EM.3.1 Once and For All

Session Preface

  From atop Supreme Throne, an expansive landscape of greyscale waste stretches out beneath you. An eerie silence hangs in the air, a soundless wind rushing against you at such a great height. The fading world so quiet, your heartbeat thunders like a drum in your ears. The stench of slow decay fills your nostrils.   Overheard, roiling storm clouds swirl. Bolts of crimson lightning flicker and burst, absent the roaring thunder to follow. The some dozen spires of the grand cathedral tower overheard, each varied in their size and height, piercing the looming storm.   The entire cathedral appears a strange, disjointed, illogical amalgamation in its construction. Columns rise up around you with nothing to support, jagged and worn, of a faded, bleached white stone. Ramparts extend in unnatural directions like a twisted spine. Half-open archways jut out like fingers grasping. Jagged stones puncture the exterior around a door, giving it the appearance of a gaping maw. Across the exterior, calcified columns run like tendrils or veins across the cathedral. Only then does it occur to you, the cathedral upon which you stand is made not from stone.   "Yes, you stand upon a testament to my Ascension. Supreme Throne, now a cathedral of bone, built with the remnants of the pantheon who dared oppose me. And yet, three mere mortals would challenge me?"   Cyric descends from above, his wings of distorted darkness extended as he hovers just above the expansive balcony. With every movement, every breath Cyric draws, you watch reality splinter and reshape itself around him, like iridescent glass shards splintering and reforming. He tilts his sharp, angular face towards you, the scars of his mortal life shimmering beneath the blood red bolts of lightning.   "We have circled one another all these years, spiraling towards this fated finale. You have opposed me, when our goal has always been the same — to save this world we love. Do you not see the truth?"   Cyric gestures to the ashen wastes stretching to a dull horizon of perpetual shadow.   "This fading world draws Ragnalla's insatiable hunger. Join me in the stand against her. We can break the cycle of damnation our world is enslaved to. And then we can remake the world and set everything to right. Together."   Cyric extends a clawed gauntlet of obsidian steel towards you, palms open, awaiting your acceptance of his alliance.  

Session Summary

 

Contending with Cyric

  The party reject Cyric's offer of an alliance. Instead, they gather for a moment, drawing steel and reinforcing one another. "Once more unto the fray?" Tristain asks. "Once and for all." Parathrax and Vorothruun answer and descend upon Cyric.   Cyric denounces their rejection and with a burst of dark energy, transports all of them into a mirror dimension. Razor-thin puppet strings extend from Cyric's hands, bringing to life twisted marionettes of the Chosen Three's companions — Greycastle, Pup, and Gil. Only when the heroes have defeated this simulacrums, can they find their way forward through the darkness.   The voice of Thren calls out to them across time, "Cyric is trying to trap you in his lies and secrets. Break free by using the paracausal truths against him. Your shards will illuminate the way."   As promised, one of the nine pillars of the cathedral illuminates with a paracausal symbol, the same signs found in the Halfreach Caves. By activating the correct patterns of symbols, revealing secret truths of the universe, the Chosen Three break out of the mirror dimension and can contend with Cyric more directly.   This cycle of light and dark continues as the heroes face new marionettes, including Bobo, Amarin, and Second, as well as Hawk, Thaust, and Endriel. Finally, with all nine paracausal sigils illuminated, the Chosen Three break free of Cyric's control and set themselves to his destruction.   The fight wages on atop Supreme Throne as Cyric, enraged, unleashes waves of devestating psychic blasts. Vorothruun, countering this magic with the Rod of the Pactkeeper, absorbs this energy, protecting Parathraax and Tristain as they strike Cyric directly.   With their combined efforts, Vorothruun unleashes the surge of psychic energy back upon Cyric as Tristain, polymorphed into a giant ape, traps Cyric with his own puppet strings, and Parathrax channels the lingering presence of Bahamut within the bones of the cathedral to smite Cyric, once and for all.  

The Aftermath

  Fragments of reality splinter around Cyric, like spiderweb threads enveloping him, spreading and further splitting until the world appears like a plane of broken glass or a shattered mirror with Cyric in the center.   Cyric’s wings fold in on themselves, the warped reflections of dark light dissipating into dust, carried away on the silent wind. Each plate of Cyric’s obsidian steel armor collapses in on itself, like a crumbled ball of paper in a child’s fist. From within the pile of broken, warped metal, a sudden implosion of arcane energy rips through the air. The sheer force of the gravitational pull topples columns and sends cracks through the cathedral’s balcony as overhead, spires teeter and sway in the storm.   Then, a prismatic explosion of light from within the heap of metal and flesh as the raw tangles of time, magic, and reality are released from Cyric’s dying corporeal form. The explosions knocks you back, taking the breath from your lungs with the force, a light of blinding radiance in its wake.   Threads of The Weave whip through the air like tendrils of light, grasping for anchors within the material plane to tether themselves to once more. A burst of vibrancy radiates out, washing over the world like a wave, the grey wastes outstretched beneath the cathedral now re-saturated with hues of verdant greens and cerulean blue. Then, a blinding crack of lightning streaks across the sky and strikes the tallest spire, sending a surge of energy throughout the cathedral. A booming roar of thunder follows as a gentle rain falls, washing blood and ash into rivulets between the stones.   Beneath your feet, the balcony, and the entire cathedral begins to tremble and give way. You brace yourself for the monolithic cathedral’s collapse as spires begin to snap overhead and fall to the ground, piercing the earth like massive lances. Bone by bone, the cathedral begins to fall apart, as if only held together by Cyric’s malicious will, now faded from the world. As the cathedral becomes unmade around you, you feel yourself drawn into the vortex of time once more. Your vision blurs as Supreme Throne collapses in on itself, a pile of bones in a smoldering heap, much like Cyric himself.   You stand once more in Chronos, the hallowed stronghold of Thren. Already, the tower has been restored, where cracked and floating rubble replaced with a pristine and vibrant tower radiating with the glow of time’s iridescent glow. Around you, pendulums swing, dials slowly turn, and interlocking rings spin in orbit around one another.   “Well done, friends!” Thren says, “You’ve actually done it. You slew Cyric. You restored the forces of existence. And you also, might I add, prevented a particularly catastrophic and untimely reunion with our sister, Ragnalla.”   Your ear catches on the word ‘our’ when you realize you are not alone. An old man approaches, standing next to Thren. His skin is a rich, dark color, his hair a light silver in tight curls, cropped short. His beard extends in a neat triangular braid to his chest. He wears vibrant robes of blue and gold over tunic of white.   “My brother, Ao.” Thren extends a hand in introduction. “In all my eons, I’ve never seen creation bring itself so close to utter annihilation, only for heroes to rise from the proverbial ashes to prevent said devastation. You are, in many ways, the culmination of the potential and promise I always believed possible. And while yes, Cyric spoke true that this lamina will one day expire, like a short candle wick in a pool of melted wax, you have bought these realms a many more lifetimes and kept those years from being spent beneath the thumb of a mad tyrant. Well done, heroes of Durindale.”  

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  Realizing they are safe, Parathrax embraces his brother tightly, offering healing as Vorothruun clings to the edge of consciousness.   Ao explains that as he and Thren restore time and reality back to normal, they will only be able to undo Cyric's destruction since his Ascension, lest some trace of his presence worm its way back into the lamina. As for the Chosen Three, he explains that they will return back to their mortal lives, though forever changed by their interaction with paracausality, meaning they will not die by natural means and experience aging even more slowly than the most ancient of elves.   For Tristain, this brings bittersweet emotions, having felt he has earned his rest and longs to be reunited with his father. Instead, he feels the duty and burden of responsibility to maintain and protect the realm, as has been his calling and why he was Chosen.   Ao warns that though Cyric has been defeated, his cultists will likely reject the notion and continue to run rampant across the Sword Coast. He acknowledges the other lingering threats — Tiamat and her machinations, plus the growing threat of demons and devils, among other dangers. Parathrax accepts these responsibilities, pledging to continue his family's legacy to bring Bahamut's justice to the realm. Vorothruun, unable to speak from the injuries sustained in the clash with Cyric, telepathically declares himself Ragnalla's Herald, who will meet her inevitable arrival at the end of time.   As they prepare to depart, Ao offers one last word and a gift to each of them.  

Ao's Gift

“Before you go, I would offer you a gift.” Ao gestures for you to hold out your hands. In your palms, he places a single seed. “Plant these wherever you decide to root yourself in the remade world. And when you do, make a Wish.” Ao gives you a knowing look and a sly smile. “You saved the universe. You’ve earned the right to shape some of it how you will.” “Well, then, my brother and I have a few more things to see to.” Thren says, “But I’ll see you soon.” The pearlescent shimmers of Thren’s magic swirl around you, a swelling melody filling your ears as you are teleported from Chronos. As the spell fades, you find yourselves once more in the courtyard of Durindale, as it lingers in your memories. Evening has fallen, the sky an ambiguous purple-blue of twilight as the last rays of light fall beyond the Starmetal Hills and the forest of Neverwinter Wood. Gil’s workshop and the tower, still covered in the perpetual snow of wild magic gone amiss. Parathrax’s barracks, candles lit in each window, shadows moving with regimented activity. Vorothruun’s library, quiet and still. Tristain’s shrine to Tyr, with offerings and tokens of gratitude laid before it. And in the center, the Stoneway Inn. Through the window, the warm glow of the hearth and the sound of laughter, music, and revelry spill out into the evening air. You are home.