Eberron Salvation

Sebastian's message
Achievement Unlocked: Recurring Villain
Goodbye Cyre-boy, I’m not waiting around for your squad of troopers to arrive and arrest me. I was going to kill the others here before I left out of spite, but I thought it would be more fitting for you to see your own people kill them or experiment with them. You know they won’t let them go, don’t you? Anyway I am off to see my brothers at Atur to share this wonderful new undead “recipe” these Clerics of Vol have discovered. We will soon return at the head of an army, the likes of which Cyre has never seen before. Your country will burn to the ground, one way or another.
pics or it didn't happen

Basic Mark

Evolved Mark

The Dream

The cold tundra air fills your nostrils with all too familiar smells. Ae’shai anxiously walks at the front wearing the Rhino armor and his 3 companions follow, half a step behind, in support. You recall, in that weird way that “a priori” knowledge works in dreams, that it was not long ago that you were somehow informed about your Great Uncle Shagatai being deathly ill. You don’t recollect the particulars, but it vaguely feels like you used the Pyramid and traveled in Dal-Quor to try and make it in time. Shagatai is an honored spiritual leader of your people and a lot of Nomads have gathered on the hilltop outside the tent. Your eyes fall upon your aunt Malun and she smiles a sad short greeting, but then her stare trails to the ground. You are too late, her uncle has passed away, it indicates nonverbally.
Regardless you press on and you enter the tent. You find it empty now (the mourning goes on outside), except for unmoving form of Shagatai resting on a slab of stone in the center, wearing his shamanic ritual dress and trappings. He looks very similar to Ae’shai in fact, at least the others make note of it as they put comforting hands on his shoulders. His wisdom will be sorely missed, especially at these strange times. If only you could talk to him one last time. Ae’shai takes a hesitant step forward, and then another, and another. Soon he stands towering above of the old shifter. Instinctively he reaches forward with his right hand and touches the body and closes his eyes. Then suddenly the mark in the back of Ae’shai’s left knee starts pulsing and glowing and a burning sensation creeps up through his body and shoots forth from his hand. It covers Shagatai in an unearthly green glow and suddenly his eyes open. In the stunned silence that follows you look around each other and notice your grimaces. Trion (who wears no armor out of respect perhaps) still has his left hand raised (from before when he comforted him) and in his armpit a similar mark shines through the fabric of his clothes. Erestor is clutching his right inner thigh where his mark shines through as well, but it is even larger and more complex now than last he saw it (when it was about the size Trion’s mark). You can almost see a similar radiance from where Thiour’s right boot touches the ground.
[Shagatai] You are somewhat late ‘shai…
You hear the corpse say through animated lips.
[Ae’shai] I’m sorry Great Uncle, we were far away and the message took long to reach…
[Shagatai] They often do.
[Ae’shai] We don’t have much time, grant us your wisdom please…
Ae’shai explains a few things as fast as possible until Shagatai cuts him off.
[Shagatai] You want answers, but I’ll give you questions. What do you want? Ae’shai, you left your ancestral homeland and traveled far, driven by a curiosity uncommon in your people. Would you now return and forget or at least try to [forget]? Erestor, you felt shame and disgust at your father’s incompetence, you are destined to be a leader of men, but you fail to ask or command the aid, to your cause, of your very own closest 3 companions here. And they don’t even have any other pressing “business”. Trion, you wanted to prove yourself and become respected by the Kalashtar. Now you want to live in the woods and protect some village, abandoning your closest friend in effect, swayed too easily by a new viewpoint offered by someone you know little of. And Thiour, what is it that you seek so desperately that you throw yourself so recklessly at every situation? What goes on in the back of your head, what is your endgame?
How do I know all this? Remember, this is a dream. I’m not really Shagatai’s animated head. I’m a figment of the collective consciousness of your 4 little brains. You did not really travel here with those unlikely means you thought and you are really only having a detached parley among your ka-tet, your foursome of a group. For you realize that you are bound to each other more than just by luck and happenstance, or even by combat experiences. It is fate, you felt it from the moment you met; and all the way on your quest to that dark tower of a pyramid this feeling grew into knowledge. In all your travels Ae’shai people mistreated you, except these 3. You saw the carnage of war and you decided to choose no sides in that folly. But war makes no exceptions. It might even spread to your homeland if you do not counter it somehow. Making no choice does not absolve you of responsibilities, to others or to yourself. When the time comes Trion, who will you turn to for help, but your dear friend Erestor? Who finds it so strange to be so entwined by two strangers from faraway lands and actually caring for them. For he knows little of the shifter druid and even less of the nebulous past of this pirate of an elf, Thiour. His stories change every time he tells them; why you don’t even know where he comes from. All you know is how he winced when Root was asking him of places he’d seen on the ships like Dreadhold or…

Silence. Did the spell end? You look at each other unsure of yourselves. So many loose ends to tie. The fifth element, Sebastian, the hole where spiders came from. The Gloaming tunnel, Droam, Yulubuki. Raid at Atur, Battle at Cyre, the “Mourning”. These thoughts swim through your heads as you wake up from the sun’s rays. It’s already noon, the night took its toll on you with the ceremony and the dream. The head druids were actually worried a little, but Oalian advised them to let you be, Root explains. The forest looks less magical in the bright light, could it be Lamannia moving on? Your muscles are sore, but even more so at the region of your mark, which is now as in your dream. You throw knowing looks on each other. Root informs Ae’shai that Silas wants him to bring glory to the armor of his father, for he cannot. He is old now and never was able to reach his father’s ability to shapeshift, what with making all these items being a drain and all his other life of charity work. He wishes the item to go where it will do the most good and he has no heir or disciples. But he “has” many children and is happy. Though if you ever get his ring back, please return it and he shall be forever in your debt.

Back to Oalian
Lamannia Coterminus ends

Bewildered by the Oni scheme you feel uneasy about your victory over the Gloaming Trolls. Oalian’s words spark new controversy and confusion among you. Unsure of what to do next, you accept his invitation (not wanting to offend) to spend the night (“you should make important decisions in the morning”) participating in the Druidic ceremony of “Parting”. Lamannia, the plane of nature, separates from the Prime Material Plane this night (5th Vult), after a week being Coterminus. You expect it to be a gradual phenomenon, but there’s actually a moment during the night when you can almost feel a part of your physical body’s essence tear itself away as if a curtain or a net passes through…
You look at your companions and the druids assembled, noticing tears being formed in many an eye, mixed joy and sadness, awe and longing. Even the druids less keen on your presence seem to view you kindly now. “Count yourselves lucky for not many creatures in Eberron have experienced such an event”.
Exhausted you fall into a deep slumber (even Thiour trances) and then you Dream…

The Tale of Sir Erestor
the not-quite-so-pure-as...

Well, dear Root, here’s my story… or at least the parts of my story that I am willing to share with you. Take no offense, since I do not share that much easily, and in all honesty I am sharing mostly for the ears of my companions rather than you.

I am a descendant of a once powerful and respected family. The name of Xaphen would be recognized by people in the wide area of Cyre a hundred years ago. However, bad decisions during my grandfather’s as well as my father’s leadership, the family lost its fortunes as well as any influence it had in the court. I was raised during the demise of my family. What it took my great great great great grandfather, Elyrion Xaphen to built in his lifetime it took less than 10 years to crumble under my useless father’s reign. His excuses were insufficient to convince me even in my teen years. What little I gained from my decayed house was basic skill in blade and some knowledge of strategy and the arcane from the left overs of an once great library. That, and determination. Lots of determination.

Together with my brother, Lorneir, we left and wondered around Cyre for several years. We joined several mercenary bands and trained with them. We were steadily improving, always protecting each other and honing our skills with each others help. We started gaining respect and those times were probably the most exciting of my life… maybe until now, that is!

During a mission in Thrane my brother’s band and mine got separated. The mission was pretty simple; capture a non-important priest of the church. The mission did not make much sense but it seemed straightforward and we were not supposed to raise too many questions. The instructions were clear and the priest’s route known. We split to surround him. Alas, too many things went wrong. My brother’s band never came to help in time. And the priest and his guards were much more powerful than expected. They decimated us. I awoke probably many hours after the slaughter. I crawled over to our supplies and found some of the healing potions unspoiled; actually everything was unspoiled. Apparently, hey defeated us and then immediately left. After I regained some strength I searched for other survivors… I searched for my brother’s band. I found him laying down in an unnatural position burned almost to the bone… his armor liquidated in several places by some kind of intense heat…

[Erestor’s gaze becomes blank… several seconds pass before he continues.]

I was devastated. I almost gave up on our dream. I had nothing. Weeks passed and I thought of vengeance… but that was a useless feeling. The priest was stronger and she won. I would have done the same. The dream remained. I had the dream and that was something. I would complete what we started with Lorneir. I would reinvigorate the name of Xaphen in Cyre…

The rest of the story my companions already know. For your benefit, Root, I returned to Cyre and joined the First Metrol Wands. There I met Trion and later on we left the Wands and our paths crossed with Thiuur and Ae’shai.

Root the Druid Warforged
Origin Story

While you travel with Root on the flying coach, you marvel at the expansive forest and he shows you some landmarks. He also begins to narrate the tale of his “origin”, after Ae’shai showed some interest in how he came to be.

Root says he was created in a ‘Forge in Sharn, Sailor 19 he was named, along with several of his “brothers”, for the Sharn Navy. They were made without metal, but with more livewood instead, although Warforged do not really rust in the sea, it seemed “thematic”. They were trained as fighters and when they reached stage 2 of their training they were put on a ship for an expedition against Droaam, the “kingdom of monsters”. The “Hood” was a large Lyrandar sailing ship, sturdy enough for war and open sea voyage. It carried a lot more Warforged sailors than it could humans. No need for food and water or beds and quarters. It really was more efficient this way. Alas as they entered Manta Bay a furious storm hit and blew them off course. They shipwrecked in the Azure Bay, a few miles from the river mouth, the delta of Blackwater river. As luck would have it Root was trapped bellow the deck, in the cargo hold during the storm. The other sailors perished at the rocks in the violent waves on the surface. But root stayed at the sea floor using weights until the storm ceased and walked ashore. He gathered a few of his brothers that he could find. Dead most of them, some deactivated. There was nothing he could do now, eventually he would return and… but that’s a tale for another time.
He marched on under the noon sun and soon reached the river. He knew little about the geography or where he was indeed, but he chose to stay on the west bank instead of the east. A lucky coincidence, for things might have been so different if he was on the other side. He began moving up the river to the North, making good progress for a human. He was distracted, his lack of purpose now that his mission was a failure and there was no one to direct him. He noticed he had accumulated a lot of mud while he was gathering his comrades and as he passed through plants and small animals, meandering along, he didn’t bother to clean himself. Then after some time (maybe days, maybe more) he noticed a seed had taken root in one of his mud patches and a plant started growing. It was just a common weed, but to him it was more beautiful than a flower and indeed the only company he had… so he talked to it. He tried to take care of it as best he could, he didn’t name it though. He felt that was too crazy… for now. It was on this path of enlightenment that he happened upon an orc. It was the one you know as Maagrim. Both outcasts of human society, Warforged and Orc, they befriended each other. It was her that named him “Root”, for the little plant that he carried. She took pity on the lost Warforged and decided that if he had made it this far she would help him along the “way”. She started teaching him the Druidic ways of the Gatekeepers. He showed great promise which was “unnatural” for a Warforged. It seemed like he had made a connection with nature even before she met him. As his druidic knowledge and indeed power was growing, she told him of the true purpose of the Gatekeepers. How they keep the Plane of Madness at bay, at great cost. How their order was crumbling after the initial threat was abated and how Oalian, a Gatekeeper himself, formed the Wardens of the Wood to bolster their ranks and lessen the burden on the race of orcs. She showed him a Void Seal, deep in the marshes and the guardian that stood vigil on it. Root was pained to see the life spent guarding that and wondered aloud if there may be another way, like taking turns. Maagrim only smirked as a reply. Fighting aberrations tends to make you that way. But still he vowed to one day be strong enough to be a Seal Guardian himself. It was much easier for a Warforged he postulated, all that guarding and time passing, and purpose. Orcs were proud of their monumental task, but the naive Warforged softened Maagrim’s heart and she decided to take him on a visit to Oalian. It was on a winter festival, just like this one, when Root stood in awe and dumbstruck before the Great Tree for the first time. He was alone again, the few Warforged he had managed to save had all gone back to Sharn, alone except his little weed friend. Oalian saw that and gathering energy from the plane of Nature he awakened the livewood in Root’s plating so that he would never be alone again, as long as he had himself. As little branches and leaves began to grow Root was elated. He thanked Oalian through deeds of joy, still not uttering any words. That was the happiest moment of his life. He was free.
Root ends with a warning. He says he’s now one step away from learning the Wild Shape gift of the Druids. But as he’s anxious to move on he does not want to miss the little things in life either, like riding this flying coach (which he also considers his friend of sorts, all awakened livewood indeed, even Thiour’s bow now). We live in the present. Make plans for the future (ahh Dreadhold…), but live in the here and now. But tell me your stories my friends, please do!

Every player must write a cool short (maybe shorter than the above :p ) story about his character, explaining his past and what drives him. Add some substance to the barebones “stats on paper” your “hero” is now. Remember the characters met up mostly randomly, but they felt something connecting them beyond the mere happenstance of their situation. Perhaps you are all connected in ways you can’t even imagine.

Welcome to your Adventure Log!
A blog for your campaign

Every campaign gets an Adventure Log, a blog for your adventures!

While the wiki is great for organizing your campaign world, it’s not the best way to chronicle your adventures. For that purpose, you need a blog!

The Adventure Log will allow you to chronologically order the happenings of your campaign. It serves as the record of what has passed. After each gaming session, come to the Adventure Log and write up what happened. In time, it will grow into a great story!

Best of all, each Adventure Log post is also a wiki page! You can link back and forth with your wiki, characters, and so forth as you wish.

One final tip: Before you jump in and try to write up the entire history for your campaign, take a deep breath. Rather than spending days writing and getting exhausted, I would suggest writing a quick “Story So Far” with only a summary. Then, get back to gaming! Grow your Adventure Log over time, rather than all at once.


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