Silver Marches Campaign

Mourn Eveningfall’s Notes, part the first

Being the retelling of the events surrounding Sihoan and the cerulean flames

Date: unknown
Location: The vicinity of Sihoan, the North

It is my belief that we, Franz, Aaron and I, are currently experiencing the consequences of an event of plane-wide significance. As such, I have decided to document our experiences in the hope that these notes, with thorough analysis, will allow us to synthesize a model of the actors and actions currently in play. Please note that I am writing these by hand on what paper I had at hand and that the current relative uncertainty of my survival entreats me to be brief.

The events so far:

We awoke some time before dawn to what felt like the sound of innumerable death screams. There was no actual sound, but the psychic resonance and its almost tangible authenticity left us rattled nonetheless. The darkness that surrounded us highlighted two problems. Namely that all our spells and enchanted equipment had apparently been disjointed and, secondly, that the very Weave was absent in this place. We eventually settled on an explanation predicated on the presence of a dead-magic zone, something which inexplicably seemed to assuage my colleagues fear. Perhaps are they blissfully ignorant of the sort of event required to create a large and persistent hole in the Weave. Regardless, the point was quickly rendered moot by the eruption of a wave of aquamarine and azure fire followed by a swarm of fiery gibberlings. Interestingly enough, they seemed not to fuel the flames but they them.

As we fought the pests, some of our magical abilities returned, but unsupported by the Weave. Only those most basic powers in our repertoires manifested and did so in a sort of instinctive manner, responding to the stimuli of imminent mutilation. In such a reduced condition, I actually had to walk, the gibberlings were able to land in a few hits before we dispatched them. I sent my familiar to scout the surrounding area. I hesitate to call him Ma’el as it appears not to be my faithful feathered friend in his beautiful mithril armour, but a manifestation of the part of myself I had invested in the hawk. Speaking to the creature is a strange experience; one which generates an odd feedback. It returned to inform us that we were still very close to the remnants of Sihoan and that near the ruins were strange strands of sapphire flames wreaking havoc on the land. Having our bearings, we made our way to the town to witness the destructive power of the magical blaze first hand.

This was not our first experience with supernatural wildfire, but, while the fire on the Longtarin’s land was of supernatural origin this one was also supernatural in itself. It seemed prudent to walk away and determine exactly what it was that we were facing before actually facing it. Considering what we knew of the creature we were hunting and also the divine involvement in our recent adventures, we felt it reasonable that the current events were related to the mysterious temple near the city. On our way, we encountered and easily defeated a group of undead near a shrine dedicated to, of all things, Kelemvor. A shrine our priest companion was apparently unaware of. I whish I knew more about this cleric.

Finally, in our approach up to the shrine we encountered a pair of gnoll marauders. Far from having made a full recovery of our magic, arcane or divine, we had nonetheless recovered enough to eventually dispatch the laughing creatures. It is fascinating to note that despite multiple castings the patterns for magic missiles appears to remain imprinted on my mind. Even some of the more complex dweomers which have returned to me seem to only leave me for a short period of time and return without study. Unfortunately, my mind seems to have only recalled spells with physically and temporally immediate effects. Corellon willing, I will recall teleport before long.

Mourn Eveningfall



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