EM.1.1 War of the Chosen

Session Summary

 

Durindale

A tenday after Cyric's Proclamation, Vorothruun busies himself with studies and preparations, storing his most prized possessions in demi-planes and working with Caltha and his scribe to record as much as they can for further study. Parathraax, on the other hand, has turned towards a more meditative approach, seeking to live out Bahamut's calling on his life not by default, but through more intentional steps. As the brothers cross paths in the courtyard, Tristain's vision returns him from Chult to the City of Heroes. The Three Chosen share their experiences and learnings and combine their efforts for the coming threat.  

A Year of War

The world has spent a year at war following Cyric's Proclamation. Pouring forth from their revealed stronghold in Luskan, the hatred and malice of Cyric's Chosen, Draxhar, Demon of a Thousand Faces, has made itself known across the Sword Coast. Across the realms, devastation and destruction have followed in the wake of battle as Draxhar's forces make the final preparations for the ritual of Ascension.  

The Fate of the Sword Coast

 

Neverwinter

  The war first came to Neverwinter. Following Dagault Neverember's assassination, and Second's implication in the killing, it was all too easy for Draxhar to replace other members of the Council with his legion of doppelgangers. When the army of Cyricists and Zhentarims marched on the walls, it was all the city guard could do to mount a modest defense.   Though Cyric’s puppets in government undermined the city’s defenses, Durindale and her allies arrive to fill the gap. Heroes storm the walls and hold the line. The dwarves of Gauntlygrym drive forth their machines of artifice, spewing volcanic rocks and magma from catapults onto the battlefield, ruining their siege weaponry. The elves of Neverwinter Wood rain arrows upon the frontlines, allied by their beast companions carving through ranks of cultists and sellswords who expected a city easy for picking. And yet, the day is not without its grief and mourning. As smoke rises over the city, the River District lie in ruins, hundreds of homes and thousands of lives lost. Ash fills the air, carrying with it the acrid scent of burnt flesh and scorched earth.   With the forces gathered at the newly opened Stoneway Inn, Tristain finds their defeatist attitude to be unacceptable and gives a heartfelt, rousing, and challenging speech to encourage the defenders of the city to hold fast and true to one another. His speech inspires the soldiers when their own government seems to have abandoned them.   During the assault, Era and her thieves guild usher citizens into the sewers, ensuring their safety by keeping them off the streets, even at the expenses of exposing their hideout and means of moving through the city undetected.   When assassins strike Castle Neverwinter to take out the remaining leaders of the city, Second leads all of his colleagues, aids, and assistants to safety through an escape hatch. When they turn to look for him to join them, he simply says, "Be safe, companions" and destroys the way behind them. Second faces the assassins head-on, defeating as many as he can. But knowing they seek to abduct and capture him, such that his magic might fuel Cyric's ascension, Second sacrifices himself. By imploding his own fae-magic core, forever trapping his soul and the dagger he bonded to in the Faewild, Second destroys all of Cyric's assailants and ensures he cannot be used in the harming of others. His construct form falls lifeless, but victorious.  

Waterdeep

  Draxhar's forces struck Waterdeep next. The City Watch and City Guard manned the walls, the monks of the Open Hand Monastery stood at the ready, the Arcane Watch maintaining protective spells. The Open Lord and the Blackstaff awakened the Walking Statues, ancient, colossus defenders of the city.   But the attack would come by sea, fleets of pirates and mercenaries. As ships poured out of Skullport bearing the purple sun of Cyric, Deepwater Harbor became a graveyard of Waterdhavian ships and their crew, lost at sea. And as the defenders of the city moved to the docks to fight the rising tide of assailants, the dragons descended, spewing flame, frost, lightning, and acid from above the City of Splendor.   But Waterdeep is no stranger to war. The colossal statues wake from their slumber to contend with the enclave of Tiamat’s dragons descending upon the city. How such an unholy alliance between the Queen of Dragons and God of Madness might form can only be guessed, but it still proves insufficient to overtake Waterdeep. Throughout the streets, the combined efforts of Waterdeep’s loyal factions, the Harpers, Avengers, City Watch and Guard, and Arcane Order push back the invaders and ensure the safety of as many Waterdhavians as they can. And so, while smoke rises from the City of Splendors and there will be many lives to mourn, Waterdeep holds against the pressing darkness, refusing to fall to Draxhar’s invasion.   In the battle for Waterdeep, Parathraax wages a relentless war against the unremitting tide of Cyric's forces, reinforcing his companions and striking fear into the heart of his enemies through his intimidating prowess.   At Trollskull Manor, Mya transforms the tavern into a field hospital where Thaust serves as a field medic while rediscovering himself.   As Endriel works tirelessly to keep the city's residents safe, he is gravely wounded and overwhelmed while defending his sister, Velgwyn from pillaging Cyricists. Thaust comes to their aid, ensuring the safety of the siblings.   Though Corvan, Hawk's father, was able to afford to get the entire family out of the city and safely to their resort, Hawkfall, before the outbreak of war, he sends Enes back into the city on business. Enes does not survive when a dragon's talon brings down the Hawkwinter home upon him.  

Silverymoon

The eastern reaches of the Sword Coast were not spared from Cyric’s war and the spread of his wanton destruction. In Silverymoon, as Cyricists march upon the walls, the city finds itself under assault from within as well. Through corrupted seeds planted amongst the natural beauty of the elven city, portals to the Shadowfell open, transforming the same branches, roots, and vines, for centuries an integral part of the city, against its residents. Blight monsters made of gnarled, grey wood tear through the streets, clashing with the Knights in Silver, Harpers, and Spellguard of the city as Cyric’s forces move to claim the Mythal powering Silverymoon’s magical defenses and way of life.   Ancient branches slam through homes and roads like battering rams. Roots tear and crash through the city like waves, ripping up the spires of the High Palace and Star Court one by one until fall one by one, collapsing into the city streets below. The Moon Bridge, for all of its radiant shimmer, is shattered, the magic flickering and separating the North and South Bank as Cyric’s forces recover the Mystal and disappear into the Shadowfell with the artifact. If there is any solace, it is that as the forces of Avraathe arrived in defense of the city, it became clear the blights would overrun much of the South Bank. The Platinum Order held fast against the inter-planar threats, offering enough time for many to escape the city. For the second time in as many years, refugees now gather beyond the walls of Avraathe, first from Sundabar, and now from Silverymoon.   Vorothruun, harnesses his arcane understanding of the inter-planar threat, tries to repel the forces of the Shadowfell, but the incursion proves to be overpowering and too far spread across the city.   Masterbreaker, not accustomed to fighting in a large unit, breaks off from her ranks to identify a weakness in the blights forces and strike where it will hurt the most. The threats prove too alien and though she brings many foes with her, she eventually falls, overrun and overwhelmed by the blights.   On a secret mission within the city and then working to help residents escape, Endriel is lucky to make it out alive after his unit's position and purpose is compromised and gravely wounded.  

Avraathe

  Inevitably, war makes its way to Avraathe’s walls as well. But Draxhar knows these formidable warriors well. His puppet, Dradke, oversaw the city, funneling their precious platinum gems towards his purpose for years. And so he knows better than to merely send his army of mercenaries and fanatics. No, for Avraathe, he deploys his army of giants. Upon the Wyrmskull Throne with Ruling Scepter in hand, Fire Giant Duke Zalto brings his warmongering fury to the dragonborn city and her citizens. And from above, airships, empowered by the very platinum gems looted from Avraathe, reign down artillery fire of arcane blasts upon the battlefield. And yet, the Platinum Order, the mages of the Augurium, the clerics of Bahamut, and the nomadic warriors of Velquen stand united, ready to defend their sacred home.   Bahamut has prepared his followers for such a time as this. Channeling all of their efforts and the draconic magic flowing through their veins, the Augurium sorcerers brings down the dozens of airships, sending them crashing into the battlefield below. Warriors of Avraathe and Velquen unite their efforts, laying low giant after giant after giant. The day is not without its losses, but Avraathe stands and lives to fight another day. Though the walls hold fast, the refugees beyond the wall are less fortunate. The fields beyond Avraathe burn. Refugees find themselves trapped between fronts, their encampments overrun. When the battle subsides, Avraathe will spend days sifting through the wreckage of their camps for survivors. They will find far too few.   Parathraax embraces his role as Chosen of Bahamut, serving as a conduit for the faith of his city and turning their devotion into martial might.   Though his son insists on him leading from within the walls, Parathraaj says, "Not Today" and fights with fury in the frontlines. When he sees refugees of Sundabar and Silverymoon caught between two collapsing fronts, he leads a small band of dragonborn to defend them. The refugees manage to escape and Parathraaj is the last of the band left standing, but the great general is eventually slain in battle.   Alongside the other mages of the Augurium, Thava works tirelessly to bring down the airships battering the city with arcane blasts. She leads her unit to the walls, but overextends her place in the war, finding herself in active combat and suffers a grave wound and the loss of her leg. Though she recovers physically, the mental scars of the day never fully heal.  

Durindale

  Cyric saves his final strike for Durindale, hoping to pierce and tear out the heart of the resistance in a decisive meeting as the ritual of Ascension looms ever closer. Though its armies are small, Durindale is reinforced by its many allies from across the Sword Coast, their loyalty won throughout this war and the adventures leading to it. Before the fields of Durindale, banners of Avraathe, Silverymoon, Sundabar, Waterdeep, Neverwinter, Triboar, Phandalin wave in the wind. Sigils of Tyr, Torm, Helm, Bahamut, Lathander, and Zeus are worn with pride and honor. Members of the Alliance, Avengers, Harpers, and Enclave stand side-by-side, unified in this penultimate stand against tyranny. And more critically, Durindale is led by its many heroes, including no less than three Chosen and their most trusted companions. Draxhar knows this to be true, and so he holds nothing back in his assault against the City of Heroes.   Shadow Dragons scour the skies, raining down death and destruction. Armies march, reinforced by Shadow-Kai and Shades of the Shadowfell alongside legions of undead, corporeal and spirit, with necromancers raising new minions from the fallen of battle. Demonic monstrosities of Draxhar’s home in the Abyss bite and claw and burn, a frenzy of fiendish fury across the battlefield.   Though Durindale offers only modest defenses, the strength and heart of its defenders remains steadfast and resolute. The lines do not break against the crashing tide of war, despite the ferocity of Draxhar’s forces. The armies of darkness are repelled as heroes of the Sword Coast join forces in their penultimate stand against Cyric’s legions. A crucial turning point in the war, the forces of Durindale now make preparations to bring the fight to Cyric, to siege and assault his stronghold in Luskan.   Persuading Arishnod the Red to lend his aid, Tristain leads the heroes of Durindale from the skies, atop his dragon companion where they bring the fight to Cyric's aerial forces.   From above his tower, Vorothruun creates horizon-spanning hypnotic patterns, giving the allied forces an opening to turn the tide of battle.   Across the battlefield, Parathraax makes his presence known and his righteous wrath felt, maintaining morale throughout the entire company, as if he were everywhere at once.  

Luskan

The Assault of Luskan

Here, today, you stand at the precipice. Through intel gathered at the cost of many lives, you've discovered this is the day, the very hour in which Draxhar will conduct the ritual. Your gathered forces stand just beyond the walls of Luskan, ready to charge and bring their righteous fury against all who would stand against the united front of the Chosen Three and their allies. Their goal, to offer you a way in so you might infiltrate the Host Tower of the Arcane Brotherhood, from which Draxhar leads his operations. This assault is the last chance, the final fight to prevent Cyric's Ascension to paracausality.   On the even of battle, Vorothruun broods, focussing on the Tower and the enemy within. Parathraax meditates, clutching his father's holy symbol of Bahamut, measuring the weight of legacy and purpose. Tristain gathers the forces together, offering a moment of camaraderie and prayer.   For all that has come before. For everyone you’ve lost. For everyone that’s left. You make your assault on Draxhar's stronghold. You will reach the Host Tower, stop the ritual, defeat Draxhar, and destroy the Guardian's Tear, or die in the trying.  

Approaching The Host Tower

  As you approach, all of Luskan lies covered in a haze of fog, an unnatural, pearlescent shroud, lit from within like a storm cloud. Waves of blue arcane energy pulse through the city, emanating from the Host Tower of the Arcane Brotherhood in the center. The ritual’s final preparations are underway. Your lieutenants make final preparations of their own and the Battle of Luskan begins with the charging of armored boots and the clanging of steel against steel.   You proceed with your own mission, averting Draxhar’s gaze at the gates as you move through the city in silence. Once a magotocracy inspired by the fallen Netherese Empire, Luskan thrived under the guidance of the premiere Mage’s Guild of the Sword Coast, the Arcane Brotherhood. Great works of arcane artifice and wizardry were produced within these walls. And from such heights, the glory of Luskan collapsed and came to an abrupt end during the Spellplague, with much of the city’s magical infrastructure warped and destroyed by the constant surges of wild magic.   In the wake of its collapse, a lawless society of pirates and mercenaries and ne’er-do-wells sprung up, making the remnants of Luskan their hideout and stronghold. The century passed with Luskan little more than an afterthought, a rat’s nest best left unbothered, lest the pests scatter elsewhere, unwelcome. Following his successful mission in Chult, Draxhar would then claim this weakened hull of a city, claim it for his own, and rebuild it for his God of Madness’ grand purpose.   You approach the Alchemy District, a labyrinthine series of warehouses, large metal piping, and controlled waterways designed to aid in all sorts of magical experimentation and scientific construction. Who knows the magical artifacts and treasures that were once imagined and designed here for the world’s benefit. Now, all of them are pointed towards one purpose — Cyric’s Ascension.   Ahead of you stands the Host Tower of the Arcane Brotherhood, a majestic structure of domed rotundas, marble columns, and garden terraces. From its rooftop, you see the source of the blue arcane energy, a coalescing of pure magic. It pulses like a heartbeat, sending bolts of iridescent light in all directions every few moments. You can’t help but wonder if the pace is quickening as you draw closer.   There is little time left, it seems, and so you press on with as much haste as you can muster while remaining undetected. The streets of Luskan are quiet, the echoes of battle reaching your ears as distant chaos, with no certainty of how your friends and followers fare. You find yourself along a central waterway, shimmering like iridescent starlight, such is the potency of magic coalescing in this place. You are not far now, with only a few winding blocks of warehouses between you and the Host Tower of the Arcane Brotherhood.   From your gathered intel, you know the Tower can be magically sealed, so Draxhar will have left you no doors through which to walk or means of teleportation. One way in remains however — a narrow, gated drain beneath the waterline behind the tower, necessary for the maintaining the optimal conditions for the ritual. You need only find and break the barrier to proceed into the Tower.   Contending with barrages of arrows and mages set on thwarting and stalling their movements, the companions cross through the Alchemy District and proceed up the Host Tower.  

Ascending the Tower

  Once inside, dispensing the need for stealth, you make haste through the various floors of the tower. You pass through grand foyers and walkways with arched ceilings, the walls covered in peeling paint once depicting magical truths and the glorious achievements of the scholars who called this Tower home. Other chambers are filled with unfamiliar machinery, much of it dormant, drained of any magic long ago. Others still hold vast libraries, each dedicated to its own school of magic, the tomes covered in dust, their secrets lost to time.   As you climb, you find entire floors of the Tower that once served as staging areas for the artifacts brought to be dismantled and extracted, their magical essence stripped and poured into the Guardian’s Tear. Now, the floors are littered with precious gems lacking any brilliance or shine, piles of weapons dull and faded, stacks of parchment with the very ink evaporated from their fibers, and myriad other magical items now mundane and tossed aside like trash as you navigate through the heaps towards the next set of stairs in your ascent.   Your climb eventually brings you to the rooftop exterior. You are so close to the ritual chamber you can feel the electric current surging in the air around you. The sky darkens further, starless, a void above and around you. You stand in the epicenter of a brewing storm, azure lightning crackling around you, thunderous booms rolling, the roof tiles beneath your feet trembling. Beams of pure arcane energy burst through the domed ceiling ahead of you, like columns of light piercing the clouds above. The entire building shudders, awash in azure light.   Between you and the stairs leading into the ritual chamber, the purple tendrils of teleportation magic ripple in and out of existence, a robed, silhouetted figure appearing before you, his form flickering into reality.   “Had I known your proclivity for interfering where you are most unwelcome, I would have made sure those goblins and spiders killed you before you became such a nuisance.” The figure pulls back their hood, revealing the long, dark straight hair and pompous goatee of Seymour, his robes whipping around him in the squall. He gazes upon you with furrowed brows and a malicious smile.   “Still, you provided some valuable artifacts for our purpose, even if you were never worthy to place my badge upon your breast.”   A half-dozen other mages land upon the rooftop, standing between you and the ritual chamber.   “Alas, I shall not make that mistake again. Your adventures end here.”   The Chosen Three contend with Seymour atop the Tower as the ritual surges within. In a rage, Vorothruun finally bests the long-standing nemesis, obliterating the mage with his eldritch energy. The force of the blast explodes his skull and sends the rest of his body cascading from the roof to the ground below.  

The Ritual Chamber

You fight against the surging force of arcane magic pressing from the ritual chamber, each step earned as gusts of sheer energy swirl around you in a vortex of arcane potential. The azure light is near blinding, crackling in physical manifestations around you. And yet you press on through the arcane storm into the heart of it, the ritual chamber.   A room of breathtaking beauty and artistry, immaculate marble and mosaics depicts the cosmos and far-flung galaxies in breathtaking detail and color, tracing the lines of their orbits and their interactions with the Weave. You might even notice these magnificent accomplishments of science and art if it were not for what unfolds before you.   The Guardian’s Tear. The radiant blue gem is the size of a shield, each face and facet reflecting the searing-bright light radiating from within and around it. An aura of energy swirls around it, sparks of lightning striking out throughout the room. Just beyond the wall of energy around the gem, six mages hold up their hands, contributing their mastery of the magic arts to ensuring the ritual’s success.   Standing beneath the Guardian’s Tear, Draxhar. The creature stands tall, with shoulders arched, beads of sweat against its blue-grey skin. Its massive leathery wings unfolding, stabilizing it against the force or the ritual. Scars and markings spread across the demon’s chest and face are illuminated as the magic wafts over him in waves, threatening to tear him asunder. And yet he stands fast, preparing to enter the ritual circle and complete Cyric’s Ascension.   “Chosen of the false gods and the ravenous destroyer herself! It is good you are here to witness the redemption of the world firsthand. Come and behold your failure, a mercy upon all existence. You will be the first to bow before Cyric, the Truth of Salvation.”