Legacy of Fire Scad

White Dragon Sundae
A Year of Events: Part 3 of 3

Gozran 8th, 4711 AR

Hark heard the signal… he knew his debt repaid and turned his troops once more towards the desert wastes


Gozran 15th, 4711 AR

Alma sat upon her mound of cushions enjoying so form of frosted treat.

“Amyrill, darling, I can’t express my appreciation enough for your coming to my little mountain town!”

“Um. You could pay me ma’am.” explained the elf with a cool breeze about her.

“Oh of course darling! You keep the white dragon sundaes flowing my way and soon enough you’ll be a part of my personal staff!”

Garavel steps out from behind the curtain of Alma’s room and lifts his fist to clear his throat.

“Ahem! Lady Alma… The meeting concerning Father Zastoran’s disciple will begin momentarily… should I escort miss-”

“Oh no!” cried Alma. “She can stay Garavel, don’t worry about it… have you tried these!?”


Aalim and Irizatih stood gloriously, covered with much oil, in front of Alma’s office while Char, Magni, and Arturas measured up their new guests.

“So are you guys some kind of-”

Arturas was interrupted by the office door swinging open as Garavel stood in it’s frame glaring down at Arturas with a look of disgust and then to the rest of the company.

“The Lady Alma awaits…”

Garavel leads the guests into Alma’s chamber where he directs them to a table where the Lady Alma stands ready to have the meeting begin.

“Out with it then cleric. What news do you bring us of Father Zastoran’s pilgrimage? Will he be returning soon?"

“Uh-um… well the thing is you see…” Irizatih stumbled over his words as regret invaded his heart.

“… Father Zastoran is dead…”

Kitten Catchin'
A Year of Events: Part 2 of 3

Pharast 21st, 4711 AR

The mangy hounds sat about a campfire on the mountainside planning their drunken assault on the unsuspecting environs of Kelmerane. Barking and hissing into the night the gnolls were too busy to notice the creature circling their camp. Too busy, that was until it’s powerful fangs found their throats…


Arturas crouched low to the ground. He had just picked up the trail to his quarry… it led him deeper into the Brazen Peaks…

“I don’t know how I feel about this man. We’ve never taken our patrol out this far before.”

Dashki pressed himself against a large stone blending in with the surrounding desert mountains.

“I know Dashki… but the tracks lead this way and we have to follow.”

Further still into unknown territory the duo found more and more signs of heavy gnoll activity. Several bands passed by unawares of their stealthy guests.

“This aint looking good man. We better turn back,” Dashki whispered in a nervous sweat.

“But these tracks are fresh. Look… they lead into that cave!”

The stone walls dyed red from stinking gore and the bloody mounds of gnoll flesh. The air gagged them as they pushed forward, the sticky floor trying to pull them from their course.

“May the Dawnflower keep us Dashki… this doesn’t look good.”

“You really think a single leopard caused all this man? Katapeshi or not this is crazy!”

Arturas remained silent as he trudged on. The cave twisted deeper and grew humid with blood as the heat seemed to only rise.

“It’s no leopard we’re looking for.”

Arturas whispered a spell as light grew from the tip of his arrow. He let it fly piercing through the last living gnoll’s head. The lifeless body dropped a rusty dagger once poised to strike as it slumped to the floor. The light then fell upon a motionless dwarven form.

“C’mon Magni, lets get you out of here,” Arturas heaved the dwarf up to his feet and braced against him.

“Errrrr… uhhh. What?… Oh. Sorry fellas. I really thought I tied myself down again… must not have made it in time.” Magni muttered as his new found consciousness was washed with grief.

“Dont worry big guy, we’ll get you out of here. C’mon Dashki give me a hand here.”

The confused Dashki took up the dwarf’s other side.

“I don’t know what’s going on here man but I don’t see how we’re gonna sneak our way back out of here.”

“Neither do I”

A tall, confident gnoll stood in their path. His gray fur interrupted by scars. They had surely been caught, cornered with no way of escape. Dashki was the first to go down as their enemy quickly disarmed both his weapons and slammed him to the ground. Magni made a brave attempt to slow down the brute while Arturas lined up a shot but it was no use. He swatted the pitiful arrow from the air and bore down upon his prey. Just before tearing into Arturas’ flesh the gnoll let out a gurgling whimper as a spear burst through his throat.

“So there you are Kikkling!” giggled none other than the harpy Undrella as she released the gnoll to his final slumber. “Are you and your little boyfriends done here sweetie?”

“I told you not to call me that!” spat Arturas as he jumped up and gathered his wits about him.

The bird woman dangling on his every move.

“Oh no need to be so shy lover. All this blood has gotten me in the mood deary! Keee!”

…Needless to say Arturas, Magni, and Dashki were all able to summon enough strength to outrun whatever gnolls may have pursued them from the cave. Not to mention the deranged harpy playfully nipping at their heels!

So The Tales Speak True

Irizatih and Aalim padded lightly across the rocky crags in which the city of Kelmerane was nestled. They crouched behind a large outcrop and peered over, as if afraid the city itself would notice their presence.

“Sivanah’s Veil, so the tales speak true,” Aalim whispered, “Kelmerane reclaimed! I had thought it forever lost, fated to melt beneath the sands.”

“My boys wouldn’t lie.” Irizatih hissed.

“Not if loot was to be had, I’m sure.” the bard laughed. “They say the warriors slew a legion of djinn in the city’s bowels.”

“Not bleedin’ likely. I figure the streets was packed with my associates’ less-than-civil mutt-kin. A solid beatin’ stick and a satchel full of rawhide would’ve probably gotten them further than their dinky-arse axes and swords. Ropchop even tells me one of ’em’s a dwarf. Imagine! I bet the sand’d swallow ’im up if he stood still too long.” Irizatih said.

“We would do well not to underestimate them, my friend. We’ve no idea yet whether they would take kindly to the likes of you and I.” Aalim warned.

Irizatih stood and began dusting the sand from his knees.

“Yeah, well, I’ll judge how valorous and kind they are when I tell them their high-priest is dead and I’m his heir. I don’t fancy this meeting, I tell you.”

Aalim vaulted the outcrop and pulled his sash across his mouth and nose.

“Perhaps not, my friend, but you cannot deny… whether they slew djinni or an army of gnolls, they are sure to have a wealth in stories and legends to relate!”

With that Aalim broke into a run, disappearing in a wake of sand. Irizatih watched him until he disappeared through the front gates of Kelmerane. With a sigh he turned and looked back to the valley where he had suggested his “associates” remain. He took out a small, silver whistle engraved with Sarenrae’s holiest symbol, the ankh. He lifted the whistle to his lips and blew the signal, a code for “safe”, which was silent to the ears of normal humans, but not to gnolls.

“Zastoran, I hope you knew what you were doing when you asked this of me,” he muttered before taking off towards the gates.

Between A Roc And A Hard Place
A Year of Events: Part 1 of 3
Calistril 18th, 4711 AR

Haleen let loose her last flourish to win the match, her unsuspecting challenger toppling over the stage. The roaring crowd supporting their champion of Battle Market. Her pleasure was short lived however as she looked upon an empty seat in the first row…


Char Odin sat in his study at Wharf Manor holding out his afflicted hand. The mold that was Vardishal’s essence had grown ridged and gnarly across his skin… It was spreading. In his meditation a blade would form into his outstretched hand. A colorless replica of Tempest…

His door burst open and the blade dissipated. A nervous halfling standing in his doorway.

“Sir Odin! Sir Odin! Nearly all of our potions are out of stock and we’ve about done ourselves in with those defective returning arrows! Folks are getting a mean way about the store sir!”

“Oh… well why don’t you-"

Just then a raging dwarven woman trampled over the halfling!

“You told us workers that you’d get new equipment in by the end of the month!”

“I know, I know. I’m expecting a delivery any day now.”

The dwarf was suddenly tumbled over the halfling as the poor shopkeep tried to rise to his feet. Now in his door frame stood none other than the heaving hero Magni Bronzebeard!

“Oh er um… s-sorry ma’am…. Oh-Odin! Come quick there’s a awful ruckus brewing in the Battle Market!”

“Jackpot!” Char Odin grabbed his trusty shield and bounded over the mass of dissatisfied Kelmerites.


A chain net had been tossed over the open top of Battle Market. People poured out of the the only unlocked door where the battle ensued. The Zephyr Guard cut down gnolls while Arturas peppered the enemies with a rain of arrows. Magni joined in the fray while Char dove into the building ready to meet the source of this madness.
A large shadowy beast darted an thrashed from the higher levels of the market. Goods and equipment strewn about the area, people huddled together trying to hide themselves from injury.

“Oh great! Now you show up.” Haleen scoffed as she pulls her rapier from a gnoll’s bloody maw.

“You picked a fine time to get here, man” Dashki stood in a pile of gnoll carcases. “…I think that’s the last of them.”

“What happened here!?” Char questioned Dashki, ignoring the frustrated gypsy woman.

“Maaaaan. So this is how it was, ya dig? These dogfaces came up in here with some kind of big ass bird and let the damn things loose! Its thrashed itself all over the place since it couldn’t fly out the top!” Dashki colorfully explained while pointing to the chain netting. “Not sure what the hell it is, all I know is it ain’t no gyre like I’ve ever seen.”

“I’ll go check it out.” Char marched his way up the Market’s steps but Haleen was quick to catch him.

“What’s gotten into you lately Char? I thought we-”

“I’ve been busy” Char snapped back at her continuing to walk towards his unknown foe.

Huddled in a corner was a large bird, beaten and in a panic. It let out an ear piercing cry as Char approached it. For some reason he felt possessed to approach the creature. The beast suddenly fell silent and allowed him to move forward. Char reached towards the creature and placed his hand atop it’s head. A calming warmth swept over the two and both found peace within each other’s company. Followed by a blinding light the two collapsed to the floor, unconscious.


Char Odin awoke in his bed only to see Alma and Garavel towering over him…

“I don’t know what the hell happened with you and that bloody Roc in there but you had better be the one to handle this situation! Imagine the chaos that needs to be quelled after such an event! We need to set up a constant patrol surrounding the town! Get off your ass and neutralize this disaster at once!” and with that the Lady Alma stormed out of the room with her guards following.

Garavel covered his mouth to clear his throat, “Ahem!… You may find the bird in the stables… It suffered multiple injuries during the incident but should survive. What the gnolls were doing with such a creature I don’t know… but their sudden bravery is not a good sign. That will be all for now…”

Kelmerane Reclaimed!

Only weeks after the Merchant-Princess Alma recruited the disheveled mercenaries, Char, Magni, and Arturas proved their worth beyond that of common men.

Their duty required a testy alliance with the Gnolls of the Brazen Peaks, but with the fate of Kelmerane in the balance, no price was too great. The Kulldis tribe was overwhelmed by their cooperation and Kelmerane reclaimed.

However, seeming resolutions seem to unthread other plots, and now a deeper mystery has been revealed. What is the Legacy of Fire, and how will it test the saviors of Kelmerane?

Now the formerly barren city swarms with life once more. Merchants arrive daily to ply their wares and settlers have set their gaze upon the gates of Kelmerane. Lady Alma has instituted the wildly popular Battle Market and entertainers and celebrities of all kinds draw crowds from miles around.

But is it safe? Each night a lone howl, forlorn and feral all at once, issues down from the Pale Mountain; a chilling reminder that the only thing that stands between Kelmerane and the cruel indifference of the desert sands is the spirit of her people.

So long as the Carrion King sits atop his grisly throne, Kelmerane may never truly rest.


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