Session Preface
As you drift to sleep, you fall immediately into dreaming. You feel your consciousness drift from your body. Above Durindale, you drift in the midnight air. The beacon is unlit.
There is an emptiness inside it, there is an emptiness inside you.
Far to the Northeast, a flash of silver light. Or rather, a reflection. Strange and familiar.
The light grows brighter, as you shield your eyes.
When the spark retreats, you see yourself, a child. In the training yard of your home.
Parathrax spars with your father, their swords clanging and clashing against shield and steel.
A weighty tome rests in your lap, the pages turning in the wind, as the shine of the silver blade catches your eye.
As you return to your reading, the words blur together. Ink fills the page, becoming darkness until you are pulled into the page.
Drowning in the ink, your lungs burn for air, your appendages flailing down, down, down into the depths. You know what you seek, for she has directed you here. A familiar cavern from a small familiar village. Goblin filth and a stranger’s help.
You push through the burning in your lungs as bubbles froth from your mouth. You reach the bottom and recognize your prize. This rod, a symbol, a weapon, and tangible manifestation of that which you have always known and never comprehended.
As your hand reaches the familiar clasp, the darkness swallows you entirely.
Here, as you have been before, you sense the abyss swirl around you, whispering in ancient tongue. You know yourself to be a tiny light in the endless void. But far from the only light. Around you, as there have been, lights flicker and flow in the chaotic entropy of time and space. Thousands of lives lived in planes uncountable, gathered in fear and worship.
They orbit, as do you. In center, where there should be a sun, is the void incarnate.
The darkness all other shadows reflect. You know her name, her signs.
You are a moon to this void. A waning and waxing reflection of the true source. Borrowing, stealing, siphoning and nothing more.
In the void, you cant see anything but the distant lights of a thousand other empty existences, but know there is an eye.
A single, unblinking, uncompromising eye. It knows you not, it cares not, it considers you not. And yet you are compelled. A hunger burns and devours, for knowledge, for power, for answers. You can feel it gnawing in you as your mind’s eye races to memorize the details of this all too familiar scene. What does it mean, what does it mean, what does.
Jared from your dream, you feel a sharp, sudden pain in your chest.
Your eyes jolted open in time to see a silver hilt in the shape of a feathered talon plucked from your chest. Breath comes difficult, your chest swelling.
Without a conscious thought, your intuition tells you a lung has been punctured, and blood begins pooling in the sagging cavity it creates. A masked figure stands over your bed, the blade approaching with uncanny swiftness.
Session Summary
Davan, Parathrax, and Vorothruun ward off the would-be assailant, only to discover a torn page from a book Vorothruun recognizes as belonging to the restricted section of the Neverwinter library. With all due haste, the party make their way to the library, coerce their way into the restricted section and dive into eras of lore and lost history to discover the greater context of this clue. After battling a number of strange magical books and a stray air elemental summoned by a particular tome, Vorothruun discovers his first tangible and documented reference to Ragnalla and revels in her reality.
Among the references he finds, he discovers and subesequently memorizes several poems regarding the history and power of Ragnalla.
With a new understanding of the vision he received, he and Parathrax make their way to Halfreach to pursue whatever end his wretched queen has set before him.
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