Campaign thread goes here.
Nearly a thousand years ago, Taldor launched the Shining Crusade against Tar-Baphon, the Whispering Tyrant who unified the orc tribes of Belkzen and ruled central Avistan for five centuries from his doom-shrouded, haunted domain of Ustalav. From all of Taldor's provinces along the Inner Sea crusaders assembled, dedicated to destroying the lich-king and his minions.
The paladins of the crusade carved a steady swath into the Whispering Tyrant's forces, and summoned Aroden's herald, Arazni, to finish her patron's work. However, Tar-Barphon was more powerful than any had imagined and struck the archon down, throwing her lifeless body before Taldor's armies.
Two great figures stepped forth to prevent the rout - a young paladin Iomedae and general Arnisant. The call of vengeance spurred on the crusade and General Arnisant sacrificed herself to imprison Tar-Baphon beneath his own tower at Gallowspire, at the evil city's heart.
And thus Lastwall was founded. Taldor created a permanent presence to guard the lich's prison in Gallowspire and prevent his return. Lastwall stands today as a bulwark against one of the greatest evil humanity has ever known. The empires have long since fallen and Lastwall is now independent and neutral, but it stands today having long since shifted its attention from the dormant prison to the orcish hordes of Belkzen.
One hero of the Shining Crusade was Ervin Roslar, a devotee of Arazni who was so enraged by his death he threw himself onto the armies of the Whispering Tyrant, slaying countless before succumbing himself. He is entombed as a hero whose brave sacrifice likely paved the way for the final victory of the Shining Crusade.
He was entombed on the southwestern border of Lastwall, and there was erected a mighty Temple of Sarenrae, and a town in his honour - Roslar's Coffer.
1 Desnus, 4719 Absalom Reckoning
It is here our story begins. Roslar's Coffer is a small border town famous for its tomb of heroes, its temple of Sarenrae, its band of Lastwall Wolfriders, and its recovery after being razed by the Twisted Nail tribe and stalked by a creature called the red reaver for a decade. The resettlement of the community can only now be considered complete. New wooden buildings built from the mighty trees of the Fangwood define the town, and there is a sense of life and promise among the townsfolk.
Today the town is throwing a spring fête by the banks of the mighty Tourondel. All around you merchants have traveled from Lastwall and Nirmathas to show their wares, and the air is filled with music and the sound of laughter and storytelling. It is here you begin your adventure, surrounded by the merriment of people who have finally returned to their home.
"...yes, yes, Mom, I know." The armoured elf says as she emerges from the front door of her family home. "Don't worry--I'll be back before dark. I promise." She calls into the house before she closes the door behind her.
I mean, come on. It's a festival! It's a time for fun! Alara looks over her violet studded leathers, well-made satchel and nunchaku poking out of it. Isn't being kitted out in full gear a bit much? I mean, what's going to go wrong?
She starts running down the well-trodden path from her house to the festivities ahead.
"Ah, Private Crabtree. The Spring Festival! Doesn't it just make you happy to be alive?"
The enthusiastic halfling smiles as he rides around the edge of the festival grounds on his large wolf with his young partner.
"Er, yes, Sarge ... happy indeed."
The two make a slow path around, nodding at merchants and townsfolk as they set up the festival grounds. Despite the fact that their mounted height puts them basically at the same level as the humans that make up most of the populace, they are treated with the full respect due knights of Lastwall. They stop to get a small meal of roasted meat and flatbread, then continue their patrol.
A young elven woman comes up the path from the residential quarter, and the two nod to her. Sergeant Malvo tips his hat and smiles as he says, "Good morning, Alara! Aren't you a bit overdressed? Or are you hoping to get recruited into the town guard at the festival?"
Alara waves back at the halfling sergeant and his wolf buddy. "I know--you can thank Mom for making me go out like this. I mean, it's a festival--who's going to try something at a festival?"
"I mean, we've got the riders and guards on the lookout for trouble, right?"
"That we are! 'Semper Paratus!'" The halfling sits tall in his saddle, and even his wolf seems to show pride in its job of protecting the town.
"Your ma means well, but I have to say you do look a little silly with those Tien clubs. I never understood the point of tying two clubs together on a chain, myself. Give me a sharp sword for the fleshy ones, and a heavy mace or morningstar for the bony ones!" He motions to the weapons on either hip.
"Go on, enjoy yourself! Just don't get tempted to start something yourself, all kitted out like that!"
Some have started the festival early. A pudgy, balding man stops momentarily to belch before continuing to consume a large tankard filled with ale. In his other hand, he holds a greasy chunk of meat, and he alternates between the two.
This, alone, would not be worth mention, were it not for the prominent (If rather stained and nicked) holy symbol of Sarenrae and the rough robes of a priest, already stained with food and drink.
Not many recognise the individual, even though he was born here, though he fled with most everyone else after the orcish invasion ten years ago. Time, and life, have clearly taken their toll on him. Despite the festive air, his features are dour.
He only momentarily looks around from his meal. He looks at the halfling riding a wolf, and the armoured elf, shooting a glance of confusion, before returning to his drink.
"Bah, not sure if this was the best or worst time to be sent back to town. Got a job to do, but hell with it, can't think of working during whatever's going on today." He speaks loudly to nobody in particular.
Malvo looks to the newcomer. Well, he seems to have begun the festivities early for someone who wasn't aware of them...
With the practice that comes with time serving the public, he manages to keep his inner thoughts off of his face. Tipping his hat, he says to the man, "As it happens, we are celebrating Recovery Day! We are officially a fully rebuilt town after the troubles with orcs and the Red Reaver. Are you here on behalf of the Church of Sarenrae?"
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"They're called nunchaku, sergeant!" Alara says in mock-indignation. "And they look cool!"
She trots past the depressed-looking friar with only a brief glance. Why so glum? This is supposed to be a happy occasion!
Now, what sort of attractions do they have here?
Tornell is too far into the drink to notice Malvo's suspicion. Indeed, when Malvo approaches, Tornell apparently remembers himself and brushes off the largest crumbs off his clerical vestments, though this does little to make him look any more presentable. But an effort was made.
"Huh? Oh, yeah, sent to survey the temple now that it's been cleaned out. Unless some bigger monster has moved in now. Always how things go, isn't it? You solve one problem, and another one comes along. Never ending."
"Ahh, rebuilding the town. Yeah, suppose that's as good a reason as any to celebrate," Tornell says with little conviction.
Tornell blinks a few times when the elven woman approaches and peers at her, as if trying to recall something.
"Huh, you look familiar... How long have you lived here?"
Alara pauses as the friar addresses her.
”About five years, sir.”
"Oh. Nevermind, then. Must've been mistaken. You look like somebody else who used to live here. And don't call me sir. Call me Tornell, Brother Tornell, friar, or balding fatass, but not sir. I ain't no knight, and I'll never be one."
Malvo chuckles at the friar's self-deprecation, then tips his hat again as he introduces himself. "Master Sergeant Malvo, in command of the Lastwall Wolfriders, Rosler's Coffer detachment. Pleased to meet you, Brother Tornell. Have you been to our fair town before?"
"Been here? I was born here. Haven't been back since the orcs burnt the place down, though. Not as stubborn as everyone else, it seems. Spent the last twelve years helping people out in Vigil and getting crapped on, insulted, or mugged."
Despite his initial sour demeanor and rather grim words, Tornell is strangely jovial and pleasant in conversation.
Malvo seems surprised at Tornell's words. "I'll admit I haven't been back to Vigil since I was assigned here, but I'm surprised to hear you had such a bad reception there. Everyone I knew was happy to have a priest of Sarenrae around. I can tell you you won't get treated that way here! Out on the frontier, we all have to work together. Not saying everyone loves each other, but we're all generally civil."
He thinks for a bit. "If you're a native, you ought to know most of the folks here, outside of the soldiers and a few recent additions like the Shinrins. Hopefully you'll reignite some old friendships!"
"Oh, sure, people put on a good show when they see a Sarenraean cleric around, but lemme tell you, you see the truth once they realize nobody else is watching. And sometimes not even then."
"Bah, it's been twelve years. Anybody who remembers me probably thinks I'm a coward for not marching right back here and trying to rebuild. Those who weren't killed, that was. Ahh, but don't let me get you down. Food and drink abound, might as well enjoy the moment, eh? Or are you on duty, here?"
I wonder what it takes to make a priest of Sarenrae so dour?
Malvo nods and smiles. "Yes, I'm on duty. As squad commander I get to set the shifts, so I took early watch. That way I can just sit back and enjoy myself later in the evening!"
...twelve years? Wow.
Alara seems to have tuned back in to catch the last bit of the conversation.
She wanders off to get a plate of food: a slice of cooked lamb, some lettuce leaves, two slices of bread and a piece of cheese. She stacks them all together and starts to have breakfast.
"Yes, I'm on duty. As squad commander I get to set the shifts, so I took early watch. That way I can just sit back and enjoy myself later in the evening!"
"Smart thinking. Anyways, your friend there has the right idea, think I'll get more food."
Tornell follows Alara in the rough direction of food, grabbing pastries and meats to fill an only half-finished plate.
Malvo nods to both Alara and Brother Tornell as they head toward the food stalls. "Come along, Crabtree! Let's make a circuit of the outer wall."
The festivities wind down and continue without incident. The spirits in the town are good - these are the years of rebuilding, and promise. You all return exhausted but in high spirits to your various residences around Roslar's Coffin. For some of you this is home, for others this is a potential home. It is a place that has finally found something it has not had in a good twelve years - hope.
All is darkness and cold stone. Although you dimly recall going to sleep last night in the small community of Roslar’s Coffer, you awaken in a dark, stone box only a few inches larger than you in each direction. The cool scent of earth surrounds you.
Alara is the first to wake up, coughing in the dust from the ancient crypt, but the rest of you come to within seconds as it becomes clear something is very very wrong. Soon, it becomes apparent there are five of you awakening in these dark boxes.
"เบา!"
Realizing something is wrong, Malvo speaks a word of magic to bring forth light. He then attempts to take stock of the situation.
"Sound off! Who else is here? This is Sergeant Malvo!"
Malvo quickly casts a light spell and tries to sit up, but his hand hits a lid. He is inside of a long stone box that seems fitted to his size allowing a few inches of movement in all directions. As all of you come to, it is apparent that you have your adventuring equipment, short any items far larger than yourself that would not fit in these boxes. The rest of you hear the muffled shout and can more or less make out that someone called Malvo is sounding off.
As you come to you realize that your raven is uncomfortably crammed into the box with you, with just as much memory of falling asleep, and waking up like this as you have.
"เปิด"
Malvo attempts a bit of magic to escape.
"Ah! What's with the shouting?" a honeyed yet gravelly voices calls out.
”Hurry up, Artyom! We’re going to miss the festival if you keep walking so slow!” A young woman with short curly red hair and tanned skin shouts as she runs, her amber eyes twinkling with mirth and excitement. A short redheaded man sighs. ”I am, Vibia. Remember, I didn’t feel a need to come here. And I still don’t. I still need to look over some of the buildings and walls in town. And you need to be at the tavern. I’m guessing that you’re going to get a lot of business today.”
Vibia rolls her eyes as she goes back to her brother. ”It’s okay. Charlotte as the Lucky Cup covered. And you’ve been working since you got here! You need to take a break! And I’m not resting until you stop being such a stick in the mud and have some fun! Even Samuel would ask off of his patrols to be part of the Festival.” A raven flies down and lands on Vibia’s shoulder. ”She has a point, Artyom. We’ve been running around town all week. We could use a break.”
Artyom looks at the raven. ”And we still have a few more places to check, Ricky. We need to make sure this town is well fortified. And the areas that aren’t up to par, we need to make sure that they get to that point. With the orcs from Belkzen, this place and everyone in it could be in danger.” He looks at Vibia. ”Especially you.”
Vibia gives her brother a smile. ”I know. And we all appreciate it. But you shouldn’t be working yourself to near exhaustion to do it. Besides, the festival is for Recovey Day! Let’s have some fun!” She then pulls on his arm as Ricky takes flight.
Artyom gasps as he wakes up. He begins to look around in the dark space as Ricky begins fluttering around in the box trying to fly out. ”Artyom! Artyom! What’s going on?! Where are we?!” Artyom shouts out, ”I don’t know, Ricky! But we have to get out!” He tries to move the lid to the coffin.
Artyom hardly moves the lid. In desperation, he shouts, ”Is anyone out there?! If so, get us out!”
"Ah! What's with the shouting?" a honeyed yet gravelly voices calls out.
"Wait, what the? What kind of joke is this?!" the voice growls before the lid is thrown off the box.
Looking around the man, a tall Kellid with striking raspberry hair ending in mossy green, notices the other boxes and hears panicked thumping.
"Aye, siwmae! That's one way to start the day," he says before hopping out and moving towards the nearest thumping box to let whatever it was out.
"Bah! Can't grip it from this side."
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Tornell groans and rolls over. Or, attempts to, before being stopped by hard stone.
"Ugh, another hangover morning." Tornell grunts, feeling cold and stiff. "Passed out in a stone bed... Wait, stone bed? What is this, Roslar's new drunk tank?"
As consciousness slowly seeps into Tornell's brain, his previous assumption of hangovers (Of which Tornell has plenty of experience.) is called into qestion. The largest issue being the lack of headache and nausea that usually greets him in the morning. Confused, he shifts around, feeling his small stone cell.
"What the... What the hell's going on here?"
"לְהַאִיר"
Tornell channels a small bit of divine power to summon some light. It's use is somewhat reduced by his prodigious gut blocking his view.
"Yep, not hung over. Would take me three tries to cast that if I was."
Now hearing muffled yells and shouts, Tornell presses his palms against the top of his cubicle, and his feet against the back, and begins pushing.
"OW! My back!"
Tornell settles for pounding the lid with his fists.
"OPEN UP! Your residing medic is an incomeptent idiot if he thought I was dead!"
"Wha--?!" Alara awakens with a start.
"Mom? Dad? This isn't funny! Let me out!" She starts pushing on the inside of the box's lid.
To no avail.
She starts pounding on the box lid. "HEY! SERIOUSLY!"
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Ridill steps out into complete blackness - save for the light shining out of the edge of what is obviously a sarcophagus. He tries to dig his fingers in to grab the lid but there's not much purchase. However, the lid wobbles a little bit, and that gives Ridill enough to yank on it. Malvo is freed and his light spills into the chamber.
The room you're in is effectively a hallway lined with sarcophagi - most of which appear to contain people who are very much alive and struggling to get out.
Various relief carvings on the north wall display several heroic figures. A halfling astride a wolf, a lithe elf crouching in the shadows, a human with a greatsword beneath a tree, a stodgy older cleric, and a man casting forth magic with a raven on his shoulder.
The words "Red Shrikes - Noble Companions in the War Against Evil. Rest Well, my Friends." are inscribed above the carvings.
A door leads west, but looks like there's still three people to free.
Ah, hello there stranger.” Ridell greets the bright light spilling out of the coffin.
Blinking as his eyes adjust he looks around the room before heading to the next nearest coffin.
Malvo looks around, taking in the scene. Noting the reliefs, particularly the one of a mounted halfling, he starts. "What the blazes ... ?"
His reverie is broken by the sounds of more people trapped. He nods at his rescuer. "Master Sergeant Malvo of the Roslar's Coffer Wolfriders. Looks like there's more people that need help. Let's get to it!"
Reaching into his pack, he pulls out a crowbar and hands it to the taller man. "Here, use this and I'll use my magic to help."
As the others are released from their tombs, they see that Malvo is a halfling, tall for his race but with a full measure of halfling grace. He is blond-haired and fair-skinned, and wears a Lastwall Knights uniform with an insignia that notes him as a commander in the Wolfrider detachment. His gear is packed into a well made traveling backpack; around his neck are a whistle and a clay flute of some sort. A sword hangs from one hip and a morningstar from the other.
Ridill hangs over and ably pulls off the next sarcophagus lid, freeing Alara. The elf scrambles out of the sarcophagus and soon the group has moved onto the next. Brother Tornell is freed thanks to the use of the crowbar and the cavalier yanking at the lid, and finally some communication with Artyom shows a thin edge of the ancient stone lid which gives the crowbar perfect purchase.
The huge lids move to the side, and soon everyone is freed, including a raven scrambling out of the sarcophagus along with his master.
The two light spells illuminate the room well, which is very dusty and old. The only furnishing beyond the sarophagi is a crate, which appears to be full of construction equipment: a second crowbar, flint and steel, some lamps, two hammers, a hooded lantern, a lot of oil, and a dented pewter mug.
”Pleased to meetcha, and gifts? You shouldn’t have.” the much taller Kellid says as he takes the crowbar. Malvo (and the others, eventually) notices aside from the striking hair the man wears a bright red coat randomly adorned with all manner of eye catching, if useless trinkets such as vials and bones and feathers. Aside from a mishmash of scars thats where the human ends and a blue serpent biting its tail inked into his neck thats where the human ends, as aside from the mishmash of scars his eyes are a chilly piercing blue and Malvo notices that his fingernails are dark and taper into claws almost.
”Aye strangers,” Ridill repeats when everyone is freed before coming to the crate ”... well that would have been useful earlier.” Shrugging he then goes and retrieves a dark and pitted greatsword and a crumpled ragged top-hat that matches his coat.
"There! Right there! Put the crowbar there! Not there! THERE!!" The lid finally pops open and the man comes out, gasping for air. The raven flies out and around the room, spreading his wings. Before you stands a thin man of a shorter stature. However, he does show a professional and (somewhat) regal appearance. His traveling clothes (comprising of a red shirt with a brown vest, black wool breeches, a sturdy black belt, black boots, and a white cloak with a hood) are covered in dirt that he tries to dust off. His skin is tanned olive in color, contrasting with his deep red hair, which is kept short so as not to get in the way. His amber eyes glance at you, the look in them show that he’s studying and judging you. A simple club and dagger hang off his belt and in his hand is a quarterstaff. The raven lands on the man's shoulder. It turns its head inquisitively. It seems to be very curious about its surroundings. Seeing the Lastwall Knight halfling with the insignia of the Wolfriders, Artyom nods in respect.
Glancing around, Artyom looks in interest, especially at the architecture. Seeing the message and the carving that looks like him, the wizard's brow raises. "Red Shrikes? Rest well? As in, dead? No doubt, this is some sort of joke. I'll have to make a report to my superiors about this."
Ricky flutters off of Artyom's shoulder to get closer to everyone. "Hello! Pleased to meet you! This is a really odd place, isn't it?" Turning back to Artyom, Ricky shouts, "Artyom? Where's Vibia?" The man stops as he turns and looks around the room. "Vibia? Vibia! Vibia?! Where are you!?" He begins to get frantic.
Malvo is slightly disconcerted that the panicking raven is talking. "Umm ... calm down there, bird, let's assess our situation."
The halfling looks around the room. "This extra gear will come in handy. I have a little room in my kit to carry some, does anyone else?"
"BWAAA!" Alara gasps for air as her box's lid is finally moved. She springs out of the box in a panic.
"Where am I?! What's going on?!"
Artyom's panicked brain isn't too good at coming up with solutions, but he knows enough about the dark places underground that this is obviously a crypt of some kind.
The Red Shrikes ring a bell. Something to do with Roslar and the Shining Crusade, but he can't quite place it.
Artyom continues to freak out for a bit before calming himself down. Taking a few deep breaths, he straightens out his traveling clothes before saying, "Okay. So, obviously, we're in some sort of crypt, with no memories as to how we got here. As for the Red Shrikes, it has something to do with Roslar and the Shining Crusade. But, for some reason, I can't place what."
Ricky flies over to the mural. "Let me see!" He stares at it and tilts his head. "Hmm..."
While Artyom studies the frescoes, Malvo takes stock. "Alright, I'm a soldier and have weapons at hand. I've seen Alara use those Tien clubs of hers, and it looks like she's still wearing the kit her ma sent her out in, so she's defended. What about the rest of you? If there's trouble, how can you handle yourselves?"
Artyom says off-handedly, "I'm a wizard. I can use my magic to empower you or to control the field. I hate it when things go unexpectedly. I'll do my best to ensure that we have control of a situation and to make sure you know how to fight an enemy or if there's anything we need to know about anything." He puffs up his chest a bit in pride. "I'm also an architect. Those skills might be able to help us find a way out."
With his coffin lid opened, an overweight, balding, graying, middle-aged man wearing rough brown friar robes (Stained with food and drink) and a well-worn wooden holy symbol of Sarenrae (Also similarly stained) slowly rises, rubbing his back.
"Owww... Stone is not a comfortable bed to pass out on."
Currently his holy symbol glows with illumination. He holds it up and shines it around the room.
"Okay, what in the blazes... Given the way you're all talking, none of us know why the hell we're down here in this tomb. Leastwise I don't remember dying, and I'm pretty sure I could tell if I did die. All dusty, too, which is weird."
He illuminates the fresco behind him, showing a rather familiar looking group.
"Huh?"
He illuminates an individual, then their corresponding duplicate on the wall, as if tallying.
"Okay, this is some sort of sick joke, right? Who the hell are the... What does that say? Red Shrikes?"
"Well, least I recognize you two," he says, gesturing to Malvo and Alara. "Not that it helps us any."
"What about the rest of you? If there's trouble, how can you handle yourselves?"
"Oh, yeah, gotta be ready. Got my morningstar here. Damn thing was poking me in that coffin."
""I'm a wizard. I can use my magic to empower you or to control the field. I hate it when things go unexpectedly. I'll do my best to ensure that we have control of a situation and to make sure you know how to fight an enemy or if there's anything we need to know about anything." He puffs up his chest a bit in pride. "I'm also an architect. Those skills might be able to help us find a way out."
Tornell gives an exasperated cockeyed stare at the young man rattling off his qualifications.
"Sheesh, he asked if you could defend yourself, not a bloody dissertation of your whole worldview and skillset."
"Say, there's five of us, but a sixth coffin. Anybody in there? Or is that the one with the monster?"
"Say, there's five of us, but a sixth coffin. Anybody in there? Or is that the one with the monster?"
Malvo appears not to have noticed the discrepancy. He looks back at the fresco where Tornell was comparing the group to the art. "Whoever made that only showed five, and we haven't heard any sounds from that one."
He thinks for a moment. "I've seen priests use holy power to stop the undead ... just on the off chance that something like that lurks in the last coffin, is that something you could handle?"
He waves Ridill over. "Take that other crowbar, and let's see what's in here."
"I've seen priests use holy power to stop the undead ... just on the off chance that something like that lurks in the last coffin, is that something you could handle?"
"Eeeehhh, kinda-sorta?"
Tornell waves his hand back and fourth in a gesture of non-committal possibility.
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"Eeeehhh, kinda-sorta?"
You pop the lid on the last sarcophagus, which is empty. Checking the carvings you see a final, poorly-detailed figure that looks humanoid but the carving is worn, which is curious considering the remaining carvings are in high detail.
The figures in the carvings are not clear duplicates, but rather just bear an eerie resemblance. They are, however, different people once you look up close.
Inspecting the carvings closer, Tornell and Artyom both realize that they are wearing equipment that was common at the time of the Shining Crusade, 900 years ago. The carvings are clear enough to show faces, which are not your own.
Malvo scratches his head. "So ... there was a group during the Shining Crusade, and we seem to resemble them somewhat ... and now we've all been brought to their tomb and placed in what would appear to be their coffins, except that they aren't here."
After a brief pause, he looks around. "Well, I guess there's no point in sitting here ... everyone gather up your gear and let's see what we can find. "
"I recommend we let the big guy with the armor lead. Keep a head on your weapon ... any door that isn't locked or too heavy, I can open with my spell, so you can be ready for whatever we find."