Session 5 – Sea and Shadows

As the sun’s golden rays stretched across the horizon, our adventurers arrived in Gonbay, a city where the pulse of ancient magic beats in harmony with the bustling rhythm of trade. This coastal metropolis, a melting pot of cultures and races, welcomed them with the vibrant life of its Harbor District. Here, the air was filled with the salty tang of the sea, the cacophony of dockworkers, and the allure of distant lands brought close by the myriad of ships at anchor.

Navigating through the crowded streets, they were captivated by the architectural marvels that towered above, each telling a story of Gonbay’s rich history and the complex dance of power and diplomacy that shaped it.

Negotiation With Ironhelm

Upon reaching the bustling Harbor , their gaze was caught by Captain Ironhelm, his presence as commanding as his ship anchored nearby. The captain, with a deep southern drawl, greeted them, “Well, if it ain’t some familiar faces lookin’ to cross the seas,” he said. After a quick exchange on pricing, he continued. “It’s a steep fee, mind you. At least 1,100 gold for the voyage.”

The adventurers exchanged glances, the weight of their quest pressing upon them. “That’s a hefty sum,” Cetiri remarked, her eladrin grace undiminished by the salt air. Rabbert chimed in, “but what if we could offer you some cargo for the return journey? Would that lower the cost?”

Ironhelm stroked his beard, considering. “Hmm, cargo, you say? That might just work. Tell you what, I’ll wait until tomorrow before lookin’ for another delivery. Gives you time to find your funds… or this cargo you speak of.”

Revelations to an Old Friend

Sparked with an idea, Rabbert led them to the grand library in Gonbay, where they sought the wisdom of Lirael Swiftmane. The Leonin librarian, with her regal demeanor and scholarly air, greeted them amidst the tomes that whispered secrets of ages past. “Ah, Rabbi, and friends, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Lirael’s tone, warm and tinged with a playful note towards Rabbert, set the stage for their urgent requests.

Initially, they proposed a scheme to fund their voyage through a book transport deal, leveraging the library’s extensive network. “I’m afraid that’s beyond my ability to authorize,” Lirael responded, her regret genuine. Yet, she quickly offered an alternative, her mind ever working towards solutions. “There’s a stone tablet in Thewale with inscriptions that could enlighten us greatly. Retrieving it would be worth 4,000 gold to the library. However, it will take time to arrange the funds and necessary paperwork.”

Time, however, was a luxury Rabbert did not have. “Lirael, there is something I need to tell you,” Rabbert interjected, his voice heavy with a dire revelation. “My experiments with time magic… they’ve left me with just a few months.”

The room fell silent, the weight of Rabbert’s confession hanging in the air. Illidan, seizing the moment of contemplative pause, added, “Perhaps, in light of Rabbert’s situation, you could also assist Captain Ironhelm in securing a liquor license? It could greatly aid our cause.”

Lirael’s initial hesitation was palpable. “You ask for much,” she sighed, a frown creasing her brow. But the turning point came when Rabbert, driven by desperation, revealed the critical information uncovered beneath Etenward. The implications of their discovery, especially concerning the potential misuse by those seeking power, shook Lirael to her core.

“This changes everything,” Lirael whispered, her earlier reservations swept away by the tide of urgency. “You must leave Gonbay tonight. I will arrange for the gold and the documentation you require for Thewale, and yes, I’ll see what I can do about the license for Captain Ironhelm.”

Back to the Harbor

The group quickly left. Along the way back to the harbor, Rabbert and Cetiri decided to contact an acauintance from the Taldash desert. Making their way to the city’s Sending Stones, they wondered if they should use a quicker method. A small human at the front desk suggested a Messenger Wi, a small flightless bird, if they were willing to pay. Curious about the creature, Illidan cast a spell allowing him to speak with the creature. The small bird, carrying a pack on its back, said he would gladly help deliver a message to anyone – for a peck. Not sure what that meant, Illidan and Cetiri agreed, and watched Bart lap up a small prick of blood from their hand.

Not to be slowed down, Rabbert quickly made a message to give Bart in hopes of it finding Tiefer, a tiefling they had met during the Festival of Renewal. Satisfied, the group continued to the docks.

As evening cloaked Gonbay, the adventurers stood at the cusp of the Luminous Harbor, witnessing the transformation from day to night. As darkness settled, the water began to shimmer with an otherworldly glow, blues and greens weaving through the waves. This spectacle, born from bioluminescent algae nurtured by the city’s mages, painted the harbor in vibrant light, making each ship afloat in its radiance a part of this mesmerizing scene.

A Daring Escape

The Dream Seekers approached Ironhelm, their voices earnest with the weight of their mission. “We’ve secured everything we need,” Rabbert announced, his determination cutting through the festive air. “But our departure cannot wait until dawn. We must leave tonight.”

“In the thick of this celebration? That’s not possible. We’ll never get the Dock Master’s approval to leave,” Ironhelm retorted, his gaze sweeping across the crowded docks.

As the group pleaded with the Captain to depart immediately, a silent figure in gray robes approached, bearing the promise of aid from Lirael. Without a word, the figure presented the adventurers with the gold and documentation they desperately needed. Cetiri, stepping forward, confirmed the contents of the pouch, reassuring Captain Ironhelm of their readiness and the impending procurement of his coveted liquor license.

“Well I do declare,” Captain Ironhelm said in disbelief as he looked down at the gold and documents. “You weren’t lyin’ afterall.”

Lyria and Illidan, recognizing the urgency of their departure, darted among the crowds to gather the crew, their spirits lifted by the night’s revelry. Lyria, with a keen sense of duty, sought out Ironhelm’s daughter, weaving tales of the grand adventure that lay ahead to inspire her participation.

The crew, though half drunk, were convinced to help ready the ship. As they began their preparations, the harbor guards approached, their intentions clear in the firmness of their stride. “This harbor is closed to departures at this hour. Stand down and explain yourselves,” the lead guard shouted up to Rabbert.

Unyielding, the adventurers sprang into action. Rabbert, with a gesture, summoned the might of the ocean, sending waves crashing against the dock that staggered the approaching guards.

“Well, there’s no turning back now,” Lyria said as she darted off to command the crew and take a spot at the front of the ship. Illidan, noticing more guards approaching, cloaked their actions in a dense fog, obscuring their movements from prying eyes.

Alerted to the new guards, Cetiri, targeted the ballista with a burst of eldritch energy, rendering it useless. As the guards regrouped, launching a desperate attempt to board the ship in a smaller vessel, Rabbert’s magic turned the sea against them, capsizing their boat and giving them the time they needed to escape.

“Who are you?” Lyria said as she approached the hooded figure, now occupying the Captain’s quarters. “I’m Lyria.”

“Though you have no price on your name, I do not give mine freely,” he said, his voice gruff and accented. As the figure pulled down his hood, Lyria was taken aback momentarily. His appearance, perhaps Gnomish, was slightly odd – he had no hair, no eyebrows, pale skin, and his eyes seemed too light for the dim room.”

With the harbor’s magical lights fading into the distance, the ship set sail into the dark embrace of the sea, leaving behind the guards’ shouts and the city’s luminescence. Ahead lay the unknown, their course set by the stars and the secrets they guarded.

Session 4 – Shadows and Light

Desperate Preparations and a Fiery Assault

As night crept over the horizon, the adventurers gathered around the massive crossbow, a relic of their recent skirmish. Illidan, with a steady hand, mended the colossal bolts, while Cetiri tore sections of her dress, using it to infuse her fairy mead into an incendiary weapon, poised to turn the tide of battle. With the crossbow strategically suspended for mobility, they waited for their moment. As the Aurox butcher and his hellboars took the bait, Rabbert gave the signal. The fiery bolt flew, pinning their foe to a tent and engulfing him in a searing blaze.

Awakening the Necromantic Matriarch

The sudden demise of the butcher stirred a deeper evil within the camp. From the shadows emerged the grotesque Aurox mother, her presence exuding a palpable aura of dark magic. Cetiri gasped as the Aurox Mother began pouring blood over the fallen hounds, her actions resurrecting them amidst a swirl of necromantic energy.

The battle with the Aurox mother was a harrowing dance of death and decay. Her noxious gas filled the air, making every breath a challenge, Cetiri found herself coated in her foul blood. The adventurers fought with everything they had, their weapons clashing against the revived hounds. In a whirlwind of steel and blood, Lyria once again slaughtered the hounds despite their recent ressurection. Illidan, in an impressive feat, ran up a decaying tree providing him with the height advantage he needed to sink two arrows into the bloody creature, mortally wounding it.

In the aftermath, the group started to collect their wits and form a plan as Cetiri spotted and secured a Sorrowbloom from beneath the twisted form of their foe.

Stealth and Surprise

After a brief respite, the group, carrying their makeshift siege weapon, advanced with renewed purpose towards the heart of the Aurox camp. Lyria led the stealthy approach, her rogue’s instincts guiding them past unseen dangers. Reaching the chieftain’s tent, she deftly cut a small opening, revealing the unsuspecting beast within.

The ambush on the shaman’s tent was almost flawless, except for Rabbert’s accidental strike on the sacrifices. “Forgive me,” he muttered, regret clouding his eyes. Quickly regaining composure, they launched a coordinated assault. Spells and a second flaming bolt flew through the air, finding their mark. The shaman, caught unawares, fell quickly, his dark magic silenced.

The Chieftain’s Wrath and a Hero’s Fall

The shaman’s demise roused the beast lord, the Aurox chieftain, from his slumber. With a roar that shook the earth, he burst forth, battleaxe in hand. The clash that followed was brutal and relentless. Illidan fought valiantly, but the chieftain’s strength was overwhelming. With mighty swings, the axe found its mark over and over as it cleaved into the ranger’s body. Illidan fell, his life snuffed out in an instant. “No, Illidan!” Cetiri screamed, her voice echoing with despair.

In their grief, the group rallied, fighting with a ferocity born of loss. Lyria, channeling her anguish into strength, struck the final blow, her blade sliding across his Achilles heel before sinking through the skull of the falling Aurox chieftain.

Grief, Choices, and the Unexpected

The battlefield fell silent. Rabbert, unsure what to do, reached out to Ioun. Still the answer was not clear. Torn between the knowledge contained within the ancient scroll and the life of their fallen comrade, Rabbret chose to preserve the scroll. “This knowledge must endure,” he said somberly. “What’s dead is dead,” Lyria said, her voice resolute.

But Cetiri, unwilling to accept this fate, placed the sorrow bloom into Illidan’s mouth, hoping against hope for a miracle. Rabbert tried to stop her, but his age slowed him. In that moment, Illidan’s mind awoke in the realm of stars.

“Is your hunt finished?” Acrurus asked. “No,” Illidan replied.

“But why? What is the reason you hunt?” Arcturus demanded. The ranger was slow to respond.

“For now, go. Continue your hunt. But you must find a reason. Speak to me when I am highest in the sky, and give me your answer,” he commanded, sending Illidan back to the living world.

Mysterious Blade and a New Quest

In the quiet that followed Illidan’s miraculous resurrection, Lyria’s attention was drawn elsewhere. Amidst the remnants of their foes, she unearthed a blade of unusual make – dark, slender, and emanating a strange aura. As she grasped it, the blade began to whisper in a voice that was both enticing and unsettling. “Ah, finally, a worthy hand,” it murmured, its tone laced with a hunger that seemed ancient and insatiable. “But I hunger so much. Feed me,” the voice continued, compelling Lyria towards an action she hadn’t anticipated. With a mixture of curiosity and unease, she plunged the blade into the fallen Aurox, appeasing its thirst momentarily. The blade quieted, its whispers subsiding into a satisfied silence, leaving Lyria to ponder the true nature and origins of this weapon.

Tuxil, the Trinket Lord, materialized once more before them. His presence, as always, was an mix of mystery and allure. “The threads of fate weave tightly around you,” he intoned, his gaze piercing each of them. “But I need your help. I need the ore that Cetiri carries.”

Through a series of exchanges, Rabbert pressed the importance of his quest to the Tal’dash desert and the completion of The Great Partnership. Tuxil, admitting his inability to influence the material plane to a great degree, offered to save them as much time as he could by sending them back to Rabbert’s warren.

Session 3 – Across the Plains

Journey Through the Washed Plains

The journey of our adventurers unfolded under a radiant sun, casting its warmth over the vast Washed Plains. This sprawling savannah, with its gentle breezes and open skies, presented a serene backdrop to their travels. Leading the group, Illidan and Rabbert expertly navigated the terrain, their familiarity with the land evident in every confident step.

However, not all was smooth sailing. Cetiri, the group’s Eladrin warlock, found herself struggling with an uncharacteristic weariness. The relentless sun and the long journey took a toll on her, her usual vibrancy dimmed by the day’s exertions.

As the evening approached and their destination still out of reach, the group decided to camp amidst the plains. They foraged, finding berries and rabbits, which they cooked over an open fire. The simple meal, shared in the camaraderie of the group, brought a comforting end to their tiring day.

Cetiri’s Mystical Encounter with Tuxil

In the quiet of the night, Cetiri sought solitude at the camp’s edge. There, in a moment touched by the arcane, Tuxil, the Trinket Lord, appeared before her in his fox-like form.

“Cetiri, you asked me to take a piece of the Aethium. I trust your wisdom, but I need to understand. Why was it so important?” she inquired, her voice tinged with both respect and curiosity.

Tuxil’s reply was as mysterious as his form, “The Aethium is not just any material. It’s born from the divine, capable of holding magics that challenge the gods themselves. Its reappearance is a sign, a sign of an impending upheaval, a prophecy unfolding.”

Cetiri’s eyes widened, “A prophecy? What kind of upheaval?”

“A second Sundering, a war of the gods that looms on the horizon. A war that threatens all realms,” Tuxil elaborated, his voice grave yet compelling.

As Tuxil unveiled the prophecy and spoke of the Whisperers, ancient beings with foresight gifted by the Old Ones, Cetiri listened intently, absorbing the gravity of his words. The revelation of the prophecy, veiled in mystery and riddles, left her with a deep sense of the crucial role she and her companions were to play in the face of this foreboding future.

Discovery of the Warren

Simultaneously, Rabbert, guided by the nostalgic aroma of roast carrots and onions, found his way to his Warren. His heart swelled with memories as he was greeted by Flickerfoot, a lively Harengon with an infectious spirit of mischief.

“Flickerfoot, my old friend! It’s been too long,” Rabbert exclaimed, his voice filled with joy.

“Rabbert! You’ve returned! The Warren has missed your presence,” Flickerfoot replied, his eyes twinkling with delight.

Rabbert then sought his father, Rabbchard, the revered Burrow Elder. Despite his son’s return, Rabbchard maintained the traditions of the Warren, ensuring Rabbert joined the meal queue like everyone else, a humble gesture that spoke volumes of their customs.

In the meantime, Rabbert requested Flickerfoot to fetch Lyria, Cetiri, and Illidan, inviting them to join the warm embrace of the Warren. As the night deepened, the campfire flickered, casting a gentle glow on the faces of our adventurers, their minds filled with thoughts of prophecies, ancient beings, and the adventures that lay ahead.

Rabbert’s Heartfelt Revelation

Upon their return to the Warren, the atmosphere took a turn towards the somber as Rabbert gathered his companions for a personal revelation. Under the dim glow of the Warren’s lanterns, he shared a burdensome secret. “In my quest for knowledge in Balygax, I stumbled upon an ancient and unknown magic, a force of time itself,” Rabbert began, his voice laced with a mix of wonder and regret. “While I harnessed its power, it exacted a heavy toll – it rapidly aged me.” His eyes, filled with a quiet acceptance, met each of his friends. “I fear I have but three months to live, but there may be answers, a sliver of hope, in the vast stretches of the Tal’Dash Desert.”

Guidance from Rabbchard and the Gift of Thornstriders

In the midst of this revelation, Rabbchard, Rabbert’s father, expressed his desire to assist, though he emphasized the importance of respecting nature’s ways. “There are paths laid out by nature, and sometimes, they lead us to answers unknown,” Rabbchard counseled, his words imbued with a deep reverence for the natural world. Though he was quick to offer aid, the hint of disappointment laced his words.

Stressing the importance of time, Rabbert asked if the group would be allowed Thornstriders, mystical creatures that bore the elegance of a horse, the agility of an antelope, and the spryness of a jackrabbit.

The conversation soon turned to the topic of Lethe’s Tears, a rare potion known to the Harengon. Rabbchard explained its significance and the key ingredient required – Sorrowbloom, a plant flourishing only in places marked by sorrow. “If you chance upon Sorrowbloom in your travels, know that it holds the power to ease the burdens of memory,” he explained. The group, considering their upcoming quest with the Gemgori, hoped to find this elusive herb, aiming to use it for their friend Derek’s sake.

Learning and Departure

As their time at the Warren drew to a close, the adventurers met with Flickerfoot, a friend of Rabbert’s, who taught them the nuances of riding Thornstriders. Each member was paired with a Thornstrider matching their size and temperament, forging new bonds with these extraordinary creatures.

In a quiet moment before their departure, Illidan engaged in a deep conversation with Rabbchard, learning about the Children of Melora. Rabbchard spoke of these minor gods as guardians of the night sky, each a constellation watching over the world. “Their lights guide us in darkness, their stories remind us of the eternal dance of the cosmos,” Rabbchard imparted, his gaze turning towards the starlit sky.

With new knowledge, companions, and resolve, the group set forth from the Warren, their hearts and minds set on the challenges and mysteries that awaited them in the vast expanse of their adventure.

Across The Plains

The journey of the adventurers across the Washed Plains was a tapestry of light-hearted moments and foreboding omens. Their trusted Thornstriders, each with its unique temperament, offered a brief respite from the gravity of their quest. Among them, one Thornstrider, whimsically inclined towards the life of a seahorse, persistently veered towards any hint of water, eliciting chuckles and playful admonitions from the group. Lyria, with a smile, gently guided the creature back to their path, murmuring, “The sea’s call is strong, but our destiny lies elsewhere.”

As they moved further, the plains began to reveal a more somber story. The vibrant hues of the savannah gradually dimmed, succumbing to a lifeless gray. The once lush grasses lay withered, a silent testament to an unseen corruption spreading its tendrils across the land. Illidan, his eyes reflecting the plains’ desolation, whispered, “This land mourns, its essence tainted by a darkness we must soon face.”

Mist and Blades

Drawing near to the Aurox camp, the group decided to leave their Thornstriders in a concealed location, proceeding on foot with a mix of caution and resolute determination. The sight that greeted them was one of ruin and desecration – an ancient camp now a stronghold for the corrupted Aurox. Rabbert, his eyes scanning the bleak horizon, advised in a low voice, “Be vigilant. These ruins hold more than just shadows.”

In preparation for the confrontation, Illidan tapped into the ancient magic of the skies, summoning a dense Fog Cloud that enveloped the watchtower. His voice, steady and imbued with the power of the elements, echoed, “Let the mist conceal our intent.” Simultaneously, Rabbert directed his Unseen Servant to ignite fires at strategic points, setting the watchtower ablaze.

The battle against the Aurox was a fierce test of their mettle. The first of the corrupted creatures, lured into their trap, charged with relentless fury. The adventurers met its assault with a fusion of steel and arcane force, undeterred even as the creature displayed a daunting resilience, rising repeatedly from the brink of defeat.

Amidst the clash, a moment of crisis unfolded as Cetiri fell victim to a crossbow bolt, her body pinned mercilessly against a tree. Time seemed to pause as Lyria dashed to her side, her actions swift and desperate. “Fight on, Cetiri. Your tale is far from over,” she urged, her hands working feverishly to free Cetiri from the bolt’s cruel grip.

As the Fog Cloud began to dissipate, revealing the chaos beneath the watchtower, a decisive moment arrived. Lyria, seizing the opportunity amidst the turmoil, lunged forward with the determination of a tempest, her rapier cutting through the air to deliver a fatal blow to the Aurox. The creature fell, its corrupted life extinguished by her decisive strike.

In the aftermath of battle, the group gathered, their hearts heavy yet unbroken. The fallen Aurox and the remnants of the watchtower stood as silent witnesses to their struggle. “Our journey presses onward, deeper into the heart of darkness,” Rabbert stated, his voice resolute. The group, bound by their shared ordeal, prepared to venture further, their resolve hardened by the challenges they had overcome and those that lay ahead.

Session 2 – Aelith’s Legacy

The Clash with the Celestial

The chamber, once a silent guardian of the forgotten, erupted into a maelstrom as Archeron, the radiant embodiment of celestial might, unleashed his fury upon the adventurers. His form, a beacon of blinding light, sent forth waves of searing luminescence, each shard a knife-edge of divine wrath. The adventurers, caught in the tempest of his power, fought not just for treasure, but for survival.

Archeron’s voice boomed through the chaos, a call of defiance, “You cannot quench the light of the heavens!” Around them, the air crackled, the very atmosphere alive with radiant energy as he conjured a circle of light that lashed out like a sunburst, a radiant storm that threatened to overwhelm them.

Lyria, nimble and resolute, wove through the cascading light, an echo of shadows amidst brilliance as she managed to dodge every radiant spear. Her blade, a streak of enchanted steel amidst the light, moved with a grace born of desperation, her strikes a chorus of metal and will against the unyielding guardian.

Despite the intensity of Archeron’s power, the players found themselves making ground. Even with its faceless nature, Illidan’s keen eye could see the struggle in the movements of Aelith’s protector. Archeron’s form shimmered at the onslaught from the adventurers. 

With a voice that resonated like the tolling of a cosmic bell he declared, “You cannot hide from the light of judgment!” In a moment of awe and terror, Archeron became pure radiance, a beam of light that pierced through the adventurers, searing them with the essence of the heavens. He ricocheted through the chamber like a divine arrow loosed from the bow of the gods themselves.

In the chaos, Rabbert’s form crumpled. Cetiri followed. But Aelith was not the only god present in this chamber. Rabbert felt the cold embrace of darkness as he fell. In that liminal space between life and death, he heard the whisper of Ioun, a single word that seemed to echo across the planes: “Learn.” With newfound breath that defied the grasp of death, Rabbert’s eyes snapped open.

Cetiri lay beside him, her vitality slipping away. Rabbert, his movements fueled by urgency and the last vestiges of his strength, reached for a health potion. “Hold on, friend,” he urged, pouring the elixir down her throat. His body battered and spirit waning, Rabbert uttered the incantation for Chromatic Orb. There would be no second chance, he knew this. And despite his desperation and will, the spell faltered. Teetering on the edge of dissipation, Rabbert saw Cetiri – still in his arms – clutch at her amulet.

The amulet glowed, and with a surge of arcane assistance, the orb’s magic stabilized, the colors of time itself bending to Rabbert’s will. The orb sailed through the air, a slow-motion spectacle against the backdrop of chaos, before colliding with Archeron’s luminous form.

The explosion was silent, then deafening, a violet thunderclap that echoed Rabbert’s fur and the hidden depths of the universe. Archeron’s celestial form reeled from the impact, light fracturing as if reality itself had shattered. And in that defining moment, the guardian fell, his form dissipating into a cascade of fading light and lingering feathers of energy.

The adventurers, panting and wounded yet alive, stood amidst the quiet aftermath, their hearts pounding in unison with the echo of the goddess’s word, “Learn,” a new mantra for the trials ahead.

The Secret Unearthed

After the light of Archeron faded, leaving a scattering of luminous feathers in their midst, the party’s attention turned sharply to Derek. The air, still charged with the remnants of the battle’s arcane energies, crackled as they pressed him for answers. “The answers lie within,” he said, his voice a melody of mystery and promise.

They rested, gathering their strength and tending to wounds both seen and unseen. When they were ready, they approached the tomb with a blend of reverence and trepidation. The lid of the ancient sarcophagus was pushed aside to reveal the remnants of divinity: a skeletal form of what once was a god, its once holy bones now crystallizing into the ore known as Athium. It shimmered with an eerie allure, like bismuth, its colors a metallic rainbow against the dark cavity of the tomb.

Illidan, with a furrowed brow, pressed Derek for the truth, “Why, Derek? Why seek such a thing?” The tension between them crackled, as Derek’s evasive answers slowly peeled back to reveal a connection to a figure from the High Elf region, a former politician named Ellisar, now shadowed in clandestine dealings.

Recognition dawned on Illidan’s face at the mention of Ellisar’s name, and the gravity of Derek’s quest settled upon them all like a shroud. Derek’s ambition, it seemed, was fueled by the promise of power, a seat on a new council being formed in shadow in Dilure. The adventurers absorbed this revelation with growing dread. They knew Athium’s storied past, its use in forging the Echoes of the Fallen during the cataclysmic Great Sundering. Weapons of such might could not be allowed to resurface, to reignite the flames of a war long quelled.

In a decisive moment, the party acted. Rabbert, with sadness in his eyes, cast Hold Person, binding Derek. Lyria quickly tied up their former guide, now their prisoner. The gravity of the situation settled over them like a shroud as they resolved to conceal the tomb once more. 

Ruthar Bovagor – The Great Partnership

As the adventurers prepared to depart from the tomb’s shadowed depths, a sudden clamor echoed through the corridors. The unmistakable sound of approaching footsteps sent a ripple of tension through the group. It was the Gemgori, the minotaur tribe they had encountered previously, their heavy steps resounding like a drumbeat of impending judgment.

The party, realizing concealment was futile, readied themselves for confrontation. As the Gemgori entered, led by their imposing leader, Ro’ratore, the air bristled with unspoken accusations.

Ro’ratore’s gaze was stern, his disappointment radiating like a palpable force as he surveyed the adventurers. “You have disturbed the sacred resting place of Thurgo,” he stated, his voice a deep rumble echoing off the stone walls. “This cannot go unanswered.”

The adventurers, their expressions a mix of guilt and resolve, faced Ro’ratore’s imposing figure. Illidan stepped forward, his voice steady but respectful, “We came seeking truth, not to desecrate. This tomb holds a danger far greater than any resting spirit.”

Ro’ratore’s eyes narrowed, assessing their sincerity. “Speak, then. Tell me what brought you to tread upon our ancestors’ hallowed ground.”

Illidan, understanding the gravity of their actions, continued. “Our quest was not for Thurgo’s tomb but for what lay beneath. We meant no disrespect to your people or your traditions,” he explained, his tone earnest.

Ro’ratore’s stern gaze surveyed the party, weighing their words. After a tense moment, he spoke, “Your actions cannot go unaddressed. You have taken from us. You have gained from our people without permission.”

Ro’ratore’s eyes narrowed, assessing the truth in their words. The moment lingered, a delicate balance between retribution and understanding. Finally, he spoke again, his tone shifting from accusation to solemnity. “Then you must atone for this transgression. Ruthar Bovagor – The Great Partnership – shall be your path to redemption.”

He detailed the plight of the Aurox, once brethren, now twisted and corrupted beings feasting on flesh and darkness. “They are beyond our reach, yet you owe a debt to our people. You must vanquish this threat.”

The adventurers exchanged glances, the weight of this new responsibility settling upon them. Illidad, voice resolute, responded, “We accept this duty. We will right the wrongs our actions have caused.”

And so the Ruthar Bovagor was invoked. The group watched as Illidan and Rabbert performed the ancient Gemgori pact ritual — powerful stomps followed by deep, resonant snorts. The ritual filled the chamber with a profound energy, a beautiful yet solemn dance of commitment and respect.

Ro’ratore nodded in approval, a sense of duty emanating from him. “Thurgo’s legacy endures, and now he guards a greater secret. The Gemgori will honor him as the eternal protector, ensuring the Athium remains hidden. You, bound by Ruthar Bovagor, will right your wrongs. From the ashes of chaos, calm will bloom.”

With this newfound bond and responsibility, the adventurers prepared to leave the tomb. Ahead lay the formidable task of confronting the Aurox, a quest not only for redemption but for the preservation of a secret that must never see the light of day.

With Light Comes Shadow

“What should I do?” Cetiri implored, staring at the open tomb as she sought guidance from her patron. A familiar yet distant presence enveloped her consciousness—Tuxil, The Trinket Lord, finally stirred. 

His words bore the eerie whimsy of the Feywild, “Ah, my cunning ward, a great question indeed. Snatch the Luminarum Fragmina swiftly. There are whispers in realms seen and unseen and I believe we will need this. Regarding your companions, continue your journey with them, for their path rings true. One has piqued the curiosity of Ioun, an occurrence as fascinating as it is rare. I wish to see it.”

Shrouded in a veil of invisibility, her movements went undetected by her companions. With deft hands, she grabbed fragments of Athium. Silently, she exited the tomb, waiting in the shadows for the others.

Lyria, ever observant, voiced her surprise upon their reunion. “Cetiri, I didn’t see you leave.”

A hint of a smile touched Cetiri’s lips as she replied, “Just needed a breath of fresh air, that’s all.” Her words, light as a feather, masked the weight of her secret deed.

With Ro’ratore at their side, the group set their course eastward, their steps leading them towards Rabbert’s village.

Session 1 – The Cradle’s Secret

The Journey Begins

The adventurers gathered their supplies at dawn, just outside the quaint town of Rine’s Crossing. 

Derek Dirkington, their purple-skinned, accented guide, revealed his discovery of ancient parchment fragments suggesting a startling truth: The Gemgori burial grounds of Etenward concealed the resting place of Aelith beneath its sacred mounds.

Unearthing Secrets

In their quest to identify the correct mound, Illidan employed his unique affinity for animals, enlisting the aid of a local badger.The badger, eager and chatty, was eager to help as long as food was on the horizon, “Meat? Oh, I’ll dig for meat! But that long-eared fellow looks nice, too!”

As the creature diligently burrowed, Rabbert encountered a Gemgori, Ro’rotore intrigued by their venture. Rabbert’s diplomatic skills shone as he shared knowledge of Etenward’s old name, earning the Gemgori’s trust and insight into the area’s lore. 

The Gemgori accompanied Rabbert to the ancient burial mounds and told the story of Thurgo, one of the Gemgori leaders that led the conflict against the Leonin nearly 500 years ago. 

“Thurgo was one of our greatest, a leader who shaped history during the War of Clashing Claws. His fame was sealed at the Battle of Thorned Valley, a land treacherous as the conflict itself.”

He paused, his gaze distant. “Thurgo used the valley’s deadly terrain to our advantage, leading a surprise attack at dawn. With Tarr’um, his great axe, he broke the Leonin lines, turning the tide of war.”

Ro’rotore’s voice held a note of pride. “That battle not only won us the valley but paved the way for peace. Thurgo was more than a warrior; he was a unifier. His resting place here is sacred, a symbol of our enduring spirit.”

As the tale was told, the blue wisps around the mounds began to twist and take shape in the form of ethereal spirits, walking circles around the tomb of Thurgo. This, Ro’rotore revealed, was the reason this area was chosen for Thurgo. The Gemgori believed that this particular area was where the land spoke to his people that it was where the sacred burial should take place. 

As dusk approached and the Gemgori departed, a revelation struck: Thurgo’s mound, a site of great Gemgori heritage, was the entrance to Aelith’s tomb. The ethereal guards had been guarding this land before Thurgo, because they were actually guarding the tomb of Aelith. The group excavated the mound, uncovering the tomb’s entrance while grappling with the morality of disturbing Thurgo’s resting place.

The Tomb’s Trials

As the adventurers crossed the threshold into the Antechamber of Enlightenment, a sense of awe washed over them. The chamber, a testament to the celestial and the arcane, was bathed in a gentle luminescence. Above, the high ceilings were adorned with murals that seemed to capture the very essence of the cosmos, depicting the divine odyssey of Aelith through star-strewn heavens. These images pulsed with a soft light, as if stars themselves were caught in the paint and plaster.

In the northwest corner, pedestals stood like silent sentinels, each cradling an ethereal crystal. The crystals, aglow with a serene light, seemed to hum with an otherworldly energy, casting prismatic reflections across the room’s stone walls. The air here was thick with a sense of enlightenment, as if the very room breathed wisdom and tranquility.

Opposite these pedestals, the adventurers noticed crates and barrels stacked neatly in the corners. They approached cautiously, aware of the sanctity of their surroundings. Inside the crates, they discovered an array of artifacts and ceremonial items, each imbued with the aura of the ancient and the mystical. Among these treasures, they found shirts not woven from cloth but crafted from a metal as fine as thread, shimmering like gold in the form of a flying dove.

The allure of these shirts was undeniable. Three of the adventurers, drawn by the craftsmanship and the mystery of the material, carefully took the shirts, tucking them into their bags with a mix of reverence and curiosity. They were mindful not to disturb the tranquility of the chamber, yet the allure of these artifacts, remnants of a bygone era, proved too compelling to resist.

As they moved through the Antechamber, the sense of serenity remained with them, a quiet reminder of Aelith’s eternal journey through the stars. The room, a bridge between the earthly and the celestial, left a lasting impression on their hearts and minds, embedding itself in their memories as they continued their exploration of the tomb.

The Inner Sanctum

The Sanctum of Celestial Craftsmanship opened its doors to the adventurers, revealing a realm where artistry and spirituality converged in a beautiful symphony. Upon entering, they were greeted by the sight of a celestial loom, its grandeur commanding the southwest corner of the room. It stood as a testament to the divine craftsmanship, surrounded by benches and shelves laden with the tools of a bygone artisan era and scrolls of ancient celestial lore.

Ethereal figures, ghostly in their form, moved around the room with a silent grace. These spirits, remnants of celestial artisans, were absorbed in their eternal tasks, weaving and crafting as if time had no hold over them. Their ghostly hands worked with an ethereal material, demonstrating the celestial artistry cherished by Aelith.

Rabbert, with his keen interest in the arcane and the historical, was drawn to a massive bookcase filled with tomes. Each book was an account of a believer of Aelith, a personal testimony of faith and devotion. With the use of ‘Comprehend Languages,’ he delved into the writings, uncovering stories that spanned eons, each a unique perspective on their divine shepherd.

However, the sanctum held its secrets closely. As Rabbert reached out to grasp one of the tomes, he found himself suddenly paralyzed, frozen in time as if touched by Aelith’s hand himself. His companions, quick to react, pulled him away from the bookcase. It was then they discovered the key to interacting with these sacred texts – a word of peace. The ethereal figures spoke to Rabbert: “Friend or Foe?” Through quick thinking, Rabbert and Illidan managed to find a way to respond: “Friend” spoken to the ethereal artisans, granted them safe access.

In their exploration, Rabbert discovered a hidden door behind the bookcase. Carefully, he maneuvered the books, creating a passage to the next chamber. As each adventurer attempted to navigate through this narrow gateway, Cetiri’s passage was not as smooth. Her movement sent books tumbling, and like Rabbert before, she was paralyzed by the sanctum’s protective magic.

This disturbance awakened the ethereal guardians. They coalesced into more solid forms, attacking the party, their touch attempting to drain the very life essence from them. Rabbert, caught in their ethereal grasp, experienced a rapid aging, his form momentarily transforming into a potted plant – a peculiar and unexpected twist of fate.

The battle that ensued was a dance of light and shadow, as the adventurers fought to repel these guardians of knowledge. With skill, wit, and a dash of luck, they managed to overcome the spectral assailants, emerging largely unharmed from the encounter.

The Guardian’s Challenge

The Chamber of the Final Guardian revealed itself to the adventurers as a sanctum carved from the dreams of the devout, an architectural hymn to the celestial. They stepped softly, their footfalls hushed against the stone floor, as they took in the grandeur before them. Curved walls arched hundreds of feet in the air. The back wall was etched with construction and symbols that were nearly unrecognizable. A design that was beyond mortality, not of the elegant designs of the elves or the master stonework of the dwarves. At the chamber’s heart rose a dias of stone, fifteen feet high and at least 25 feet long. 

In the solemn grandeur of the Chamber of the Final Guardian, the air, thick with ancient magic, trembled as the figure of Archeron began to manifest before the awestruck adventurers. From the ether, a being of majestic power coalesced; his presence was an overwhelming force of sanctity and authority.

Archeron, with his white, faceless head, became the focal point of the chamber, a silent, inscrutable mask that defied the adventurers to decipher any hint of thought or emotion. He was a vision of divine might, with four sets of resplendent wings unfurling behind him, each feather shimmering with the purity of fresh snow under the kiss of dawn. His form was adorned in armor of gold and white, the very essence of celestial splendor, with intricate filigree that told of an artistry beyond mortal ken.

Archeron’s voice, a deep and ancient whisper, resonated within the stone walls, “Brave adventurers, you stand in the sacred Chamber of the Final Guardian. I am the eternal protector of Aelith’s sanctum. Your presence here is not taken lightly. Speak, and let your intentions be known.”

The adventurers shuffled uneasily, the truth of their quest – to open Aelith’s tomb – a heavy secret on their tongues. They exchanged wary glances, each silently urging the others to voice a response that would not betray their true purpose.

Rabbert, the Harengon wizard, broke the silence with a measured response, cloaked in the guise of noble pursuit, “I wish to have knowledge. I want to know where the time magic is.” His answer hung in the air, a half-truth that rippled across the chamber.

In response, a vision struck him, a blinding cascade of cosmic creation that swept him across time and space, culminating in the image of a mage clad in rich green robes embroidered with a four-leaf clover entering the waters of the Taldash desert.

Rabbert’s vision disappeared. He had seen so much, but so little. And now he saw no more. His vision was gone. In aid, Illidan reached out his hand to help a friend. Slowly, the Harengon’s vision began to return. As did the silence, heavier now, filled with the unspoken. The silence was dotted was a dance of avoidance, a masquerade of half-truths, as the adventurers circled the heart of their quest and tried their best to not answer Archeron’s questions. 

Archeron’s gaze pierced through the facade, his voice the harbinger of consequence, “Speak plainly. Does your compatriot wish to open this tomb?”

The question, sharp as a blade, cut to the core of their purpose. The adventurers stood, exposed, their mission laid bare by the celestial sentinel’s demand for truth.

It was Lyria who met the guardian’s unwavering gaze, her voice steady, though inside, turmoil reigned, “We seek… adventure, to understand the mysteries that you guard so fiercely. And the journey has already proven that successful. Let us leave and we will call this adventure finished.”

Archeron stood, the embodiment of celestial wrath, his voice resounding like a clarion call, “No. You will make your choice. Stand against the defiler of sacred tombs, or stand against me. Choose wisely, for the sanctity of this place shall not be sullied. Kill him, or I shall.”

The adventurers knew then that words would not suffice. The final guardian would not be swayed, and their quest hung precariously in the balance. As the tension reached its crescendo, Illidan whispered an incantation, a mark appearing visible only to his keen eye as he raised his bow…