Forgotten Things

20 Olarune, 998YK - Evening, 18th Bell

Not exactly certain why they chose to attend after all, our heroes find the Ceremony of Remembrance to be rather tedious, with a bit of a funerary atmosphere. It doesn’t help that there is obviously a storm brewing, and the heavy clouds are threatening to release on this chilly late winter night. After a brief greeting and thanks for coming, Lord Major Bren ir’Gadden yields the podium to someone the group doesn’t recognize, who proceeds to drone on about the horrors of war and the sacrifices made by all, especially on that Day four years ago. The group splits up, after briefly remaking each other’s acquaintance, to mingle with the crowd of displaced Cyran nobles and officers. At least the event is catered, with plenty of good food and drink.

Not 20 minutes into the event, however, the door to the small courtyard bursts open to an unearthly howl, and a large monstrous figure, obscured by heavy gray mist coming from its body, attacks! The team leaps to action, quickly bottling the horror in the doorway where it can’t attack the attendees. They notice the mist coming off its form smells like the mists of the Mournland, of death and despair. As the guests scream in terror and flee in panic (“the Mourning! The Mourning has come to Sharn!”), Lord Major ir’Gadden tries to manage the unarmed and defenseless guests, attempting to herd them towards the main stairwell exiting the courtyard.

The fight is long, for the beast is tenacious and tough. Fortunately, it seems to be focused primarily on our group of ex-soldiers, ignoring for the most part the civilians. As the killing blow lands and it falls to the stones, however its body evaporates into more sickly dead-gray mist, which briefly forms into the very image of the Mark seen in the Tower of Scars four years ago. Memories come unbidden to our friends, of their dreams and those echoing words, as the glowing blue symbol dissipates.

A short scan of the mystical remnants left by the monster reveals to Veneficus that this creature was a Mourning Haunt, a demon related in some unknown manner to the Mournland. He deduces that as such, it must have been summoned by someone in the city, as there is not enough residual arcane energy in the immediate area for the ritual to have been performed nearby. But who could have summoned it, and more importantly, why?

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20 Olarune, 998YK - Sunrise, 7th Bell

Breland; Sharn
Your gaze falls upon a letter on your nightstand, delivered to you recently by a House Orien courier. Unfolding the thick vanilla-colored paper, you once again read the elegant script. It’s an invitation from a wealthy and respected nobleman by the name of Bren ir’Gadden, and he has invited you to attend a ceremony of remembrance, tonight, as his special guest.

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After the Battle

Lord Major ir’Gadden took command, instructing the squad to escort himself and Blacktree to the garrison at Kennrun. He deemed the now-slowly approaching mists too dangerous to reconnoiter at that time, with so few under his command. It seemed clear to the group that the sudden silence from the war zone now engulfed in the fog had unsettled the Lord Major, but like any good officer he was restraining his fears in the face of his men. Soon the squad came across a lone figure intent on heading into the disaster; a young human by the name of Veneficus, who claimed to be a Brelish war wizard whose orders were to report to the commander of the Brelish forces at the Battle of Searun Road. A quick inspection of his papers convinceed ir’Gadden of the truth of Veneficus’ tale, and the Lord Major ordered him to fall in with the rest of the team.

The next day’s travel brought the squad upon a flood of refugees fleeing whatever catastrophe had engulfed the nation of Cyre. Farmers, villagers, craftsmen, and a few soldiers from all nations in the battle mingled together, headed away from what some were already calling “the Mourning.” Rumors abounded, each more fanciful than the next. The Queen had attempted a desperate ritual gone terribly awry; a House Cannith forgehold suffered some kind of magical meltdown; dragons from Argonnessen had cursed the land to stop the war; even the gods were blamed, for many more reasons than there are gods. One rumor was heard with slightly more frequency than some others, however; no one who was caught in the mists survived. And as you looked over your shoulder, you could see that the mist was following, slower than it had, so suddenly, the day before, until it reached approximately the border, where the slowly coiling dead-gray fog stopped. Once you left it behind, the unease and slightly sick feeling everyone in the small troop had felt since the day before faded.

Upon arrival in the army camp outside the town of Kennrun, Lord Major ir’Gadden thanked you all for your service to the army and especially himself, and in a rare moment of self-depreciation stated, “I owe you, all of you, my very life. Please, call on me if you ever need anything, and I will do all in my power to grant it.” He then dismissed you, saying that you would be receiving new orders shortly. The six squadmates made their way into the camp, seeking the mess tent for a hot meal, and the quartermaster for bunks for the night. None of you saw or heard from Lord Major Bren ir’Gadden again.

Two years later, the signing of the Treaty of Thronehold ended the Last War, and two years after that you find yourself waking in your room in Sharn, the City of Towers, the images and echoes of your nightmares fading with the sunrise. Four years after the Battle of Searun Road, the memories of the Day of Mourning still haunt your sleep. You were lucky. If you had been a few hundred yards farther east, you would have died like so many others – your friends, comrades, and enemies in the War, the civilians of Cyre, and the soldiers who fought there.

Your dreams aren’t just about the nightmare that was the Mourning. Words run through them, urgent whispers that remind you that you were spared for some purpose:

Six at the brink of the Desolation stand as one against the Tempest’s roar.

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20 Olarune, 994YK, Early afternoon

Davian and Plunkett decide to make a quick survey of the terrain round the tower, and are surprised to see a squad of zombies shambling towards the tower! Strange orange lightning flashes across the sky, followed by a rumble of thunder that shakes the ground beneath their feet. A gust of wind, unseasonably warm, shakes the dry branches of the trees, and Davian spots two men wearing the colors and insignia of the Order of the Emerald Claw in the background, and a third figure, a gaunt woman dressed in green and black scowling at him from under a tree and gesturing towards the tower. With a quick lunge at the nearest walking corpse, he rushed back inside, shouting “We’ve got company!” Plunkett took the chance to block one of the openings in the walls while his squad-mates prepared themselves. Kel bounced off the walls to reach the top of the central wall, affording himself a high vantage from which to unleash a devastating volley from his greatbow. Pint scrambled up onto the east wall, and was able to both attack and remain unseen by the enemies below. Swaggart had his hands full trying to restrain the exhausted Lord Major from entering the fray. The eastern sky seemed to catch fire – clouds, fog, and the air itself ignited in a terrible conflagration – and the battle was joined.
The Emerald Claw agents had badly underestimated their foes. They must have figured these soldiers were mere conscripts. The zombies encroaching on the breach in the west wall were devastated in mere seconds, freeing that way for the allies to exit the tower and flank the enemy from outside, while Plunkett and Davian kept the remainder of the undead bottle-necked in the southern entrance. All the while a huge bank of gray mist, lit from within by a raging fire, swept down the Saerun Road from the east, engulfing the battlefield below. Meanwhile, Kel rained arrows from above on the leader, though she barely had time to bolster her minions. With their rotting reinforcements dropping around them, the two Claw sergeants at first pressed the attack, but as soon as the first fell, the other tried to flee. He did not succeed in that, either. Whatever the Emerald Claw wanted here, they failed to get it. The sky was illuminated in lurid orange and red, casting strange shadows across rolling banks of gray fog, while great tendrils of fiery lightning reached across it.
Lord Major Bren ir’Gadden again expressed his thanks, even though his noble-born pride was again reasserting itself. Wary of another attack, he demanded that the squad escort him and his aide to friendly lines. But as he raised the issue, the five notice something ominous. They can no longer see the fighting on the road below – it is hidden in the gray fog. Occasional flashes of fire are all they can see in the mist that hides the battleground, and the echoes of distant screams reach their ears, briefly.
But then…
Deathly silence falls over the hillside and the ruined tower. You still can’t see the battlefield below, and no more cries reach your ears. That dead-gray mist hangs in the air like a wall around Cyre – too still, too quiet. Something terrible has happened.

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20 Olarune, 994YK, Late morning

One way or another, you have found yourself in the employ of the Brelish army, and today’s battle is again on the Saerun Road near the border with Cyre. Forces from both Thrane and Aundair have joined the fight, reinforced by Zil wands, Valenar calvary, and mercenaries from both Droaam and Darguun, and now the Cyran defenders are vastly outnumbered.

The platoon captain selected five members of Gryphon Company, Davain Ashe, Swaggart, Kel’iah Dek’ar, Pint, and Plunkett, for a special ops mission to scout the ruined Tower of Scars overlooking the field of battle from a high hillside some distance away. There are two goals of the mission: 1) it’s possible the enemy is using it as a supply depot or as a command post, and 2) the Lord Major Bren ir’Gadden was captured in a skirmish a few days ago. If he is being held in the ruins, rescue him and bring him to safety.
The team approached the ruined tower jutting up from the hillside, silhouetted against the gray sky. A few leafless trees grew taller than the tower’s crumbling walls, and a mound of rubble stood piled near the entrance. Davian and Pint, scouting ahead through the sparse brush, could see no sign of activity, even through the gaping holes at the entrance and in the west wall. A low moan was heard, but the scouts were unsure if it was a breeze blowing through the gaps in the walls, or a sign of hidden danger. The team cautiously crept closer. What they could see were several mounds of dirt, like large gopher holes, both in the rubble at the entrance and in the broken flagstone floor just inside the tower. As soon as Davian stepped foot inside, four kruthik hatchlings burst from the holes and attacked! The fight was on, and in seconds more kruthiks emerged from the mound of rubble just outside, separating the party. The hatchlings were proving to be nothing but a nuisance, but then the situation became more deadly as two twisted foulspawn emerged from hiding behind the wall that split the interior into two rooms. The dolgrims attempted to use the kruthiks to their advantage, but the bugs were never able to converge on any one of the team, and fell quickly. The dolgrims soon fell as well, but not without getting a few good strikes in.
During the fight, it was seen that two men were being held prisoner by the dolgrims. Chained to the walls, one was wearing his armor and seemed to have been tortured for the sheer pleasure the foulspawn took in it. This man indeed proved to be Lord Major Bren ir’Gadden, and he identified the other man as Aric Blacktree, his aide and scion of a wealthy merchant family in Sharn. Unfortunately, Blacktree was apparently being used as an experiment, for his manacles held him fast within the area of a strange arcane mark that seemed to have been hidden under the flagstones of the tower floor. Mark of prophecyThe sigil, similar in design to the dragonmarks of the Great Houses, swirled like veins of the earth, bulging upward and visibly pulsing with magical power. After some debate, Plunkett stepped into the circle and freed Aric, who seemed catatonic. Left alone for a couple minutes, he would curl into a fetal position on the floor until moved. The Lord Major informed the party that the dolgrims had ambushed his party, slaughtered his escort, and brought them here bound and blindfolded. They kept Blacktree chained in the area of the Mark, and seemed interested if it had any effects, constantly checking his skin as if looking for something. A study of the sigil did have an effect; anyone who did so experienced a flashing montage of images, and “heard” a strange verse echoing in their head in their native tongue; “Six at the brink of the Desolation stand as one against the Tempest’s Roar.” Davian scrapes a sample of the Mark into a vial, and realizes that studying the contents has the same effect. It was decided that the party and their charges would set camp, and return in the morning.

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Welcome to your Adventure Log!
A blog for your campaign

Every campaign gets an Adventure Log, a blog for your adventures!

While the wiki is great for organizing your campaign world, it’s not the best way to chronicle your adventures. For that purpose, you need a blog!

The Adventure Log will allow you to chronologically order the happenings of your campaign. It serves as the record of what has passed. After each gaming session, come to the Adventure Log and write up what happened. In time, it will grow into a great story!

Best of all, each Adventure Log post is also a wiki page! You can link back and forth with your wiki, characters, and so forth as you wish.

One final tip: Before you jump in and try to write up the entire history for your campaign, take a deep breath. Rather than spending days writing and getting exhausted, I would suggest writing a quick “Story So Far” with only a summary. Then, get back to gaming! Grow your Adventure Log over time, rather than all at once.

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