tall still scurried out his way at the sight of him. Hammer chuckled at that. Even after all this time the effect of his physical presence on the common person still amused him. He figured it would never get old.
After a walking a little while he could make out The Church of Dol Dorn in the distance. Even from far way he could tell the fortified nature of the church had been improved upon in his absence. As a warrior and an artificer this pleased him greatly. He approached the front of the building to find the engraved, large metal front doors closed. Hammer let out a short sigh and knocked. After a few moments a bar in the door slid open to reveal a young half elf peeking out.
“Is there something I can help you with?” The boy asked.
“I’m here to see Wulfgar. Tell him Hammer’s here. He’s expecting me.”
The boy looked hesitant for a moment before nodding.
“Yes, sir. Hold on a moment.”
Hammer waited, though waited was perhaps a misnomer. He paced erratically and kicked the stone walkways on occasion. In a matter of moments there was permanent cosmetic damage to the church’s entryway. After a time Hammer heard footsteps coming from just beyond the door. The door opened and Hammer stepped back with the practiced efficiency of a career soldier.
“Hammer! Welcome!” Wulfgar said.
“Hey there. So what’s this all about?”
“Come on.” Wulfgar said motioning with his hand. “I’ll let Shia tell you when we’re inside.”
Shortly after Hammer recovered from Shia’s revelation the trio made their way to The Burning Wheel Inn to meet Argos.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
The Burning Wheel was a moderately expensive inn and restaurant in the northern section of the middle wards. It was designed to entertain travelers who wanted to be close to the heart of the city while still avoiding most of its clamor. It was built at the top of one of the smaller towers in the city out of whole logs. Above the entryway was the establishment’s namesake, a wagon wheel permanently wreathed in illusory flame. It was well into the seventh hour of the evening and traffic in and out of the building was steady. They entered the front doors to an open dining room with a bar on the right side. It took no time at all to see the animated man talking to a crowd of people on top of a table. It was Argos doing what he did best; telling wild stories about himself. Wulfgar and company paused just inside the door to listen.
“…then; at the last possible moment that I turned on the brigands I had deceived, pointed my blade at their leader and declared ‘No one can kill Argos Wrex!’ My allies seconds behind me we quickly dispatched the interlopers and sent the rest of them running back to the dark corridors they came from. The Cult of Storms would not be robbing House Lyrandar on that day. It was another clean victory for Argos Wrex.”
“Clean?!” Hammer interrupted. “Their leader gutted you moments into the fight!”
“And you probably would have been dead if I hadn’t have been there to heal you.” Wulfgar shouted soon after.
The entirety of the room turned to the group standing near the doors with startled expressions. Argos looked shocked until he realized who had spoken. He quickly took on a delighted expression as he spoke.
“Hammer! Wulfgar! My friends, you’re here!”
Argos leapt gracefully off the table and walked over to them.
“Shia! There you are. I couldn’t see you standing behind Hammer. You’re looking as lovely as ever, I see.” He said with the kind of charm that could melt any woman’s heart.
Shia glared silently. She was immune to him at this point.
“Sorry my friends but no more stories tonight.” Argos said, turning back to the crowd.
There was a collective grunt of disapproval.
“But worry not for your entertainment, the next round’s on me!” He shouted and tossed a large coin to the bartender.
The declaration brought cheers from the restaurant. Argos turned to his friends.
“Come on, I’ve got a good room on the third floor. We’ll talk there.”
They followed Argos up to a moderately sized room with a bed, a couple of dressers and a large table with chairs around it. Argos motioned for his friends to sit. Hammer chose to stand for the sake of the furniture. Argos then pulled out a bottle of wine from the cupboard and poured two glasses. He placed one in front of him as he sat and offered the other to Shia. She looked up at him with a puzzled expression.
“Try it. I bought it with you in mind.” Argos said to her.
Shia took a hesitant sip. She quickly took on a surprised expression. It was good. Though a red wine, it wasn’t very heavy and the undertones of tropical fruits made it very refreshing. She took another sip and looked back up at Argos.
“Thanks. I just didn’t expect you to be so considerate.”
“Well, my dear, I’ve had fifteen years of marriage with which to grow as a person. I’m sure I act a little more than half my age now.” Argos said, earning him a few chuckles.
“That reminds me, where is your wife Argos?” Wulfgar asked.
“Oh.” Argos replied, suddenly seeming nervous. “She’s busy back home.”
“Busy how?” Hammer asked.
Argos muttered something under his breath.
“What?” Shia asked.
“She’s busy being pregnant.”
Shia nearly spit out her drink.
“Well that’s great news! Congratulations!” Wulfgar declared.
“Thanks.”
“Congratulations?” Hammer asked. “Are you sure? It’s difficult imaging Argos raising a child.”
Shia nodded her head, winking at Wulfgar. He took the hint.
“That’s true Hammer; I might have to file a formal complaint with The Church of Arawai.” Wulfgar said.
“Hey! I’m not that bad. I know you guys haven’t seen me in over a decade but I’m older and wiser enough now to have a kid!” Argos shouted, standing up.
The others in the room looked at him for a moment with blank expressions before breaking out into laughter.
“Y-your face!” Shia chortled.
“Oh Argos, we’ve missed you.” Wulfgar said.
“Yes, as much as I hate to admit I have missed your attitude.” Hammer said, patting Argos on the shoulder.
Argos looked around in shock for a moment before falling back into his chair with a bemused expression on his face. After a moment the group settled down and began talking about more serious matters. Argos presented his findings and added in a few extra pieces of information. From his research and observations, Shia and Wulfgar concluded that in all likelihood, a rogue Cannith experiment had backfired in the worst way possible. They would need further information from inside The Mournland before they could get a complete picture of what had happened. Fixing it seemed like a possibility. Planar orbits, ancient binding rituals and a dragonmark or two could easily be required items. Figuring that part out would likely require searching outside of The Mournland. A rough plan was set up, starting with returning to a Cannith research outpost near the border with Breland to give it a more thorough examination. It was toward the end of their planning that Shia spoke up.
“I think we need more people.”
“What for?” Hammer asked. “Between the four of us we have enough of a comprehensive knowledge base to figure out anything we come across.”
“True, but a larger number of different perspectives couldn’t hurt. That and I’m not much of a fighter.”
“Isn’t this supposed to be a research mission, though?” Wulfgar asked.
“So was our little sojourn to Xendrik.” Shia replied.
Wulfgar gave a grunt of assertion.
“Did you have anyone in mind?” Argos asked.
“Well, if we can get Talon working with us that would be a great help but he’s probably going to be busy for quite some time. Other than him, I can’t think of anyone else of the appropriate caliber.”
“I’ve got an idea.” Hammer said. “Do any of you remember Saffron?”
“Saffron? The name does sound familiar. Who is she?” Wulfgar asked.
“She was the woman who helped us escape imprisonment when we were in Thrane.”
“Oh. I remember her.” Argos said, a faint blush appearing on his cheeks. “I thought she was a simple lay-priest?”
“She was, but a few years after we met her she joined a monastery on the eastern coast of Thrane. It’s near a small town called Olath. I didn’t really hear anything about her until a couple of years ago. Turns out she had spent her time training to be a warrior monk without peer. Reports had pointed her as the leader on a number of daring raids against cults, brigands and a couple powerful monsters. If the stories are true, she’ll make a good fighter and her time spent studying in the monastery will probably give us some clues along the way.”
“That sounds good. How about this then, we’ll go see if we can recruit Saffron, head down to New Cyre to resupply and then head off to look at the Cannith research station?” Wulfgar asked.
Everyone quickly agreed. First they would rest and then on the morrow they would head off to Thrane to begin their journey.
I wrote this series of articles with ieattrollsforbreakfest, each article contains some fiction:
http://www.eberronbestiary.com/index.php?p=features#spiderlords
The articles about the Spider Lords of the False Presage.
I have to say i loved these articles they were real good
I have to say i loved these articles they were real good
I appreciate it. I plan on using a couple of the spiders in my next campaign. And killing the one residing in Adar. Mostly because ieattrolls designed that particular spider ;)
Part 1:
________It was night in the city of Trolanport. The waterways outside were calm tonight, and the orange glow of a full Olarune, along with a warm breeze, spilled through the open window. A set of elven lovers danced a sweet, churning melody inside the room lavished with all the fineries a dragonmarked house could muster. The perfectly designed bed made no noise as Alyia Shol d’Phiarlan took Dalary Thuranni d’Phiarlan inside her. Their exquisite bodies moved perfectly in time to some unheard song of wild primal power. As the silent climax of this private performance drew nearer and the sensual embrace shifted to powerful driving, a knock issued from the door.
________In an instant Dalary pulled away from her, springing off the footboard and landing in the center of the room with a hand crossbow drawn, ready to shoot. Alyia, not shocked as others may have been, instead had tumbled off the bed and snatched a dagger of her own. As the door started to crack open she hurdled the dagger into the seam of the door with enough force to jam it shut.
________Dalary finally spoke, “Who are you and what do you want? The lady and I were very intent to not be disturbed tonight!”
________A somewhat shaky human voice came from beyond the passage, “I am aware master Thuranni, however the Lord Elar Thuranni d’Phiarlan sends a message to you. He says it is most urgent. Regardless, pardon my interruption and good night.” There was the scratch of parchment sliding under the door and foot falls began fading down the hallway.
________Taking a glance at Alyia, with a pause to admire her slender form in the moonlight, Dalary set his crossbow down and moved to snatch up the letter. It was sealed with the arcane mark of Doyenne Lysse d’Sivis, the matriarch of House Sivis, indeed it was important. Dalary tore it open.
________Inside was a nearly blank sheet. It had the same seal in the lower right corner. At the top of the page was only a handful of words, “Thorn, King, Trident: Our fears are confirmed. You know what to do. Afterword go to the unicorn, arrangements have been made. --Lord Elar Thuranni d’Phiarlan.” Dalary could not believe it. He dropped the letter.
________“What is it my love? What words run the color from your face?” Alyia questioned as she donned her nightgown and closed with him.
________He crossed the room and dressed while speaking, his thoughts focused entirely on the task before him. He could spare explanation to his love, but not emotion. “The Paelion line of our house has betrayed us,” he began, “The Lord Elar has been investigating a plot by them to assassinate many leaders of men.”
________Alyia looked up from the letter, “That is of no concern though, correct? Our shadow services are available to those who have the means and the Paelions are uniquely suited to the killing arts.”
________“Yes,” Dalary looked at her after buckling his belt, “they are very keen. The sharpest daggers in the house. Imagine what they could do? What I say, and the Lord has now confirmed, goes outside of contracts. Lord Tolar Paelion d’Phairlan intends to murder the leaders of all nations, dragonmarked houses, and institutions in a swift night of blood the likes of which have never been seen. From these ashes he intends to take control of all that remains through fear. This plot is nearing completion, it could even happen tonight, and needs to be ended, now!”
________Alyia seemed beside herself as she lowered herself to the bed. Dalary donned his jet black breastplate, along with enchanted boots and cloak to make him undetectable to the senses of perception. Attaching his greatsword to his back, he knew he was ready.
________As he neared the window to make his exit, Alyia spoke in earnest, closing with him, “And what of you? Must you partake in this? There will be consequences! Without the Baron’s blessing who knows what could happen! You could be caught and tried, or worse excoriated! --”
________He turned to her, “Alyia my love, I cannot think about myself tonight. Tonight I have to think about the fate of Khorvaire.” He turned, and climbed to the rooftop.
________It was night in the city of Trolanport. The waterways outside were calm tonight, and the orange glow of a full Olarune, along with a warm breeze, spilled through the open window. A set of elven lovers danced a sweet, churning melody inside the room lavished with all the fineries a dragonmarked house could muster. The perfectly designed bed made no noise as Alyia Shol d’Phiarlan took Dalary Thuranni d’Phiarlan inside her. Their exquisite bodies moved perfectly in time to some unheard song of wild primal power. As the silent climax of this private performance drew nearer and the sensual embrace shifted to powerful driving, a knock issued from the door.
________In an instant Dalary pulled away from her, springing off the footboard and landing in the center of the room with a hand crossbow drawn, ready to shoot. Alyia, not shocked as others may have been, instead had tumbled off the bed and snatched a dagger of her own. As the door started to crack open she hurdled the dagger into the seam of the door with enough force to jam it shut.
________Dalary finally spoke, “Who are you and what do you want? The lady and I were very intent to not be disturbed tonight!”
________A somewhat shaky human voice came from beyond the passage, “I am aware master Thuranni, however the Lord Elar Thuranni d’Phiarlan sends a message to you. He says it is most urgent. Regardless, pardon my interruption and good night.” There was the scratch of parchment sliding under the door and foot falls began fading down the hallway.
________Taking a glance at Alyia, with a pause to admire her slender form in the moonlight, Dalary set his crossbow down and moved to snatch up the letter. It was sealed with the arcane mark of Doyenne Lysse d’Sivis, the matriarch of House Sivis, indeed it was important. Dalary tore it open.
________Inside was a nearly blank sheet. It had the same seal in the lower right corner. At the top of the page was only a handful of words, “Thorn, King, Trident: Our fears are confirmed. You know what to do. Afterword go to the unicorn, arrangements have been made. --Lord Elar Thuranni d’Phiarlan.” Dalary could not believe it. He dropped the letter.
________“What is it my love? What words run the color from your face?” Alyia questioned as she donned her nightgown and closed with him.
________He crossed the room and dressed while speaking, his thoughts focused entirely on the task before him. He could spare explanation to his love, but not emotion. “The Paelion line of our house has betrayed us,” he began, “The Lord Elar has been investigating a plot by them to assassinate many leaders of men.”
________Alyia looked up from the letter, “That is of no concern though, correct? Our shadow services are available to those who have the means and the Paelions are uniquely suited to the killing arts.”
________“Yes,” Dalary looked at her after buckling his belt, “they are very keen. The sharpest daggers in the house. Imagine what they could do? What I say, and the Lord has now confirmed, goes outside of contracts. Lord Tolar Paelion d’Phairlan intends to murder the leaders of all nations, dragonmarked houses, and institutions in a swift night of blood the likes of which have never been seen. From these ashes he intends to take control of all that remains through fear. This plot is nearing completion, it could even happen tonight, and needs to be ended, now!”
________Alyia seemed beside herself as she lowered herself to the bed. Dalary donned his jet black breastplate, along with enchanted boots and cloak to make him undetectable to the senses of perception. Attaching his greatsword to his back, he knew he was ready.
________As he neared the window to make his exit, Alyia spoke in earnest, closing with him, “And what of you? Must you partake in this? There will be consequences! Without the Baron’s blessing who knows what could happen! You could be caught and tried, or worse excoriated! --”
________He turned to her, “Alyia my love, I cannot think about myself tonight. Tonight I have to think about the fate of Khorvaire.” He turned, and climbed to the rooftop.