14 chronicle
The Chronicle
Every session log from the first year, in full, in order of the calendar. For the short version, read the Story So Far.
Abadius, 4723 AR
Abadius 14th, 4725 The sun, a molten orb sinking towards the horizon, bathed the kingdom's encampment in a warm, golden light. Sawdust, the fragrant byproduct of relentless construction, danced in the air. Around the…
Scene 1: The Forsaken Aerie The flickering lamplight cast long, dancing shadows across the rough-hewn table within the council tent, illuminating the glowing map that Orena had unfurled. The faint shimmer of arcane…
Calistril, 4723 AR
The dawn over Rivermarch was crisp, the air thick with the scent of pine and woodsmoke. The fledgling capital stirred sluggishly to life—tents and half-built wooden structures huddled together like weary travelers,…
As the dawn mist clung to the streets of Rivermarch, Tybalt Rattigan awaited Borion's return from the expedition to the Forsaken Aerie. The weight of unfinished business gnawed at him—Kressle's enchanted missive still…
Brinnard Whitewood stepped into Tybalt's tent, his expression immediately twisting into a look of distaste. His eyes scanned the space with thinly veiled disgust, and he exhaled sharply through his nose. "This... is…
Part 1: The Gambit (20th of Calistril) The candle sputtered as a draft slipped through the seams of his tent, the weak flame casting jagged shadows over the chaos that surrounded him. Tartuccio's work—his brilliance—lay…
The night air in Rivermarch carried the scent of damp earth and freshly hewn timber, the sounds of a settlement still finding its footing murmuring in the background. Inside Tybalt's tent, the flickering glow of lantern…
The night was thick, the mist pressing low over Rivermarch like a shroud, curling around the flickering torchlight. The air stank of blood. Brinnard Whitewood stood just outside Linzi's tent, his broad shoulders…
Pharast, 4723 AR
As you approached from the west, the air grew thick and acrid, heavy with smoke and the sharp tang of panic. The barracks, once sturdy and imposing, was now an inferno—flames clawed hungrily upward, casting twisting,…
As Maximus approached from the west, the air grew thick with the familiar, chaotic energy of an alchemist hard at work... or, perhaps, struggling at work. Mirielle, Borion's cousin, let out a long, defeated groan as the…
The room is quiet, save for the steady rasp of a whetstone on steel and the occasional scrape of cloth over polished armor. The chamber is dimly lit, a handful of lanterns and candles flickering against the wooden beams…
The people of Rivermarch gathered in solemn silence as the funeral procession made its way beyond the city’s edge, to a quiet field where the wind whispered through the tall grass. It was a place untouched by fire or…
The market square thrummed with vibrant energy, stalls overflowing with colorful trinkets, rich aromas drifting from food vendors, and lively music weaving through the crowds. Bright banners fluttered in the afternoon…
The town square of Rivermarch was silent—too silent. The torches crackled, but no one spoke. The cold wind that cut through the crowd didn’t stir a soul. Even the guards at the perimeter stood still, their weapons held…