In the Wake of Legends

Demonblade
There once were heroes...but then a fifth player joined and ruined party dynamics

A tenday has passed since the band of adventures slew Anth-Malar, Chosen of Malar, in the Twisted Run deep below the once dwarven settlement of Deg Shanat. By doing so they stopped a lycanthropic plague from sweeping over Silverymoon, Gem of the North and ended the legacy of the evil druid Kazok (gangbanged to death by a band of mercenaries).

Though upon their return to the great city of Silverymoon they were not greeted as heroes. They were not welcomed with the grand festivities or celebrations from its citizens that they had grown accustomed to. In fact, quite to the opposite. High Mage Taern Hornblade, ruler of the city, quickly payed the adventurers for their services and insistently requested their immediate departure.

Failing to find explanations from anyone, the adventurers reluctantly (some, angrily) walked away from the radiant white marble of the High Palace. They hung their heads in disbelief as they passed the Halls of Inspiration and House Invincible. They dragged their boots along the pavements that lined lush gardens and shuffled under the weight of their equipment in the bustling marketplace. Their final solemn procession across the shimmering, translucent Moonbridge was paused momentarily so that some in their ranks could look back and silently ask why.

“What have we done wrong?” one asked.
“Don’t they know we saved them?” another chirped in.
“We were brought here unwillingly remember?” rumbled a third.
“I say we ruin their stupid city” proposed a fourth angrily.
“I don’t even know you guys that well.” The final adventurer added.


In the days following their exile, the five adventurers sought to redeem themselves to the general populace somehow. Ironically, quickly defeating the rampaging ogres threatening the gambling capital of the North, Nesme, was not the redemption they searched for. They knew somehow, somewhere, they were destined for greater things.

However, with no common goal to pursue they were but mere individuals. Allies yes, friends maybe, but unanimous in thought? – never. There were still too many unanswered questions – none of which could be answered here.

And so they left, each to walk their own path.

Whether they returned to homelands long abandoned.
Or to friendlier lands once travelled.
Or in search of knowledge mentioned in stories by new friends.
Or to nurse a fledgling flock in realms of turmoil.
Or to feed an inexplicable hunger that aches.


...

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The Twisted Run
Four Friends and One Mysterious Stranger Unite to Stop a Lycanthropic Battalion

Faerun’s Northlands have always been a dangerous frontier. The frozen woods and treacherous mountains are home to orcs, trolls,lycanthropes, and worse. When the High Lady of the Silver Marches brought the northern nations together, the Beastlord Malar could no longer watch as his wilderness slowly became civilized. The god called upon his most worthy follower, the barbarian anth-Malar, and suffused him with his divine essence. Anth-Malar wasted no time in using his newfound power to bring devastation and chaos to all who defile the wilderness.

The story begins with our protagonists awakening in unfamiliar surroundings, some having been plagued with vivid nightmares. Three months had passed since their last adventure, which involved trekking through a dead magic zone that covered most of the Anauroch desert and stopping the sinister alliance of the Mistress of Night, Shar and the cowardly backstabber, Cyric.

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