Knights Of The Night

The War On The Planes (a brief summary)
The Rebirth, Death, And Birth of the Planeswalker.

During the year of AR and the three wars (The War Of The Planes, War Of The Shadows, and War of The Celestials); A cause was championed by Erathis and to a lesser extent The Raven Queen, A call was sent out for a hero of death. A douche bag with a penchant for showing off, pretty ladies and bareknuckle boxing showed up. Erathis sent one guy who she thought was hilarious off. They picked up some vagrants along the way.

This strange assortment of would be heroes accidentally (if you can use the word when gods are concerned) stepped right into the middle of a struggle for a powerful artifact. This artifact killed a member of the group and generally caused sads all over the shop.

They then decided to fight Orcus’ outspoken herald (who they had previously thought to be some random gay dwarf that was friends with them), but when they arrived they found that the bloodpeak hollow was empty and all that was left was a small portal. After some interesting magic (and terrible rolls on the part of the party), and a quick prayer to erathis, they arrived in the city of Sha’llai.

Erathis summoned them and told them about the threat that Orcus posed to the worlds in their current state.

It was decided that they would be part of the army that would fight against Orcus, but as they were embarking the Grand Central Engine (hall of doors/big room of portals) was set under attack and the link between all of the church maintained portals was brought down. A few wizards and a strange cold man later, it was decided that the element staticite would be required to pull the connection back together.

After a pretty fucking tense fight with a big dragon. And some pretty terrible rolling, they came out with the staticite.

Whilst Twip was busy (more like getting busy) in the tower with the wizard elders of Sha’llai; the others were enjoying the festivimas festivities, unfortunately for them, Lyanna’s cousin, Nigel, had decided to animate the festivimas pudding, mashed potatoes and brusslesprouts with the souls of the undead.

After dealing with that, they realized that Nigel had fled the scene. Upstairs. To his room. To cry a little. After a fight, and talk with a confused corpse, the group scolded Nigel, causing him to cry a little more, before enjoying their presents.

After the truce, for festivimas, the group was sent out to lead the war effort.

Unfortunately, someone set off a trap.

The heroes awoke in a circular room in the temple, One of them was sacrificed to bring the planes walker to life, after a fight (gosh, is that really how you people solve all of your problems?). Twip had realized that he would not physically be able to leave the temple since the skull that was holding the energy of the planes within his body had been removed, and the only thing keeping it in check was the temple it’s self. Saura and Murphy stayed with him, ensuing in the best sit com of the AR10s televised by the ABC (Arcane Broadcasting Cosmologists).

After loosing a majority stake in it’s membership, the cinders took a long bath. Then a long drink. Then another long drink.

Gerald the arcon had been busily sorting out the new beurocracy of this fractured world but took time out of his day each day to find a home for his pet heroes, he finally spoke to Sareed and Lyanna whilst they were intoxicated, and sent them to their new home.

What the bird did not sing
"He is in a land without water or metal."

The salt miners sing when the come back into town.

A slow song from parched lips. Reverberating through the hollows of their bone picks.

The work is hard, but there’s a pretty penny to water here.

“Come on, another game. You sir? You Mam? Try your luck, any wager, any game.” A beautiful young sand elf cries. “Anyone for a game?”.
“Aye lass.” A canyon dwarf steps forward to her table, a modest thing, a setup of polished wood in this worn dusty saloon. “But we wont be playing that three dragon ante round here. We play another game. THE FINGER DANCE.” He cries as the tavern cheers.

The methodical repetitive thud of the bone pick against his shoulder as he walks. The promise of water for his salt horde. He can see The Sandwyrm from here. Anything to quench his thirst.

A wager of water was put down. The dwarf went first. A blade of bone sliding between his fingers as he spun it around. “Try me lass.” A smile cracked parched lips and the corner of his mouth bled. The sand elf pulled her own knife. A simple dirk of strange shape and dark steel. The room fell silent as the metal was shown. “A knife like that oughta cost you a grand minster’s ransom.” He said as took his turn. His shiv worked fast over his hand and the table. One turn. Two turn. Three touch. Four turn. Five turn. Six toss.
“Well maybe it did.” She said with a hint of wet honey to her voice. Seven turn. Eight turn. The dwarf’s mind wandered, filled with images of sand elf; her mouth, her [too hot for the internet], her [HOT DAMN]. Nine turn. Ten Cross-
FUCKING SAND WARTS.” The dwarf cursed as blade entered the flesh of his palm. “Well maybe now I’ve fucked myself with a prick. You can keep the water and I’ll show you a different finger dance?” The sand sailor crowed.
“Nice try you old scert.” She pulled her lithe dirk and started the dance.
One Turn. Two turn. Three turn. Four turn. Five turn. Six toss. Seven turn. Eight turn. Nine turn. Ten cross. The dwarf through the water skin at her. The blade slowed midair as the skin barreled towards her. She caught it and realized her folly. The dwarf tilted his head for a moment before catching on.
“She’s a fucking Psion! I won’t be cheated that easily.” He bull rushed her over the table but it was the chair from behind that caught her.

The room was dry. She slumped back against a pipe; before scalding herself and swearing.
“Oh, lass you’re finally awake.” She tried to scream but her hands were tied and her mouth was bound.
I swear to Sehanine, if you don’t realize the mistake you’ve made…
“Nah, you won’t be able to talk because I’ve got this.” He motions to a standard telepathy dampener on the desk.
Fucking cute.
“Now you tired to cheat me. And I think I’ll be taking my payment in kind.”
This is going to be hilarious.
The dwarf started undoing his belt and walking over to her. Then the dampener hit him the back of the head.
The sand elf’s form melted into that of a gnome, slipping the bonds before the flesh reformed. White, unmarred, without muscle. With large black eyes that searched the room. A bird fluttered into the room as Jixxin pulled his travelers clothes back on.
I was wondering where you had gotten too. The bird landed on his shoulder.

Death at the Golden Stirpot
Fire consumes.

When it happened, he left no ashes. But he was gone sure enough.

As the short dwarven cleric of the Raven queen wrapped Elorin’s scythe in the half-elf’s old robes, he sang gently to himself. The song of the headsman reaping one of his own position. A song of work, death, and well frankly bureaucracy.

The diamond sparkles to it’s self happily, nestled in the velvet robes of it’s owner; locked fast underground, in a place where the borders of life and death meet. It’s not so bad being just a soul.

The shadowfell gate; The resting place of a great avenger.

  • * *

Through your time celebrating your (honestly accidental) saving of the town of fallcrest. Devistating news has struck the nation of Coldtree.

…Elemental constructs far worse that those used by Malareth have razed villages and towns to the ground. The Coldtree national garrison has been crippled by sabotage. This is a dark time for Coldtree. The source of this flaming scourge seems to be somewhere in the bloodpeaks, as strange fires can be seen over them at night. May the Raven Queen bless those who have given their all, thus far.

It is alleged that a crazed dwarf leading a procession of cultists had journeyed to the blood peaks to find their god.

The grand senechal has made available to you one of three members of office:

  • The Honourable Duke, Devlin Swiftdice
  • The Imperial Spymaster, Maxine J. Pegasus
  • Society’s greatest Artificer, Ryo Runebreaker

Who you’ll align with we’ll find out next time, At the state dinner, where the Grand Seneschal himself will propose to you himself a plan to join the fight between the realms.

Temple of the Minatour
A messenger of death and an boy with a heart of ice.

When we last saw our heroes…

A new and fragile alliance had been formed between Sareed, a racist Tiefling and cleric of Erathis; Traevus, his lover and a merchant with a secret?; two Elven school friends, Triss Woodsheart and Lyanna Ironwood, “Lesbian alcoholic blade for hire” and a ranger of the glades; and they’re estranged aquaintance and renegade (equally drop out) wizard, Thimbletwip Pepperwit.

But before that,
For those of you that required more of the story to be mentioned

A horse drawn wagon rumbles slowly across the road. The moon hills stretch out on Sareed‘s left to the east, whilst on the right the edge of King’s road wood of Harken Forest can be seen in the distance. It has been 3 days since they set off from Hammerfast, ostracized from the merchant’s guild for their love, Traevus took a job from a hooded stranger in the back of one of a converted mausoleum in Hammerfast’s Old Town. One last job. A cliche he knew, but with this one job he could pay for their entire lives in Fallcrest. A new and Liberal city, a place where they could raise a family and a fortune with traevus’ miracle foot cream, corns-b-gone (WHAT? I:M TIRED AND WRITING IS HARD, basically, fallcrest=california or some shit). A strange artifact in a black box, locked fast.

As Traevus climbed from the back of wagon to the seat next to Sareed, he nuzzled the teiflings wrist at the reigns.
“Jesus, the fuck Traevus, I’m trying to drive here you fucking knave.”
“Yey love it ye dirty prayermouth.” Traevus says as he shifts up next to the Tiefling.
“For the last time, I’M NOT A FUCKING PRAYERMOUTH, that doesn’t even make sense, I’d understand if you were calling a wizard a spell mouth or something but I’m a man of the fucking faith! I MAKE ERATHIS MY BITCH!” A threatening rumble of divine thunder stops his rant. “Fine, me and Erathis, she of civilization and law, have a divine bond that is equal and part love, part conviction. Happy now?” The thunder seems less like thunder now and more like a faint sigh on the wind. “Bitch…” He mutters under his breath. Traevus raises a hand to block the light of the sun, sitting just above the moon hills; as he does he notices a dark rider on the on one of the hills and has just enough time to say,
“Well ain’t that queer…” before a poorly fletched crossbow bolt hits him in the stomach.

“By Erathis you little asshole’s are going to suck on my LANCE OF FAITH.”

To Sareed an epic battle is waged. To the dark rider on the hill however, the cleric get’s shot in the foot, then misses with his lance of faith, before walking over the goblin and hitting it repeatedly in the face, using his staff as a cudgel; during this time, the rest of the band of goblin’s walk to the back of the wagon and steal the box.


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