It’s been four years since the day of Mourning, the five of you stood on that hillside, watching the Mourning roll in, hearing the screams of the dead and dying and then, more awful than the screams, the silence. Five at the brink of desolation, brought together by fate, then pulled their separate ways.
A Warforged defender of the land.
A mystical Eladrin mage sent by the undying court and his Elven cousin, lost in time and space searching for the girl Roanne Hunter.
A human songstress, battle hardened and coarse.
A traveller from the shadowfell itself, the mysterious Shadar-Kai.
The past four years has given you time to think on that day, trying to piece things together. Why were you spared from the mourning? What did the four-armed Dolgrim’s want with Bren ir’Gadden and his aide Aric Blacktree? And what involvement did the Emerald Claw have in it all? What are you doing with your lives? The war is over and the land is in turmoil as an uneasy truce holds day by day.
You find yourself in Sharn – the floating city of towers - at a remembrance ceremony. Are you are there at the invitation of Bren ir’Gadden, working as a mercenary earning easy money babysitting rich nobles or an inquisitive shadowing a professor suspected of dealing in illegal antiquities?
Whatever your reason for attending the Memorial ceremony in Sharn, a cold shiver runs down your spine as one by one you recognise the other four heroes gathered together on the very same tower listening to a war veteran addressing the crowd. Your eyes meet with the flash of recognition.
Suddenly somebody screams “It’s the Mourning! It’s here!” ...
I’m there like I am every year, remembering the fallen and giving readings from my serial, Clocking Off, the war memoirs of a Breland artificer.
Its a crowd pleaser.
The Korranberg Chronicle pays well for my journals. Looks like the latest chapter is about to write itself!
I’m there as a mercenary. An assassin, to be precise. Someone wants the bard dead and is willing to pay handsomely. I don’t know what their beef is with the hapless songstress, and I don’t really care. Too many songs about lambs frolicking in the meadow, probably. Anyhoo, one less bard cluttering up the countryside and a fistful of gold to boot – sounds like a plan…..