From Honor's Journal

We traveled to the diviner’s library and found that the guardians had been corrupted and instead of helping us tried to kill us. We also discovered some of the Siscaria’s insect minions, who had been taken over by the power of the library. I myself was taken over a few times, feeling the intense desire to clean up the messes and protect the books. In the future, I will be careful not to touch the doors if we ever have to travel there again.

After dispatching the insects, including one very large one, we found the books we needed, as well as some spellbooks, some books on battle tactics, and a portable library. We also decided to take a huge tome (as in 6 ft tall) with us. Yberre found a cart and was pushing it along when we came to opening of the library. The red dragon statue/guardian had breathed fire everywhere, so we took that to mean someone unsavory had tried to gain entrance.

When we opened the doors we found Nixus Sly and a small army waiting for us. The men in the army looked haggard and strange, and some of them were foaming at the mouth. Yberre, quick thinking as always, used the huge book to block the many arrows and bolts that came flying towards us. Markus and Cluidhn blasted away at the army with fireballs, while Yberre was like a whirlwind with his blades. I barely had to do anything, for which I am very grateful.

Near the end of the battle, Nixus Sly himself came after us, and singled out Cluidhn. Sly seemed to be moving at a speed far beyond what was natural, as well as being clouded in shadows. I managed to get one or two swipes at him, and then suddenly the shadows around him faded and he cried out that he had been betrayed. He swore he would take Cluidhn down with him, but we struck him down before he could do so.

At the end of the battle we met Sly’s betrayer – a wizard who had been imprisoned by Sly with a magical collar. The collar was controlled by a ring, which Yberre cut from Sly’s body and gave to the wizard, freeing him. In exchange, the wizard gave us ample information about Sly, including a map of his hideouts in Valeria and Hibernia, and a map of his lair, including the location of a communication stone.

Apparently, Sly has been feeding eggs to men which allows him to control them. The eggs hatch into strange purple snakes, some of which we saw slither away from the men we cut down in front of the library. The provider of these eggs can be reached through this communication stone. The wizard also promised us he would not actively work against us in the future if he could help it, and he definitely would not for at least a year. I think better to have made an ally with this man, albeit temporarily, than to have fought him. He was clearly exceptionally powerful and I don’t doubt he could have killed us all right there.

The wizard also told us that Sly has continued to hunt for elves, wanting their blood for some nefarious reason. It might have something to do with a rumor that the elven diviners did not go mad when scrying upon the old empire. Sly was also looking for the old emperor’s crown, which might be in Lumen.

We looted Sly’s corpse, along with some of his other top agents who Yberre and Hralf had slain. From Sly I gladly took a magical rapier that seems specially designed to find all the squishiest parts of your enemy. After this we reported back to Gaius Wind and brought him all the books to look at, including the huge tome of monsters.

Among the items we found in the library was a bone with runes on it. Markus and Cluidhn both rolled the bone like a die and were granted some temporary powers. When we showed the bone to Gaius Wind he told us it was his and was in fact a minor artifact. As a finder’s fee he granted us amazing magical items, but not before Markus rolled the die one more time and was temporarily blinded. Oh, Markus.

After a few days of preparations, which included buying much needed supplies, we headed off by ship to Forge. The poor dwarves were terribly sea sick, and honestly I didn’t feel much better, especially when a storm hit. But this wasn’t just any storm – we were attacked by a huge, massive, immense, gigantic, I could on and on, sea serpent!

This monster seemed to be 200 feet long, maybe 50 feet in diameter. It banged against our ship again and again, finally causing the ship to break in half. Yberre, Cluidhn, Markus, and I were separated from the dwarves as the ship broke in two. My trusty necklace allowed me to breathe underwater which saved me from drowning, as well as allowing me to swim after Markus. The four of us held on to Yberre’s trunk as we watched, helplessly, while the serpent attacked the part of the ship where the dwarves were.

Golden Fire: The Journal of Cluidhn Malta'i'nour

Eastward bound, our heroes stopped to camp along the Vaewater, then rode through a mountain pass to the town of Gold, which used to be a legion camp south of a gold mine. We then took a shortcut to Lead, forded the Alewater and rode through grasslands to the town of Copper, another former legion encampment. We set up camp just off the road, between the Neckbreaker Peaks and the Great Woods. A traveler approached the fire, introduced himself as Maerk, and shared some of his high-octane ale with the dwarves, who tried to sell him a false story of our journey. Maerk said that he was headed south, and as the trio kept drinking, his enormous black panther approached and scared the wits out of everyone. Maerk said that she was his friend and that her name was Tigress, then he and the dwarves passed out in a drunken stupor.

In the morning, Tigress had killed and dragged back a lovely yak for us to feast upon. Our new friend Maerk noticed my lovely new scales, but resisted my sermon about Apsu, leaving with his giant cat. Humans... We followed in his footsteps along an animal trail, passing a waypost tree marked with an "O". Soon after, a giant form burst forth from the shrubbery, a monster with the body of a bear and the head of a giant angry owl. Hagbard smote the beast with a blast of divine sound, stunning it, then Hralf swung his mighty axe, slashing its face. Honor threw her dagger, scoring the side of its head. Hagbard burned it with magical acid as I made a beautiful shot from afar, sinking an arrow down to the fletching. The vicious beast bit Hralf's head, denting his helm, then impaled him on a massive claw and lifted him squirming off of the ground. Yberre took the opportunity to slash the owlbear's stomach open with his legion sword, then I put an arrow through its right arm. The bloodied beast dropped Hralf and ripped into him with claws. Hralf responded by sinking the spike of his shield into the monster's heart, dispatching it in a spray of blood.

We followed the owlbear's tracks back to its cave, only to find the corpses of its mate and baby as well as three goblin skeletons and some orgoshi arrows. I grabbed one of the obsidian-tipped, black-feather fletched arrows as evidence. Rummaging through a sack, I discovered a cache of silver coins, which we divided. Then we continued on our way for ten hours through the forest. We camped at an inviting clearing and slept unmolested. When we awoke, Yberre was flushed and sluggish, suffering from heat exhaustion. We resumed our trek, and as we left the edge of the Great Wood, we caught our first glimpse of Starshine, a mountain several thousand feet tall, the whole sculpted into a spiral. The lifting late afternoon mist revealed the coast and a small town at the foot of the spiral mountain surrounded by hundreds of different-colored tents, flying the banners of various noble houses. We made our way to the Brightstar pavilion and hailed Gaius Wind. He cast a spell of silence and described sightings of dark stalkers and orgoshi at the ruins of an old fortress at the southeastern edge of the base of Starshine. We told him of our triumphs and travails since our last meeting, and my entreaties for lamb went unanswered, offending me deeply.

Our band of heroes sallied forth to the southeastern reach, where Yberre's keen eye discerned a manmade wall fifty feet up, partially uncovered by a rock slide. Honor scaled the cliff and found a hole with a recently installed rope ladder. We climbed to the entrance and then down the rope ladder into a large room with two doors. After opening the door to the north, Honor set off a lightning trap that burned her and myself almost to death. It wasn't my fault this time, as I have begun to understand the dangers of doors. Hagbard healed us and Yberre smashed through the trapped door, revealing a large circular room with a cracked fountain in the center and four burly hobgoblins. The blaggarts fired arrows at us and loosed a giant hyena. Yberre was wounded by the beast and rushed up a flight of stairs to dispatch the archers. Honor dodged claws and sword as Markas and Hagbard launched magical attacks. Hagbard slew the hyena with an acid dart as Markas summoned a hyena to combat their hyena. Hagbard and myself slew a hobgoblin with acid and magic missiles as Hralf dispatched another with his waraxe. Markas was hit with an arrow as, up on the stairs Honor slit a hobgoblin's throat from ear to ear and tossed him down into the fountain. Markas's summoned hyena dispatched the final hobgoblin with horrific crunching and slurping sounds.

We broke into two locked rooms, finding nothing of note. Honor narrowly avoided an acid trap, opening a door to reveal two portcullises and a pair of arrow-pierced skeletons. Deciding to avoid the death trap, we returned to the circular room and addressed the door at the top of the stairs. Honor unbarred it from the outside in a feat of skill, revealing a long hallway with a cave-in at one end and a door at the other. Honer opened it, only to be attacked by three more hobgoblins. They triggered a trap that dumped Honor and Hralf into a spiked pit. In response, Hagbard and I assailed them with acid dart and longbow, knocking one of the craven beasts into the pit, which at this point was on fire due to a combination of alchemist's fire and lamp oil. Honor managed to get into the room with them and killed another. She pulled a lever, popping the floor back into place, which allowed Yberre to rush in and slash the remaining beast to ribbons. We looted the corpses and continued exploring. Honor disabled a second pit trap, and then a third, and then opened a door to reveal a giant tusked humanoid, almost as big as Yberre. As Yberre and Hralf stationed themselves on either side of the door, the monster swung a huge morning star around the doorframe and into Hralf. I smashed the beast with two magic missile spells as Hagbard healed Hralf. Yberre rushed in and and struck the bugbear, followed by Hralf with an axe blow, and as both attacked again, the beast struck my head. Angered, I grew my claws attacked, but my magnificent claws only screeched on its metal armor. The tusked giant swept its massive maul towards my face and my vision went white, then faded to black. I awoke, head ringing, to find that Honor had slit the monster's throat. -Praise Apsu for this victory and my survival-

Soldiers Log: Yberre Hammersmith

Now it seems fate has turned in my favor. A clear and present danger has presented itself and its name is my calling. War it seems, will come to the Empire. After arriving at Starshine, we reported our news of a potentially corrupt noble house working with the dark races and it seems that the presence is more than the simple force of assassins we suspected. Suspecting an army of some kind may be awaiting invasion, we have been sent by Gaius Wind as an advanced skirmish party to an old fort held by goblin warriors. We have met them in battle and these are not the small, savage, and simple goblins one might expect from tales of old. These are a warrior race with cunning, training and the power of steel.

This is the enemy of my fate, I am sure of it. This is the war of our vision, unfolding before us. This is the fate the that Gorum drew out for me so long ago. All he has taken from me and all I have endured shall finally be brought to a climax with this war and perhaps I shall be gifted with peace when it is through. I can feel the hand of Gorum possess me more with each battle. My steel grows lighter, the chain weighs less heavy on my shoulders with each drawing of blood and my blade grows sharper with every cleft of bone. Many will die in the days to come and many more will suffer. The power and the will of Gorum will determine the winner. I believe I am his vessel for reasons I do not know or even pretend to understand, but who am I to question the gods? My calling is war and my day is coming, I only hope that I will find truth and an answer at the end of this fate.

Golden Fire

Our destiny grows ever more convoluted, the workings of Apsu complex and beyond mortal ken. This chapter of my journal begins with that most hackneyed and overused human literary convention: "It was a dark and stormy night"... My band of intrepid adventurers found ourselves assembled on a beach in a storm, investigating a shipwreck, the wreck in question determined by Honor and Markas to be the "One of Seven", a cursed Tirynthian legion ship bearing house Brightstar markings. This ship had drifted from the northeast and had been missing for five years. The crew were all dead, and according to Hagbard, had all died of old age at the same time. The rest of the ship lay partly submerged out in the surf.
Doughty Yberre swam out to the submerged wreckage and dragged out the captain's chest as Hralf attempted to assist, slicing himself on sharp coral. The recovered chest contained a map, a nautical chart, log, shipping manifest and a sum of platinum coins. At this point we decided to enter the wreckage on the beach. Honor checked the door and we entered. My gaze was drawn to a glowing door, so lovely... I am told that I was burned and knocked unconscious at this point by some foul necromantic curse. As I lay charred and unmoving, Hagbard drew upon Torag's power to heal me. My friends investigated the interior, found two sarcophagi, and were attacked by magical poisonous snakes.
When I awoke, the snakes had disappeared. Honor opened the middle door, revealing a corpse on a bed manacled to the floor by chains of silver. The dead man's notebook contained information about a recovered relic and a Mistress Phaedra, and the same symbol branded on the late and unlamented mustachioed half-elf. As we left the wreck and stepped back out onto the beach, we heard a ruckus. The cursed ship's dead crew had risen as undead and attacked the work crew. A fierce battle ensued.
The skeletal warriors attacked. Hralf threw a magic stone, disintegrating one, then I incinerated two more in a blast of Apsu's fire. Hagbard called on Torag's fury to destroy several more undead, and the rest fell in turn to Hralf, Yberre and Hagbard. Hralf found a silvery dragon scale and Yberre dragged the unopened sarcophagus out onto the beach. We opened it and found a perfectly preserved corpse. Hagbard used a divine scroll to ask the corpse, Constance Goodfellow, last surviving heir to the late Emperor Constance Tertius Septimus, some questions. We used the scale to open a magic chest which contained a scroll, a gem-tipped rod, and shattered crystal shards.
We awoke to a red sun and the sight of a south-faring fleet of New Tirythian warships, probably from Tridens. Returning to the church of Torag, we discovered that someone or someones had broken in and slain our captive dark creeper and several acolytes. Rushing to the church of Sarenrae, we found our werewolf to be missing as well. Very troubling. We headed to Brightstar manor, only to find it shrouded in a magical fog. Cautious and concerned, we entered the catacombs through our secret path and entered Brightstar manor's subterranean tunnels from below, feeling our way through the mist-filled halls. A woman's voice echoed through the halls, taunting and cajoling us to continue.
At the top of a flight of stairs, Honor was ambushed by goblins. Yberre kicked in a door, allowing me to kill a goblin with an amazing shot from my longbow. As Hralf killed a goblin dog below, we finished off the stinky little buggers. Wary of the enchanted fog, we went back down the stairs, descending into a room previously undiscovered, a burial chamber partially filled with water. In that room, my spirit swelled with joy, for the lone occupant was a dragon hatchling! An evil black dragon hatchling, spewing and burning us with vitriolic acid, but a dragon nonetheless. Honor dove to the center of the room, striving to clear the room's central drain as the rest of us assailed the beast. I smote the black hatchling with Apsu's claws and shot an arrow into one of its wings, and then, just as it breathed acid mist at Hralf, Honor and myself; Yberre leapt from a high alcove and beheaded the beast with a valiant stroke and a spray of ichor.
As we returned victorious to the manor, we found a wounded and disheveled Brian Brightstar, who had been held captive and tortured by the woman who had introduced herself to us as Alyssa Brightstar. We now know her to be an impostor. Under torture, he had given up the secrets of the house to her. We entrusted him with the sarcophagus containing Constance Goodfellow, and enlisted his help in locating our missing werewolf. And thence to bed, as we must journey to Starshine to meet with Lord Tennyson Brightstar and the esteemed Gaius Wind. I shall sleep well, my faith and devotion to Apsu strengthened by the sight of a dragon and the courage of my companions... -Apsu guide his children, and spread his wings above-

Golden Fire: the journal of Cluidhn Malta'i'nour

Truly, Apsu's blessings are upon me. Another of the Maker of All's gifts has revealed itself. Yberre, the bearded ones and myself awoke at Brightstar manor to find that Honor had vanished on family business. Uncowed by the lack of thief and mage, we descended into the catacombs via a secret door. We were ambushed almost immediately by two dark stalkers, whom we assailed and bested with sword and sorcery. One we slew, and the craven beast's body exploded with blinding light. The other, we subdued and bound with strong rope, to answer many questions. I learned a valuable life lesson: do not, no matter how tasty it appears, lick a glistening oily substance off of a dark stalker's knife. It makes one feel ill.
Hralf and Hagbard discovered an ancient imperial map room and encountered an Empress's ghost, as above Yberre and I were attacked by a skeletal Praetorian Guard; no mere husk, but a skilled and powerful swordsman. It was then that I felt new power flow through me and Apsu's will smashed the foe's grinning skull into powder. We claimed our treasure: an ancient helm for me, a magical breastplate for Hralf, and a lovely sword of the legion. We then ascended to the surface once more, dragging our captive on the stones.
The priestess of Sarenrae was not at the temple, and the lone acolyte was less than helpful, so on Hagbard's notion we strolled to the temple of Torag, there to meet the dwarven high priest. A crusty sort, he examined (and battered) our captive, healed (and battered) myself and proceeded to pay a very lackluster sort of attention to Hralf and Hagbard's pleas to send blah blah to Forge blah. Aside from the sharp pain in my shins, a dreary experience overall. The priest agreed to watch and interrogate our captive, and we took our leave.
Our captive secured, we decided to investigate the Medusa's Eye, the ship whose sigil had been on the werewolf's crate. We met with dockmaster Joseph, a rotund man whose considerable girth exceeded his helpfulness. He did, however, tell us of the fell ship's captain's sour reputation, and recommended a local watering hole as a possible source of information. The rheumy-eyed old barkeep at the run-down bar pointed us toward some drunken dockworkers, whom Yberre charmed with his silver tongue. Armed with more information, we set out on a reconaissance of a certain warehouse connected with the Medusa's Eye.
The building was large, locked and had no clear windows through which to spy a glance of the interior. We decided to wait for Honor to return before attempting to gain entry. We hied to our next destination, a much smaller warehouse. Upon investigation, we dicovered some dead beggars outside. This gave us all the reason we needed to search within. We discovered a reeking charnel house, filled with butchered bodies. The centerpiece of this grim tableau was my nemesis, the mustachioed half-elf, pinned to the wall by large nails. He had been mutilated at length with surgical instruments, whereas the other bodies that littered the room had been murdered by some sort of animal or monster. As the bearded ones ran to fetch the Guard, we discovered a unique left-handed stabbing dagger. Our friendly guard captain informed us that this sort of dagger was the hallmark of Nixus Sly, an underworld leader and the mustachioed half-elf's boss. So the veils are parted, allowing clear sight...
A charred, burned-out ship all thought to be the Medusa's Eye drifted into port, but our keen eyes detected facets of new planking that suggested the wreck to be a sham, designed to convince any interested parties that the Medusa's Eye was no more. A devious and deceitful piece of work, rather in line with what we had heard about the captain's character. So, upon Honor and Markas' return, we stand ready to raid the warehouse, explore the catacombs, and make it to Starshine in time to meet with Garius Wind and prevent an underdark uprising before the full moon. I am confident that Apsu will bless these endeavors and grant me the strength to prevail. -All praise to the Maker of All-

Golden Fire: the journal of Cluidhn Malta'i'nour

I feel stronger, more... vital. After our bloody encounter with the undead in the undercity warrens, we returned to Brightstar manor to rest our battle-weary bones. Upon awakening, we realized that the mercurial Markas had disappeared, off on another errand for the wealthy Brightstars. We met with an eminent diviner, Garius Wind, and agreed to meet in Starshine for the full moon, where we will trade information for gold. My kin will be assembled there, and the thought of seeing my family plants ice in my soul. The bearded ones returned, having been deported via the devious machinations of my personal bane, the mustachioed half-elf, who I have marked with my claws. With Hralf and Hagbard, we set out to give the elven zombies a bloody release from their undeath. With Honor guiding the way, we returned to the sacrificial pit where we had fought the horde of zombies. Constantly dealing with illusions, we entered the burial chamber, only to be surprised by traps. Hagbard, previously wounded by runerock, was felled by a dart, and I managed to feed him a curative draught. Honor, Hralf & Yberre bested a very unfriendly door and we entered another section of the underwarren, traveling beneath the sacrificial pit. At first we were glamered, but stolid Yberre broke the illusion. A hideous altar was revealed, and the righteous fury of Apsu flowed through me. Dragon fire smashed and burned, and a place of evil worship was cleansed from the world. Honor led us again, and a long walk led us to an abondoned warehouse containing a crate stamped with a medusa symbol. Hoping for gems and gold, I naturally jimmied it open. Something with metallic wings blasted out of the crate and flew skyward, occupying the dwarves for a time. But the real cargo was still in the crate. A crazed, feral human wrapped in rags. He tried to eat Honor, and thus I fired an arrow at the cad. At this point, his eyeballs went black and he howled, body contorting and crackling as he shapechanged into a monstrous wolf-thing. My companions reacted like veterans; I burned the beast, Hagbard assailed it with magical darts of acid, and Honor slashed it with a beautiful silver dagger. It tried to run, but brave Yberre and Hralf coralled the creature. The wolf-thing sprinted to the corner and gave us its throat. As it melted back into manform, we were able to talk with him and ascertain that he had been kidnapped, was unaware of his lycanthropic condition, and had been starved and poisoned by the crate's other monstrous occupant. There was only one course of action left to us. We bound the wretch and brought him to the temple of Sarenrae for succor. The priestess was happy to heal us and promised to do her best for our prisoner. We left her with a small fortune and found a hero's bow, suitable for my strength. We then returned once more to Brightstar manor to rest once more. Hmm... mustache, a shadowy cargo ship, evil creatures under the manor, a trip to Starshine; this is getting very intricate. My priority is still to find the fair folk and release them from undeath... -Apsu guide our path and grant us glory-

Golden Fire: the journal of cluidhn malta'i'nour

The reek of the undead clings to my nostrils, a constant reminder that
three of the Folk remain in a twisted mockery of life, in the dank
underbelly of this stinking city. In typical human fashion, the city
government deported the bearded ones who possess not just expertise in
navigating the underdark, but an avowed specialty in the eradication
of the undead. I have seen many things in my long years, but never
such directed, cunning malevolence. What disgusting, unholy beast lies
beneath the blood-soaked grate? And what twisted intellect spawned and
commands it? The valor of my companions in that room of death made my
blood sing, and it is good to stand alongside the mage from Apsu's
dream-sending. A sense of destiny marks our band of heroes, and I am
certain that the Maker of All will give us the strength to burn out
this foul threat to the innocent. The mustachioed half-breed's face
lingers mockingly in my thoughts; it seems that he is but a thread
that shall lead us to a weave that shall lead us to the hand that
guides the weave... -Apsu's golden wings above me, Apsu's golden
blood within me-

Soldiers Log: Yberre Hammersmith

Destiny seems to have split our dream asunder and I fear it bodes ill for my fate. I do not understand the will of Gods. When I think they have laid a path before us, it is then blown to the mists. When we seemed first on the eve of uniting our Sextet of Dreams, the Dwarven duo were taken from us. Sent far to Forge, I fear what will become of us with the circle joined and then broken. Perhaps Forge is where we must journey.

The guard seem willing to aid us here and with them we have shared blood against the terrible dead. The power of steel in the hands of the willing seems able to conquer the restless dead that appear to guard our sly deceiver, and I wonder how long he can call on the fallen to aid him. I think this bodes well for our future endeavors, but I fear without direction we will soon share the fate of the good men already fallen attempting to discern the true face of our enemy. I willse my sister again, but I think not so soon as this. Erastil will watch my back while Gorum guides my hand through some terrible fate I think. Blood and many moons will yet reveal the will of Gods. Father steel my heart and keep to Mother if you are able.

Soldiers Log: Yberre Hammersmith

Fortune seems to have turned in my favor of late. After wandering without any real purpose for since being freed, I seem to have fallen into some action of genuine interest to me. I do not yet know what will occur, but I smell the clever scent of fortune on the winds. I shall have to be wary of the company I have fallen into. My golden companion does not seem to have the kindness that Bannion did. While good natured, the magic that seems to corrupt his flesh seems also to affect his demeanor. Under duress, I was forced to restrain him from slicing a child's throat when he felt threatened. I am concerned how far this condition will progress with him, but he seems to be some key to a mystery I do not yet understand and it seems many different forces are interested in obtaining him. I do not see how keeping him safe can not somehow result in our benefit in the long term. For so many to be interested, whatever this great value he has is, it must eventually reveal itself.

The woman who calls herself, Honor, appears to be of ranking merchant blood. While she appears to be of simple motivation, her ties to the halls of wealth and power can only work to our advantage as this mysterious series of events continues to unfold. I must keep an eye on the acquaintances those ties bring or way. She apparently keeps company with a Wizard that may be able to shed light on our recent series of events. Be wary of Wizards with unreliable Origin, my father would always say, and this one appears to be something of a shady character from what little I have heard. We shall see.

My greater concern is her Dwarven consort from Forge. A holy man and a hunter, their zealousness is matched only by their obvious inexperience in battle. They seem to be on a quest to rid their home of some ancient evil and they have sworn to protect the woman for some part they believe she must play in that. The holy man is a healer and welcome in any fight, but I am sure I must teach these strange fellows the ways of war if we are to survive the coming days. Perhaps this is the will of Gorum, I do not know. Still, I can not deny the excitement I have. May Erastil watch over me and Gorum guide my hand, I feel I am embarking now down a road sure to end in glory and riches or on my shield. I shall find my destiny.

Golden Fire: The Journal of Cluidhn Malta-i-nour

{scrawled in a mixture of elven and draconic}
After being saved by my new brother-in-arms Yberre, we trudged east along the baywater, across the farmlands to the human city of Valeria. At the outskirts, we made camp. That night, I had a vision cloaked in a dream. I awoke as a legionnaire, wearing a strange helm of elven craft, standing with a rank of battlemages as a vast host of monsters approached. In concert with the mages, I smote the evil beasts with spells powerful and arcane, and in the press of battle I found myself standing with a fantastically armored Yberre, and those whom I know know to be Honor Brightstar and Markas Serpenthelm. A monstrous insect approached, enormous and beetle-like, and menaced Yberre with a wicked claw. My battlespells skittered off of it's chitinous hide, and it knocked my friend to the ground and pinned him there. As it prepared a death blow, an axe whipped head over haft through the air and smashed into one of the beast's legs. Two dwarves in shining armor trundled up to the beast and dispatched it in a flurry of blows from axe and hammer. As they smote the evil thing, a great dwarven host followed them into the fray. The tides of battle shifted then, and revealed a new and greater threat. A horde of humans, mingled with a few dwarves, elves and halflings, their eyes dead and soulless, their faces fixed masks of evil and hate. I recognized some of my kin from the sylvan wood, but they were possessed with some malevolent fury. The horde approached... And I awoke with a gasp.
Across the campfire, Yberre had awoken as well, his brow furrowed. Somehow, we had shared the dream. I can only guess that great Apsu had sent us this vision, to warn us of a future threat both vast and terrible. Unsettled, we slumped back into our bedrolls. After a day of wandering, we came upon an inn called The Other Slice, and secured temporary employment with the matron, a large human woman known as Lady Anna. Yberre would cook and I would clean in exchange for meals and lodging. It wasn't long before Honor, a human female who shared our vision, showed up at the inn and engaged Yberre in conversation. I gathered that they had been slaves on the same island, and knew each other somewhat. Then two bombastic dwarves showed up, one bellicose, the other scruffy. Their names were Hagbard and Hralf, and they had been sent to hire Honor for something or other. There was alot of barking back and forth in dwarvish, a language I have never bothered to learn. The strange thing about them is that they were the two dwarves from the vision, the ones who had saved Yberre from the giant beetle-thing. The dwarves rented a room for the night and we went upstairs to try to figure out what in Apsu's golden lair was going on.
Suddenly, there was a scream from below and as we rushed into the hall, Honor was hit by a crossbow bolt. Hralf ran down the stairs and stood in between my bow and the enemy, a frustrating situation to be sure. Yberre tried to yell tactical advice to everyone, but the dwarves and myself ended up downstairs, covered in blood with crossbow bolts whickering in from the windows. A mustachioed half-elf wielded a scimitar and buckler with incredible skill, dodging my sorcerous fire and then attempting to drag me from the inn. I scored him deeply with dragon's claws and then a cloud of mist filled the inn. The human scum escaped by the time Yberre had donned his chain mail, leapt from the second floor, and raced to the front door. The city guard came and were about as useful as city guards ever are, and dragged us to their barracks. From there, Honor tooks us to the palace of her family patriarch or something, and Brian Brightstar fed me drugged meat and asked useless questions about my homeland. That night, Honor and Hralf followed some filthy creature from the underdark as it delivered a scroll case to a Lord Tennyson, king of her house I think. These humans breed like rabbits and have more titles than blades of grass. The following morning, as we all stepped outside to meet with a troop of mercenaries who were to guard us against further attack, I saw a bright splotch of fresh red blood upon the lawn. As we looked for the missing mercenaries, we were attacked once again, this time by a group of slavering zombies. An armored Yberre led the fight, and we massacred the foul things. And then, more human guardsmen showed up and accused us of murder. Honor was able to sway them with her silver tongue, and we ended up at another barracks.
Apparently, this mustachioed half-elf had told the guard that we were killing humans at the estate. His warning came a good ten minutes before we were attacked, so we know that this villain is in league with the necromancer(s) who summoned the undead. We then paid to have the underdark scroll translated and it read "Great lords of the sunshine realm. Greetings from the king of lesser darkness. On next predator moon, entreat with me and you and your kin may be spared. Those who do not will surely die. My head is swimming now with all this unfamiliar intrigue, but I know one thing: this mustachioed halfbreed and his leader Praxis or Pring or some such, they will answer some questions for us or they will meet a swift and bloody end. Apsu bring me justice and safety. -Year 3585, city of Valeria-

Origin of a Warrior: Yberre Hammersmith

Born to the son of a smith in the small village outpost of Geantautomne in Southern Hibernia, Yberre Hammersmith was born into a life of hardship. Geantautomne was a village of fiercely independent Hibernians who resented the Empire. Living a simple life of farmers and trappers, most the people of the village lived on self subsistence and trade with the local hill tribes. Yberre's parents, Remy and Martine, lived in a life of relative comfort for this village, owning a home of hardy thatch and mud. Martine was an excellent cook, and though the family often had to forage for food in the wild during lean times, they always ate good food.

The life of a smith provided regular income for Remy as a small imperial fort was being built to watch over the locals, and the legion had regular need for iron braces and nails as well as horseshoes, weapons and armor to outfit their men. Since Remy had to buy most of his iron ore from the legion and then sell the crafted items back to them, his profits were slender, but in that part of the Empire, any source of regular work was a great boon of security.

It was this relationship with the Legion and the relative comfort that came with it that made many of the least fortunate people of Geantautomne envious and distrustful of the Hammersmith family. Constantly exposed to torment and abuse from the older children, Remy took his son into the smithy to protect him and begin his learning the trade at the tender age of 8. Remy raised his son with a nose for fine steel, and Yberre fell fast in love with the art of blademaking. He spent many long hours pumping the bellows for his father, while Remy pounded and folded the ore, filling the long days of toil with ancient tales of Giants and Gods to teach Yberre wisdom. After years of working barrow and bellow, Yberre had grown enough to lift his own hammer, and spent many long hours mastering the folded mystery of a brilliant blade. In very short time, Yberre grew from the slight boy of his youth, to a hulking young man hardened by the toils of the forge.

At the age of 16, with the small fort complete, Yberre was delivering an order of iron goods to the Legion when the officer in command, Tibertine Aurelicus, noticed the strength and size of the local boy and solicited him to join the legion. After a long discussion with his family, they decided that to join the Legion would be an opportunity for Yberre to rise up above their simple lifestyle and find a kind of security unknown in their village. Yberre trained for 2 years with the legion and was granted his sword with the highest honors for courage and strength in combat.

Yberre settled into life at the garrison with his duty firmly in mind and all was quiet in his soldiers life until a particularly bad winter left the ground frozen through spring planting and many livestock dead. The hill tribes, desperate with starvation, had risen up to pillage what they could from and settled land. The people of towns and villages had no choice but to join the marauders, or be killed. When they came to Geantautomne, the Hammersmiths resisted. When the barbarian horde reached the fort, they laid siege to it that lasted 3 days, but with only 20 men to hold off the efforts of hundreds of barbarians, the outcome was inevitable. Most fo the Legionnaires were slain, but wounded and alive, Yberre was not killed as he was a local.

Spared for his local ties, but still hated as a soldier of the Enemy, Yberre was sold into slavery with some others off the western coast to pirates who traffic in human flesh. Brought to a secret and infamous pirate island, Yberre was kept as a slave for 5 long years by his captors until the Imperial Navy located the secret base and liberated all enslaved there. Once brought ashore, he was asked by the Legion as capture din the line of duty, was granted 5 years of back pay with valorous service compensation and offered a chance to return to the Legion. Tired of servitude after long years of slavery, Yberre opted to seek out his own way and retired from the Legion. With what gold he had, he invested in hearty arms and armor, and went to go find his way in the world with dreams of some day having a simple place of his own, a place where he could lodge travelers, hear about the world, serve fine food and never have to wander far from home, wherever it might be.

In looking for work, Yberre came across a group of pilgrims traveling across the Empire who needed a bodyguard and though they had little money to offer, Yberre gladly took the work to give him some direction. It was in this job that he came to his current companionship. Keeping guard at the front of the caravan, the party was forced to stop to shouts of, "thief, murderer, devil!" Rushing to the main store wagon, Yberre found a large group of pilgrims had gathered around a strange gold tinted fey being. He seemed confused and out of sorts, while the pilgrims in a fanatical fury, seemed determined to hand him for being an instrument of devils. As the lynch mob closed in on the frightened elfen creature, Yberre saw a great injustice unfolding before him and felt he must intervene. With a drawing of steel and a bellow only a man of his stature might be able to muster, Yberre demanded the pilgrims cease their assault. WIth a flip of coins to the paymaster to return his wages, Yberre took his new found companion and they set off away from the fanatics to find their next untold fate...

The Tale of Cluidhn Malta'i'nour

As a child in the forested elven lands of northwestern New Tiryns, Cluidhn always knew that he was different. Other elves perceived him as an odd one, a dissonance in nature's harmony. He looked different. Beautiful in the elven way, yes, but somewhat... predatory. His movements more like a bird of prey than his graceful kinfolk. His skin a rich buttery gold, his hair gleaming blond, and his eyes an unnatural yellow hue. A gold like one sees in a wildfire, tinged ever so slightly with angry flakes of orange and red. Cluidhn's father Camwyllhs had left during his seventh summer to attend a distant relations' funerary rite in the old lands. He never returned. That summer, the changes began in earnest. Cluidhn's sleep was filled with powerful dreams, every night beginneng where the previous had left off. In these dreams, he possessed the same mind and soul as his earthbound elven form, but his body and experiences were those of a golden dragon hatchling. He broke free of his shell, he squalled for mother, he learned to fly, to hunt, to breathe fire. Enormous elder dragons recited the sagas of creation: how Apsu, the Waybringer, Creator of All, mated with Tiamat to create the first dragons; how Dahak, their first son, betrayed Apsu, poisoning the thoughts of his kinfolk and creating the first chromatic dragons, traitors to the race; how mighty Apsu defeated Dahak in battle, only to be betrayed by Tiamat before Dahak could be slain. Cluidhn's days were spent under elven tutelage, learning the ways of nature, but his heart was filled with fire. The fire of dragons. The breath of Apsu. By his twenty-fifth year, his mother and uncle's interest had focused on his tradition-minded older brother Cadrithon and animal-loving younger sister Tylemyr. Nobody was inclined to speak to the strange-looking boy, easier just to avert one's eyes and go about one's affairs. Cluidhn began to hike to the coast for "meditation retreats" every fortnight or so to escape the ever increasing social awkwardness and exclusion. He found a small cave in a cliffside and built an amateurish little altar, with a crudely hand-carved driftwood dragon to represent Apsu in the back wall of the cave. He would sit there, with Apsu at his back, staring out at the horizon over the ocean, wishing for even just a glimpse of a dragon. This went on fore some years, and the dreams started to come less and less, until Cluidhn's sleep was just sleep and his days dripped slowly by like spilt honey from a table's edge. Cadrithon was confirmed in the path of priesthood, and Tylemyr had begun to excel in her training as a ranger. Then, as things often do, everything changed...

One day, eager as always to practice her training, Tylemyr followed Cluidhn's trail and discovered his sanctuary. Instead of confronting him, she returned to the elfwood and spoke to their mother and Cadrithon of Cluidhn's heresy. The following morning, Cluidhn awoke in his little cave to the pinch of spearheads at his neck. Pinned to the floor by three rangers, he could only watch in astonishment and horror as Cadrithon destroyed his crude altar and prepared to smash the small idol of Apsu that he had lovingly crafted. Seeing the statue of his deity in his brother's vengeful grasp, Cluidhn felt his body convulse. Suddenly, he was filled with an indescribable power. He screamed as fire rushed through his veins and burst forth from his hands, filling the cave and burning everyone and everything inside it. The magic was glorious and, even as his flesh was seared, his soul was flushed with the sorcerous fury. Then all went dark as a spearbutt smashed into his temple. Cluidhn's second awakening that day was a painful one, hazy and confusing. He had been bound and gagged, blindfolded, and tied to a brushwood litter, his burns unhealed. The post-concussion nausea was amplified by the bouncing of the litter as he was dragged through the woods by his outraged kinfolk. After an eternity, the torment ended as the litter was flung to the ground. His blindfold and gag were ripped away. Blinking, he realized where he had been dragged. The sacred circle, a ring of trees where the druids and priests conducted the rituals and mysteries of the elven ways. His extended family looked down at him, faces drawn and grim. His mother leaned forward and spat. "We no longer know your name." As all present turned away in disgust and took their leave, Cadrithon cut Cluidhn free of the litter and freed his wrists, saying "The elders have spoken, he who was once my brother and is no more. If this one is seen within these woods after this day, he will be hunted and slain." Cadrithon yanked his brother to his feet, cuffed his head, and pushed his face close, baring his teeth. "Now run from here, and let not thine feet soil this place again. Run!" Cluidhn ran. He ran until his feet bled. He ran to the coast and he followed the ocean south until he fell. And then he slept. And he dreamed of fire. He was twenty-seven years old...

Cluidhn continued south until he had left his woodland home far behind. He left the coast and headed east. He would go to the mountains. He had seen a faded mural once that showed dragons in flight over the Emperor's Teeth, the imposing mountain range that dominated the island. Surviving by his wits, he scaled the rocky heights, searching for dragons. He found only hardship and starvation. On several occasions, he thought that he saw dragons in flight, only to be crushed with despair upon realizing that they were wyverns, distant cousins to dragonkind, brutish and small. He reached a mountain pass where the rains fed the Sidhe's Blood River. He followed the river, and weak with starvation, he collapsed and lost consciousness. He awoke, choking. An ugly, apish lout was trying to kill him! "Hold still, ya daft elfling, I'm just givin' ya some porrridge! What's yer name, pointy-ears?" said the lout. "I am Cluidhn. I name myself Malta'i'nour." "And what in all the hells does that gobbledygook mean?" "It is elven for Golden Fire." And so he met Aelfred. A half-orc, plying the river in his tiny merchant vessel, bringing the trade from distant Forge and up and down the river. Aelfred, a child of rape and a half-orc, preferred the sailing life to farming or mining, and had sold his mother's cottage and field to buy the Lady Grey only six months before he found the half-dead elf splayed out on the riverbank. He took Cluidhn on as his first mate and taught him the ways of the river and how to use a dagger for more than just carving dragons out of driftwood. The two outcasts formed a complex bond that evolved first into friendship, then into brotherhood, and eventually a father-son relationship as Aelfred grew into middle age and his friend remained a youth. Aelfred enjoyed listening to Cluidhn's tales of dragons and dreams, and life settled into a comfortable routine. For seventy years, Cluidhn lived on the Lady Grey with Aelfred, and as the young elf became an adult, Aelfred became a withered old curmudgeon, salty and brusque. In the summer of that seventieth year, Aelfred died in his sleep. Cluidhn buried his friend as he had always wanted, laid on a blanket on the deck of his beloved ship, and set adrift on the great sea for one last voyage with the Lady Grey. Mourning his friend, and feeling his hundred years, Cluidhn set out on another great journey, alone once again...

He spent many years in the Carven Plains, a vast expanse of tree stumps as far as the eye could see. It was hard to imagine that this desolate, dusty place had once been home to the elves of New Tiryns. It was here that an outcast could eke out a meager existence, taking hunting trips to the sparse woods by Aelfred's beloved Sidhe's Blood river and selling meat and hides to the other outcasts. Over time, though, Cluidhn proved too strange even for the denizens of the Carven Plains. Even with his lack of wisdom, he eventually picked up on the dirty looks and threatening gestures of the folk who called that tortured land home. He decided to make for the city of Gold, and set out once more. He reached the city of Tin and fended off two brigands, a tough and a wizard, who thought him an easy mark. The power flowed through him once more. His hands became dragon claws, and he gutted the wizard and wounded the other, who ran off screaming "Murder! The elf has murdered Indragor!" The wizard's pouch yielded bread, silvers, and an ivory scroll case containing a magical scroll. Knowing full well how the townsfolk were likely to treat a gold-skinned elf with bloodied hands, Cluidhn ran from Tin. As he reached the lake, he heard the baying of dogs in the distance. He shucked his boots and ran southwest in the shallows, evading pursuit. He made his way to the woods in twilight, and slept in the crotch of a tree. As the sun rose over the lake, he examined the scroll. As his brow furrowed with concentration, he felt the power surge within his chest. His eyes tingled, suffused with sorcery, and suddenly he could make out the words and meaning of the arcane symbols. This was a spell that would create a ball of fire, and cast it towards an enemy, where it would explode into a huge magical bonfire. Cluidhn's eyes widened as more of his destiny became clear. He stuffed the scrollcase into his pack and set out southeast along a river, toward the city of Gold. As he approached the city, wrapped in his cloak and wide-brimmed hat, he spotted his erstwhile assailant of the day before, his wounded arm in a sling. The tough was talking to a group of guardsmen, gesticulating wildly with his unwounded hand. Cluidhn pulled his hat a little further down and left the road, skirting the city and walking to the eastward side. There, he saw a line of pilgrims resting next to their wagons and cooking supper. He sat down nearby, and waited for dusk. As one driver rustled around in his wagon, Cluidhn spotted a glint in the fading sunlight. The wagon was filled with golden ore! Cluidhn flashed back to his childhood dreams. He was a young golden dragon, curled against his mother's side on a vast mound of coins, jewels, and precious metal ores. He felt so warm, so comforted by his mother's presence, so loved... "What in the burning eyes of Rovagug? Thief! Thief! There's a bloody thief in my wagon. He's trying to steal our ore!" Cluidhn snapped awake, bleary-eyed and confused. A small horde of dirty pilgrims and drivers grabbed him and yanked him out of... a wagon? "What? No! I'm no thief! I was just trying to warm myself..." The driver interrupted, "This halfwit must have fallen asleep whilst trying to steal our gold! Let's hang the blighter!" Other voices joined in and began chanting "Hang the Elf! Hang the Elf!" Then a deeper voice drowned out the crowd...

A New Age, A New Saga

An Era of Peace

The empire had ruled peacefully for almost two thousand years since the Day of Just Rebellion at the end of the last great war.

The House of Constance ruled for 17 generations since the fabled Constance Primus united all the islands of the world in peace.

It was a time of hope. It was a time of magic.

The magi of all nine mysteries and the churches of all the gods of Good and Law worked together in unprecedented harmony. Together they brought forth miracles and wonders, all but ending famine, disease and suffering.

The empire expanded into the four corners of the realm.

An Age of Reason

Once the expansion reached the eastern and westernmost reaches of the world, the expansion of the mind began.

Emperor Aeterna Primus funded the building of the schools. Colleges and universities sprang up across the lands, spreading learning on a scale previously unthinkable. Scholarships were available to any able and willing to learn.

The most influential of these centers of learning were the Scholasticas of Civitas, Arcana, Deus, Scientia, Tridens and Fortis and they ruled modern thought for nearly nine centuries.

The world was on the brink of something only previously dreamed of by idealists. This something was so powerful, so alluring, yet so ephemeral that to say its name was to snuff it out.

The Dawn of Flame

To this day it is not clear where the Students of Flame came from, though we have had generations to study events.

In over 100 cities, flames erupted. First there were the physical flames, in every case, they started with the libraries and universities. Once the knowledge was burned, the granaries and the food storehouses came next. A few of the more prepared towns managed to put a halt to things before the flames spread too far, but the effects were nonetheless disastrous. In the more remote reaches, whole cities were lost.

Famine erupted across the lands. Millions died of starvation, pestilence, looting and war. The flames of chaos spread between the cities. Some nations rebelled.

Tiryns herself did not suffer any of the direct consequences, but the indirect losses were catastrophic. The island had long since become dependent upon regular supplies of food, spices, luxuries and the like. Faced with this, Empress Aeterna Decimus Tertius chose to create the outposts. The cost was tremendous and the payoff immediate.

Thousands of ships sailed carrying hundreds of thousands of soldiers, building materials and orders to create an outpost at every port, at every major intersection and near every city. Responding to chaos with overwhelming force, Tiryns quickly re-established order and peace, of a sort. Those who resisted were slaughtered. Those who refused to pay the taxes of food and goods Tiryns demanded were quickly removed from power or killed.

It was not all blood and tyranny, however. The soldiers put an end to the chaos, ensuring regular shipments of food and medicine got to those who needed it most. The famine passed. Law and order were restored. The ships of Tiryns brought soldiers, medicine and some learning to the islands. The ships returned with food and goods. A form of balance was restored.

It couldn't last.

...

About five years ago, we saw the last ship of Tiryns come and go. Several expeditions were mounted. None returned. The diviners worked their seeing magics. Those that lived clawed out their eyes or simply lost their minds.

Now, there are whispers of war brewing in the eastern continents. Local governor's are grabbing up and hording resources and power. Many claim the right of Tiryns when they do so, but few believe Tiryns will ever return.

In some cities, the people speak openly of casting down the legions. Still others grumble for conquest.

A report came to my desk yesterday speaking of dark creatures being seen in the north. If the reports from the south are to be believed, the Orgoshi have returned as well.

One way or another, the Third Age of Tiryns is over.