Watchfulness

Situated between a wild and dangerous Najara, an empire of Yuan-Ti and lizardfolks, and Amn whose intention are ever doubtful at best, Elturgard stand proud and strong. With its second sun forever burning bright above the capital, Elturgard is led by the clergy of Torm and the country is a beacon of hope and righteousness. Ever watchful, never flinching.

Holy Champion Cerbero was watching Northwest that morning. Again. What he read in the sky was only bad omen, just like the day before. A test of their faith; not just the city over which he watched, Triel, but of all that which Torm protects. The Realms. Faerun.

He put his hand on his squire's shoulder, a young boy of 10, but brave.

" Prepare my horse, and weapons. Tell the master-at-arms that I want 200 champions ready to march. I want Sir Seristan leading them. We'll march at noon, after the prayers and blessings ".

The boy bowed and left with his orders.

Cullen Cerbero  was done watching the darkness creeping far in the horizon from the top of his tower. He made a sharp croaking sound, and a raven soon landed next to him. He tied a message to it and sent him toward Elturel.

He would not let this evil creep slowly across the lands and sit idly.

Along the coast...

The night had fled but let its gloom behind. Joe Brandis was looking out the window, from his comfortable place on the featherbed. The nights were darker now, the days almost just as bad. What they thought was a storm was in fact the shadows. They fell on the coast and hid the sky. He looked out, trying to see the stars, some guidance sent by Selune, as he so often looked for at sea, but the sky stayed grey and dark. How long had he been sober now? Days only, yet it seemed years. His brother had found him, and he brought hope that Joe had given up long ago. With this task that had been left behind for him by his younger brother, Joe found strength he did not know he still had.

A shape stirred beside him under the furs. Telandra was waking up, turning to face him. The furs slipped from her breasts, yet she made no move to pull them back. Strong in her faith, she was keeper of Selune's Eye Lighthouse and leader of the silverstars of the region.

" What do you have in mind, Joe Brandis, to lay awake so? ", she asked gently.

He smiled.

" I was just thinking that all my life, I looked up to the moon, blessing Selune for guiding our ship. Yet, now that shadows cover the lands, Selune gives me an even better light to guide me through the night.", he said, cupping her breast.

Telandra drew closer and slid her hands under the furs, whispering " Are all ex pirates as charming as a Brandis? "

He chuckled, " You may find other pirates just as charming, but you'll find none as eager to please as me. "

She had her hands between his legs. She understood just what he meant.

The world below the world

Nowhere is more dangerous than the Underdark. But even for the denizen roaming the dark reaches of Faerun, there are places you do not go, things you avoid. For Nayissm'na, staying in charge of her pocket of Bregan D'Aerthe meant knowing all of these dangers. Avoiding them, using them, making them. Knowledge and control was survival in drow society, even for sellswords of the drow mercenary organization. When she received news that undead creatures were roaming the upper world, terrorizing the swordcoast, Nayissm'na could only roll her eyes and curse. Of course, these stupid undead were everywhere. She have had her share to deal with for quite some time now. At first, she thought their master was after the same thing she was. Now she was more inclined to believe that she was after something that belonged for that Eladrin for a long time.

If only there were those damned Plaguecaves to worry about. But that eladrin had all sorts of servants, none of which seemed impressed by drows. Even there, she'd have dealt with them already, but they were not her only worries. 

Just when Nayissm'na was thinking of making a move on that arrogant Eladrin, she got news from her scouts. The kruthiks had just been taken care of by a small band of adventurers. She had to smile. One less thing to worry about. And maybe... if there were coming this way...

" What shall we do with these surfacedwellers, Nayis? " , asked her consor, always eager to please her with some bloodshed.

" Let them come... I believe I will meet them. "

A broken heart, A broken Soul

During his youth, if there is anyone Turcanor Everlighted loved more than anything else, it was his father. His proud father was a model wielder of the light, Champion of Tyr and defender of everything that was good and just and pure in Faerun. He also was a loving father who tended to Turcanor's every needs, taught him the letters and the sword. But one day, his father had gone and never again did he see him... alive.

The young Turcanor was them raised by the Church and taken into his vows of paladinhood at the age of 14. He was then given the only thing the church had found of his loved father: The Everlighted Family Claymore. Holding his father's sword, Turcanor knew that day that although he was serving his god Tyr in every things, he would never rest until he avenged his father.

Years of adventuring have taken Turcanor across the realms, and his tale would not be a short one, along with the stout dwarven warrior Abubu and many other companions. His travels and adventures had one day given him words of a Death Knight, a vile undead creature, traitor to his god and minion of Bane, was terrorizing the people and dwelling in the Bone Hills, a battlefield of old, close to Anaurochs, the Sea of Sand. But there Turcanor did find the Death Knight. Battling the undead, they found a weakness in the Circlet the creature wore. Once parted from it though, instead of being vanquished, the undead took of his helm, revealing the a rotting face that Turcanor recognized. Freed from the control of his corrupted masters, his Father was now recovering some memory. Turcanor had come to lay a monster to rest. But instead, he had brought back his old wounds and had his dearest wish granted!

Or so he thought. Long lost was his Father's humanity and years of vile deeds had corrupted what little was left of his mind. Without a soul, without sanity, the freed Death Knight could barely control his evil. They set out on a quest to try and free him of the grasp of evil. To get Tyr's Pardon for the fallen paladin. It was the only purpose of Turcanor's life.

But what great betrayal had caused his father's to fall from grace and be abandoned by Tyr, Turcanor never knew, for while they were deep in the underdark, undertaking a great quest as present to Tyr, his comrade turned on him and destroyed his father.

What madness had taken them? Did they not understand Turcanor's mission. Or was it madness that blinded Turcanor and they did him a favor? His dream destroyed, Turcanor lost his senses and killed his traitorous companion, leaving the wounded Abubu as food for the Xorns and never looking back as he left.

On that day, he was cursed. Tyr did not forgive his impulses, yet Turcanor did not accept that his god let his Father be destroyed, so close to redemption. Cursing Tyr and cursing life, no tale speak of what happened of him afterward.

Until a century later. Now a Death Knight, Turcanor still wields the sword of his father. The Everlighted Claymore, a sentient blade, was also hurt by the loss and shunted the light as well. Now renamed Tearslayer, the claymore serves his undead master with a burning fury.

Without purpose, he mourned the loss of his father a long time, sometimes associating with evil gods to assault Tyr's church.

He nows answer to another power. His call was heard not long ago and his voice was commands to him. Angry at the loss of his freewill, but welcoming the purpose to his existence, Turcanor answered the necrotic call of Qual Danas, an ancient evil now awakening along the Sword Coast.

Waiting is not really part of the dogma.

" I should have stayed with the Blood Ravens. At least Galarnok had some sort of a plan. ".

Two hours sharing the same table with the paladin and these were the first words he pronounced. Slowly, with his deep and serious voice, like he was carefully thinking every word through, for his words were set in stone.

Stuh Ryback, sitting opposite him at a small table of the Clockwork Inn of Daggerford, looked up from an empty glass and met Genhal Rockystone's eyes.

" Galarnok is a fool. He has not seen the ravage of that disease. Of course he will kill some of them. Bloody Hell, he'll slaughter legions of them. But that will not stop them. ", he replied, lost in thoughts.

" The Raven will secure a safe haven along the coast, where we can prepare and strike. ", the earth genasi said calmly.

The paladin of Torm nodded. He would very much have liked to meet with the adventurers he had seen in Waterdeep when the disease started. He left them notes, they left him notes. he was frustrated. All he knew is that this disease is a lure. Something bigger was coming and the packs of undead attacking the farmlands was just the first drops of a flood.

He felt the pull of the Shadowfell, tugging at this world's borders, bringing the worlds closer. He felt such a thing before, years ago, in another time...

" Listen my friend. Starting now, things will get bad. The likes even us might not have ever seen. And you, as I, have seen much. "

The genasi met the Paladin's stare.

" Why are you so certain? ", he asked.

" Certain? Hah, there is no such thing as certainty, aside from my faith in Torm ", Stuh paused to have a thought for his deity. " And this feeling I have, I believe it comes from him. Temperance, my friend, and patience."

The stone champion was silent for a long time. Neither men talked. Then the tall genasi got up.

" Let us go, Stuh. ", he said.

Stuh shrugged. He left a handful of coins and got up.

" Allright. Let's go. To hell with waiting for them. I'll leave a note. "

Genhal smiled. Stuh caught his expression and shrugged again.

" Waiting has never been part of my dogma. Now... What would you make of a trip on a flying castle? "

At the Hollow Hills Keep...

Their archer comrades covering them and watching closely from the tree line, they started along the path leading to the keep walls. Their leaders had been right; the keep was inhabited again. It did not take two days, new goblins and their undead masters had come. No word from the scouts. These must have been more than simple mindless zombies to surprise and kill their scouts without being noticed by the frequent patrols...

Controlling his fear and steeling his nervers, Yurmael reached the outside walls of the keep and risked a look inside. The courtyard was covered with a light fog. Nothing moved.

He heard a gasp behind him and turned around to see his companion tight in the grasp of a vaporous monster. He swung at it, cutting accross its arm to free his friend, and hit only air. Then hands grabbed at his ankles, almost tripping him. With horror, he saw skeletal hands piercing through the ground around him. That is where the undead at come from: From bodies buried around the keep. He tried to pry himself free, slashes at the hands as the skeletons were freeing themselves from the ground. Yurmael looked at his friend and saw he was already dead: a pale figure stripped of life energy and shocked to death, his body drifting to the floor through the wraith's ethereal body.

He slashed at it again, to no good. Them bony hands grab him from all sides and he loses his nerves. He starts screaming in utter terror, crying for Corelon's help.

With a painful tug, skeletons hands wrenched away his armor and skin and he thought it was the end, and prayed for it to be quick. Yet what he heard next was the distinct crack of multiple bones. Then rattling against heavy metal plates as the skeletons were attacking whoever had come behind him. He opened his eyes and turned around and what he saw, he could not believe.

An enormous plate clad man was lifting two skeletons and launching them with brutal force against the stone walls where they crashed and shattered. His plate was heavy and crowned by a huge helm showing a skull and nothing but two pin holes for the eyes. The shoulders were huge blades. But what stroke Yurmael mute was the four arms, now drawing two huge bastard swords and two shields, as the wraith went for him.

The blades took bluish and greenish hues as the armored man engaged the undead, yet his attacks seemed to have little effect on his ethereal opponent. Likewise, the heavy armor offered little protection against the insubstancial body of the wraith.

And as if the four arms was not enough surprise, the man dropped swords and shields, stepped back and from his hips, drew four strange weapons, akin to crossbows with no bow or strings. Yurmael reckoned these were guns, rare alchemical weapons. Rumors had it they made a mess, but no stories prepared him for what came next.

The hulking man pointed his four arms toward the wraith and press all four triggers, unleashing a thunderous blast from each, and from each a devastating arc of lightning went and strucked the undead. The noise and termendous energy sent the elf crashing backward. For him, the end of the world couldn't be any worse.

Yet, all that was left was a strange smell in the air. No trace of the undead.

The huge man snorted, slid a panel of his helm open to spit gruesome phlegm where the wraith had been, then turned and walked toward the keep.

Behind him, a man stood, came forward and offered him his hand. He too was in a heavy and evil looking armor, but his helm was at his side. On his chest was the symbol of the Flaming fist of Baldur's Gate.

" It seems you have an undead problem, Sir elf. ".

From the woods, Yurmael heard the footsteps of elves arriving. Much too late if it wasn't for these two strangers help.

" My name is Galarnok Partack. Excuse the brutal efficiency of my friend. Lukkieddi Voricht does not know how to hold back. ", he went on.

" It so happens that I am looking for a place to setup a camp against these undead. It also appears that you fair folks are spread too thin accross the woods to hold this keep as well. "

Yurmael was still too stunned to find words, he simply nodded, a little too fast, trying to keep his heart from exploding.

" It seems you and I can reach an... agreement, right friend? ", and he smiled.

Damned be thy name

"Acane... What are you doing?"

I'm waiting in my cold cell, reflecting on my past life, when the bell begins to chime; I don't have much time, because at 5 o'clock, they take me to the Gallows pole.

The sands of time, for me are running low.

"Running low...."

When the priest comes to give me the last rites, I take a look through the bars at the last sights of a world that has gone very wrong for me. Everything that happened must have been some sort of error. Now it's hard to stop the surmounting terror. Is this really the end or just a crazy dream? Somebody please tell me that I'm dreaming....

"You are not dreaming. This is real. But I can help you..."

It's not easy to stop from screaming. Words escape me when I try to speak. Tears flow, but why am I crying? After all I'm not afraid of dying. I never believed there would never be an end...

"But it does not have to end like this. All you have to do is let me help you..."

As the guards bring me out in the courtyard, somebody crys from a cell "Gods be with you!". I have to smile. None of them gods would not let me die. As I walk, all my life drifts before me. And though the end is near, I am not sorry.

"You were freed from the damned yet you believe this is your fate?"

As my executioner ties the rope around my neck, I wish I found the strength to speak. Mark my words, believe my soul lives on. I'm not worried now that I going. I'm going beyond to seek the truth. When you know your time is close at hand, you begin to understand that life is just a strange illusion.

"Although it might seems like an illusion, it is all you have. Are you ready to lose it?"

The traps open and then I fall. My heart stops and I wait for my death. When I reach the end my neck cracks but does not snap. The horror fills me as I try to gasp for air. Pain flares up as I suffocate. The cheers of the crowd fade fast and I'm left alone in agony.

"The faithless and the damned will welcome you..."

I'm losing consciousness. There is nothing peaceful about death. There is only fear, pain and loneliness.

I don't want to die.

I know....

Lyrlia Zerfis meets Liw Snadtar

" It is a blessing we ran into each other. With the Flaming Fist scouring the lands for undead and lizardfolks, recruiting a good mercenary in Baldur's Gate is not as easy as you'd think.", started Lyrlia Zerfis, sitting in front of a middle aged half-elf.

"I told you, I am not a mercenary...", objected Liw Snadtar, but seeing what Liw laid on the table next to the bottle of wine, he paused a second then added, "... but there is always room for discussion.".

Lyrlia smiled as she removed the cloth from around a very special pair of bracers, showing gold, gems and magical runes.

"Of course, I remember, you made it quite clear. And I do not require a simple mercenary, which is why I am interested in you. You see, I come from far, and in this region, I know no one. Yet, I have come to search for someone and have to cover a great deal of lands to find him. I do not wish to hire you to kill or abduct. Simply to find. But it will be dangerous, especially now...", she let her voice trail...

"... now that the lands between here and Waterdeep are slowly being infected with undeath.", the half-elf said, picking up where the eladrin had left, repeating words she had told him earlier. He had recently arrived from Amn and completed what he had come to do in Baldur's Gate. He had found the Miracle city under a curfew and unusually strict guard, which was unheard of in the last decades.

"And this, I assume, is my payment?" he added, referring to the bracers with his eyes.

"You are almost right. This is you first payment", she correted. "It has potent magic I am sure you will have good use for, Warlock", as Liw was about to interrupt, she rose a hand. "No need to ask how I can tell, I just know. Take it for now. When we next meet, I'll have more for you. As for the question you're about to ask, let me answer... His name is Fylikiel Zerfis and he is my brother".

Liw was silent a second, wondering for a moment if the eladrin was actually reading his mind, or just deducing that this was the only logical question he could have asked. And if his eldritch ties were really so apparent. Lyrlia went on.

"He travels with adventurers from Waterdeep. Recently returned from a trip to the Moonshae Isles, they took upon themselves to investigate necrotic attacks along the sword coast. They were also appointed by a high ranking Flaming Fist officer for the same purpose. I have looked accross the region for this Galarnok Partack, and could not find him. Nor could I find Stuh Ryback, a well respected paladin from Waterdeep, who is also investigating these undead attacks".

She paused a second to let the warlock take it all in. He seemed suspicious for a second...

"You mean to tell me I am to track an adventurer along the sword coast, as he tracks zombies, just to tell him his sister is looking for him? I don't buy it".

Lyrlia feigned surprise, that much was obvious to Liw. She expected him to inquire more, of course.

"You are right, there is more to it. ", she went on, "Truth is, my brother disappeared decades ago from my family's quarters. We had thought him dead after triggering wild and powerfull magical traps from ancient sealed tomes. And now, he is back and alive".

Liw nodded. That made more sense. Also, he suspected this lost brother possessed something that was precious, that very same thing that had been trapped. But that much, he did not share with Lyrlia. In Amn, you learn to not voice such hypothesis without proofs. Better that she didn't know what he suspected.

"And how will I be able to tell that he's really your brother?", he asked simply.

"He bears a spellscar in the shape of a snake."

Domain of the scarred mage

Faint fluctuations in the magical weave brought More Claym back to consciousness from a deep trance he had been in for nearly a tenday. The bodily sensations flooding back reminded him again of how weak flesh was, even empowered like his was. Starved, dehydrated and with every limbs numbed from not moving for days, the wizard worked his mind back into his body slowly. 

Looking up to the stone statue in the middle of his courtyard, More Claym stood and stretched his back, standing straight in the bright sunlight. Glistening along his body like surface veins, coursed bluish lines resonating with dormant magical energies.One of his eyes was a deep blue light, his whole hair were tendrils of magical flame flowing about like snakes, and his right arm was gone, but with a thought, the wizard recreated it from the wild magic inside him. Spellscarred beyond understanding, More Claym's whole body had been claimed by the plague, making him one with the magic of Faerun. Only his mastery of the arcane and determination had allowed him to survive the spellplague, and learn to control the damages it had done this his body.  Unfortunately, the damages to his mind were not so easily repaired, and More Claym's unstable nature had scared away everything he had left, which was not much to start with.

The last century had been hard on More Claym....

His constant struggle against the Dark Minded Council, and his nemesis, the sorcerer Blade, had ended with the death of his daughter, killed in the evil rituals of devils and dark magic. Of his companions, only Mugnorr Kenesis had survived. Then the Archwizards of Shade had come and started a war on Cormyr. They had helped, and fierce had been their battles, from which tales had been made.

But that had all faded into memories, and into legends as men died.

Then the Spellplague had struck, twisting his mind and body. If not for Mugnorr Kenesi, he would have lost his mind much sooner., but the powers of his friend were great as well. Unfortunately, as the decades passed and the plague raged, they finally lost the battle and when More Claym's mind was irreversably plagued, nothing else was the same.

From conflict to experiment, with rages, torpors, comas and strange dreams, More Claym's life crumbled slowly into chaos. Becoming a danger for the world around them, Mugnorr Kenesi, getting old but still strong, tried to put a end to it. Stop his own friend before he became a threat to Faerun.

Mugnorr Kenesi was not victorious. As the battle raged, the Mind Master was not prepared for the strange powers the Spellplague had bestowed upon More Claym.

Now, years later, and having regained some control over his own mind, More Claym was looking the statue of his old companion with regret. 

Then he felt it again. A fluctuation, ever so subtle yet unmistakable.

"You feel it my friend?", he said to the effigy of his lost friend. "Elven High Magic... very powerful yet very distant. ", he concentrated a second, reaching out with his scar rather than his eyes, "Very ancient, and very evil. Necrotic energies, yes... coming from the west... Yes, The west."

"Very interesting".

Too soon to know where the exact source was, More Claym prepared his domain. His castle was floating freely around the Plagueland, amongs the other pockets of changing weather and landscape, hiding its true nature. He would ready the old rituals to have it turn invisible and start its progress toward the Sword Coast. 

He bowed to the statue of his lost companion, then went inside.

Unexpected reunion

At the slightest change in the air, his hand went to the hilt of his blade. At this subtle movement, his men stopped. They all become immobile, stones statues amongs the trees, listening. Waiting.

Galarnok motioned to one of his men to start forward. Nouraha Awkeye did so without a sound and vanished amongs the trees like a shadow.

Minutes went on and the rogue came back with good news: Goblins. The Blood Raven nodded and they went on, cutting after Nouraha, to ambush the little rascals. They killed countless varmints in this forest hoping for a few clues concerning a strange Hobgoblin clan, with very little results. But his real trip in the Trollbark Woods was to meet with a clan of shaman he had met before. Nevertheless, splilling goblin blood would be a welcome pause during their tedious walk.

They slowed down. The goblins were in sight. Galarnok unhook his disproportionate blade from its back hilt, holding it beside him and readying his charge... but the sun glinting off an armor off to his right, between the trees, alerted him that the goblins were not the only opponents. 

This new opponent was coming at them, silent even in platemail. Not liking a surprise, the Blood Raven welcomed the challenge and ran straight at the new comer. Coming into full few, Galarnok could see the man better; white steel full plate armor with purple filigrees, full face helmet shaped as the head of a dragon, and brandishing two-handed sword. The BloodRaven could have stayed his blade, but decided otherwise, as the memories of his opponent swam back from a time long pass. He could not quite recognize him, but knew this armor was familiar.

The enormous blade sliced through air and smaller trees to come hit the armored man with full force. A normal blade could not have parried that powerful strike, but this one did, barely avoiding a deadly blow. The force of Galarnok's charge sent the man backward, but he kept his balance. The Blood Raven lunged forward for another assault, but his opponent had other plans for him.

The man came forward switfly and swung an angled strike at Galarnok. A bright flash of light blinded him and he couldn't avoid the blade completely, his armor deflecting a heavy blow and numbing his side. As it struck, strands of energy erupted from the weapon wrapping themselves around him, rooting him to the ground. 

Unable to move, Galarnok took his last chance to catch the man within reach. He angled his blade and struck as fast as his athletic arms could, pushing his weapon deeper than he normally would. The man could'nt move out of reach fast enough and the mighty blade struck him, and through him, riping a legplate right off and digging into his flesh, pinning the man to the ground. 

Both opponent were now face to face, barely inches apart, immobilized, as Galarnok's friends catched up.

"Hey Galarnok. Age clouds your memory. Don't you recognize your foe" , came the voice of Nouraha behind him.

The flash of light, the purple filigree... Yes. He knew that man.

"Galarnok Partack. The BloodRaven himself, is that really you?", asked his foe, almost painlessly. Taking his helmet off, spilling his brownish blood hair, framing the face of...

"Stuh Ryback, Paladin of Torm".

The white tendrils holding on Galarnok vanished. The mercenary let his weapon go and the paladin ripped his leg free of it with not so much as a groan. He reached into his satchel and quaffed the content of a small vial. Immediately, the open wound, bleeding freely, started to close magically, leaving not so much as a scar.

" I dare say I am not surprised to see the Blood Raven walk these lands at such a dark hour. But what brings your to Toril, Galarnok.", inquired the paladin.

" Pay attention to the symbol on my chest and you will notice that these lands have been my home for quite some time already, old friend. ", responded Galarnok.

" I see. And if I am to indeed believe your decorations, you are force commander of Baldur's Gate. Is that so? " , asked Stuh suspiciously. 

" Yes, Paladin. Very true indeed. And what a Paladin of Torm, also a purple dragon commander, is doing in Trollbark Woods, hunting goblins ? ", replied Galarnok.

" If I am to believe the signs I have seen... probably the same you were doing ", suggested Stuh.

" Trying to figure out why clans of lizardfolks and hobgoblins would war under a similar banner, miles apart from each other, and how ... ", Galarnok let his voice trail...

" ... how this would be connected to strange necrotic contagions along the sword coast. ", finished the paladin.

The two men looked at each other a moment longer, coming to an understanding. Reunited after what felt, and could probably be, centuries, the old friend let the unease slowly fade. They might have been adventurers long ago, but Paladins and Mercenaries often have different opinions concerning most things. Thus Galarnok and Stuh met anew, in the Trollbark Woods, along the sword coast of Faerun.

For Stuh Ryback, that such powerful individuals as the Blood Raven took interest in this matter was very bad news. For nothing short of world shattering cataclysms ever brought The Blood Raven out of his lair.

A worried sister...

In a flurry of silky magical tendrils,  an image first blinked, then fully materialized. She was a beautiful sight to the startled onlookers at the gates of Evereska's Hall of the Ancients. Courtisans and commoners scattered as the noble Eladrin guards came to talk with the mesmerizing stranger.

" My name Lyrlia Zerfis, daughter Haldion Zerfis de Myth Drannor. The lady has been forwarned of my presence here. I very much desire to speak with her. " 

The guards, wise and well learned, could recognize a member of a noble family easily, and this bowed and retired. Only Mehlar Dawnblade, the Lady of Evereska's consort, stayed behind and directed Lyrlia past the gates and up stairs to the quarters of the Lady. They found her in front of the window, glancing down at the enchanted meadows and strange wonders of the feywild. Lyrlia heard the door close gently, and then the two women were alone.

" I feel worry in you, child. Please, drink and share with me ", the Lady spoke, gesturing at a small table surrounded with cushions, where a steamy flask of tea was set with two cups.

Lyrlia bowed her head gently and accepted the drink. She comfortably laid on the cushions and accepted the cup, served by invisible aerial servants. The tea was delicious, a fine selection of leaves only found on rare plants of the Feywild. She gave a thankfull smile at the warm welcome, then spoke:

" You have met with my brother, Fylikiel. We have thought him dead for over 150 years, so puzzling was his disappearance and fruitless our search for him. Yet he is back in the Realms and you found him well I hear, but he has not the heart to send word to us? ".

The lady nodded and replied:

" Your brother is indeed well, but maybe not for long. He has taken upon himself to solve a strange mistery along the Sword Coast. A mystery involving long forgotten elven lores and powerful elven magic. The likes your family is acquainted with I believe. "

" I presume you are referring to the legends concerning our family. ", Lyrlia inquired, to which the Lady simply nodded. Lyrlia continued,

" I see. So you have thought wise to warn us of his presence and interest. I thank you, Lady. Do you think Fylikiel knows of these legends, our potential destiny ? ", Lyrlia asked as humbly as she could.

" I know he does not possess the knowledge to read these lores. He carried with him the scars of the Spellplague and the taint of the Shadowfell was evident. I do not know of his intentions beyond his willingness to restore to us a scroll of lores we lost to a powerful undead creation. His desire to help was genuine, yet he surely has interests of his own. ".

Lyrlia had heard enough. Her brother was back, and was after old and powerful enemies. The sword coast, the Lady said. Her own knowledge of the coast was limited. She would have to find help. Lost in thought for several minutes, she finished her tea in silence. Then, slowly, she rose and spoke for a last time:

" Thank you Lady for your time. I will be on my way. Fylikiel will require assistance. ". The Lady bowed and smiled. 

Fylikiel's eldest and most beautiful sister, Lyrlia Zerfis, no longer a student of magic but a virtuose magician, left Everaska moments after to go after her foolish brother, along the Sword Coast.

Acane - Untold stories

Old Wise men would say that at 21 your life has just begone. And in most, they would be right. But in Acane's mind float more years of memories than her body has seen.

The Spellplague has brought many wonders and disasters. It has been the end of many things, but to herself, Acane bless the day it broke out in the Realms. Because in ages past, she did not have the chance she now has...

Very few are familiar with the Hellgate Keep as it was before the world changed. Sealed inside by powerful rituals, demons called the bastion home for a long time. The Tanar'ri reveled in death and devastation; this stronghold was their home on this material plane, and although they were held in check by heroes of this world, their evil influence spread far and deep. Thus was the fate of a clan of elves who bred with the demons, and Acane was one such child born more demon than elf. Twisted in heart and mind, she lived a life of mischief, madness and sadism. For centuries...

Until the Spellplague. Striking deep and ripping through the planes, it had a mystifying effect on Acane and the remaining half-bread of her clan. Most were killed, others were not so lucky and were turned into monstruosities. Only a few were affected at first, but as the plague progessed, none escaped the wild magic.

Fate had chosen a special path for Acane. Her very nature was torn asunder, severing her dual origin and creating the being of exceptional beautfy she is now, but also creating an even more perverted demon to match. Uncomprehending, both entities had to relearn existence in their respective new shell.

No longer immortal, but no longer evil, Acane had a second chance, for reasons unknown, if reason there is.

She was then 14.

The Forest camp of Bunyan TrollAxe

Daggerford has always been ruled by merchants.  The plots and schemes of these lords have never been to the liking of Bunyan Trollaxe. Not 5 years ago, Bunyan indebted without hope, strugling to make a living as a lumberman. Although poor, Trollaxe as always been respected or feared by all, because of his size and sheer brutal prowesses.  For this reason, the son of a rich ship builder trying to impress his dying father ( to gain his favors over his two broters ), decided the settled all of Bunyan debts and employ him for a project: Rid the forest hills of Troll Woods of enough varmin to establish a new lumbercamp, allowing them access to wood of excellent quality for cheap. Hateful of merchants, but even more hateful of his debts, Trollaxe accepted grudgingly. 

Handpicking the strongest and most fierce lumberman he knew, Trollaxe set to rid the woods of goblins, kobolds and such. He even managed along the way to cut a deal with elves inhabiting the woods, allowing him to cut the trees in exchange for his services. Using this deal, he forced the ship builder son to pay him handsomely as well as assuring his position at the head of the camp; the deal with the elves being only valid as long as Trollaxe was in charge.

Building fortified walls and towers, the lumber camp did not only turn out to be very profitable to both Bunyan and the ship builder, but is also reguarded as a strategic defense post by the Watch of Daggerford. Scouts from the city keep in touch every week. Work there is hard but rewarding and business is good.

That is, until recently. Occasional goblins sneaking in the woods turned into occasional warbands led by Hobgoblins. The lumbermen get ambushed almost everyday. For the last two months, this tranquil lumbercamp has seen more and more action. Not that Trollaxe is not happy to add to his long list of goblin victims, but dealing with Hobgoblins does worry the huge foreman.

The pragmatic mercenary

When the City of Baldur's Gate was on the verge of disaster as Grand Duke Valarken and his lycanthrope allies of the Band of the Red Moon tried to overthrow the leaders of the city, Grand Duke Portyr, struggling for his life, come accross this strange man offering the services of himself and a handful of his men, known then as the Blood Raven.
Untrusting, but desperate, Grand Duke Portyr grudgingly accepted his offer, for an outrageous amount of gold and titles. If at first, Portyr had doubts, they evaporated at the gruesome efficiency with which the Blood Raven could find and mow through the werewolves renegades within the Flaming Fist. Ever since Valarken retreated with his followers, Galarnok Partak has been serving the Flaming Fist with great efficiency, defending the city proper and the regions around, keeping his closest man as his eyes and hears along the sword coast. Even if Grand Duke Portyr is worried that such capable individuals might want to try grab the leadership of the Flaming Fist for themselves, nothing they have done leads to believing they would.

Now Force Lieutenant of the Flaming Fist, Galarnok Partak, the Blood Raven, has started a new chapter in his own dark agenda. His recent meeting with adventurers from Waterdeep brought him news of undeath crawling along the Sword Coast and turning whole ship crews into the living dead. And for reasons unknown to Grand Duke Portyr or others, Galarnok Partak seems to take these signs of undeath metamorphosis very seriously.

The Hand of Torm

Paladin of Torm and Knight of Forgiveness, Stuh Ryback travels the realms, and some say the planes, as his deity dictates.

Encountered recently in the City of Splendor, Stuh Ryback has joigned for a time with his brother Joseph and other capable adventurers as a Gray Hand, an elite group of individuals upon which the Lords of Waterdeep can count whenever arises a situation normal guards or trained wizards can't handle.

Accross the lands, Little is known of this relic from the past, but tales of his ancestor of the same name resurface in Cormyr and the Heartland. If half the rumors are true, Stuh Ryback would be the descendant of a powerful Purple Dragon Knight, which became their commander after the passing of Azoun IV, and would have protected Azoun V, then only a child, through many attempt on the young heir life.

A mysterious companion...

She desires them and they desire her; it is unclear which one is stronger. Free of will and libertine, Acane accompanies the heroes for a reason that is yet unclear.

Originaly teamed with Aishar and Auburn by their guild to keep them out of trouble, she shows the same desire as them: break free from their guild's authority.

Behind her outrageous outfits and unbridled sexual impulses, what is on her mind remains a mystery.