The Mourning After

Session 4

To be written.

Session 3

To be written…

Session 2
A Bar, A Job, A Crate

Sitting in Layla’s Flophouse, a seedy old gin joint in the Merchant’s District of Fairhaven, the members of the 421st Delta Roughriders are scraping out a meager existence. Kiri Applefield sits in the corner with two drunks telling war stories of the glory days of Cyre. Many of the people who come to Layla’s are Cyran refugees. She had just regailed the two men with a story of how she shot a famous Thranite general while he stood behind his private guard. The men were skeptical and demanded a show of skill. Arden Colt, Egnarac and Honest Ja’wn talk her up, and whip the crowd into a frenzy placing bets on if the young girl can pull off some trick shot that involved shooting a tankard off of a drunks head. The 421st fills their personal coffers with 20 gold pieces, and Kiri has another story to brag about while swilling down liquor from her hip flask.

This feat attracts the attention of Kerrek Reichsgard, a thick necked Cyran expatriate with a well trimmed black beard and an eye patch who sits down to speak with the 421st.

“The loss of our homeland is a terrible injustice, and the plight of our people pains my heart. Could I interest you in a job fitting a proud military unit of your caliber?”

“We’ll take it.” Arden says before the job is even explained.

“I’d like to be briefed on the particulars before I send my unit into any sort of mission” Honest Ja’wn says, ignoring Arden.

“I need your unit to escort a package from the river. You’ll meet my man Haggash on the riverbank. He’ll pay you when the job is completed. 100 gold.”

“I don’t know if you heard me…but we’ve already accepted.” Arden repeats.

“Will there be any danger?” Ja’wn asks.

“Honest, the man wants a military unit…not flower children. Of course there will be.”

They accept the job.

The unit leaves Layla’s flophouse the next morning after a rough nights sleep under a table, and meet up with Haggash. Haggash is a stout dwarven seadog with a tricorn hat and an oversized cigar sticking out of his thick bearded mouth.

“Yer merst ber ther mersle.” He says through gritted teeth smoking his stogy.

Removing it for a moment he explains the plan. “A group of boys from Breland are bringing me a crate. You carry it with me back to my man, we sell it. You get paid.”

“What’s the package.” Ja’wn inquires.

“You’re the muscle. Not the brains. I’m the brains. You get paid when it gets there not when I inventory it.” Haggash brushes the captain off and mount his horse.

“Let’s go swabbies.” He sticks the cigar in his mouth.

Travelling aside Haggash the unit makes their way along the river to a raft. A group of Brelish soldiers sit around on the raft jawing and smoking.

“Ok, ser jerst lert mer herndle thers.”

“Ok, I’ll take the two on the right…you get the rest.” Arden exclaims.

“I do not believe we were ordered to attack.” Arc248 responds.

“Yeah, we guard, not slay.” Kiri says taking a tug from her flask.

“Derd I ser we nerded ter kill ‘em?” Haggash asked before laughing. “I’m dering business her. Ok?”

He steps away and walks over to the men. A few moments later, his transaction finished the men hoist the crate up and drop it at his feet.

“Alrighty, swabbies. Lerft.”

“Lift?” Kiri says “We’re guards not mules.”

“If I may captain.” Arc248 begins casting a spell. A transparent floating disk appears under the crate and it hovers weightless.

“Wer ter thern outserd the box.” Haggash puns.

The troops head out.

“So back to Fairhaven then?” Egnarac inquires.

“Ner. Persserge.”

“Passage?! That’s like 3 days journey from here.” Kiri sighs.


“On a merchant road.” Arden adds.


“With a crate that has markings for the Royal Eyes of Aundair.” Arc248 interrupts.

“…ye..rrp?” Haggash seems shaken by this revelation. “Must’ve reused the crate…”

“If I may.” Arc248 casts a prestidigitation spell to cover the symbol with a false one.

“Great jarb sir…clearly one of you has brains.” Haggash pats Arc on the back.

The unit travels down the road a ways before being stopped by an Aundairian merchant in purple robes.

“Hail traveler. Care to trade?” Haggash is silent and seems sweaty and nervous.

“Urm Sure man. Selling cigars. Zil cigars.”

“I do so love a good cigar. I’m selling wine.”

“Should I kill him?” Arden asks Haggash.

“Only if I say this is my last cigar…” Haggash mutters under his breath.

“You’d better not have to many…”Arden sighs rubbing the hilt of his sword.

The men trade a cask of wine for a box of cigars, before the merchant inquires about the crate.

“More cigars. Need em for a deal in Passage.”

“Ah, good luck to you. If it doesn’t work out I’ll buy them all in Fairhaven.” The Merchant happily offers.

The two men say good day and the unit moves on leaving the merchant behind.

“I wish you had run out of cigars.” Arden chuckles.

“Yerr blerrdtherster. I lerve ert.” Haggash says smoking another cigar.

Hagash and the gang pull off the side of the road to sleep the night, and the unit is on edge. They have a strange feeling they are being followed. Kiri and Egnarac go out to the road to scout. They’ve been gone a short time when they see the merchant from earlier riding towards them. They hide, and prep to ambush. The merchant parks his cart by the camp.

“Sir, if I might speak with you.” The merchant inquires of Haggash who is in his tent.

“Sherrr… ber… right ourt.” He stutters.

Arden, sitting in the tent with Haggash, is ready to attack.

“Um, What’s up man?” Haggash asks sticking his head out of the tent.

“I just have to have those cigars.” The merchant says with a smile. “Best cigars I’ve ever had.” “Oh… we’ll they aren’t for sale. I got a deal in…”

“Passage you said. I’ll double what they are offering.”

“Errr um…err.”

“Perhaps we can talk about it in the morning. I’ll camp next to you. I’m Zeke by the way.”


“Pleased to meet you and your crew, Haggar.” Zeke heads into his tent and goes to sleep. The night is tense, and Arden and Kiri almost kill Zeke in the night. The next morning Zeke is making breakfast. After some small talk Zeke tries again to buy the crate. He is rebuked numerous times.

“Well I guess I’ll be off.” He says.

Upon standing he claps his hands together sending magical energy flying everywhere and knocking the party around like rag dolls. 2 warforged jump out of the back of the wagon. Combat ensues. Arden buries his sword in Zekes head. Ja’wn leads Egnarac and Kiri against the others. Arc supports with magical fire from the back. Haggash hides in his tent. After the attackers are killed the party searches Zeke’s cart. Inside they find a secret compartment. Inside they find multiple different id papers for different nations, a dagger, and a seal for the Royal Eyes of Aundair. Zeke is a spy.

Session 1
Here's To The Mourning

It is Zor, the fifth day of Barrakas – late summer. The constellation Chronepsis shone bright in the sky, sending small glimmers across the ring of Siberys. They had been on the trails of a Thranite terror unit for a few weeks now; but always arrived too late. Searching through burned out farmhouses and villages for clues to their next heading, although the smoke was always a clear sign.

Captain Ja’wn kept us low to the ground, and off the trade roads, feeling it necessary to keep us in the tall-grass and brush should we be seen. A hand signal goes up – “Hold.” Ahead of us, nearly half a mile a light can be seen; bright in late summer night and smoke on the wind.

“We have found them. Arc and Eggs, take the right flank, Arden you’re with…”

Arden had already sprinted ahead, keeping low but not enough to really be worrying about being seen. Ja’wn muttered under his breath, flaring his nostrils and began to jog forward; Arc and Eggs keeping pace on the opposite side of the road.

When they finally caught up, Arden was peering out from an overturned wagon, weapon at the ready.

“What took you so long?” “If you had just waited for my orders…” “Then they might have left by then, there’s a circle of them ahead grouped around something”

Eggs cut in and whispered “You’re really going to get yourself killed one of these days Arden, I hope you understand that.” “I doubt it” he retorted.

“Shh, move in and stay low.” came the command, and so they did.

It was Arc that noticed that in the center was not a something, but a someone, and so it was he that struck the first blow. The battle ended as quickly as it started and bruised and beaten was a little girl – hiding from her rescuers, unsure of what to make of them.

“Come out little one, we are here to help you.” Eggs squatted down, red-scaled hand extended towards the farmgirl. Arc was searching the bodies for useful supplies while Ja’wn stood hands-on-hips to survey the battlefield. If he owned a cigar at that point, he might have chosen to smoke it. Arden returned from the homes edge to report in. “One got away, I suggest we finish here and set up an ambush; they will be coming back.”

As if by design a rumble could be heard, men on horseback come to avenge their fallen comrades. In front was a knight, an emblem of the Silver Flame proudly emblazoned on his chest plate. He dismounted along with his squad and could be overhead talking to the escapee. “Well, out with it soldier, how many of them were there?” His voice boomed. “I don’t know sire, twelve at least! They came from all sides!” the conscript pleaded.

The knight looked less than impressed and scowled at the scene before him, lit only by the moon and the barn which was fully ablaze. “Gather up the supplies and return to camp. We leave at first light.” With that the knight mounted up and rode off, the calvary following suit. The one remaining soldier began poking through and gathering up bits of rations, boots, weapons and goods that could be salvaged. He was not expecting a hand over his mouth, and a lightning-charged hand held poised at his temple.

From out of the shadows, the rest of the 421st Delta Roughriders came to interrogate their new hostage. Unfortunately not being trained in the subtle arts of interrogation, the conscript was mercifully laid to rest by lightning after losing an arm and a substantial amount of blood. They did however learn the name of General Charr, a dragonborn paladin who set it upon himself to cleanse Cyre in silver fire. They left the girls home and made camp for the night. The girls name was revealed as Kiri, and since she had nowhere to go was adopted as an unlikely child to four unlikely fathers. In the morning, they woke and began after the Thranite known as General Char.

Four years later.

Having chased General Charr all over Cyre, they finally had him cornered, or so they thought. Camped among old Cyran ruins, with their backs to the Brey River; General Charr and his lieutenants settled in Cyre for the last time – ready to cross the river and head home after a long campaign.

Arc, Eggs and Kiri laid low in the ruins, heading to scare off the horses and flank the generals Tent. Arden and Ja’wn headed forward. Arc twisted the magic in the air and the howls of a dozen wolves could be heard, scaring the horses considerably. Handlers and a few lieutenants ran out to calm the horses, Charr and his closest soldiers came to deal with the threat, but what they saw was not what they expected at all.

The 421st Delta Roughriders ran in, fighting with four years of pent up rage and aggression. Kiri the most of all, prepared to let out the fury of a lost home and family once within reach of General Charr. Arc threw out his hands to send a force bolt into the chest of a nearby lieutenant when the skies darkened suddenly. From the sky and small fragment of rock came and slammed into the center of the Thranites. Everyone was knocked back and thrown asunder from the blow. A loud rumble could be heard and as they all stood, flags could be seen in the distance and shortly the Cyran army was upon them.

“Good work soldiers! It is a great day, we have captured “The Silver Crusader”.” The general beamed. “Don’t worry about him, we’ll take it from here.” With Charr and a few lieutenants in tow, the Cyran army began to march off. Suddenly a boom was heard and the sky darkened again, but this time it was seen from within Cyre. Giant plumes of grey smoke roared towards their position. A wall of mist.

Staggering backwards they made for the river and Cyre was forever lost to history.

-Written by Chris (DigitalSatyr)


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