Since the time of Creation and the Dawn of War, Supreme Lord General Bane - the God of Tyranny, has ruled from The Conqueror's Throne on the plane of Acheron. He is the master of all Acheronians by the Will of His Command, and master of countless souls by the might of his inexhaustible armies - alive, and dead. He is the ruler of the plane of war for whom thousands of souls are sacrificed every day in the Battle Against Hell. Yet even in his immortal state, the God of War continues his eternal vigilance. Greatest among his soldiers are the Prime Paladins, bio-engineered holy warriors. But, for all of Acheron's soldiers, they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat from the nightmares of Hell. To be an Acheronian in such times is to be one among untold millions. It is to live in the cruelest and most bloody regime imaginable.
ACHERON AND IT'S INHABITANTS
The Infinite Battlefield of Acheronis an Outer Plane in the Great Wheel cosmology model representing alignments between lawful evil and lawful neutral with emphasis on law. Acheron is the bridge between the ultimate order of Nirvana and the regimented evil of the Nine Hells and as such, each of it's four layers emphasizes order over evil. The land masses on each layer are titanic blocks of geometric simplicity the size of nations floating in space orbiting a red supergiant star. Acheron is currently ruled by the god Bane, the Lord General. The four layers of Acheron are named Avalas, Thuldanin, Tintibulus, and Ocanthus. The layers are also home to numerous other regions and deities in which goblins, orcs, and duergar make their home. In addition to Acheronians, the main inhabitants of Acheron are the spirit legions occupying Avalas. They are made up of the souls of humans, dwarves, halflings, ogres, and many other mindless soldiers who died in wars after forgetting their purpose; those for whom war became an end in itself. Those who die in this way, their souls end up in Acheron forever.
THE PRIMES
Bane and Acheron are currently locked in a war of stalemate with the endless, horrific, unrelenting legions of Hell led by Asmodeus. The War Against Hell, as it was come to be known, has either side's favor shifting like a snake forwards and backwards as the eons rage on. It was only during the Age of Assimilation that many wonders were brought into the Acheronian War Machine in it's eternal battle of conquest and glory to try and gain advantages to even the odds against their hated enemy, but the most important technology appropriated during that Age was the blueprints that enabled the creation of what was later called the Genesis Chambers. With the fusion of spirit, magic, alien technology, and the very blood of Bane, Acheron was finally able to mass produce soldiers to hold the seemingly endless hordes from Hell at bay. By His Ingenuity, Bane's greatest creation from the Genesis Chambers were indeed the bio-engineered super soldiers called the Primes - holy warriors and seers so powerful they were that only one thousand were ever created. They only answered to the Twelve Legion Commanders of Acheron and Supreme Lord General Bane himself.
PRAXIA MATYEV, THE BETRAYER
Praxia Matyev was the first of the Primes, and undeniably the strongest. More powerful than the Legion Commanders that ruled over her, her martial and magical power was second only to the Lord General himself. Indeed, she was the Daughter of Bane in every way. Eons ago, she somehow defied her genetic programming and rebelled against her god and civilization, vowing one day to return with an army of her own to dethrone her Father and rule Acheron in her vision. Known from that point on as the Betrayer, her horrific deeds and actions were so legend that even the fearless Acheronians dreaded the day she would return to destroy those she once defended and fought beside. Now, the God of War's armies, with the mighty and redoubtable Primes, are locked in a brutal civil war among themselves. Once, the Primes fought side by side as brother and sister, protecting Acheron and the multiverse from Hell and it's ever present chaos and destruction. Now they are divided. Some remain loyal to the God of War, whilst others have sided with Praxia the Betrayer.
TODAY
Praxia has gathered her army, Bane and Acheron itself the object of her wrath. Seated upon The Conqueror's Throne, Bane the Lord of War waits for his wayward daughter to breach Banehold, the capital. But, the other enemy is Hell and it's legions, still fighting for supremacy and seeking to enslave and destroy all of Acheron and the multiverse in it's diabolical whims. The screams of the innocent, the pleas of the righteous resound to the cruel laughter of Praxia and Asmodeus. Eternal suffering and damnation await should Bane and His remaining Primes fail and the war be lost.
If Praxia succeeds in her conquest of Acheron, the rest of the multiverse will be her target. While Acheron is waging a war on two fronts, our story solely focuses on a group of epic heroes' journey to stop the First Prime and her Generals.
Praxia, among her most powerful warriors, lead the invasion of Acheron from her massive starship of steel, the Executor. The campaign victory conditions will involve the defeat of these 10 bosses in 4 wings of the Executor. Only the most cunning and most powerful will be able to overcome these challenges. Praxia has a eons to prepare for her invasion of her home world, and will not be so easily thwarted. The four wings and the ten bosses are listed below.
VISIONS OF DESTINY
Dark Tyrant Koios - Despite all his precautions, Prime Koios could not avoid succumbing to the will of Praxia, leading him to fight for her and her cause for a dark future. With his mind completely brainwashed, he now truly believes that the only way he can reform Acheron is to remake it in her name. A Prime no longer, Koios now takes his rightful place by Praxia's side as Koios the Dark Tyrant.
Annihilator Satre - Once born in the Genesis Chambers, stories tell of a Prime driven by such rage and killed in the War Against Hell eons ago. She was a genetic marvel who's very soul was so angry Praxia harnessed it and appropriated it, infusing it into a living metal construct of death and destruction - powered by hate, fueled by one's fear. She is now known as the Annihilator.
Prophet Ianius - Among the Primes are those who have mastered the arcane arts. Few wield the power like Ianius. A master of illusion, he delights in terrorizing his victims as he breaks their perceptions of reality. Those who fail to see though his deceptions become lost in an alternate version of Acheron forever - one ruled by the Betrayer.
HALLS OF DEVOTION
Dark Inquisitor Yotun - Few can resist the will of Praxia, but those who do find themselves at the "mercy" of Dark Inquisitor Yotun. A cruel and sadistic torturer, Yotun prides himself on slowly carving the sanity away from those in his charge until all that remains is unwavering devotion to Praxia. Those who resist him will come to realize untold amounts of eternal suffering.
The Command Center - Once Legion Commanders, locked in a contest of wills are the generals Iapto and Ogen - constantly vying for dominance over their fellow Praxians. As they wrest control away from one another, soldiers shift their tactics and obey each of their commands with fervent loyalty.
WEAKNESS OF THE FLESH
Khyron the Insatiable- One of Praxia's most nightmarish demonic allies, Khyron the Insatiable feasts on the conquered carcasses that the Betrayer's minions discard into its domain. Tormented by ceaseless hunger, Khyron's body twists and mutates with every corpse it devours. Epithemus- The grotesque amalgam of demonic flesh known as Epithemus was one of the entities slumbering on a world conquered by Praxia eons ago until it was awakened by Praxia's return. Now it rises like a revolting boil, ready to burst and spread it's vile pestilence across Acheron to rid the plane of it's inhabitants. Crius the Corruptor - Once a defeated Prime, Crius fled to a world corrupted by an Elder God where it mutated beyond recognition. Found by Praxia before her return, now it has fused with the Executor's architecture and will spread across Acheron like a creeping infestation to purge Bane and his people. As Crius's corrupting flesh grows ever larger, so does its power.
THE DISSOLUTION OF ETERNITY
Praxia Matvey, The Betrayer - She was the first and is mightiest of Acheron's Primes - she is the Daughter of Bane. From her starship the Executor, Praxia spent eons recruiting to her cause and subtly spreading her influence across the stars. Since rebelling against Bane, Praxia has begun to enact her ultimate plan to make her vision the new reality - one where she rules in her Father's stead. If she is not stopped, all that Acheron has ever known and fought for will be destroyed and remade in the image of Praxia - and the rest of the multiverse will be next.
In the Genesis Chambers, a child was born. The First Child. The First Prime.
And with his powerful hands, Bane the God of War slowly picked it up chest level and held it in close, examining it. The child, a girl, was wet, bloody, and crying. Merely seconds old, it was healthy, and Bane smiled. Without moving his mouth, Bane spoke to everyone, to all who could hear, and all who listened.
BEHOLD, THE FIRST PRIME. THEY SHALL BE MY FINEST HOLY WARRIORS. LIKE CLAY I SHALL MOLD THEM, AND IN THE FIRES OF BATTLE FORGE THEM. I SHALL CLAD THEM IN BLESSED ARMOR AND WITH HOLY WEAPONS THEY WILL BE ARMED.
UNTOUCHED BY PLAGUE OR DISEASE, NO SICKNESS WILL AFFLICT THEM. WITH MY BLOOD INSIDE THEM, THEY WILL HAVE KNOWLEDGE OF MY TACTICS AND STRATEGIES SO THAT NO ONE WILL BEST THEM IN BATTLE. THEY ARE MY ULTIMATE BULWARK AGAINST THE LEGIONS OF HELL, AND ALL THAT THREATEN ACHERON. THEY SHALL KNOW NO FEAR.
BEHOLD, THE FIRST PRIME. I NAME HER PRAXIA.
“Strange ees eet not, that so many I weesh beside me stand against me. All I ever wanted was the truth. I never desired any of thees, though I know the reasons for which eet must be done. But, all I ever wanted was the truth. Now, eet does not matter how Acheron burns, only that eet does. That ees what eet means, my brothers and seesters. The strength to do what must be done. Eet should have been me. I have the vision and strength to carry us to victory, and the wisdom to rule Acheron once victory is won. For all my cold, calculatory ideals and wisdom, I alone am favored, I have the Lord General’s soul in my very blood. Each of us carries a part of Our Father within us, whether eet ees his hunger for battle, his magic talent, or his determination to succeed. But I hold it all. It should have been me. I am what it means to be Prime.”
- Praxia Matyev the Betrayer, Former Prime Paladin of Acheron
THE RENESKRIA SCROLLS
No mortal can truly know what motivates the gods or what has occurred in the depths of prehistory. All they can do is read through the religious texts of various faiths and try to piece together a narrative that approximates the truth. This is one such possible truth.
The Reneskria Scrolls: According to religious tradition, these scrolls are the recorded observations of a woman named Reneskria. The scrolls are eons old, and are one of the few and precious recordings and accounts of Praxia Matyev, one of the first original ten Prime Paladins created with the blood of Bane, The God of War. Reneskria, initially a "camp follower" traveling with an army led by officers devoted to multiple deities, Reneskria grew into a potent warrior by following the example of those officers who practiced Bane's teachings, and eschewing the behavior and company of those who venerated "lesser" gods. The Reneskria Scrolls are considered a valuable example, not only because they show a warrior rising to power from the lowest beginnings through the teachings of Bane, but because of her detailed accountings of the agonizing defeats of those who turned away from the Iron General.
Eventually attracting the attention of a "..woman of blinding power and strength..", Reneskria rose through the ranks in the Acheronian War Machine against Hell. The scrolls detail her interactions with Praxia, whom Reneskria does her best to describe. Her accounts describe Praxia as a woman "..unearthly powerful, dominant, charismatic, and violent.." and "..having massive divine power and abilities that would rival the Iron General Himself." Her final descriptions of interaction describe Praxia as "..independent, rebellious, challenging.." and ends with her desire to "..rule to cosmos with unchallenged domination and claim The General's Throne for herself."
"I see a rising deluge of violence drowning the Acheronian Empire. Like the sea crashing upon the cliffs, it grinds and crushes with every surge. Praxia will return. I have seen it in my visions, in my dreams. Fire, steel, and corruption. Cruelty, lunacy and hatred. These are the weapons of The Betrayer. She has toppled civilizations in her mad conquest, bringing them from supremacy to the brink of annihilation. We are next. Acheron is next. We will all be forced to submit to the Will of Praxia, or die. Our Father's wayward Daughter is coming."
BANEHOLD, ACHERON 10 YEARS AFTER THE EVENTS OF SPELLJAMMER
Dreams. Always the dreams.
I've dreamt before. Most of them were pleasant: reliving a fond memory, visiting a place I've been, or interacting with someone I've known and loved in my life. But lately my dreams have been different. Ever since I took in the Smoke during my ritual promotions from Prime, then to Imperator, and finally to Legion Commander, things were never the same. I no longer dream. I have visions. Dark visions, visions of fire, and death.
My name is Mischa Praskovya.
I was created on a world called Acheron, a plane in the multiverse ruled by the God of War, Bane. I was a Prime, a genetically created super soldier birthed from the Genesis Chambers - bioengineering technology appropriated from a conquered civilization eons ago from a time before time. My life, my purpose, and my destiny was nothing but duty, honor, glory, and war. That is the way of my people. That is the way of the Primes. Since time immemorial, my world has fought an endless war against the Legions of Hell who wish nothing but the destruction of my society. Years ago, my specific operational branch as a Prime and Imperator took me to different worlds thwarting Hell's influence. Since promotion to Legion Commander, I have traveled less and less - being grounded to remain on Acheron. While my home is Acheron, all of the souls I have encountered in my travels off world I have missed terribly, and many a time I found myself smiling and lost in a slurry of fond memories. My heart pounds in my chest with love for them all.
It is when I sleep that I have my visions.
They are usually of the future of my home world. When I was a Prime, my old Legion Commander Taetanicus warned me that upon my promotion to Imperator I was powerful enough as a Acheronian that I would be able to use the powers of the Smoke to see glimpses of possible futures. When I told him of the vision I had of the Betrayer and her return, he nodded his head and told me he had seen the same. One day she would return. Not only would we have to battle the Legions of Hell, we would have to contend with her armies as well.
And then, years later, Praxia returned and a second war began. It is a war we are losing, and I will die here on my home world soon.
I cannot tell where this conviction comes from. Whatever birthed it is a mystery to me, and yet the thought clings like a virus, blooming behind my eyes and taking deep root within my mind. It almost feels real enough, like a virus, spreading to the rest of my body like a true sickness. My death will happen soon, within the coming nights of blood and fire. I will draw my last breath, and when my Acheronian brothers and sisters return to the stars upon death, my ashes will be scattered over the glory that is Acheron.
Praxia.
Even the name twists my blood until burning heat beats through my veins. I feel anger now, hot and heavy, flowing through my heart and filtering into my limbs like boiling poison. When the sensation - and it is a physical sensation - reaches my fingertips, my hands curl into fists. I am slow to anger, but I am strong, born only to slay for the Lord General. I am pure, wearing the reddest of the red, trained to serve as a spiritual guide as well as a Legion Commander. I am a weapon in the War Machine to forge Acheron's mastership of the multiverse.
Yet strength, honor, and glory will not be enough. Soon, my Acheronian brothers and sisters will ask me to consecrate this new war that will be my death. The thought plagues me not because I fear death, but because a futile death is anathema to me. But this is no night to think such things. The other Primes and Legion Commanders who are still alive have gathered to honor me. I am not sure I deserve this, but as with my sense of foreboding, this is a thought I keep to myself. I wear the red, and glare from behind the helmed visage of Bane, the God of War. It is not for one such as I to show doubt, to show weakness, to show even the whispering edges of blasphemy.
In the holiest chamber of our ancient capital, Banehold, I lower myself to one knee and bow my head, because this is what is asked of me. At last, unaware of my secret torments, Bane speaks my name and assigns me yet another task. The distress signal. As I bow and think of my end, I remember the decades of service I gave to another world while serving this one. I remember the friends I had made along the way, loved ones I fought with during my tours of duty on Toril. Praxia's starship and her most powerful generals orbit our star, and as each hour goes by, more and more of Acheron burns and dies. My eyes raise, and as I accept my duty, I refuse to hand over this world to our new invader.
"Sama! Sama!" A shrieking three year old came running into the room, chased by his seven year old sister. "Sama, help! Vera's gonna get me!"
Sana smiled as Leo cannoned into her, stumbling back a bit. "Sorry Leo, but I have some bad news...your sister promised to help swab the decks later!" She grinned and started tickling the tiny boy wildly, his giggles sounding through the air.
Vera skidded to a stop, her coal black eyes alight with laughter. "Hey, I don't remember doing that!"
Sana raised an eyebrow at her granddaughter. "You sure about that?" She raised a hand, wiggling tickling fingers menacingly.
"I remember now!" Vera said hastily.
Sana grinned. "Atta girl." She let go of Leo, who stumbled away for a few steps, still giggling, and plopped onto the floor. "Leo, go find your mother, and take your sister with you, hmm? I think she mentioned that she and Jeffrey had a surprise for you."
Both children immediately raced out of the room, and Sana dropped into her chair, chuckling to herself. Children were running around the decks of the Belle once more, and it warmed her heart to see Vera and Leo. Perhaps it was time to let Alia and Jeffrey take over the Belle and find a quiet spot to retire with Chandor.
That was when the red light flared in the corner of the command center's screen.
"She needs me, Chandor. This is...everything, for her. And after she helped save Toril for me, she deserves for me to help save Acheron for her." Sana sighed and kissed Chandor gently.
Chandor leaned his forehead against hers. "All right." They both knew there was more to it. Sana was going for her friend, but also for Toril. If Praxia took Acheron, who knew where she might next turn her attention. "I'll see you afterwards..." Neither of them harbored any illusions about the danger Sana was going into. "...In this world or the next."
"Yes,"Sana agreed. "Tymora willing, I'll return to you here after defeating Praxia, but if not, I will see you again when you pass from this world. I promise."
The changeling stepped back from her husband and moved to prepare. After armoring up and tucking her gold-flecked seastone into her pocket, she stood before the blade on her wall. Carefully, she lifted the leather sheath from the wall and unsheathed the blade in a single, fluid motion. Golden light glowed from it, illuminating the cabin. The Gambler's Blade, a sword touched by Tymora's possibility itself. It was unpredictable...but these were unpredictable times. In a decisive movement, Sana sheathed the blade at her side. Now to get to Acheron. She smiled to herself. Sometimes, the most obvious answer really was the right one...and she felt like trusting her fate to luck.
A tiny scoutship darted its way around Praxia's massive starships, dodging scanners and patrols. Sana punched out of range of the Betrayer's guns and steered her skiff towards Acheron High Command. "Misha, here I come, old friend."
A number of years ago, I was saved by Misha Praskovia after a mission went wrong. She did it because her god said that I served some part in his plans, but she became a close friend as she helped me recover. Shortly after I was allowed to return home, she met me again, since it was time for me to play my part in her god's plan. And I did. We fought side by side on a ship for months. When it was over I said my goodbyes, and retired on an island while she went back home.
And for many years, that island was my home and I had a wonderful time there. But one night I was visited by Sune in a dream, something that hadn't happened since I was a young woman. She told me that my work wasn't done and that very soon I would be called to fight again. That next morning I received a letter from a young woman named Jill Moon. In her letter, she said that she had known Misha since she was 16 and that they had gone on multiple adventures together. She said that Misha was a strong warrior who always fought to protect her and her sister in battle, but most importantly she was a good friend.What she wrote next, however, would break my heart. She said that when she and her sister last parted with Misha, it was a sad affair, since Acheron was taking terrible losses in the war and a part of them couldn't help but wonder if they would never see Misha again. Jill hated to send me such bad news in a letter, but she told me that when she was young, Misha said that I was a dear friend and one of the bravest people she had ever known, which made her believe that I had a right to know this. I immediately knew that this was what Sune was talking about when she said that I would be called to fight again.
I considered Acheron my home for a few years now. After the events in Saltmarsh, I was given the option to go back to the plane with Misha, and seeing as I really didn't have much of a purpose to stay in Toril, I humbly accepted. Truthfully, I thought it would have been a temporary thing. Acheron was something beyond me and my comprehension. I couldn't believe such a world existed outside of my own, but Misha opened my eyes to it all. I didn't think I'd fit in by any means.
I'm big, I'm blue, I'm angry, I spout tentacles from my back for f*ucks sake... But Misha... Misha is none of those things. She's kind-hearted and sweet, loving, ambitious and prideful, and drop dead goregeous to boot. I wanted to be around her when she came back from her crazy assignments. No matter how tough the mission was, no matter how spent she looked, she would always speak of it so animatedly with a beaming smile on her face. Watching and listening to her talk the way she did always got a smile wide on my face too. She did have moments that were particularly hard on her, specifically when it came to saying goodbye to those she had forged a bond with during her adventures, but I always had been there for her no matter what.
Just thinking about her, the good times and the bad, still makes my heart swell with joy.
So when she tells me that they were losing the war, and that I was welcome leave and not worry about her or Acheron anymore, I declined the offer. I would listen to no arguments, no matter how vehemently she tried to change my mind, I stayed. I stayed because of her, for her. I wanted to be with her through thick and thin. I wanted to be the rock she could lean on during these tough times, the shoulder to cry on when she needed to let it out, the arms she could run into for comfort, for safety, had she wanted to.
I decided that I would fight beside her to protect the home that we had made together.
A bone and twisted iron throne, monolithic and foreboding, surrounded by a massive spherical chamber of obsidian walls. Beneath it's pedestal, dark marble is cut and inlaid with a mosaic of the epic of Raktimos, the Peerless, former consort of Tiamat, and Tyrant of the ancient kingdom of Ozymandias. This throne room appears to be meticulously recreated over many years, surrounded by the ruins of a long lost civilization. Below this chamber hides a massive hoard of gold, gems, items of arcane power, and other lost treasures.
A mountain of a Dragonborn, burnt crimson in shade leans his form forward in his throne, powerful limbs resting on his knees, waiting in expectation for his guest to speak.
"His great Terror, Bane, Lord General and Tyrant of Acheron has considered your offer." The slender, hooded herald declares, "In exchange for your service in repelling the blasphemous upstarts and their false goddess, Bane will release his lordship, Raktimos, the Peerless from his centuries long curse, restoring your true draconic form." The herald rolls up the declaration and places it upon the dais before the throne.
The horned head of Raktimos, the Peerless rises to it's ordained place in the heavens as the massive form stands to it's height. Raktimos' torso is bare, showing thousands of scars from long won wars, his lower half is draped with flawless silks, encrusted in rubies, around his neck, an aurum torc inset with a poisonous looking emerald is latched like a prisoner's chain, clawing at his throat. A hand, adorned with platinum retrieves this missive from the God of War.
"Tell your master that I will arrive forthwith into Acheron. He will have the allegiance of Raktimos, Tyrant of Ozymandias, chief consort of Tiamat, Peerless above the ancient wyrms, and soon to be slayer of the false Goddess." His voice rumbles and echoes in the chamber like a bubbling magma flow, craggy and grating as if mountains were being torn asunder. He releases a gout of flame into the sky as two wings unfurl from his bare back almost eclipsing the light as he whips up a torrent of wind with his wings.
Soon, my queen, I will shed this weak form and return to your side. Oh the stories that I will bring to you, my love, and Oh, the retribution that will be wreaked on that slime of a lizard, Arcterox, the Emerald trickster.
The music was loud, the patrons rowdy, as the poor messenger pushed his way though the crowd. He knew he was supposed to find a famous alchemist, and that she frequented this place. From the upstairs balcony a small halfing woman leapt off the balcony and began floating above the crowd, an ale in one hand, the other playing a floating lyre. Breaking out into a raucous song, the halfing spun and flipped in the air.
Shaking his head, the messenger pushed towards the barkeep, trying to ignore the god-awful singing above. “Good evening. Morning? What ever time it is, good day. I have been looking everywhere for an alchemist by the name Zaeda. I have an important letter that must reach her without delay.” The barkeep began to laugh and shake her head, “Ye are looking for the wee lass eh? I hope ye can fly. Otherwise ye may ‘ave to wait for ‘er performance te end.” A knowing smile spread across her face at the look of astonishment crept onto his face, “You gonna be here a while boy. What can I getchya? She is gonna be up there for a couple of hours.”
A few hours later, the green haired hafling floating to the ground and bowed deeply. “Thank you. Thank you. You are the best audience in the world.” She ducks and hops of the table as a tankard sails over her head, accompanied by a shout of, “Thank goodness we can drink in peace.’’ Chuckling, she makes her way through the crowd to the barkeep, hops up onto the bar, leans over, “Another wonderful performance if I do say so myself. Which of course, I do.” The older barkeep shakes her head, “Well I am truly glad you think so, I’ll enjoy the relative peace and quiet.” She reaches over and slaps the messenger awake. “Yer friend here says he got a letter for ya Zaeda.”
The messenger jolts awake and upon seeing the halfling woman, reaches into his pouch and hands her a letter, “A request from Lord Bane to assist him in defending Archeon.”
Zaeda reads the letter and shakes her head. “I’ll take three of your finest ales for the road m’lady. This fool’s paying my tab!” She jumps up and reaches behind the bar, grabbing an old gnarled stick and belts of potions, strange devices, and more. “Well then, shall we be off? I can’t wait to see the look on old Asmodeus’s face when he hears I killed one of his greatest warriors. Oh man. This is gonna be good.”
This is what I thought my fate to be as story keeper for my tribe, for I lacked in so many ways save the one. And yet, if not in my bravery in seeking to collect the stories of others, I might not have found myself on such a whirlwind adventure. The likes of which few would experience, and fewer still would even believe to be true. Long in the tooth is, o' humble story keeper and story sharer now. An exile by accident, and an adventurer by need to find my home once more. I no longer despise the Izzet fool whose mad experiments turned me into something of a planes hopper. In fact, if ever given the chance, I would like to thank them. Though it's all the more likely they have long since perished in trying to replicate my 'successful' transfer.
And now as I sit here waiting for what promises to be the last journey I ever take in this life, it's hard not to reflect on journey's past. Many of the people are strangers here. By the nine, some I might have even called an enemy! Let Bane perish again others would proclaim. This so called threat is little more than another bid of his to bring more into his fold. And besides, does not the wretch deserve to be usurped by now? So many would say as, and in my youth, I would agree. I am not, however, so ignorant as to put down the proclamation of a long time companion. Though it was rare for us to see eye to eye, this Crass Banite and my Noble Heimdallian personage, we have journeyed together for too long in the past for me to know see the truth to his words. Plus, I still somewhat owed him for taking that nasty curse in my place. Perhaps in service, I might see to his freedom though!
But besides all, I smell a most interesting story brewing. Perhaps it'll be this one that becomes my one, true shining moment! Whereas in the past, I, in my humbleness, have made it so that companions were lauded for the deeds of whatever adventuring party I happened to have ties with at a time. Ah, but the means of our, well, -my- transport to where my words and blade would be needed is almost here. Such strange contraptions Bane has acquired, I do dare say. If not for the Izzet, I would not think it possible to go beyond any mortal plane outside of a portal! Hahah... Ah. But I digress. The crimson plates are set. The padding and leather buckles have been treated for chaffing. My lord Heimdall's symbol upon the shield is as bold as ever. And, I think I've figured out where that weird kink in my back leg had come from? Mn. Yes I did! Right then! To one last adventure, I do dare say!
The ancient white dragon rears up and belches forth a cone of freezing air. The assault blasts him like the mountain itself landing a solid blow on his battered body and weary mind. The sudden drop in temperature saps his energy, and his willpower. Still, the warlock summons his last bit of magic to throw another beam of crackling energy at his current foe…
“Come on, fuzzhead. Rise and shine!” Her touch, soft and soothing. He can feel the warm morning sun on his skin, the yellow glow from its light banishing the darkness.
With a shouted phrase in an arcane language, he calls forth a wall of flame to consume the small army of ogres and giants attacking their fortified position. Their skin burns away and the sickening smell of charred flesh permeates the air. The sizzling of burning fat and the rush of air to feed the mystic fire combine with their screams of agony in a twisted symphony of despair and destruction. But there are so many, and his party is not large enough to overcome this giant-kin assault…
Her perfumed hair gently caresses his face, the scent of her filling his nostrils and bringing him to wakefulness. “It’s time…” she says, with a hint of sorrow, and pride.
The drow and her drider guard had been hard to find – and harder to corner. The cunning priestess of Lolth had evaded them at every turn, every chance. The goddess must have truly loved this one to protect her for so long. But the warlock and his hunting partner – a clockwork sorcerer with an uncanny ability to be in the right place at the right time – were nothing if not persistent. For months they hunted, waited, stalked, regrouped and started over, but their planning and good fortune finally intersected. Together, they whispered their words of power to dispatch the monstrous spider hybrid and trap the priestess in a sphere of shimmering force…
His eyes crack open, the merest sliver of vision. She sits on the bed next to him, an angel. His angel. The one who created him. The one who granted his powers. The one he would die for – the one he would live for. “I have another task for you, my strong one.”
The warforged warlock finds himself called to war again. Across the lands, across time, and now across the planes. Built for battle, his artificial body is imbued with mystical forces to destroy. His mind programmed and trained to fight, to pursue and capture or kill his adversaries. But somewhere deep within his psyche, the dream of her haunts the moments between sleep and consciousness.
Eyes fluttering open, conscious reality slowly coming back, Mordok suddenly wakes from dreaming of fluffy pillows and gorgeous concubines feeding him grapes. Rapidly screwing his eyelids shut again, his conscious is assaulted by the roaring cacophony of a waterfall of noise. ‘Oi, lemme go back to sleep!’ rolls through his mind over and over, longing for the warm embrace of the dozens of women crawling all over him, competing for the chance to please his every desire.
Slowly, ever so slowly, his ears begin to discern a pattern to the cacophony … ‘Mordok?’ Is someone saying his name?
‘Wait, that’s MY name. I’m Mordok. I think?’
The noise further refines itself into a caterwauling chorus … "Mordok! Mordok! Mordok!"
‘What the hell? Lemme get back to that dream! Quit buggin me!’
Like a tidal wave, the presence of now finally comes to him. His eyes pop open with sudden anxiousness, as he’s suddenly aware of his surroundings. Somehow, he happens to find himself laying down, knocked unconscious, in the middle of an arena. An arena filled with a writing crowd of thousands, chanting his name … “MORDOK! MORDOK! MORDOK!”
Springing to his feet, he tottered for an instant, waiting for his balance to fully return. Through the blood streaming down his face, a sly grin appears. Growing wider and wider, the grin whips the audience into a lather of frenzy. The “MORDOK! MORDOK! MORDOK!”calls soon turn into “FINISH HIM! FINISH HIM! FINISH HIM!”
Casually stooping down, Mordok picks up his dropped halberd, casually steps over to the challenger who happens to be lying on the ground, also unconscious, and thrusts down with a mighty finishing blow, skewering the fellow gladiator through his full plate armor, straight though his heart, passing cleanly through the other side of armor into the dirt below.
A trio of slaves rapidly run into the arena, and drag the corpse of the defeated challenger away while the crowd shouted and hooted abuse at the limp body. Those among them who had been foolish enough to put money on the challenger, shaking their heads in disgust as they dropped their money into Mordok’s owner’s leather purse.
Mordok’s owner shouted above the crowd’s hubbub, “Are there no more challengers for Mordok the Undying? No man who believes he can be the hero of the day, and win a handful of silver?”
“No? Very well, I can see we’re going to have to raise the stakes! Not five silver coins for the successful challenger! Not ten silver coins! The man who can put the champion down and keep him down will win a platinum coin!”
He raised a hand to display the coin, provoking a flurry of excitement in the watching crowd, looking around at them in simulated frustration.
“Is nobody else here tempted to try their luck?”
Mordok just stood there, in the center of the arena, soaking in the excitement of the crowd. As a slave, he lived for this adoration. It was his own, private little slice of freedom.
No man, from that day forward, was willing to jump into the arena and fight him to the death. For every man knew that meant certain death. Mordok truly lived up to his name. Mordok the Undying!
ONE WEEK AGO
Mordok’s owner, a wispy snake of a man, slithered onto the glossy lacquered floor of the Emperor’s court, and bowed deeply to the floor. Wearing his finest silk kimono, he abided by the customs of the Court and never came up from the bow. Never daring actually looking at the Emperor as she marched into the room and sat down on her throne.
Addressing the sniveling bastard of a man Empress Yasei no ōkiddo quietly announces: “Ahhhh, the Great Akihiro, owner of that cesspool of entertainment, the Fighters Arena. Thank you for bringing your filth into my palace. Let’s make this quick. I have need of you. Rather, I have need of your greatest champion. The one they call…” quietly coughing, she adjusts her voice intonation to spew out “Mordok the Undying.”
Continuing to address the cowering man trembling beneath her, “An extremely important old friend of mine is in need of assistance, and has requested our greatest champion. My Minister of Defense here tells me that this Mordok is the best he has ever seen. Without parallel. Can you attest to this Mordok’s credentials?”
Akihiro, quivering, responds with a croaking voice “Aye, Empress Yasei. I’ve seen none better in all the land!”
Empress Yasei:“Well then, I hereby take ownership over this Mordok slave. You will be compensated accordingly. I’ll send my Minister to collect this champion immediately, as he is required in Acheron without delay.”
TODAY
Mordok steps through the magical portal, onto the burning wasteland that was the Plane of Acheron. Using the key handed to him, he quickly unlocks the shackles that bound his hands to his neck, and picks up his weapons and equipment thrown onto the ground through the portal alongside him. Looking up, he squints into the hazy bright light, trying to identify where he is, and where he's supposed to go in order to meet this Legion Commander Misha Praskovia he's to report in to.
(Author's note: The events of this campaign take place 10 years after the events of "Spelljammer".)
Sometime in the near future...
When the rift emerged in space, it was like a sore, a festering wound - a long jagged tear, a myriad of reds, purples, and blues among the dark of the great beyond. Along the galactic plane of Acheron's heavens, a mighty structure entered the plane, like a horror being birthed within time and space. Orbiting Archeron's massive red giant star emerged the Executor, the massive warship of the Betrayer. From this seat of power, Praxia Matyev drove her revenge and began to ravage her Father's plane of war and then, the cosmos beyond. Within the warship's nigh-impenetrable depths, Acheronian and Abyssal powers alike are being forged into weapons of utter annihilation. Should Praxia succeed in conquering Acheron, the final hour will fall upon all of creation - remaking eternity in her image.
CHAPTER ONE: THE JOURNEY TO BANEHOLD
MAIN OBJECTIVE:Acheron's first layer, Avalas, consists of three cubes: the Battle Cube, the Blue Cube, and Chernoggar. In order to get to Banehold - which is on Chernoggar, you must travel through the first two layers: the Battle Cube, and the Blue Cube. Misha awaits you all at Banehold. May the Lord General bless you all with a safe journey.
All of you arrive at a small war torn Acheronian outpost on the outskirts of the Battle Cube on the first layer of Avalas. You are stopped by Banites led by a Prime, clearly on edge since the initial invasion. You are scanned, and immediately hailed as either friends of Legion Commander Misha, or recognized as a friend of Bane. The Acheronian soldiers provide you with information about the layer and wish you all honor and glory in your mission.
AVALAS LORE:In addition to the Acheronians and the Legions of Hell, Acheron is populated by a multitude of spirit legions grinding in the machine of eternal war. Avalas, the first layer of Acheron, is a place of constant strife and bloodlust. The blood-red skies of Avalas are filled with cubic, geometric bodies of iron. They vary in size from tiny islands to entire planets, each with their own gravity and velocity. As the spirit legions march across these metallic cubes, their footsteps ring out across the vast emptiness of the plane, drowned out only by the clash of armies, or the collision of cubes.
The unavoidable and inevitable war of Avalas is also personified within the cubes themselves. These enormous geometric bodies are constantly flying through the space of the plane and colliding with each other, like the front lines of the spirit legions that inhabit them. Depending on the cubes, these collisions can be anticipated by their inhabitants, giving them plenty of time to flee into the burrowed or natural caverns that pockmark almost every cube in Avalas. Unfortunately, fortifications cannot be moved to easily. When small cubes collide with larger ones they can flatten cities, turning them to dust, and sending cube-shaken tremors throughout the subterranean caverns, causing landslides and cave-ins. The shockwaves from these impacts surge across the metallic surfaces of the cubes like a thundering cavalry charge, sweeping aside anything or anyone in their wake.
PLANAR EFFECT - FAVOR THE BOLD: If a creature in Avalas hasn't reduced another creature to zero hit points within a day, the creature must make a DC25 CON save. On a failed save, you cannot benefit from any immunity or dispel effect that removes the "frightened" condition. Nothing short of a wish spell can remove this effect, or, by slaying another creature by bringing it down to zero hit points.
PLANAR HAZARD - CRASHING CUBES: The plane consists of an innumerable number of enormous cubes floating in an infinite void orbiting a red giant star. Each cube can be anywhere from a few hundred feet to several thousand miles on it’s sides. The cubes routinely clash into one another each day, sometimes something catastrophic may happen.
THE BATTLE CUBE LORE: The first cube in the first layer of Avalas is the Battle Cube. Perhaps the largest geometric body in all of Avalas, it’s a planet sized cube of iron buried, in places, beneath the battlefields of orcs and goblins clashing in an eternal war. It is here on the Battle Cube that Grummsh and Maglubiyet make their final, everlasting stand against each other, fueling their war with the spirit legions of their patron races. The orcs’ portal, called the Godsworn Eye, is contained within a 600 foot diameter half circle built from bone and metal, and standing 300 feet tall at the center. The portal’s massive size ensures that the orcs can swarm through in untold numbers and would even allow for the orc’s walking fortress city, Istvarhan, to pass though if they wanted it to. The Godsworn Eye is protected by hundreds of ballistae and catapults. The goblinoids portal, called the Way of Conquest is held in place beneath a 200 foot diameter metallic platform that is raised 30 feet above the ground by hundreds of iron pillars. Goblin forces jump into this portal to arrive on the Battle Cube where they fall out of the connected portal, landing roughly on the ground below before charging out towards all sides. Passing through these areas would be suicide.
OBJECTIVE 1 MECHANICS:Praxia has destroyed the long range portal transit system during her initial attack. You must make your on foot through the Battle Cube to reach the short range portal to the next cube – The Blue Cube. Luckily, like many of the cubes of Avalas, the Battle Cube is honeycombed with tunnels and caves. Deep within these patrolled warrens is the portal that leads to the Blue Cube. You must go through these tunnels and press on to Banehold. Luckily, Misha gave you directions and tips on how to navigate these tunnels, something she used to do as a teenager much to her Legion Commander's chagrin - however, the orc and goblin patrols she couldn't predict with their erratic patterns, so we must make tests to travel through the warrens and fight off the natives.
Each character must make ten unhelped DC25 checks. Two each from: Athletics, Insight, Perception, Stealth, and Survival as you navigate through miles and miles of underground passageways. For each check that you fail, take the difference from 25 and multiply it by two. That's how much damage you take as you either fight your way through patrols or get injured by natural causes.
OBJECTIVE 2 MECHANICS: While you all have a common goal, some of you do not know each other. Where you come from, you are heroes (mostly), but within this group, some of you are strangers. In addition to whomever you wish to communicate with, take the time to talk to three people that you do not know. (Much like we did in Grim Hollow). Introduce yourself and have fun role-playing. After all, the fate of Acheron just might lay in your hands. It'll be good to know whom you fight beside.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
A changeling in plate armor makes her way across the battlefield, getting to the outpost quickly. A helmet studded with glittering gems rests on her head, and a longsword rests at her side, golden light glittering from the blade, and a chain around her neck, holds an amulet bearing the symbol of Tymora and a small, round seastone with flecks of sparkling gold in it. The shield across her back has the face of an older human man on it, grinning cheerfully.
Pic:
To those who know her from before, Sana looks a little older, maybe, some silver frosting the edges of her hair, but all in all, she's aged quite well, and retained most of her enthusiastic optimism to boot. She gives those who have arrived a grin, her eyes turning gold. "Hey, I'm Sana, and it looks like we'll be traveling together for a bit, huh?"
Books is a real dumb and forgot her rolls. Athletics: 24, 25 Insight: 8, 22 Perception: 23, 23 Stealth: 3, 5 Survival: 5, 13
At the end of it, Sana's looking...a little battered. "Okay, well I'm going to heal everyone up a bit...gather close, especially if you took a beating."
Carrhae rushes over to Kali and Sana as she arrives in Acheron. She looks to be in about her mid-30s, but it's very clear that she's been taking care of herself, so she doesn't look too much different from the last time the two of them saw her. (For those who have never seen Carrhae before, she's a beautiful woman with short blonde hair and big boobs. She's also got a tan from living on an island for over a decade. She's wearing a very beautiful set of gold armor with red trim.) "It's been too long." She says as she hugs the three of them. "I wish that it was under better circumstances though."
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Kali isn't exactly pleased to have to make the journey on foot, but with the thought of seeing Misha (and perhaps some familiar faces) at the end of it all, is what kept the sismic hybrid going, even if she would die trying.
Here comes the shit show: Athletics: 22, 30 Insight: 8, 12 Perception: 21, 21 Stealth: 10, 14 Survival: 13, 20
The ex-pirate is indeed pissed as **** when she arrives at the meeting place looking worse for wear, muttering about 'stupid ****in' cubes' and 'dumbass passageways of bullshit', but her seething rage ceases when she sees a few familiar faces. "Carrhae? Sana? Hey!" She waves to them as she makes her way towards them, pulling them both into tight hugs and giving them well deserved cheek kisses.
When they look upon her, nothing's changed a bit. It's as if she never aged at all, but it's safe to assume the reason was because of what she was.
Aeydof the Dragons || Wood Elf / Way of the Ascendant Dragon Monk Demetrios Zalaoras || Protector Aasimar / Paladin of Torm Hawke || Kalashtar / Circle of the Moon Druid Morticia || Half-Aasimar Rogue Yvan || Goliath / Path of the Wild Soul Barbarian | Paladin of Helm /ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Mordok continues to look around, stunned at the sights so different than his homeland. Confused, he follows the beckoning outpost Banites as they lead him down into the tunnels, and point him to the rest of the group of newcomers.
Requested saves-
Athletics: 3028
Insight: 1414
Perception: 1411
Stealth: 2121
Survival: 108
As Mordok approaches the rest of the congregating group, most of you have to look up...high up....to see his smiling face. He's a towering giant, twice the size of most of you. But his enormous body is topped by a face grinning so wide, his cheeks appear to spread from horizon to horizon.
He immediately recognizes a kindred barbarian in Kali, and quickly walks over to her and slaps her on the shoulder and gives a booming and hearty "WELCOME FELLOW WARRIOR!"
OOC: Holy #@&*@. He took 184 damage during the trip!!!
THE DISSOLUTION OF ETERNITY
A Primer
Since the time of Creation and the Dawn of War, Supreme Lord General Bane - the God of Tyranny, has ruled from The Conqueror's Throne on the plane of Acheron. He is the master of all Acheronians by the Will of His Command, and master of countless souls by the might of his inexhaustible armies - alive, and dead. He is the ruler of the plane of war for whom thousands of souls are sacrificed every day in the Battle Against Hell. Yet even in his immortal state, the God of War continues his eternal vigilance. Greatest among his soldiers are the Prime Paladins, bio-engineered holy warriors. But, for all of Acheron's soldiers, they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat from the nightmares of Hell. To be an Acheronian in such times is to be one among untold millions. It is to live in the cruelest and most bloody regime imaginable.
ACHERON AND IT'S INHABITANTS
The Infinite Battlefield of Acheron is an Outer Plane in the Great Wheel cosmology model representing alignments between lawful evil and lawful neutral with emphasis on law. Acheron is the bridge between the ultimate order of Nirvana and the regimented evil of the Nine Hells and as such, each of it's four layers emphasizes order over evil. The land masses on each layer are titanic blocks of geometric simplicity the size of nations floating in space orbiting a red supergiant star. Acheron is currently ruled by the god Bane, the Lord General. The four layers of Acheron are named Avalas, Thuldanin, Tintibulus, and Ocanthus. The layers are also home to numerous other regions and deities in which goblins, orcs, and duergar make their home. In addition to Acheronians, the main inhabitants of Acheron are the spirit legions occupying Avalas. They are made up of the souls of humans, dwarves, halflings, ogres, and many other mindless soldiers who died in wars after forgetting their purpose; those for whom war became an end in itself. Those who die in this way, their souls end up in Acheron forever.
THE PRIMES
Bane and Acheron are currently locked in a war of stalemate with the endless, horrific, unrelenting legions of Hell led by Asmodeus. The War Against Hell, as it was come to be known, has either side's favor shifting like a snake forwards and backwards as the eons rage on. It was only during the Age of Assimilation that many wonders were brought into the Acheronian War Machine in it's eternal battle of conquest and glory to try and gain advantages to even the odds against their hated enemy, but the most important technology appropriated during that Age was the blueprints that enabled the creation of what was later called the Genesis Chambers. With the fusion of spirit, magic, alien technology, and the very blood of Bane, Acheron was finally able to mass produce soldiers to hold the seemingly endless hordes from Hell at bay. By His Ingenuity, Bane's greatest creation from the Genesis Chambers were indeed the bio-engineered super soldiers called the Primes - holy warriors and seers so powerful they were that only one thousand were ever created. They only answered to the Twelve Legion Commanders of Acheron and Supreme Lord General Bane himself.
PRAXIA MATYEV, THE BETRAYER
Praxia Matyev was the first of the Primes, and undeniably the strongest. More powerful than the Legion Commanders that ruled over her, her martial and magical power was second only to the Lord General himself. Indeed, she was the Daughter of Bane in every way. Eons ago, she somehow defied her genetic programming and rebelled against her god and civilization, vowing one day to return with an army of her own to dethrone her Father and rule Acheron in her vision. Known from that point on as the Betrayer, her horrific deeds and actions were so legend that even the fearless Acheronians dreaded the day she would return to destroy those she once defended and fought beside. Now, the God of War's armies, with the mighty and redoubtable Primes, are locked in a brutal civil war among themselves. Once, the Primes fought side by side as brother and sister, protecting Acheron and the multiverse from Hell and it's ever present chaos and destruction. Now they are divided. Some remain loyal to the God of War, whilst others have sided with Praxia the Betrayer.
TODAY
Praxia has gathered her army, Bane and Acheron itself the object of her wrath. Seated upon The Conqueror's Throne, Bane the Lord of War waits for his wayward daughter to breach Banehold, the capital. But, the other enemy is Hell and it's legions, still fighting for supremacy and seeking to enslave and destroy all of Acheron and the multiverse in it's diabolical whims. The screams of the innocent, the pleas of the righteous resound to the cruel laughter of Praxia and Asmodeus. Eternal suffering and damnation await should Bane and His remaining Primes fail and the war be lost.
If Praxia succeeds in her conquest of Acheron, the rest of the multiverse will be her target. While Acheron is waging a war on two fronts, our story solely focuses on a group of epic heroes' journey to stop the First Prime and her Generals.
Praxia, among her most powerful warriors, lead the invasion of Acheron from her massive starship of steel, the Executor. The campaign victory conditions will involve the defeat of these 10 bosses in 4 wings of the Executor. Only the most cunning and most powerful will be able to overcome these challenges. Praxia has a eons to prepare for her invasion of her home world, and will not be so easily thwarted. The four wings and the ten bosses are listed below.
VISIONS OF DESTINY
Dark Tyrant Koios - Despite all his precautions, Prime Koios could not avoid succumbing to the will of Praxia, leading him to fight for her and her cause for a dark future. With his mind completely brainwashed, he now truly believes that the only way he can reform Acheron is to remake it in her name. A Prime no longer, Koios now takes his rightful place by Praxia's side as Koios the Dark Tyrant.
Annihilator Satre - Once born in the Genesis Chambers, stories tell of a Prime driven by such rage and killed in the War Against Hell eons ago. She was a genetic marvel who's very soul was so angry Praxia harnessed it and appropriated it, infusing it into a living metal construct of death and destruction - powered by hate, fueled by one's fear. She is now known as the Annihilator.
Prophet Ianius - Among the Primes are those who have mastered the arcane arts. Few wield the power like Ianius. A master of illusion, he delights in terrorizing his victims as he breaks their perceptions of reality. Those who fail to see though his deceptions become lost in an alternate version of Acheron forever - one ruled by the Betrayer.
HALLS OF DEVOTION
Dark Inquisitor Yotun - Few can resist the will of Praxia, but those who do find themselves at the "mercy" of Dark Inquisitor Yotun. A cruel and sadistic torturer, Yotun prides himself on slowly carving the sanity away from those in his charge until all that remains is unwavering devotion to Praxia. Those who resist him will come to realize untold amounts of eternal suffering.
The Command Center - Once Legion Commanders, locked in a contest of wills are the generals Iapto and Ogen - constantly vying for dominance over their fellow Praxians. As they wrest control away from one another, soldiers shift their tactics and obey each of their commands with fervent loyalty.
WEAKNESS OF THE FLESH
Khyron the Insatiable - One of Praxia's most nightmarish demonic allies, Khyron the Insatiable feasts on the conquered carcasses that the Betrayer's minions discard into its domain. Tormented by ceaseless hunger, Khyron's body twists and mutates with every corpse it devours.
Epithemus - The grotesque amalgam of demonic flesh known as Epithemus was one of the entities slumbering on a world conquered by Praxia eons ago until it was awakened by Praxia's return. Now it rises like a revolting boil, ready to burst and spread it's vile pestilence across Acheron to rid the plane of it's inhabitants.
Crius the Corruptor - Once a defeated Prime, Crius fled to a world corrupted by an Elder God where it mutated beyond recognition. Found by Praxia before her return, now it has fused with the Executor's architecture and will spread across Acheron like a creeping infestation to purge Bane and his people. As Crius's corrupting flesh grows ever larger, so does its power.
THE DISSOLUTION OF ETERNITY
Praxia Matvey, The Betrayer - She was the first and is mightiest of Acheron's Primes - she is the Daughter of Bane. From her starship the Executor, Praxia spent eons recruiting to her cause and subtly spreading her influence across the stars. Since rebelling against Bane, Praxia has begun to enact her ultimate plan to make her vision the new reality - one where she rules in her Father's stead. If she is not stopped, all that Acheron has ever known and fought for will be destroyed and remade in the image of Praxia - and the rest of the multiverse will be next.
A warforged reports in, gathering some last minute items as it prepares to fight the ultimate campaign of its artificial life...
Love God. Love Others. Any Questions?
MANY EONS AGO
In the Genesis Chambers, a child was born. The First Child. The First Prime.
And with his powerful hands, Bane the God of War slowly picked it up chest level and held it in close, examining it. The child, a girl, was wet, bloody, and crying. Merely seconds old, it was healthy, and Bane smiled. Without moving his mouth, Bane spoke to everyone, to all who could hear, and all who listened.
BEHOLD, THE FIRST PRIME. THEY SHALL BE MY FINEST HOLY WARRIORS. LIKE CLAY I SHALL MOLD THEM, AND IN THE FIRES OF BATTLE FORGE THEM. I SHALL CLAD THEM IN BLESSED ARMOR AND WITH HOLY WEAPONS THEY WILL BE ARMED.
UNTOUCHED BY PLAGUE OR DISEASE, NO SICKNESS WILL AFFLICT THEM. WITH MY BLOOD INSIDE THEM, THEY WILL HAVE KNOWLEDGE OF MY TACTICS AND STRATEGIES SO THAT NO ONE WILL BEST THEM IN BATTLE. THEY ARE MY ULTIMATE BULWARK AGAINST THE LEGIONS OF HELL, AND ALL THAT THREATEN ACHERON. THEY SHALL KNOW NO FEAR.
BEHOLD, THE FIRST PRIME. I NAME HER PRAXIA.
“Strange ees eet not, that so many I weesh beside me stand against me. All I ever wanted was the truth. I never desired any of thees, though I know the reasons for which eet must be done. But, all I ever wanted was the truth. Now, eet does not matter how Acheron burns, only that eet does. That ees what eet means, my brothers and seesters. The strength to do what must be done. Eet should have been me. I have the vision and strength to carry us to victory, and the wisdom to rule Acheron once victory is won. For all my cold, calculatory ideals and wisdom, I alone am favored, I have the Lord General’s soul in my very blood. Each of us carries a part of Our Father within us, whether eet ees his hunger for battle, his magic talent, or his determination to succeed. But I hold it all. It should have been me. I am what it means to be Prime.”
- Praxia Matyev the Betrayer, Former Prime Paladin of Acheron
THE RENESKRIA SCROLLS
No mortal can truly know what motivates the gods or what has occurred in the depths of prehistory. All they can do is read through the religious texts of various faiths and try to piece together a narrative that approximates the truth. This is one such possible truth.
The Reneskria Scrolls: According to religious tradition, these scrolls are the recorded observations of a woman named Reneskria. The scrolls are eons old, and are one of the few and precious recordings and accounts of Praxia Matyev, one of the first original ten Prime Paladins created with the blood of Bane, The God of War. Reneskria, initially a "camp follower" traveling with an army led by officers devoted to multiple deities, Reneskria grew into a potent warrior by following the example of those officers who practiced Bane's teachings, and eschewing the behavior and company of those who venerated "lesser" gods. The Reneskria Scrolls are considered a valuable example, not only because they show a warrior rising to power from the lowest beginnings through the teachings of Bane, but because of her detailed accountings of the agonizing defeats of those who turned away from the Iron General.
Eventually attracting the attention of a "..woman of blinding power and strength..", Reneskria rose through the ranks in the Acheronian War Machine against Hell. The scrolls detail her interactions with Praxia, whom Reneskria does her best to describe. Her accounts describe Praxia as a woman "..unearthly powerful, dominant, charismatic, and violent.." and "..having massive divine power and abilities that would rival the Iron General Himself." Her final descriptions of interaction describe Praxia as "..independent, rebellious, challenging.." and ends with her desire to "..rule to cosmos with unchallenged domination and claim The General's Throne for herself."
"I see a rising deluge of violence drowning the Acheronian Empire. Like the sea crashing upon the cliffs, it grinds and crushes with every surge. Praxia will return. I have seen it in my visions, in my dreams. Fire, steel, and corruption. Cruelty, lunacy and hatred. These are the weapons of The Betrayer. She has toppled civilizations in her mad conquest, bringing them from supremacy to the brink of annihilation. We are next. Acheron is next. We will all be forced to submit to the Will of Praxia, or die. Our Father's wayward Daughter is coming."
- Legion Commander Taetanicus of Acheron
PROLOGUE ONE - MISHA PRASKOVIA
BANEHOLD, ACHERON
10 YEARS AFTER THE EVENTS OF SPELLJAMMER
Dreams. Always the dreams.
I've dreamt before. Most of them were pleasant: reliving a fond memory, visiting a place I've been, or interacting with someone I've known and loved in my life. But lately my dreams have been different. Ever since I took in the Smoke during my ritual promotions from Prime, then to Imperator, and finally to Legion Commander, things were never the same. I no longer dream. I have visions. Dark visions, visions of fire, and death.
My name is Mischa Praskovya.
I was created on a world called Acheron, a plane in the multiverse ruled by the God of War, Bane. I was a Prime, a genetically created super soldier birthed from the Genesis Chambers - bioengineering technology appropriated from a conquered civilization eons ago from a time before time. My life, my purpose, and my destiny was nothing but duty, honor, glory, and war. That is the way of my people. That is the way of the Primes. Since time immemorial, my world has fought an endless war against the Legions of Hell who wish nothing but the destruction of my society. Years ago, my specific operational branch as a Prime and Imperator took me to different worlds thwarting Hell's influence. Since promotion to Legion Commander, I have traveled less and less - being grounded to remain on Acheron. While my home is Acheron, all of the souls I have encountered in my travels off world I have missed terribly, and many a time I found myself smiling and lost in a slurry of fond memories. My heart pounds in my chest with love for them all.
It is when I sleep that I have my visions.
They are usually of the future of my home world. When I was a Prime, my old Legion Commander Taetanicus warned me that upon my promotion to Imperator I was powerful enough as a Acheronian that I would be able to use the powers of the Smoke to see glimpses of possible futures. When I told him of the vision I had of the Betrayer and her return, he nodded his head and told me he had seen the same. One day she would return. Not only would we have to battle the Legions of Hell, we would have to contend with her armies as well.
And then, years later, Praxia returned and a second war began. It is a war we are losing, and I will die here on my home world soon.
I cannot tell where this conviction comes from. Whatever birthed it is a mystery to me, and yet the thought clings like a virus, blooming behind my eyes and taking deep root within my mind. It almost feels real enough, like a virus, spreading to the rest of my body like a true sickness. My death will happen soon, within the coming nights of blood and fire. I will draw my last breath, and when my Acheronian brothers and sisters return to the stars upon death, my ashes will be scattered over the glory that is Acheron.
Praxia.
Even the name twists my blood until burning heat beats through my veins. I feel anger now, hot and heavy, flowing through my heart and filtering into my limbs like boiling poison. When the sensation - and it is a physical sensation - reaches my fingertips, my hands curl into fists. I am slow to anger, but I am strong, born only to slay for the Lord General. I am pure, wearing the reddest of the red, trained to serve as a spiritual guide as well as a Legion Commander. I am a weapon in the War Machine to forge Acheron's mastership of the multiverse.
Yet strength, honor, and glory will not be enough. Soon, my Acheronian brothers and sisters will ask me to consecrate this new war that will be my death. The thought plagues me not because I fear death, but because a futile death is anathema to me. But this is no night to think such things. The other Primes and Legion Commanders who are still alive have gathered to honor me. I am not sure I deserve this, but as with my sense of foreboding, this is a thought I keep to myself. I wear the red, and glare from behind the helmed visage of Bane, the God of War. It is not for one such as I to show doubt, to show weakness, to show even the whispering edges of blasphemy.
In the holiest chamber of our ancient capital, Banehold, I lower myself to one knee and bow my head, because this is what is asked of me. At last, unaware of my secret torments, Bane speaks my name and assigns me yet another task. The distress signal. As I bow and think of my end, I remember the decades of service I gave to another world while serving this one. I remember the friends I had made along the way, loved ones I fought with during my tours of duty on Toril. Praxia's starship and her most powerful generals orbit our star, and as each hour goes by, more and more of Acheron burns and dies. My eyes raise, and as I accept my duty, I refuse to hand over this world to our new invader.
No.
There is still hope.
PROLOGUE TWO - CAPTAIN SANA
"Sama! Sama!" A shrieking three year old came running into the room, chased by his seven year old sister. "Sama, help! Vera's gonna get me!"
Sana smiled as Leo cannoned into her, stumbling back a bit. "Sorry Leo, but I have some bad news...your sister promised to help swab the decks later!" She grinned and started tickling the tiny boy wildly, his giggles sounding through the air.
Vera skidded to a stop, her coal black eyes alight with laughter. "Hey, I don't remember doing that!"
Sana raised an eyebrow at her granddaughter. "You sure about that?" She raised a hand, wiggling tickling fingers menacingly.
"I remember now!" Vera said hastily.
Sana grinned. "Atta girl." She let go of Leo, who stumbled away for a few steps, still giggling, and plopped onto the floor. "Leo, go find your mother, and take your sister with you, hmm? I think she mentioned that she and Jeffrey had a surprise for you."
Both children immediately raced out of the room, and Sana dropped into her chair, chuckling to herself. Children were running around the decks of the Belle once more, and it warmed her heart to see Vera and Leo. Perhaps it was time to let Alia and Jeffrey take over the Belle and find a quiet spot to retire with Chandor.
That was when the red light flared in the corner of the command center's screen.
"She needs me, Chandor. This is...everything, for her. And after she helped save Toril for me, she deserves for me to help save Acheron for her." Sana sighed and kissed Chandor gently.
Chandor leaned his forehead against hers. "All right." They both knew there was more to it. Sana was going for her friend, but also for Toril. If Praxia took Acheron, who knew where she might next turn her attention. "I'll see you afterwards..." Neither of them harbored any illusions about the danger Sana was going into. "...In this world or the next."
"Yes," Sana agreed. "Tymora willing, I'll return to you here after defeating Praxia, but if not, I will see you again when you pass from this world. I promise."
The changeling stepped back from her husband and moved to prepare. After armoring up and tucking her gold-flecked seastone into her pocket, she stood before the blade on her wall. Carefully, she lifted the leather sheath from the wall and unsheathed the blade in a single, fluid motion. Golden light glowed from it, illuminating the cabin. The Gambler's Blade, a sword touched by Tymora's possibility itself. It was unpredictable...but these were unpredictable times. In a decisive movement, Sana sheathed the blade at her side. Now to get to Acheron. She smiled to herself. Sometimes, the most obvious answer really was the right one...and she felt like trusting her fate to luck.
A tiny scoutship darted its way around Praxia's massive starships, dodging scanners and patrols. Sana punched out of range of the Betrayer's guns and steered her skiff towards Acheron High Command. "Misha, here I come, old friend."
PROLOGUE THREE - CARRHAE
A number of years ago, I was saved by Misha Praskovia after a mission went wrong. She did it because her god said that I served some part in his plans, but she became a close friend as she helped me recover. Shortly after I was allowed to return home, she met me again, since it was time for me to play my part in her god's plan. And I did. We fought side by side on a ship for months. When it was over I said my goodbyes, and retired on an island while she went back home.
PROLOGUE FOUR - KALI
I considered Acheron my home for a few years now. After the events in Saltmarsh, I was given the option to go back to the plane with Misha, and seeing as I really didn't have much of a purpose to stay in Toril, I humbly accepted. Truthfully, I thought it would have been a temporary thing. Acheron was something beyond me and my comprehension. I couldn't believe such a world existed outside of my own, but Misha opened my eyes to it all. I didn't think I'd fit in by any means.
I'm big, I'm blue, I'm angry, I spout tentacles from my back for f*ucks sake... But Misha... Misha is none of those things. She's kind-hearted and sweet, loving, ambitious and prideful, and drop dead goregeous to boot. I wanted to be around her when she came back from her crazy assignments. No matter how tough the mission was, no matter how spent she looked, she would always speak of it so animatedly with a beaming smile on her face. Watching and listening to her talk the way she did always got a smile wide on my face too. She did have moments that were particularly hard on her, specifically when it came to saying goodbye to those she had forged a bond with during her adventures, but I always had been there for her no matter what.
Just thinking about her, the good times and the bad, still makes my heart swell with joy.
So when she tells me that they were losing the war, and that I was welcome leave and not worry about her or Acheron anymore, I declined the offer. I would listen to no arguments, no matter how vehemently she tried to change my mind, I stayed. I stayed because of her, for her. I wanted to be with her through thick and thin. I wanted to be the rock she could lean on during these tough times, the shoulder to cry on when she needed to let it out, the arms she could run into for comfort, for safety, had she wanted to.
I decided that I would fight beside her to protect the home that we had made together.
PROLOGUE FIVE - RAKTIMOS THE PEERLESS
A bone and twisted iron throne, monolithic and foreboding, surrounded by a massive spherical chamber of obsidian walls. Beneath it's pedestal, dark marble is cut and inlaid with a mosaic of the epic of Raktimos, the Peerless, former consort of Tiamat, and Tyrant of the ancient kingdom of Ozymandias. This throne room appears to be meticulously recreated over many years, surrounded by the ruins of a long lost civilization. Below this chamber hides a massive hoard of gold, gems, items of arcane power, and other lost treasures.
A mountain of a Dragonborn, burnt crimson in shade leans his form forward in his throne, powerful limbs resting on his knees, waiting in expectation for his guest to speak.
"His great Terror, Bane, Lord General and Tyrant of Acheron has considered your offer." The slender, hooded herald declares, "In exchange for your service in repelling the blasphemous upstarts and their false goddess, Bane will release his lordship, Raktimos, the Peerless from his centuries long curse, restoring your true draconic form." The herald rolls up the declaration and places it upon the dais before the throne.
The horned head of Raktimos, the Peerless rises to it's ordained place in the heavens as the massive form stands to it's height. Raktimos' torso is bare, showing thousands of scars from long won wars, his lower half is draped with flawless silks, encrusted in rubies, around his neck, an aurum torc inset with a poisonous looking emerald is latched like a prisoner's chain, clawing at his throat. A hand, adorned with platinum retrieves this missive from the God of War.
"Tell your master that I will arrive forthwith into Acheron. He will have the allegiance of Raktimos, Tyrant of Ozymandias, chief consort of Tiamat, Peerless above the ancient wyrms, and soon to be slayer of the false Goddess." His voice rumbles and echoes in the chamber like a bubbling magma flow, craggy and grating as if mountains were being torn asunder. He releases a gout of flame into the sky as two wings unfurl from his bare back almost eclipsing the light as he whips up a torrent of wind with his wings.
Soon, my queen, I will shed this weak form and return to your side. Oh the stories that I will bring to you, my love, and Oh, the retribution that will be wreaked on that slime of a lizard, Arcterox, the Emerald trickster.
PROLOGUE SIX - ZAEDA
The music was loud, the patrons rowdy, as the poor messenger pushed his way though the crowd. He knew he was supposed to find a famous alchemist, and that she frequented this place. From the upstairs balcony a small halfing woman leapt off the balcony and began floating above the crowd, an ale in one hand, the other playing a floating lyre. Breaking out into a raucous song, the halfing spun and flipped in the air.
Shaking his head, the messenger pushed towards the barkeep, trying to ignore the god-awful singing above. “Good evening. Morning? What ever time it is, good day. I have been looking everywhere for an alchemist by the name Zaeda. I have an important letter that must reach her without delay.” The barkeep began to laugh and shake her head, “Ye are looking for the wee lass eh? I hope ye can fly. Otherwise ye may ‘ave to wait for ‘er performance te end.” A knowing smile spread across her face at the look of astonishment crept onto his face, “You gonna be here a while boy. What can I getchya? She is gonna be up there for a couple of hours.”
A few hours later, the green haired hafling floating to the ground and bowed deeply. “Thank you. Thank you. You are the best audience in the world.” She ducks and hops of the table as a tankard sails over her head, accompanied by a shout of, “Thank goodness we can drink in peace.’’ Chuckling, she makes her way through the crowd to the barkeep, hops up onto the bar, leans over, “Another wonderful performance if I do say so myself. Which of course, I do.” The older barkeep shakes her head, “Well I am truly glad you think so, I’ll enjoy the relative peace and quiet.” She reaches over and slaps the messenger awake. “Yer friend here says he got a letter for ya Zaeda.”
The messenger jolts awake and upon seeing the halfling woman, reaches into his pouch and hands her a letter, “A request from Lord Bane to assist him in defending Archeon.”
Zaeda reads the letter and shakes her head. “I’ll take three of your finest ales for the road m’lady. This fool’s paying my tab!” She jumps up and reaches behind the bar, grabbing an old gnarled stick and belts of potions, strange devices, and more. “Well then, shall we be off? I can’t wait to see the look on old Asmodeus’s face when he hears I killed one of his greatest warriors. Oh man. This is gonna be good.”
PROLOGUE SEVEN - YAROG
This is what I thought my fate to be as story keeper for my tribe, for I lacked in so many ways save the one. And yet, if not in my bravery in seeking to collect the stories of others, I might not have found myself on such a whirlwind adventure. The likes of which few would experience, and fewer still would even believe to be true. Long in the tooth is, o' humble story keeper and story sharer now. An exile by accident, and an adventurer by need to find my home once more. I no longer despise the Izzet fool whose mad experiments turned me into something of a planes hopper. In fact, if ever given the chance, I would like to thank them. Though it's all the more likely they have long since perished in trying to replicate my 'successful' transfer.
And now as I sit here waiting for what promises to be the last journey I ever take in this life, it's hard not to reflect on journey's past. Many of the people are strangers here. By the nine, some I might have even called an enemy! Let Bane perish again others would proclaim. This so called threat is little more than another bid of his to bring more into his fold. And besides, does not the wretch deserve to be usurped by now? So many would say as, and in my youth, I would agree. I am not, however, so ignorant as to put down the proclamation of a long time companion. Though it was rare for us to see eye to eye, this Crass Banite and my Noble Heimdallian personage, we have journeyed together for too long in the past for me to know see the truth to his words. Plus, I still somewhat owed him for taking that nasty curse in my place. Perhaps in service, I might see to his freedom though!
But besides all, I smell a most interesting story brewing. Perhaps it'll be this one that becomes my one, true shining moment! Whereas in the past, I, in my humbleness, have made it so that companions were lauded for the deeds of whatever adventuring party I happened to have ties with at a time. Ah, but the means of our, well, -my- transport to where my words and blade would be needed is almost here. Such strange contraptions Bane has acquired, I do dare say. If not for the Izzet, I would not think it possible to go beyond any mortal plane outside of a portal! Hahah... Ah. But I digress. The crimson plates are set. The padding and leather buckles have been treated for chaffing. My lord Heimdall's symbol upon the shield is as bold as ever. And, I think I've figured out where that weird kink in my back leg had come from? Mn. Yes I did! Right then! To one last adventure, I do dare say!
PROLOGUE EIGHT - ZIPPO
“Anru. Wake up.“ Her voice, warm and comforting.
The ancient white dragon rears up and belches forth a cone of freezing air. The assault blasts him like the mountain itself landing a solid blow on his battered body and weary mind. The sudden drop in temperature saps his energy, and his willpower. Still, the warlock summons his last bit of magic to throw another beam of crackling energy at his current foe…
“Come on, fuzzhead. Rise and shine!” Her touch, soft and soothing. He can feel the warm morning sun on his skin, the yellow glow from its light banishing the darkness.
With a shouted phrase in an arcane language, he calls forth a wall of flame to consume the small army of ogres and giants attacking their fortified position. Their skin burns away and the sickening smell of charred flesh permeates the air. The sizzling of burning fat and the rush of air to feed the mystic fire combine with their screams of agony in a twisted symphony of despair and destruction. But there are so many, and his party is not large enough to overcome this giant-kin assault…
Her perfumed hair gently caresses his face, the scent of her filling his nostrils and bringing him to wakefulness. “It’s time…” she says, with a hint of sorrow, and pride.
The drow and her drider guard had been hard to find – and harder to corner. The cunning priestess of Lolth had evaded them at every turn, every chance. The goddess must have truly loved this one to protect her for so long. But the warlock and his hunting partner – a clockwork sorcerer with an uncanny ability to be in the right place at the right time – were nothing if not persistent. For months they hunted, waited, stalked, regrouped and started over, but their planning and good fortune finally intersected. Together, they whispered their words of power to dispatch the monstrous spider hybrid and trap the priestess in a sphere of shimmering force…
His eyes crack open, the merest sliver of vision. She sits on the bed next to him, an angel. His angel. The one who created him. The one who granted his powers. The one he would die for – the one he would live for. “I have another task for you, my strong one.”
The warforged warlock finds himself called to war again. Across the lands, across time, and now across the planes. Built for battle, his artificial body is imbued with mystical forces to destroy. His mind programmed and trained to fight, to pursue and capture or kill his adversaries. But somewhere deep within his psyche, the dream of her haunts the moments between sleep and consciousness.
PROLOGUE NINE - MORDOK
6 MONTHS AGO
Eyes fluttering open, conscious reality slowly coming back, Mordok suddenly wakes from dreaming of fluffy pillows and gorgeous concubines feeding him grapes. Rapidly screwing his eyelids shut again, his conscious is assaulted by the roaring cacophony of a waterfall of noise. ‘Oi, lemme go back to sleep!’ rolls through his mind over and over, longing for the warm embrace of the dozens of women crawling all over him, competing for the chance to please his every desire.
Slowly, ever so slowly, his ears begin to discern a pattern to the cacophony … ‘Mordok?’ Is someone saying his name?
‘Wait, that’s MY name. I’m Mordok. I think?’
The noise further refines itself into a caterwauling chorus … "Mordok! Mordok! Mordok!"
‘What the hell? Lemme get back to that dream! Quit buggin me!’
Like a tidal wave, the presence of now finally comes to him. His eyes pop open with sudden anxiousness, as he’s suddenly aware of his surroundings. Somehow, he happens to find himself laying down, knocked unconscious, in the middle of an arena. An arena filled with a writing crowd of thousands, chanting his name … “MORDOK! MORDOK! MORDOK!”
Springing to his feet, he tottered for an instant, waiting for his balance to fully return. Through the blood streaming down his face, a sly grin appears. Growing wider and wider, the grin whips the audience into a lather of frenzy. The “MORDOK! MORDOK! MORDOK!” calls soon turn into “FINISH HIM! FINISH HIM! FINISH HIM!”
Casually stooping down, Mordok picks up his dropped halberd, casually steps over to the challenger who happens to be lying on the ground, also unconscious, and thrusts down with a mighty finishing blow, skewering the fellow gladiator through his full plate armor, straight though his heart, passing cleanly through the other side of armor into the dirt below.
A trio of slaves rapidly run into the arena, and drag the corpse of the defeated challenger away while the crowd shouted and hooted abuse at the limp body. Those among them who had been foolish enough to put money on the challenger, shaking their heads in disgust as they dropped their money into Mordok’s owner’s leather purse.
Mordok’s owner shouted above the crowd’s hubbub, “Are there no more challengers for Mordok the Undying? No man who believes he can be the hero of the day, and win a handful of silver?”
“No? Very well, I can see we’re going to have to raise the stakes! Not five silver coins for the successful challenger! Not ten silver coins! The man who can put the champion down and keep him down will win a platinum coin!”
He raised a hand to display the coin, provoking a flurry of excitement in the watching crowd, looking around at them in simulated frustration.
“Is nobody else here tempted to try their luck?”
Mordok just stood there, in the center of the arena, soaking in the excitement of the crowd. As a slave, he lived for this adoration. It was his own, private little slice of freedom.
No man, from that day forward, was willing to jump into the arena and fight him to the death. For every man knew that meant certain death. Mordok truly lived up to his name. Mordok the Undying!
ONE WEEK AGO
Mordok’s owner, a wispy snake of a man, slithered onto the glossy lacquered floor of the Emperor’s court, and bowed deeply to the floor. Wearing his finest silk kimono, he abided by the customs of the Court and never came up from the bow. Never daring actually looking at the Emperor as she marched into the room and sat down on her throne.
Addressing the sniveling bastard of a man Empress Yasei no ōkiddo quietly announces: “Ahhhh, the Great Akihiro, owner of that cesspool of entertainment, the Fighters Arena. Thank you for bringing your filth into my palace. Let’s make this quick. I have need of you. Rather, I have need of your greatest champion. The one they call…” quietly coughing, she adjusts her voice intonation to spew out “Mordok the Undying.”
Continuing to address the cowering man trembling beneath her, “An extremely important old friend of mine is in need of assistance, and has requested our greatest champion. My Minister of Defense here tells me that this Mordok is the best he has ever seen. Without parallel. Can you attest to this Mordok’s credentials?”
Akihiro, quivering, responds with a croaking voice “Aye, Empress Yasei. I’ve seen none better in all the land!”
Empress Yasei: “Well then, I hereby take ownership over this Mordok slave. You will be compensated accordingly. I’ll send my Minister to collect this champion immediately, as he is required in Acheron without delay.”
TODAY
Mordok steps through the magical portal, onto the burning wasteland that was the Plane of Acheron. Using the key handed to him, he quickly unlocks the shackles that bound his hands to his neck, and picks up his weapons and equipment thrown onto the ground through the portal alongside him. Looking up, he squints into the hazy bright light, trying to identify where he is, and where he's supposed to go in order to meet this Legion Commander Misha Praskovia he's to report in to.
CRISPY PRESENTS:
THE DISSOLUTION OF ETERNITY
(Author's note: The events of this campaign take place 10 years after the events of "Spelljammer".)
Sometime in the near future...
When the rift emerged in space, it was like a sore, a festering wound - a long jagged tear, a myriad of reds, purples, and blues among the dark of the great beyond. Along the galactic plane of Acheron's heavens, a mighty structure entered the plane, like a horror being birthed within time and space. Orbiting Archeron's massive red giant star emerged the Executor, the massive warship of the Betrayer. From this seat of power, Praxia Matyev drove her revenge and began to ravage her Father's plane of war and then, the cosmos beyond. Within the warship's nigh-impenetrable depths, Acheronian and Abyssal powers alike are being forged into weapons of utter annihilation. Should Praxia succeed in conquering Acheron, the final hour will fall upon all of creation - remaking eternity in her image.
CHAPTER ONE: THE JOURNEY TO BANEHOLD
MAIN OBJECTIVE: Acheron's first layer, Avalas, consists of three cubes: the Battle Cube, the Blue Cube, and Chernoggar. In order to get to Banehold - which is on Chernoggar, you must travel through the first two layers: the Battle Cube, and the Blue Cube. Misha awaits you all at Banehold. May the Lord General bless you all with a safe journey.
All of you arrive at a small war torn Acheronian outpost on the outskirts of the Battle Cube on the first layer of Avalas. You are stopped by Banites led by a Prime, clearly on edge since the initial invasion. You are scanned, and immediately hailed as either friends of Legion Commander Misha, or recognized as a friend of Bane. The Acheronian soldiers provide you with information about the layer and wish you all honor and glory in your mission.
AVALAS LORE: In addition to the Acheronians and the Legions of Hell, Acheron is populated by a multitude of spirit legions grinding in the machine of eternal war. Avalas, the first layer of Acheron, is a place of constant strife and bloodlust. The blood-red skies of Avalas are filled with cubic, geometric bodies of iron. They vary in size from tiny islands to entire planets, each with their own gravity and velocity. As the spirit legions march across these metallic cubes, their footsteps ring out across the vast emptiness of the plane, drowned out only by the clash of armies, or the collision of cubes.
The unavoidable and inevitable war of Avalas is also personified within the cubes themselves. These enormous geometric bodies are constantly flying through the space of the plane and colliding with each other, like the front lines of the spirit legions that inhabit them. Depending on the cubes, these collisions can be anticipated by their inhabitants, giving them plenty of time to flee into the burrowed or natural caverns that pockmark almost every cube in Avalas. Unfortunately, fortifications cannot be moved to easily. When small cubes collide with larger ones they can flatten cities, turning them to dust, and sending cube-shaken tremors throughout the subterranean caverns, causing landslides and cave-ins. The shockwaves from these impacts surge across the metallic surfaces of the cubes like a thundering cavalry charge, sweeping aside anything or anyone in their wake.
PLANAR EFFECT - FAVOR THE BOLD: If a creature in Avalas hasn't reduced another creature to zero hit points within a day, the creature must make a DC25 CON save. On a failed save, you cannot benefit from any immunity or dispel effect that removes the "frightened" condition. Nothing short of a wish spell can remove this effect, or, by slaying another creature by bringing it down to zero hit points.
PLANAR HAZARD - CRASHING CUBES: The plane consists of an innumerable number of enormous cubes floating in an infinite void orbiting a red giant star. Each cube can be anywhere from a few hundred feet to several thousand miles on it’s sides. The cubes routinely clash into one another each day, sometimes something catastrophic may happen.
THE BATTLE CUBE LORE: The first cube in the first layer of Avalas is the Battle Cube. Perhaps the largest geometric body in all of Avalas, it’s a planet sized cube of iron buried, in places, beneath the battlefields of orcs and goblins clashing in an eternal war. It is here on the Battle Cube that Grummsh and Maglubiyet make their final, everlasting stand against each other, fueling their war with the spirit legions of their patron races. The orcs’ portal, called the Godsworn Eye, is contained within a 600 foot diameter half circle built from bone and metal, and standing 300 feet tall at the center. The portal’s massive size ensures that the orcs can swarm through in untold numbers and would even allow for the orc’s walking fortress city, Istvarhan, to pass though if they wanted it to. The Godsworn Eye is protected by hundreds of ballistae and catapults. The goblinoids portal, called the Way of Conquest is held in place beneath a 200 foot diameter metallic platform that is raised 30 feet above the ground by hundreds of iron pillars. Goblin forces jump into this portal to arrive on the Battle Cube where they fall out of the connected portal, landing roughly on the ground below before charging out towards all sides. Passing through these areas would be suicide.
OBJECTIVE 1 MECHANICS: Praxia has destroyed the long range portal transit system during her initial attack. You must make your on foot through the Battle Cube to reach the short range portal to the next cube – The Blue Cube. Luckily, like many of the cubes of Avalas, the Battle Cube is honeycombed with tunnels and caves. Deep within these patrolled warrens is the portal that leads to the Blue Cube. You must go through these tunnels and press on to Banehold. Luckily, Misha gave you directions and tips on how to navigate these tunnels, something she used to do as a teenager much to her Legion Commander's chagrin - however, the orc and goblin patrols she couldn't predict with their erratic patterns, so we must make tests to travel through the warrens and fight off the natives.
Each character must make ten unhelped DC25 checks. Two each from: Athletics, Insight, Perception, Stealth, and Survival as you navigate through miles and miles of underground passageways. For each check that you fail, take the difference from 25 and multiply it by two. That's how much damage you take as you either fight your way through patrols or get injured by natural causes.
OBJECTIVE 2 MECHANICS: While you all have a common goal, some of you do not know each other. Where you come from, you are heroes (mostly), but within this group, some of you are strangers. In addition to whomever you wish to communicate with, take the time to talk to three people that you do not know. (Much like we did in Grim Hollow). Introduce yourself and have fun role-playing. After all, the fate of Acheron just might lay in your hands. It'll be good to know whom you fight beside.
A changeling in plate armor makes her way across the battlefield, getting to the outpost quickly. A helmet studded with glittering gems rests on her head, and a longsword rests at her side, golden light glittering from the blade, and a chain around her neck, holds an amulet bearing the symbol of Tymora and a small, round seastone with flecks of sparkling gold in it. The shield across her back has the face of an older human man on it, grinning cheerfully.
Pic:
To those who know her from before, Sana looks a little older, maybe, some silver frosting the edges of her hair, but all in all, she's aged quite well, and retained most of her enthusiastic optimism to boot. She gives those who have arrived a grin, her eyes turning gold. "Hey, I'm Sana, and it looks like we'll be traveling together for a bit, huh?"
Books is a real dumb and forgot her rolls.
Athletics: 24, 25
Insight: 8, 22
Perception: 23, 23
Stealth: 3, 5
Survival: 5, 13
At the end of it, Sana's looking...a little battered. "Okay, well I'm going to heal everyone up a bit...gather close, especially if you took a beating."
Stella Diamant, Human Rogue 17 (Swashbuckler), The Exploits of Misfit Company
Kat, Medtech, Cyberpunk: Red
Shi, Changeling Bard 4 (College of Spirits), Tyrant's Grasp
Dani, Human Artificer 9 (Armorer), Skulls and Starships
DM, Project Point (Teams Scimitar and Longsword)
Everything Else!
Might as well get my rolls out while I think of what to write: Athletics - 2018 Insight - 1923 Perception - 2129 Stealth - 137 Survival - 1222
Also for my elixirs for the day 351 lets see what I start with for the day, may use spell slots for more depending on what I get
I got healing, flight, and resilience, I'll also spend 2 spell slots to gain 1 boldness elixir and 1 transformation elixir
Also when we reach the end, Zaeda is very much knocked out. Very drunk halflings apparently aren't welcome in Archeon
Carrhae rushes over to Kali and Sana as she arrives in Acheron. She looks to be in about her mid-30s, but it's very clear that she's been taking care of herself, so she doesn't look too much different from the last time the two of them saw her. (For those who have never seen Carrhae before, she's a beautiful woman with short blonde hair and big boobs. She's also got a tan from living on an island for over a decade. She's wearing a very beautiful set of gold armor with red trim.) "It's been too long." She says as she hugs the three of them. "I wish that it was under better circumstances though."
Xenophon: Topaz Dragonborn Fighter (ixi's Dragon of Icespire Peak)
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Kali isn't exactly pleased to have to make the journey on foot, but with the thought of seeing Misha (and perhaps some familiar faces) at the end of it all, is what kept the sismic hybrid going, even if she would die trying.
Here comes the shit show:
Athletics: 22, 30
Insight: 8, 12
Perception: 21, 21
Stealth: 10, 14
Survival: 13, 20
The ex-pirate is indeed pissed as **** when she arrives at the meeting place looking worse for wear, muttering about 'stupid ****in' cubes' and 'dumbass passageways of bullshit', but her seething rage ceases when she sees a few familiar faces. "Carrhae? Sana? Hey!" She waves to them as she makes her way towards them, pulling them both into tight hugs and giving them well deserved cheek kisses.
When they look upon her, nothing's changed a bit. It's as if she never aged at all, but it's safe to assume the reason was because of what she was.
Aeyd of the Dragons || Wood Elf / Way of the Ascendant Dragon Monk
Demetrios Zalaoras || Protector Aasimar / Paladin of Torm
Hawke || Kalashtar / Circle of the Moon Druid
Morticia || Half-Aasimar Rogue
Yvan || Goliath / Path of the Wild Soul Barbarian | Paladin of Helm
/ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\
Mordok continues to look around, stunned at the sights so different than his homeland. Confused, he follows the beckoning outpost Banites as they lead him down into the tunnels, and point him to the rest of the group of newcomers.
Requested saves-
As Mordok approaches the rest of the congregating group, most of you have to look up...high up....to see his smiling face. He's a towering giant, twice the size of most of you. But his enormous body is topped by a face grinning so wide, his cheeks appear to spread from horizon to horizon.
He immediately recognizes a kindred barbarian in Kali, and quickly walks over to her and slaps her on the shoulder and gives a booming and hearty "WELCOME FELLOW WARRIOR!"
OOC: Holy #@&*@. He took 184 damage during the trip!!!
Last to know and first to be blamed...
As a free action, can I regret my life choices?
Carrhae casts Aid on herself and Misha to give them 15 extra hit points. Then she casts Death Ward on herself and goes through.
Athletics: 29 24
Insight: 8 26
Perception: 14 10
Stealth: 11 6
Survival: 19 17
Xenophon: Topaz Dragonborn Fighter (ixi's Dragon of Icespire Peak)
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