Shadows of Change

The Story So Far



Part I: The House of Knowledge
Part II: In the House of Death
Part III: The Mourning
Part IV: Hammerfast
Part V: Foreign Relations

Part VI: Operations
Part VII: Delores
New
Part VIII: Vurgenslye
Part IX: The Forgotten Forge Work in Progress

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Vurgenslye
Corruption from the Mournland

Flesh Rain
Sacellum of Ser Sekhmef the Valiant
Under the Ruins

The road, once paved and well traveled, now festered with aberrant plant-life; purple leaves twisted and cackled as the horses clopped by, worm-like roots squirming beneath rotted cobblestones, fat stems squelched wetly as the other weeds seemingly crushed out of the way of the horses. The broken husks of houses of Vurgenslye sat before them; most of them had their walls eaten away and their wood wormed through. It was a marvel that some still stood.

But most of all, were the fleshy mounds pulsating quietly on everything else.

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Delores
Where the past and the present reconcile

Antagonist
The Real Theis Prose
Sentinels

Nephbis Avenue was crowded the day the Antagonist was slated to depart. New Ward was thronging with the poor and impoverish, jostling amongst themselves to steal a glimpse at those privileged to board the sky galleon hung up high beside the Merit Tower. As the company produced their passes to enter the Merit Tower, they spotted a rather large contingent of servants winching luggage and cargo up the tower.

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Operations

Fairmount Market
Operation Swifthawk
The Flower of Ventas

A week has since come and gone since they last went to contact Breland, and there was yet any reply. Growing tired of waiting, the group decided to pay Theis Prose a visit despite all their misgivings. The Fairmount Market in Bone ward is one of the more busy places in the day, and it was particularly so since this time as the residents prepared for the Winter Solstice festival of Carrenthol. Whilst they decided that the twins and Sidnar would go talk to Theis, Aramil and Cynthia would search out a location to observe undisturbed yet would be near enough should anything happen.

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Foreign Relations

Weary Bones
A small matter
Keen Folks
Intrusions of privacy

Weary Bones

The journey was monotonous, the road, well there wasn’t one to begin with, and the plains seemed to stretch on into the far horizon. When will it end, Jett didn’t know. He didn’t count on it ending.

But that was only the third day. He had half expected the wild and ferocious denizens of the Plains crashing through the withered grass, jaws snapping, claws ready to rip bone and flesh apart, but so far all he seen of the great plains lizards were small gaunt things that ran on two legs, their two twig like forelegs scratching at every morsel Jett threw at the ground. It amused him a little to see the little green things fight each other for food, but he soon grew bored of it.

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Hammerfast

Children’s Song
Holy Dead
Swiftblade

Children’s Song

The cold winter was shunted out by Trade Gate, and after a harrowing day of being hunted by journalists, Jett and gang finally settled back at the Battled Stein. The common room was mostly empty, but as they began to make for a table, Kenus, the innkeeper, motioned them to a back room where they usually had their meals. The wooden door creaked open, and the warmth of the small fireplace flowed out in soothing embraces. At the table sat Capt. Carnot, his beard damp with beer and his face flushed red. He was wearing just a simple shirt and pants, nothing to speak of his station.

“There you are!” He burped. “Kenus and I were worried that the Zil hounds finally got you.”
“Captain,” Sidnar said and sat down with the others across the table.
“Grugnir’s Bottoms! Why those eyes?” The dwarf leaned forward to the group. “Fear that I might take a bite out of you?”

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The Mourning

Cold Tears
The City of the Dead
The weakest link

Cold Tears

Kalad Stoutheart sat with his head in his hands, salty bitter tears stinging the numerous cuts and bruises on his face. His beard savagely cut short by the orog’s choppa, and ugly purple bruises marring his face and body, Kalad was a grim reflection of the proud, respected paladin he was.

“Thank you heroes,” he took a long breath and straightened himself, his left eye nearly swollen shut. “I do not know whence you come from, but you have saved Ashton’s life.” A shadow flitted across his eyes. “And mine.”

“Ashton,” he said softly as he got to his feet. With a grimace on his face, he hobbled to the unconscious acolyte, and then knelt. “It’s just us left now.” Turning to the group by the entrance to the forge, he said. “Please, rest, friends of Onatar. Avail yourself to whatever comfort the monastery is spared. You’ve all fought valiantly, may Onatar bless your souls, and you need rest. I believe there the guests rooms in the upper floors are left untouched. Please, use them. I will be with you shortly after I have…” the dwarf trailed off, his eyes fell upon the forge’s floor littered with corpses. His swollen hands clenched into fists.

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Part 2: In the House of Death
From death comes life...

The dragonborn fell with a heavy thud. Across the arcane laboratory, Aramil was charging at the Pit Fiend, fighting for every step of the way. When the enormous devil was slammed into the imposing creation forge, a dark terrible arcane vortex began to form. Summoning the last of her strength, Janna brought forth a strong gust of wind, shutting the creation forge. The party ran back to the room of scholars and theurgists and tried to evacuate them. As the group exited the Temple of Ioun screaming, the explosion occurred.

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Part 1: The House of Knowledge
Within the house of Knowledge lies a wealth of treasures. Or not?

Cyre
Metrol

Nestled innocuously in the corner of the trader’s enclave, the stone doors to the Aureon temple stood shut to the bustle that surged on the streets. Once it had served as a bank, but the son of Kundarak relocated his holding to Micham square. Crowded in by poultry wholesalers and tanning warehouses, it now squatted amongst a profusion of chaos that assaulted the senses.

Beside him haggled an old lady, the wool trader pursing his lips now and then as the bargain spun out of his control. Behind him stank the poultry wholesaler, a warehouse exploding with frantic squawks and shrieks. And amidst it all, Tarren heard the unhurried clop of a horse-drawn carriage. The carriage slowed to a stop before the temple doors, allowing two figures to alight. In the half light of the gloomy day, he caught a glimpse of a richly embroidered dress beneath the grey coat. The taller of the two gave some instructions to the driver, and then turned to his companion. Together, as though escorting the smaller figure, the couple climbed the steps towards the stone doors. The carriage sluggishly swung round. As it passed the wool trader’s shop, it paused briefly. Then, with a nod from the driver, the carriage continued the way. Tarren had by then, faded into the crowd.

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