Forsaken

Slaughter in the Evening
Hope Dies

Far, Sypheros 20th, 997 C.Y.

After a long and relentless journey your paths have brought you to your destination. Exhausted, your feet and back aching, you wander the small refugee camp. Muddy roads lead you past small hovels and tents with many families sharing food and quiet conversation over cooking fires. The eye you with caution and whisper to each other. They appear beaten and thin but they speak hopefully of New Cyre. You leave in the morning. There is no rest for the weary.

Four Days Later
Zol, Sypheros 24th, 997 C.Y.

The camp had been filled with the gentle sounds of evening. Children ran between the tents playing tag, women laughed while stirring pots of food and men talked fondly of times past. The journey from the settlement on Lake Crye had been uneventful. Kraken Bay was only a days journey away.

You were just settling in to your evening meal, the sun setting on the horizon when the warforged attacked from the brush. Women, children, men; young and old fell before them. They showed no remorse and no mercy.

The next few minutes were laden with terror as the innocent scattered before the onslaught. You helped lead the refugees up a ragged hill that did its best to steal the air from you lungs until they burned with every breath. At the top, you had earlier seen an abandoned watch tower built into a cliff face and it was there you hoped to find reprieve.

The warforged nipped at your heels claiming more victims with terrible blows. Overhead, another warforged circled the sky astride a huge, mechanical, winged beast, surveying the damage from on high.

Minutes later you find yourselves barricading the double doors to the tower with your bodies. Dust shakes from its planks with every blow your enemies levy against it. Ten minutes ago you were strangers. A Half-Elven Sorcerer, a battle scarred Warforged and a Human son of House Orien, all smugglers now stand shoulder to shoulder with a Goliath Monk and a Shifter Swordmage of the same monestary. You are now joined by a new stranger, a Human Inovoker carrying all the trapping of a devotee of the Blood of Vol. Exchanging cautious glances you realize that your enemy is determined to finish what they have started and you are in this together. Behind you, The wounded and scared huddle together. Children cry, a woman attempts to stifle a hearwretching sob, fear is every where. Half the refugees you started this journey with remain.

Suddenly the pounding stops. A mechanical voice shouts out, “Give us the old man and the rest of you shall live. He is in possession of something that was rightfully ours. If not, we will butcher you all. We’ll start with the women and the children and make you watch.”

You grasp the mantle of leadership and begin to order the remaining refugees down a perilous flight of stairs. Meanwhile some of you find debris to further barricade the door to buy time. This tower has been abandoned for some time and it is fraught with hazards and you find tracks indicating that something else has made it their home but keep this to yourselves. All is going well until a small group of refugees moves across weak section of wood floor sending them to the floor below. Hanceg, the Warforged Dicarius and Gerrard glance at each other nervously as they realize Easton Bois was amoung them. But there is no time as the door gives way. As a group you decide to hold the doorway. The warforged funnel into you to be repulsed every time. Behind them more warforged await.

You decsend the steps into a dark, damp, room. The warforged attempt to follow. A few gather overhead by the hole and watch you intently. You can faintly make out the outlines of a passage, once hidden, that leads into the cliff face. Your light reflects off what at first appears to be a large pool. You then notice a crack in the wall against the rock face and water steadily seeping in. A few islands of mud and debris dot the water covered floor. Just as your eyes adjust to the dim light a dire bear charges from the tunnel and hungry rats seem to crawl out from every crevice. More refugees fall, their deaths a shrieking horror that echos off the walls. From above, decrepit warforged soldiers break through the floor and drop down to join the fray. It is a hectic fight but you move the refugees into a passageway that leads through the cliff.

After a long climb you emerge at the top of a precarious cliff, the tower below you to your right. A small thin plateau stretches out before you. Ahead, the full moon reveals a path leading down the far side of the cliff.

The refugees are noticably relieved as it seems your pusuers have abandoned their attempts to keep up.

The relief quickly turns to gasps of horror as you hear the clanking of mechanical wings and the shadow of a dragon-like creature passing overhead.

Swooping to the ground in front of you is a large, forged, beast of prey. The metal of its hide gleams in the moonlight. It’s eyes glow a menacing red. Riding on the beast back is a warforged with a large spear and a sword at his waste.

“This ends here,” he says.

His name is Slag and he and his forged, flying drake leaps into and out of battle creating mayhem. Three Iron Cobras slink through the grass, darting from opponent to opponent. One of them corners an elven woman and her child. Just as it rears its head to strike you are all engulfed in black storm of arcane energy. Purple fingers of power swirl around your legs and it feels as if your very life may be sucked out of you. And in an instant it disappears. Analla and her child remain standing. The Cobra is a blackened husk. Slag is soon unseated from his mount and falls in battle.

The rest of the journey is less hopeful but you eventually arrive in New Crye and deliver your charges. A young man who assisted you in your escape, Alton Atwater, gives you each a small dragonshard pendant. He says to look within the shard when it glows to find work. His father, Burris, is always in need of sellswords.

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Out of Sharn
Scoundrels Need Work Too

Zol, Sypheros 3rd, 997 C.Y.
Location: Sharn, City of Towers, Firelight district.

A loud knock on the door wakes the both of you from your slumber. The warforged warrior Dicarius, who never sleeps, grabs his sword and moves to the door before either one of you has lifted your heads from the pillow. Still groggy from last night’s festivities, Gerrard, slowly pulls himself from his bed and grabs his dagger from the belt slung on the foot of the bed. In the early morning light he almost stumbles over Hanceg, who sleepily slaps his foot away from his face, “Hey! Watch it.”

Moving next to the warforged, Gerrard grumpily shouts through the door, “Who is it!?”

“Sivis Courrier Service. I have a message for a Jerren Orthus and Alvis Kanan,” comes the muffled reply.

With this, Hanceg stirs from bed and moves to the back of the room and readies a quick spell. Gerrard moves in front of the warforged and cracks open the door. His eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness in the hallway. It takes him a couple of seconds to realize he must look down. There, no higher than his knees is a young gnome messenger waving a piece of parchment. “Papers please,” the gnome, says cheerily. Hanceg grabs Gerrard’s false identification papers from the desk and tosses them to him from across the room.

Snatching them from the air, Gerrard flips them in front of the gnomes face. “Very well,” the gnome replies. “Here you go. Have a nice day.” With a yawn Gerrard closes the door.

“What does it say?” Dicarius asks in a deep mechanical tone.

Gerrard opens the letter and begins to read aloud.

“Jerren Orthus and Alvis Kanan and company,

Considering you have been languishing in Sharn the past few days I can only assume you are broke and available for work.

Along the southern coast of Lake Cyre in Valenar is a small Cyran refugee camp. Some of these refugees will be moving to New Cyre in Breland very soon via Kraken Bay. Among them is an old man by the name of Easton Bois. He has a very important artifact. See that both of them make it safely to New Cyre.

We will negotiate a fair and reasonable price for your service upon completion as we always do.

Halen Jornus

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It Begins at the End of the World
A Prelude for Whisper and Skywatcher

Zol, Sypheros 3rd, 997 C.Y.
Location: Monastery of the Rising Sun, End of The World Mountain range.

Rising from evening vespers you both make your way to the dining hall. The halls of the Monastery of the Rising Sun are peaceful; the only sound is the rustle of your robes on the floor and the chirp of sparrows in the garden. Passing monks give a curtly nod but then continue on in their duties.

You take your seats in the dining hall. The fire in the hearth warms your back against the autumn chill. You both say a silent prayer and are quickly served by a young acolyte. You are engrossed in your meal when Master Allister Faust takes a seat on the bench next to you.

“Good evening my sister and brother.”

Your backs stiffen and you stop chewing your food. This is unusual. Master Faust does not normally join his fellow monks for dinner, preferring to take his meals in his quarters. You hastily mumble a quick “Evening Master,” your mouths filled with food.

Master Faust folds his hands on the table. “I have a task for the both of you. As you know our brothers and sisters at our monastery on Lake Cyre tends to a Cyran refugee camp along it’s outskirts. Despite our best efforts, this community of refugees has failed to thrive. Seventy-five or so refugees have requested our assistance in relocating to New Cyre in Breland, via Kraken Bay. The Monastery of Lake Cyre cannot spare any of its members for this task, which is why I’m giving it to you. You are to see them safely to their destination.”

Again in unison your reply, “Yes, Master.”

Faust allows a faint smile to spread across his thin lips. “Good. Amongst the refugees, you will find a blind Arenenal woman, Analla. She has a young child. Pay special attention to her and the baby. See that they meet Brother Ostego in New Cyre. He shall care for them from there. You leave in the morning.”

With that he stands, leans over the table, and kisses you both on the forehead. “May Dol Arrah and Dol Dorn guide you, may they protect you and may their truth light your way into the darkness. May they keep you safe.” With this blessing he leaves you to stare at each other across your plates.

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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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