Forgotten Realms 1372

OFFICIAL ADVENTURE LOG: Prologue- The Heroes Converge

Corymr, the Forest Kingdom. Once a shining example of righteousness and civility in Faerun, now a hotbed of political strife and uncertain futures. Roads long traveled by the citizens are now blanketed with dangers, and cities the strongholds of embattled corrupt politicians. Their battlefields the once welcoming streets and rolling hills, their casualties the decency and culture they once protected.
Five strangers, to each other and to Cormyr, converge on one fateful night. Each of them drawn to Immersea for different reasons, each carrying a burden of purpose within themselves. Through a seemingly random occurrence of events, the heroes were joined, and though friends were lost or parted from, their group was formed.
A Half-Orc, searching for redemption and solace from a life filled with Chaos; A Genasi, seeking knowledge of the world to escape the shackles of tradition; A Dwarf, refugee from his home and his culture, clinging to a last small piece of hope; A human, seeking ancient secrets to help strengthen a mysterious and dangerous bond; A man out of time, and perhaps out of touch with this world itself.
There would be no plaque where this meeting happened, no statue denoting the freedom their meeting afforded. There would hardly be mention of this event in the histories, although it was by far the most important moment in the history of the Ebon Flame.
This story, it seems, would be lost to all if not for this accounting, I put ink to parchment even now to help those who would seek the reasons for the Sundering and the Battle of the Ebon Flame understand why those events had to unfold, despite the costs, and to understand those who shouldered the burden of their choices.

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of the finding of things long lost to the world, and the rebirth of Kul Hadar
It seems so long ago now, that I took my first steps on the path I now tread. I can only muse and speculate as to whether or not the cold summers spent with my mother’s folk in Narfell following the herds of elk, and the winters spent further south with my father’s family being tutored and schooled in the ways of the world, have helped to prepare me for what’s to come. It began with the coming of spring. I had finished my studies at my father’s home and had traveled north to Narfell to meet with my mother’s tribe. The tribe had been following a small herd of red elk into territory that was unfamiliar to me. As we camped one evening, I set out to explore in an attempt to satiate my ever burgeoning curiosity. I found myself pursuing an enormous black fox that led me afar on the mighty fields of the tundra. For many leagues I trailed it, coming never within reach of the beast; and at length I came to a great mound on the plain that seemed to mark the position of a buried hill. I thought that the fox entered a cavern in the mound; so, with little fear and a piqued interest, I went after it into the cavern. The place was like a chamber of boreal kings or gods. All about me, in a dim green light, were huge, glimmering pillars; and giant icicles hung from the roof in the form of stalactites. The floor sloped downward; and I came to the cave’s end without finding any trace of the fox. I discovered at the farthest end of the cave, in the lowermost portion of the glistening walls, a thin fissure wide enough to admit an individual of my slight build. Peering into it I could sense the openness of the space beyond and clambered through the narrow opening into the darkness of the adjacent chamber. The crack opened into a sloping tunnel which I began to make my way down, by means of feeling along the smooth surface of the walls and searching blindly before myself with my other hand to ward off any overhanging stone formations that I might stumble into. I proceeded in this manner for two dozen paces before the ground seemed to give way beneath me and I slid headlong down into the inky blackness of the cave’s hidden recesses. I came to a stop at the entrance of a chamber bathed in the same dim green light as the one I had initially entered, and in that light I beheld the subtle outline of the room before me. It was a squat, plain temple of black basalt blocks without a single carving, and containing only a vacant onyx pedestal. There issued forth from the pedestal a soft and alluring sound which reminded me at once of being held by my mother after having woken in a cold sweat brought on by the many nightmares I was plagued with as a child. The sound was a song, but not the song of any voice. Night and the spheres sang it, and it was old when space and Mystra and the other Gods were born. I was captivated by it and found myself settling to the floor and drifting into a kind of half-sleep in which I perceived the chamber filling with mist. The mist billowed into clouds and I had the sensation of floating up off of the cold stone floor and ascending into the impossible space above the chamber. Then suddenly the clouds thinned and the stars shone spectrally above. All below was still black, but those pallid beacons in the sky seemed alive with a meaning and directness they had never possessed elsewhere. It was not that the figures of the constellations were different, but that the same familiar shapes now revealed a significance they had formerly failed to make plain. Everything focused toward the north; every curve and asterism of the glittering sky became part of a vast design whose function was to hurry first the eye and then the whole observer onward to some secret and terrible goal of convergence beyond the frozen waste that stretched endlessly ahead. There was a strange and ominous presence with me then, which surrounded me and filled me. It spoke to me in long dead languages which I comprehended plainly, though I had never before heard their like. It wove into my mind tales of places and things which now remain only half-remembered, as if seen in a dream. It held me and bore me gently to the ground as the blackness about me fell over my eyes like a pall. I thought myself passed from the realm of the living, awaiting Kelemvor’s judgment before entering the afterlife, but opened my eyes to find myself lying at the entrance to the cavern in the mound and with the vaguest recollection of thunder in the distance. I returned to the camp and was met with suspicious stares and sidelong glances. I recall that the people of the tribe went about with pale and worried faces, and whispered warnings and prophecies which no one dared consciously repeat or acknowledge to himself that he had heard. A sense of monstrous guilt was upon the land, and out of the abysses between the stars swept chill currents that made men shiver in dark and lonely places. My dreams that night were filled with strange and dark things and I awoke with the sense that I needed to leave, that something was waiting for me out in the world. I gathered my things and absentmindedly left camp in the early twilight hours of the morning. I was confident that my feet would carry me in the right direction, though I knew not why, or to where I was being led. Kul
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Before the Flame

I don’t remember much of my childhood. Amn isn’t a great place for orphans. You hear it’s a mean city, and you hear right, but it’s a different kind of mean. I’d call it “sophisticated” but what does that mean in a city so full of corruption? Not that there wasn’t a place to be carved out by those willing to dirty their hands. I’m living proof of that, as were my brothers. Not brothers by blood, but by circumstance. When we worked together, we ate. When we cooperated, we managed to find places to keep out of the cold. And woe be to you if you wandered across our path. We left countless numbers of dandies in the streets and alleys, slowly bleeding out, relieved of their coin and jewelry. I’d like to say that there was a silenced dignity among us, that we had some remorse for the things we did, the things that we had to do to survive. That might make it sound better than it is. But the truth is, I enjoyed it. The terror in their eyes. The scent of fear. I felt a fierce glee when we collectively beat those rich snobs into unconsciousness. Maybe it’s my orcish blood. I knew on some level that they weren’t actually responsible for my upbringing, for the nights I went hungry, but they had and I had not. That was enough to give me the fire. That was all that mattered. They had no compassion, and nor did I. We didn’t have any delusions about our lot in life. The path I walked is a short one. The rotating cast of figures with black sacks over their faces hanging from the Silvermoor Bridge was a typical end for those of us forgotten by polite society. So what changed? Karash Stonesoul

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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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