Gloomport is a city of shadows, its buildings tall and close-set with narrow, winding streets. A heavy mist from Blackwater Bay clings to the docks, adding to the town’s mystery. The port is a hub of illicit trade, and all manner of individuals from smugglers to wandering adventurers can be found here. Captain Morlaine Graves, an ex-pirate, holds a tenuous grip on Gloomport. Known for her ruthless nature and silver tongue, she has turned piracy into a strange form of governance.
For one reason or another you all find yourselves at The Sable Serpent – A dark, smoky bar favoured by pirates and traders. The owner, Sasha Veil, is a cunning tiefling, deals in secrets as often as drinks.
Despite Gloomport being the second to largest city, with a population of around forty two hundred, The Sable Serpent is the only tavern to be found. Many believe that behind the scenes Sasha has something to do with this, as well as Graves and her gang. Being the only tavern in town, The Sable Serpent is always veery busy. By curse or good fortune all of you find yourselves together at a table. This isn't uncommon. There aren't enough tables to have less than at least 3 people at one. As one Sasha's few helpers approaches your table with more drinks, (Don't know why the warforged would b here. I guess they offer oil?) she drops a sealed letter on the table, explaining that a strange man told her it was for all of you.
A short--very short, in fact, dwarf, sits at the table, leaning back in his chair with deceptive casualness, a war hammer leaning against the table. Aside from his height, he would be completely unremarkable, if it weren't for a curious amulet hanging by his neck. A metal medallion with a striking image of a hammer standing upright against an anvil, displayed proudly upon his chest. Looking up, he addresses the approaching helper: "Hello! Is that one for me?"
The blue frog man? child? he's small. Stares at the tray of drinks...seems odd until a fly lands in one and it is quickly grabbed.
He slurps up the mead with fly and makes tiny nibbles. "Perfect! How did they know?" he smiles and turns his shiny black eyes on you, "I am Owen, thank you for letting me share your table."
He doesn't seems to be heavily armed or armored at all - just plain leathers, a few small blades and arrows. His mottled blue skin is shiny and moist, and you wonder why he only wears one glove. Then out of a pocket you see a furry brown head pop out and look around.
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"Sooner or later, your Players are going to smash your railroad into a sandbox."
-Vedexent
"real life is a super high CR."
-OboeLauren
"............anybody got any potatoes? We could drop a potato in each hole an' see which ones get viciously mauled by horrible monsters?"
Kaelen sits at the edge of the table with his back to the wall, his pale violet eyes scanning the crowded tavern with quiet intensity. The smoky air and constant murmur of voices do little to distract him; he’s accustomed to places like this—dark, bustling, and full of secrets. His grayish-white skin and long white hair mark him as a Shadar-kai, an uncommon sight in the Material Plane, though he prefers not to draw attention to himself.
He says little, his presence at the table subdued but deliberate. He is here for information, as always, and though he doesn’t know the others at the table, he listens carefully to their chatter, filing away anything that might be useful.
When the sealed letter is dropped on the table, Kaelen’s gaze flicks to it curiously. He studies it for a moment before looking up at the server. His voice is quiet but firm. “What did this man look like?”
Traeth shifts uncomfortably in his large set of chain; he had worn it as a precaution but probably would not have if he had realized how awkward it would be. He tilts his head to one side, his curiosity piqued. "This is for... all of us, you say?" Traeth looks around the table, not recognizing any of the faces surrounding him, but fascinated by their appearances.
Vaelen steps in from the outside after getting some air, pushing through the tavern’s creaking door with a quiet ease. The mist clings faintly to the edges of his charcoal-gray robes, and a subtle scent of damp earth and salt lingers about him—no doubt from the stale Gloomport air. He moves fluidly, as if each step has been considered before his cloth-wrapped foot meets the floor, yet there is no stiffness in his posture, only a deliberate calm. The hood of his long, shadowy cloak is pushed back, revealing pallid gray skin adorned with faint, arcane markings at the temples. His long, silvery-white hair falls past his shoulders, and though his face is serene, there’s a certain intensity to his pale eyes, a calculating look that suggests he’s always studying, always measuring.
He pauses near the table, taking in the scene as if memorizing it—the sealed letter, his companion Kaelen’s questioning tone, the mild irritation in the server’s voice. Without a word, Vaelen slips onto the bench. He settles his staff, a slender piece of dark wood capped with a subtle carving of an ouroboros, against the table’s edge. He nods once to acknowledge the figures he shares this space with, strangers though they might be. His manner is measured, unhurried, as if weighing the silence itself before choosing to break it.
At last, he speaks quietly, his voice low and calm, “I take it something interesting has found its way to us?”
He leans in slightly to inspect the letter, glancing first at the seal, then at those gathered around. No sudden movements—only a deliberate stillness, like a scholar evaluating a new puzzle. His demeanor suggests he’s as curious as any of them, if not more so, about what strange twists of fate might be unfolding in this dim corner of the world.
Vaelen tilts his head slightly, letting the question hang before he responds. His gaze drifts over the sealed letter, a faint curiosity dancing behind his pale eyes. Gently placing a long, tapered fingertip against the parchment, Vaelen reaches for the letter, careful not to break its seal too roughly. His movements remain measured, as though performing a delicate ritual. He gives a subtle, encouraging nod to the others, then gently works to open the letter and reveal its contents.
The parchment you hold feels old, yet the ink is fresh. A wax seal, marked with a symbol unfamiliar to you, has been carefully broken. The script is elegant, almost rushed, as if penned by someone in great haste or desperation.
---
To you who seek the truth,
I have spent many years in search of answers, and now, at last, I know. The endless night, the cold that creeps through our bones, the darkness that devours all light—it is no accident, no act of the gods. It is the work of a single man, twisted by his own ambition. The lich Velkaron.
The sun no longer rises because of him. His failed ritual shattered the balance of life itself. But you—yes, you—are the ones who can stop this.
I do not know how to reverse what has been done, but I know where it began. Travel to the ruins of the Blackspire Tower. Follow the great river westward until it bends. There, you will find an old road, barely visible, overtaken by weeds and time. Follow this road through the dead forest until you reach a clearing. In the heart of that clearing, half-buried in shadow and stone, lies the tower.
The answers you seek are within the tower’s broken walls. What you find there may be the key to restoring the light.
I can offer you no further guidance, no promise of victory. But you must go. I leave you with what gold and silver I can spare, to aid your journey. Use it wisely. When you arrive at the site, what happens next will be up to you.
I will not contact you again. The rest is in your hands.
Kaelen moves soundlessly, his presence barely perceptible as he positions himself behind Vaelen to read over his shoulder. His pale violet eyes scan the letter, absorbing each word with quiet focus. The mention of Velkaron and the lich’s ritual catches his attention, a flicker of intrigue breaking through his normally calm demeanor. He doesn’t speak at first, letting the weight of the letter settle in his mind.
“Interesting,” he murmurs, his gaze flicking to the others at the table. “This speaks of the balance being shattered. A lich responsible for the darkness...a lead worth looking into at least.”
Kaelen’s eyes narrow slightly as he studies his newfound companions. “Are you on similar missions? Seeking to restore the light?” The question isn’t accusatory, but there’s a calculating edge to his tone, as if weighing whether these strangers might become allies.
Vaelen takes in the letter’s words carefully, resting a hand near the small pile of coins. He doesn’t rush to speak. Instead, he gives the parchment one last measured look, as if testing the weight of its contents before raising his eyes.
“I hoped to find clarity in this place,” he says quietly, his tone calm and even, “and it seems fate has delivered more than I expected; A lich’s spell has stolen the sunrise, and we hold a thread that may lead us to its undoing. I will not stand idle in a world without light.”
He turns his gaze to Kaelen, then to Owen, and finally to the others who share the table. “We are strangers at the same threshold. If you would walk this road, then let us do so together, each step guided by purpose. The path may be uncertain, but I will not falter if you stand beside me.”
The letter gives directions on how to get there. "
Follow the great river westward until it bends. There, you will find an old road, barely visible, overtaken by weeds and time. Follow this road through the dead forest until you reach a clearing. In the heart of that clearing, half-buried in shadow and stone, lies the tower.
Kaelen pauses, glancing back at the letter and the coins on the table. “I will stand with you. And with the rest of you, if you have the will to see this through. This world may have been plunged into darkness, but my Queen’s whispers tell me it is not beyond saving. Not yet.”
He steps back into the shadows of the tavern, his presence subdued but deliberate, waiting to see who among them will commit to the task.
Traeth seems more and more bemused as he continues to read the script. His hand unconsciously drifts towards the pendant held by his neck, and murmurs to himself--something about"so this is what I was meant to do." He clutches his hammer tightly as he stands up, revealing his full height. He's short. Very short. Seeing his disadvantage on the others at the table, he stands on his chair to appear taller.
"I will embark upon this adventure. A lich... is a foe to be cautious around, but I am sure that Moradin will protect me. Besides, I figure that if you lot are coming, you will need someone like me. Big, " (his skin flushes) "and strong." (again, he looks down, a little embarrased.) He promptly sits down upon making this declaration.
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Gloomport is a city of shadows, its buildings tall and close-set with narrow, winding streets. A heavy mist from Blackwater Bay clings to the docks, adding to the town’s mystery. The port is a hub of illicit trade, and all manner of individuals from smugglers to wandering adventurers can be found here.
Captain Morlaine Graves, an ex-pirate, holds a tenuous grip on Gloomport. Known for her ruthless nature and silver tongue, she has turned piracy into a strange form of governance.
For one reason or another you all find yourselves at The Sable Serpent – A dark, smoky bar favoured by pirates and traders. The owner, Sasha Veil, is a cunning tiefling, deals in secrets as often as drinks.
Despite Gloomport being the second to largest city, with a population of around forty two hundred, The Sable Serpent is the only tavern to be found. Many believe that behind the scenes Sasha has something to do with this, as well as Graves and her gang.
Being the only tavern in town, The Sable Serpent is always veery busy. By curse or good fortune all of you find yourselves together at a table. This isn't uncommon. There aren't enough tables to have less than at least 3 people at one.
As one Sasha's few helpers approaches your table with more drinks, (Don't know why the warforged would b here. I guess they offer oil?) she drops a sealed letter on the table, explaining that a strange man told her it was for all of you.
A short--very short, in fact, dwarf, sits at the table, leaning back in his chair with deceptive casualness, a war hammer leaning against the table. Aside from his height, he would be completely unremarkable, if it weren't for a curious amulet hanging by his neck. A metal medallion with a striking image of a hammer standing upright against an anvil, displayed proudly upon his chest. Looking up, he addresses the approaching helper: "Hello! Is that one for me?"
Please sign here. And don't read the fine print.
She answers briskly, not using any unnecessary words.
"It's for everyone at this table."
Sorry; let me ask for a bit of clarification here: are we already familiar with each other (the party)?
Please sign here. And don't read the fine print.
No
The blue frog man? child? he's small. Stares at the tray of drinks...seems odd until a fly lands in one and it is quickly grabbed.
He slurps up the mead with fly and makes tiny nibbles. "Perfect! How did they know?" he smiles and turns his shiny black eyes on you, "I am Owen, thank you for letting me share your table."
He doesn't seems to be heavily armed or armored at all - just plain leathers, a few small blades and arrows. His mottled blue skin is shiny and moist, and you wonder why he only wears one glove. Then out of a pocket you see a furry brown head pop out and look around.
"Sooner or later, your Players are going to smash your railroad into a sandbox."
-Vedexent
"real life is a super high CR."
-OboeLauren
"............anybody got any potatoes? We could drop a potato in each hole an' see which ones get viciously mauled by horrible monsters?"
-Ilyara Thundertale
Kaelen sits at the edge of the table with his back to the wall, his pale violet eyes scanning the crowded tavern with quiet intensity. The smoky air and constant murmur of voices do little to distract him; he’s accustomed to places like this—dark, bustling, and full of secrets. His grayish-white skin and long white hair mark him as a Shadar-kai, an uncommon sight in the Material Plane, though he prefers not to draw attention to himself.
He says little, his presence at the table subdued but deliberate. He is here for information, as always, and though he doesn’t know the others at the table, he listens carefully to their chatter, filing away anything that might be useful.
When the sealed letter is dropped on the table, Kaelen’s gaze flicks to it curiously. He studies it for a moment before looking up at the server. His voice is quiet but firm. “What did this man look like?”
She turns back, annoyed.
"I'm a busy woman. I don't have time to pay attention to strange men like he.
Besides. He was wearing a deep hood."
Traeth shifts uncomfortably in his large set of chain; he had worn it as a precaution but probably would not have if he had realized how awkward it would be. He tilts his head to one side, his curiosity piqued. "This is for... all of us, you say?" Traeth looks around the table, not recognizing any of the faces surrounding him, but fascinated by their appearances.
Please sign here. And don't read the fine print.
Vaelen steps in from the outside after getting some air, pushing through the tavern’s creaking door with a quiet ease. The mist clings faintly to the edges of his charcoal-gray robes, and a subtle scent of damp earth and salt lingers about him—no doubt from the stale Gloomport air. He moves fluidly, as if each step has been considered before his cloth-wrapped foot meets the floor, yet there is no stiffness in his posture, only a deliberate calm. The hood of his long, shadowy cloak is pushed back, revealing pallid gray skin adorned with faint, arcane markings at the temples. His long, silvery-white hair falls past his shoulders, and though his face is serene, there’s a certain intensity to his pale eyes, a calculating look that suggests he’s always studying, always measuring.
He pauses near the table, taking in the scene as if memorizing it—the sealed letter, his companion Kaelen’s questioning tone, the mild irritation in the server’s voice. Without a word, Vaelen slips onto the bench. He settles his staff, a slender piece of dark wood capped with a subtle carving of an ouroboros, against the table’s edge. He nods once to acknowledge the figures he shares this space with, strangers though they might be. His manner is measured, unhurried, as if weighing the silence itself before choosing to break it.
At last, he speaks quietly, his voice low and calm, “I take it something interesting has found its way to us?”
He leans in slightly to inspect the letter, glancing first at the seal, then at those gathered around. No sudden movements—only a deliberate stillness, like a scholar evaluating a new puzzle. His demeanor suggests he’s as curious as any of them, if not more so, about what strange twists of fate might be unfolding in this dim corner of the world.
DM : The Shade Over Runewarren | Vaelen Gravesong : Shadow of Eternal Night
"The snake which cannot cast its skin has to die. As well the minds which are prevented from changing their opinions; they cease to be mind."
"Well come on then, what does it say?"
"Sooner or later, your Players are going to smash your railroad into a sandbox."
-Vedexent
"real life is a super high CR."
-OboeLauren
"............anybody got any potatoes? We could drop a potato in each hole an' see which ones get viciously mauled by horrible monsters?"
-Ilyara Thundertale
Vaelen tilts his head slightly, letting the question hang before he responds. His gaze drifts over the sealed letter, a faint curiosity dancing behind his pale eyes. Gently placing a long, tapered fingertip against the parchment, Vaelen reaches for the letter, careful not to break its seal too roughly. His movements remain measured, as though performing a delicate ritual. He gives a subtle, encouraging nod to the others, then gently works to open the letter and reveal its contents.
DM : The Shade Over Runewarren | Vaelen Gravesong : Shadow of Eternal Night
"The snake which cannot cast its skin has to die. As well the minds which are prevented from changing their opinions; they cease to be mind."
The parchment you hold feels old, yet the ink is fresh. A wax seal, marked with a symbol unfamiliar to you, has been carefully broken. The script is elegant, almost rushed, as if penned by someone in great haste or desperation.
---
To you who seek the truth,
I have spent many years in search of answers, and now, at last, I know. The endless night, the cold that creeps through our bones, the darkness that devours all light—it is no accident, no act of the gods. It is the work of a single man, twisted by his own ambition. The lich Velkaron.
The sun no longer rises because of him. His failed ritual shattered the balance of life itself. But you—yes, you—are the ones who can stop this.
I do not know how to reverse what has been done, but I know where it began. Travel to the ruins of the Blackspire Tower. Follow the great river westward until it bends. There, you will find an old road, barely visible, overtaken by weeds and time. Follow this road through the dead forest until you reach a clearing. In the heart of that clearing, half-buried in shadow and stone, lies the tower.
The answers you seek are within the tower’s broken walls. What you find there may be the key to restoring the light.
I can offer you no further guidance, no promise of victory. But you must go. I leave you with what gold and silver I can spare, to aid your journey. Use it wisely. When you arrive at the site, what happens next will be up to you.
I will not contact you again. The rest is in your hands.
The fate of the world depends on what you find.
Enclosed:
- 4 platinum pieces
- 81 gold pieces
- 13 silver pieces
- 9 copper pieces
Kaelen moves soundlessly, his presence barely perceptible as he positions himself behind Vaelen to read over his shoulder. His pale violet eyes scan the letter, absorbing each word with quiet focus. The mention of Velkaron and the lich’s ritual catches his attention, a flicker of intrigue breaking through his normally calm demeanor. He doesn’t speak at first, letting the weight of the letter settle in his mind.
“Interesting,” he murmurs, his gaze flicking to the others at the table. “This speaks of the balance being shattered. A lich responsible for the darkness...a lead worth looking into at least.”
Kaelen’s eyes narrow slightly as he studies his newfound companions. “Are you on similar missions? Seeking to restore the light?” The question isn’t accusatory, but there’s a calculating edge to his tone, as if weighing whether these strangers might become allies.
Owen gives a thumbs up while tonguing out the last of the mead from his mug.
OOC: are we familiar with the destination (as far as what direction to travel) or do we need a guide to take us there?
"Sooner or later, your Players are going to smash your railroad into a sandbox."
-Vedexent
"real life is a super high CR."
-OboeLauren
"............anybody got any potatoes? We could drop a potato in each hole an' see which ones get viciously mauled by horrible monsters?"
-Ilyara Thundertale
Vaelen takes in the letter’s words carefully, resting a hand near the small pile of coins. He doesn’t rush to speak. Instead, he gives the parchment one last measured look, as if testing the weight of its contents before raising his eyes.
“I hoped to find clarity in this place,” he says quietly, his tone calm and even, “and it seems fate has delivered more than I expected; A lich’s spell has stolen the sunrise, and we hold a thread that may lead us to its undoing. I will not stand idle in a world without light.”
He turns his gaze to Kaelen, then to Owen, and finally to the others who share the table. “We are strangers at the same threshold. If you would walk this road, then let us do so together, each step guided by purpose. The path may be uncertain, but I will not falter if you stand beside me.”
DM : The Shade Over Runewarren | Vaelen Gravesong : Shadow of Eternal Night
"The snake which cannot cast its skin has to die. As well the minds which are prevented from changing their opinions; they cease to be mind."
The letter gives directions on how to get there.
"
Follow the great river westward until it bends. There, you will find an old road, barely visible, overtaken by weeds and time. Follow this road through the dead forest until you reach a clearing. In the heart of that clearing, half-buried in shadow and stone, lies the tower.
"
Kaelen pauses, glancing back at the letter and the coins on the table. “I will stand with you. And with the rest of you, if you have the will to see this through. This world may have been plunged into darkness, but my Queen’s whispers tell me it is not beyond saving. Not yet.”
He steps back into the shadows of the tavern, his presence subdued but deliberate, waiting to see who among them will commit to the task.
The frogman puts down the mug with a clack and nods. Standing up to his full 3 or so feet of tallness, "I'm in."
"Sooner or later, your Players are going to smash your railroad into a sandbox."
-Vedexent
"real life is a super high CR."
-OboeLauren
"............anybody got any potatoes? We could drop a potato in each hole an' see which ones get viciously mauled by horrible monsters?"
-Ilyara Thundertale
Traeth seems more and more bemused as he continues to read the script. His hand unconsciously drifts towards the pendant held by his neck, and murmurs to himself--something about "so this is what I was meant to do." He clutches his hammer tightly as he stands up, revealing his full height. He's short. Very short. Seeing his disadvantage on the others at the table, he stands on his chair to appear taller.
"I will embark upon this adventure. A lich... is a foe to be cautious around, but I am sure that Moradin will protect me. Besides, I figure that if you lot are coming, you will need someone like me. Big, " (his skin flushes) "and strong." (again, he looks down, a little embarrased.) He promptly sits down upon making this declaration.
Please sign here. And don't read the fine print.