Ice Fall - The North Adv 2

Eleasis 8th, 1378 of the Cauldron

2006-01-04T10:40:00.000-08:00

“She is back and ready to feed so to replenish her strength. We have to strike her now! We have to strike with all we’ve got!”

Oh the feeling of victory!

For years he has gone unheard, but not this time. They had to agree with him and follow his lead and at last he would have his way. Wandering meekly through dark streets he replays over and over again his moment of triumph. After a week licking wounds after the Summer Festival fiasco they finally got a chance to strike back and hard… and nothing pleased the hot blooded warrior more.

The militia found yet another body affected by “the plague” dumped on the crop circle and the cabal realized that Nissus was back to Nesmé… and that she hungered. After a heated discussion they decided to rely on no one else and to lay bait to her so to test her strength and resolve. Blurun was the strongest warrior and owner of a bloodlust that often cowered even ork gladiators. His sleek body was not as lithe as his peers and many thought he was the paragon warrior of his generation. After such doomed failure and shame befell the last generation’s promising fighter Blurun felt he owned much to the gods for the chance to redeem his caste.

Thus cuddled in thoughts of glory and gore he wandered the night of Nesmé imagining a hundred ways to break Nissus gentle forms as if she were nothing but the glass of her own ensorcelled mirror-cage. His peasant disguise bellied his well concealed weapons and even his pace didn’t betray the readiness and balance of a veteran warrior, slayer of man and beast, supreme predator of darkness. He was ready to anything… or so he thought.

Was he ready then to a chuckle coming from undead cursed stalkers? Their eyes blazing faintly green over crude weapons; a wicked club here and axe there. The rasping voice ripping at the silence of the night: “Oliver was right! We found the manslayer!”

With the faintest surprise still in his face Blurun entered the state what his people called “Flare Eyed”, riding the wave of dark emotions with finesse and wallowing on the power of murderous urges.

Undead were tough opponents but usually unskilled and slow. The whole world was slow compared to the dagger unsheathed and flashed in the rotting throat, still voicing its last words. Other of the maddened creatures laughed at his own unholy power, sure that no blade could harm them. Waving like a bent staff Blurun opposed his movement dodging claws grasping his face and stabbed the laughing deadman’s heart, even though he knew it didn’t pound for a long time now. But the dead men gasped anyway in surprise and maybe even pain, for the dagger has bitten deeply as only magical blades do. He wasn’t destroyed but surprise held him fast.

Blurun was still surrounded, none of his enemies fell and his back was turned to the axman, who swung at his foe’s neck. Unable to take away the dagger from the deep chest wound the veteran simply ducked, even afraid that his wrist might get chopped by the wild swing. In a blur of movement Blurun arched, lounging his balance backwards, setting the plunged blade free and in the same swing cutting deeply the axman’s ribcage down to his groins. With the left hand that touched the ground preventing his fall Blurun grabbed an ankle, with his feet he grabbed the legs in front of him and with a sideways spin send both undead were sent sprawling unto the ground. The fluid motion ended with him crouching on the laughing man’s back and with a deep stab on its backbone, making the blade grind between the disks of almost dried joints, sinew and bones.

The last standing Curst was still grasping his slashed throat and had lost all impetus. But the one he believed was the shape shifter who had killed and condemned them all with his back turned and crouched was too tempting and the Curst launched what he believed to be a crushing blow. Only the muffled sound of metal against wood greeted his expectations. Grinning, proud of his own skill, Blurun blocked the incoming attack with a discreetly armored forearm, and now looked back with a sadistic glee in his red gleaming eyes.

By this moment every piece of Blurun’s careful disguise had been blown away, and although he up-turned his disadvantage in a few heartbeats he couldn’t risk much more. Before anyone of his foes could move he hissed, vomiting forth an oily darkness, throbbing with “life”. From that point on the furious fighting went on with few telltale signs but the grunts mostly swallowed by the dense pall. Despite the whining of horses and barking of dogs everywhere no one could really see or hear anything coming out of that alley.

Hours latter the cabal gathered on a rooftop for a few moments. There Blurun addresses to them, apparently unharmed and clearly victorious. But they know that the Curst will return as they always do and that Nissus has yet to commit a mistake or show any weakness. The once all powerful cabal desperately clings to their own confidence and plot yet another step, yet another trap.

The Great Edict of Mystra

2006-01-04T04:36:00.000-08:00

"Let it be known that the time of terrors is done.

Never again shall those out of my graces curse my name as fire rains from the sky at the command of prideful mages. Enough hubris has stained my mantle and disgraced my blessings.

Never again shall my inactions further the cause of destruction, pain, and despair without due retribution:

…Let those who sow darkness reap it tenfold.
…Let their dark hearts show in their decaying flesh.
…Let their impious souls taint their brilliant minds with madness.

Never again shall beasts and outlanders come to our lands to wreak havoc without free will or further consequence.

Never again shall the races that are yet to reach the wonders of magic see me as a unending source of mayhem and destruction. Let them envy those under my fold for their prosperity and wisdom, not for their ability to destroy.

I force upon thee this Great Edict on the hopes that it will breed responsibility where before only caprice laid. I thus reaffirm that I am, I feel, I pity, I remember, I rage. All the powers invested on me won’t be honored unless I and all those who worship me hear the call of wisdom and take magic to a next step, where it is an instrument of understanding and knowledge.

Those words carry my will and all who disagree are free to petition their patrons for deliverance. Never forget thought that I am magic, and magic feels, pities, remembers and rages. "

_As retold by priests of the gods of magic across Faerun on the Moon Festival of 1372 of Wild Magic.

Eleasis 1st, 1378 of the Cauldron.

2005-12-29T09:14:00.000-08:00

I am war. I am tears in your eyes.

I am pain. I am grief.

I am all you've ever slain. I am lies.

It is the Summer Festival. All revel under Selune’s Full Light. Tonight all traps are set. Tonight Nissus will show herself. Tonight she will be mine.

I review all the steps taken along the last month to put our foe in check: every veiled lie and debilitating poison, illusion woven, night incursions, questions asked to the living and the dead… it all told us little of our enemy. But tonight! Tonight we will catch her in the open.

Under the guise of half a dozen different faces we met earlier to link our whispers to our ears. We raise the stakes and lurk around in distant pairs. One thing that we learnt is of Nissus’s deadly cleverness, her shape shifting abilities, and the danger of her charms. She expects the elder Tel’quessir wizards to try to find her and bind her by name during the festival, betting that she wouldn’t try anything openly. But we know her better than these lies may suggest. We expect patiently for her reaction… whichever it is.

The elders resolutely bid their time: Aaron, whose harsh words fail to hide his vast culture and lore; Melnissedek, trailblazer and seer of vast experience; Paar, tragic lover of three sea sisters, master of illusions and insight; and v’Ulpiné, sweet lady whose magics resound with devotion for Corellon. The night goes on and our patience is tested to its limits… for some reason the four delay their actions. Some reason that I can’t guess.

All our waiting put us on the edge and we almost droll in anticipation of the ensuing chaos. All our hidden agenda is ready to be torn apart. Darkness throbs in our hearts, begging to be released. Years of deception put aside for seconds of furious destruction and death. For a moment I realize that we are all addicted to all that… mayhem, destruction, havoc, murderous glee. We yearn these like addicted that were denied for too long. And we are ready to unleash the beasts that dwell in our chest when we finally spot Nissus approaching the elders, masquerading (or puppeteering) as Woodwhisper, the sylvan warrior.

He approaches them ready for battle. So are we. But v’Ulpiné dismisses him and his questions.

For our most stunned surprise he simply walks away…

This is when most skilled, but inexperienced swordsmen die: on the down beat second of his failed attack. He dies still with his most fearful scream in his lips, harshly interrupted by his more experienced opponent’s blade sliding past his open defenses into his ribs. He dies with a gasp and still not believing.

That is how I felt.

That is how I felt. When the elders group together under v’Ulpine decided guidance and disappear on the wing of teleportation spells.

It was her… Nissus.

Our foe has taken v’Ulpine place right under our nose and secreted them away… with their own consent. She played with our lies and used them against us.

But what terrifies me on that moment of failure was that it could have been me. It could have been all of us who frequently take the elders place when the need demands or the fancy strikes. We know where they have gone. They went to the Troll Marshes, where divinations fail. We know they won’t come back.

We hope they don’t.

With that unsaid conclusion we lurk back into shadows… for the first time in a long time afraid of it.

Flamerule 8th, 1378 of the Cauldron.

2005-12-20T11:10:00.000-08:00

The night sky glows with the halo of gibbous Selune. Under such light the city sleeps sated in the excitement of today’s execution. The common folk seldom have the power to kill and to demonize one of their own members. It feels great to be more than the poor devil on the gallows pole. No more guards in the streets, no more drunken ravings… tonight all is quiet as if Nesmé had fallen on a stupor.

But predators never sleep. They plot and pace, prowling unseen.

After all who could notice a conversation between people three city blocks apart? How could anyone but Helm himself seize them as they silently mouth their conversation and read each other lips across streets and roofs?

“Disaster! The sanniasy will return”
“How? Who?”
“Wild magic”
“The druid knew and marked the field”
“Should we hound him?”
“Only after we isolate him from the flock”
“Fine, but the risen sanniasy must be destroyed now”
“Let it go! We lay curses, we don’t break them! We have nothing to fear since we didn’t kill him; his own people did so”
“Indeed. It is still difficult to forget the old ways”
“Be worried instead with Nissus, more now than ever”
“I fail to follow your thread”
“Nissus may kill in the wild field and have a pack of invincible cursed warriors”
“Nissus wouldn’t dare it! Cursed ones can’t be killed. Why would she try to make a stand?”
“Our foe lies alone, cornered and still grasping the effects of centuries on the world. Believe me when I say that Nissus IS desperate”
“We must flush her out of her hiding. Swarm the fields with hounds and lay good bait”
“Agreed…”
“We must give what she needs the most now…”
“Call Deep Warriors”
“I see you intent… Nissus won’t know who is after her, but the message will be given anyway. The flock will send hounds to protect the field”
“Better still… harry the druid and his hounds. Luckily they will…”

The watch guard would never trouble them if not for the dog barking at his side. The animal expresses loudly its hatred and fear of the sorcerous darkness. The conspirators resume their meeting, fold their lenses and disappear scowling the lowly beasts.

Flamerule 6th, 1378 of the Cauldron.

2005-12-20T07:57:00.000-08:00

Tel’quessir celebrates monthly their rule over night when Selune shines in all her glory over the night, when music and dance delight the merry and hunt challenges the brave. There is also a somber counterpart on Shar’s rule when they stand mournful and vigilant. But not tonight! Tonight they celebrate with all due elegance.

Among clouds of draperies swung by dancers and flashes of glances and coy smiles I see an upraised hand, steady waving a warning:

“Spiders beware wasps in the web!” – the old code that says that our trap may have attracted a foe larger and more dangerous than we expected.

A nimble dancer opens a clearing with long steps and on the space of cadenced claps reassures the old hunt bonds

“As one we weave! Together we bite… poison and blade in the dark!”

The lifted arm falls bringing a cheerful moon maiden closer to a breath away from hungry lips. His hands grab her waist thumbing the dreadful news:

“The risen has killed! The Old Hidden Foe is hungry among the sheep”
“A winged one?”
“Aye!”
“Where?”
“In the fields?”
“The sanniasy?”
“He knows nothing”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I can’t”

The song and dance ends with applause and laughter as the Tel’quessir take breath for new amusements. On a corner a couple, whose passion was too intense to share it with other dancers, unlock their eyes and greet the moon folk. The lady caresses her lover in exquisite ways weaving the one final answer, the absolute and simplest way out, and safest of all courses:

“Enough patience and subtlety, the sanniasy must die! Unleash the hounds and be satisfied with nothing but a broken corpse”

The harp tunes returned followed by renewed shows of joy, this is a popular ballad. The pair disappears under the gentle hurricane of blue clothes. The dance is resumed earnestly; hands fall silent, and the festival goes on.

Flamerule 3rd, 1378 of the Cauldron

2005-12-13T07:58:00.000-08:00

In somewhere dark and damp where haggling voices echo as far as in a dream, two shades are outlined when a trap door opening let feeble sunrays spear the shadow. They wait immovable, somehow seeming older than even the dust raised by the newcomer silent steps. The trapdoor is locked, shutting light and sound out. In the pitch black darkness hands speak silently and the dream fades away.

“The Moon Mage has returned alive, and he found something… someone” – says the newcomer.

Hastily, strong hands move prodding for more: "Some... one?"

Velvet gestures of delicate precision drags the messenger attention: “And the others?”
“Only the Sun Mageling was left behind” – again the messenger.
Stress and relief mingle in gestures not codified, but clearly full of exultation and pleasure.
“Keep track of the Moon Mage”
A tilted head follows a nod in the darkness: “And about the Sanniasy?”
“Keep him fed on Dream Mist” – A dismissive wave of hand settles the matter, if not for eager urgency of the strong hands: “But he knows and finds more about every night!”
Bright red eyes flare reassert control: “It doesn’t matter as long as he believes himself lost…”
The messenger humbly intervenes: “And the Law is upon him, soon he will be gone”.
Eagerness won’t be easily dismissed: “We don’t want him arrested, but dead!”
Lost between a grin and a smile the leader brings the meeting to an end...

...“He will be gone… soon”.

Without a sound the darkness becomes deeper and the shades are no more.

Kithorn 29th, 1378 of the Cauldron.

2005-12-12T11:38:00.000-08:00

“A wolf is kept alive by its feet”
“A mountain with a wolf in its top stands far taller”

“Walk with wolves, howls like a wolf”
“You can never tell when a lone wolf is rabid, old or simply ravenous, but you can always say it is a devious tough bastard”
Traditional northern sayings

“The Troll Marshes has always dumped all manners of terrors upon unsuspecting Nesmé. However, mankind is able to get used to simply anything, so they don’t get scared anymore very easily.
But this time…
… this time the mob twitches, groans, and hides when something different comes out of the marshes: a lone survivor. To defy fate like this offend us as he had breached a hole on our walls, a hole from inside out and back. I wish to meet this Sylvan Elf.”
Bridge Keeper Darven Crownlar
Captain of Arms of Nesmé

2005-12-09T05:45:00.000-08:00

Kithorn 28th, 1378 of the Cauldron.

“From all the darkest feelings lust is the most insidious
It walks the halls of noble feelings in masquerade
Under the guise of love, feeding on the pious.
It sweetly thralls them on its languid charade:
‘Can there be ever love without lust?
Can lust ever last without love?’”

I can’t follow their steps there, the Ever Moors cloak every divination and scrying. But I don’t need to; I know it all too well: the trackless vast bog stretching the horizon and shredding every thought with it, the crawling hours, the foul beast twisted in hideous shapes (all more savage than their originals, yet with a certain suggestion of intense purpose).

In my mind eye theater there is Vincard casting some far fetching spell, hoping to unravel the veil off his eyes. Unaware that to peek in to the unseen is to invite it in. What will answer and come? Will it be his newfound muse? The one who has been taunting his dreams? I saw him conjuring illusions of this siren in his waking hours: this mist raiding elven maiden.

I wait. I wait for days. I wait to find out if she is prisoner or master of her cell. I wait to see who will come out of the marsh alive, and how the fated ones met their demises. Was that due to random violence of a dangerous place? Were they tested by the very tainted land or were they dragged by the mists from the beyond?

I wait... patiently.

2005-11-30T11:49:00.000-08:00

Kithorn 23rd, 1378 of the Cauldron.

“Ravings, rants, slander or simply insanity… I’m used to such accusations, but this time they will see. This time they’ll have to believe me”
Sannyasi Oliver

At first sight this place could be called a “sleepy little rural town”, except for the well defended (if small) walls. Nesmé exemplifies the adaptability of the mob; no matter who is the latest conqueror, the perfumers sell their craft oblivious to anything but the worst excesses. No matter how brutal is the rule or how despairing tomorrow may seen, the mob’s daily life numbs everything into routine.

And right now things are no different: the constant troll attacks, the threat of the return of the barbarians, my presence among them; nothing seems to make them stop.

But to outsiders things are always under a spelling light and view. These days the elven folk wander the world with the same restless spirit that once took them always to Evermeet. So, I see, with the smallest of surprises, both Sun and Sylvan come out of nowhere to thread where I rule. They are proof that we live in strange times, when humanity stops to build and Fair, Stout, and even Forgotten, folks dare… like once humanity did.

But how can they stride forward when past fiercely entwines their every step, and conceal deadly thorns. I remember a time when the world was young and we heard thrilled faint whispers in every wood and hill, glimpses of beauty, and an overpowering flow of magic; all fresh, and new and fairy. But time have passed and the world is no longer young, we see, hear, and feel the same things, however they are now traces of ghosts and mistakes long gone and committed.

But I digress…

What matters is that I see disaster approaching darkly when youth’s recklessness and an old man’s stubbornness collide and meddle with things best left alone. I have met Vincard before; I trust his blind pride to lead him to his doom. And I know blood bonds of love all to well to trust them to send people blindly into peril. So a scattered young group enters deeply in the Troll Marshes in Vincard’s trail. Once there, they find a weakly guarded huge relic (or ghost) from the past… and rush in.

2005-11-28T06:37:00.000-08:00

History of the Formation Years of the Silvery Alliance…

…According to the campaign logbook of the Commander in Field of the Forces of Silvery Moon, kept on the High Keep and accounted for by the Invincible Hall of Helm and its scribes.

In the beginning the Alliance was one woman’s dream, and one that many considered foolish and doomed to failure. However, since this woman was Grand Lady Alustriel Aerasummé such dream was no mere vision. To the general public and history what will be left is that through her efforts alone the dream turned to reality. But reality is far more painful, as many lives were dedicated and lost for that. This is the record of the many war campaigns that were fundamental to the survival of the Alliance in its early days.

Mithril Hall Campaign

1356 of the Worm, Flamerule – Bruennor Battlehammer reclaims the ancient Mithril Hall from the duergar. With the help of Silvery Moon the fort endures it first months on an aggressive push for a safe defensive perimeter. Many families from the city move to the conquered area in hopes to carve a name for them. Alustriel personally guides Drizzt Do Urden along the long campaign, and soon his name is widely known as a great war-hero.

1358 of Shadows, from Eleint to Nightal – Reeling from constant drow aggression many disparate svirfneblin communities gather to Mithril Hall and reinforce the dwarves’ defenses.

1360 of the Turret – Grand Master Taern Hornblade urges the city to rebuild the River Keep, and thus create a line of defense against the dangerous Ice Hills and Spine of the World Ork tribes. The urgency of the help needed by the Mithril Hall forces King Bruennor to rebuild the outpost of Stone Seat and lend vital support to the completion of River Keep in that very year. The Ice Hill tribes realize the move far too late, and try to lay siege to both fortifications; thus the portent of the Turrets comes to pass.

1361 of the Maidens – King Bruennor is finally tested when the Menzoberranzan house fields and clashes all its power against his defenses. The Battle of Keeper’s Dale lasts for many weeks as the drow try at all costs to cut Mithril Hall’s supply lines and mount a long siege. On the surface the orks refrain from the battle and the drow are forced to incite some giant clans to war. These giants are too stupid to break the lines in both Stone Seat and River Keep.

On this battle the following commendations were afforded:

Althiwp Brangendleri – commander of svirfneblin harriers, noted for his courage and composure behind enemy lines, was awarded with the Medal of Relentless Heart for acts of bravery and valor in combat.

Wulfgar of the Elk – foster child of Bruennor, was awarded with the Medal of Dauntless Effort for his protection of scores of farmers from drow raiders.

Raurin Skull Splinter – veteran from the Battle of the Keep of Many Arrows, awarded with the medal of Honorable Shield for his unyielding defense and craftiness against the drow aggressor.

Drizzt Do Urden – the drow outcast is awarded under many protests the Triple Commendation for his crucial help in the long campaign.

1363 of the Wyvern – The completion of High Keep and its manning effectively put an end to the Mithril Hall Campaign , as the Northwest side defenses are finally up.

First Dead Snow Campaign

1366 of the Staff – With the Northwest side secured the Grand Mages of Silvery Moon could afford to start discussions about a direct alliance with Sundabar and Everlund. Soon it was clear that nothing in such direction would be profitable or martially imposing without the cooperation of Adbar. It is so agreed that the church of Helm would divert resources to the critical location of Dead Snow, so to guarantee the safety of the road to the great dwarven fortress.

1367 of the Shield - Dularuna is found in large quantities in Dead Snow. This attracts the attention of the duergar, which mount an expeditionary force to wrestle the city from human control. All along Marpenoth hundreds of goblins slaves and duergar warriors try lay siege always closer to the fragile city gates. With the help of a legendary magical sword forged in Silvery Moon, Taragarth, the elite warriors sent by the church of Helm were able to counter attack every position secured by the duergar. During this campaign the hotly contested asylum on the town outskirts become a textbook example of tactics and approach for the academy.

However the strong winter made reinforcements impossible to arrive to the out of hand town, what favored the larger invader force. By the end of Ches the main gates were broken and the fight was taken by surprise to the streets. The battle lasted for most of the night and was terribly costly, but the assailants were permanently thwarted on their aggressive campaign.

During that year the following warriors were commended:

Sir Baldur Ethanfrost - paladine of Helm, was the first human in recent times to earn the Triple Commendation and a Crimson Heart for wounds sustained. Soon after he was to be knighted Baron and would be in charge of the city he helped to defend.

Adarc Battlehammer – cleric of Helm, won the Dauntless Effort for saving his companions life and also won the Crimson Heart during the Battle of Dead Snow. Became the resident guardian of the Asylum of Dead Snow, now dedicated to Helm.

Brum of Stone Seat – former slave in the Ice Hills, joined the ranks of the church of Helm and won the Honorable Shield medal for his defenses of the miners of Dead Snow.

On the skirmishes of the Year of Banner

During 1368 of Banner four critical situations are worthy of note for the development of the Alliance.

Spring Festival, Silvery Moon – the Silvery Alliance is formally established here as a pact of cooperation and mutual defense is signed by Alustriel as the High Lady of Silvery Moon, King Helm Dwarves’ Friends of Sundabar, King Bruennor Battlehammer of Mithril Hall, three envoys of Council of Elders of Everlund, King Harbromm of Citadel Adbar, King Emerus of Citadel Felbar, and Baron Baldur Ethanfrost on the behalf of Viscountess Icespear of Dead Snow. All sensible changes wouldn’t happen until the end of the year.

Eleasis, Sundabar – exhausted and nearly starved ork tribes from the northern Rauvim Mountains raid the farmlands of Sundabar. Honorable mention for a medal of Dauntless Effort to the Moon Maiden Jalathar Aerasummé for her gallant leadership of combined forces of Sundabar and Silvery Moon oh the uprooting of the orkish raiders.

Marpenoth, Nesmé – the veterans of the First Dead Snow Campaign are led by a native rogue mage named Illidan on the defense of the city and subsequent hunt and eradication of a band of vicious trolls on the Troll Marshes. An item of great power and long believed lost is recovered during this event: the Rod of Tuning.

Uktar, High Forest – during a raging winter the Uthgar Blue Bear tribe strikes at the infamous Hellsgate Keep. A large force of elite veterans is assembled to seize the opportunity and try to shutdown the place once and for all. Both attacking forces sustain heavy losses and the keep remains. The Blue Bears are brought down to the last man and the survivors members of the Alliance are celebrated as heroes. Honorable mention for a medal of Honorable Shield to Illidan of Nesmé for his wise use of the Rod of Tuning during the battle, and of Relentless Heart to Baron Baldur Ethanfrost for unwavering courage displayed during the fray. The Highest Glory of Ilmater is created and given for the selfless sacrifice of the Knights of the Unicorn.

Moon Festival, Silvery Moon – the members of the Alliance present their banners and meet to celebrate the advances of that year and discuss the next year’s moves.

Second Dead Snow Campaign (or Goblin Realms War)

Dead Snow is once again under the shadow of war. From the early months of 1369 goblins raiders harass the heavy caravan traffic of Adbar / Dead Snow / Sundabar. However, open war isn’t declared until Eleint of 1370 of the Tankard.

Adbar suffer from plagues and barbarian raids and trade comes to an absolute halt during 1369. A large pilgrimage from the west takes the road to Adbar to alleviate the suffering, but it is threatened by an elder red dragon. Allandros of Torm mounts the Silver Dragon Nimbrionax into battle and lead the Order of the Asylum into a epic victory of the beast. Other ambushes with the red dragon family plague Dead Snow and Adbar along that year. The Highest Glory of Ilmater is given to Adarc Battlehammer and to a certain Arkon of the Great Wyrm Uthgar tribe, veteran of the First Campaign and survivor of the assault on Hellsgate Keep, for their sacrifice on the defense of the Asylum.

Latter that year more than 6000 warriors lay siege to the Asylum of Helm, but are unable to break the defenses and sustain heavy losses. The experience of the defenders of Dead Snow is crucial in the battle and force the goblin army to a bloody withdrawal; still the city suffers heavy civilian casualties. A timely stealth attack from forces of Felbar on the goblin mountain stronghold scatters the aggressor force and brings the Second Campaign to an abrupt end.

Once again Brum of Stone Seat wins the Honorable Shield medal for his defenses of the miners of Dead Snow. Now Viscount, Sir Baldur is awarded once again the Relentless Heart medal for his fearsome skill and legendary bravery against all odds. Sergeant Luther Thruniak of Silvery Moon is rewarded with the medal of Dauntless Effort for his expert leadership of the defending forces.

On the Pact of 1371 of the Strung Harp

Early this year Alustriel and the Simbul travel magically and sign a three sided mutual help pact with King Azhoun of Cormyr. The plan was to send in the following years warriors to exchange know-how between magical and war colleges and academies. However, the Dragon War in Cormyr and the Salamander War in Aglarond prevent the proper fulfillment of the accord and many young officers travel the scope of Faerun fighting in foreign wars.

An interesting side note is that Sir Baldur Ethanfrost was chosen to train in the Simbulmyin Gryphon Riders Academy, but declined the chance. His subsequent quest was of personal nature and gathered some of the veterans from the First and Second Dead Snow Campaigns. It ended with a Cult of the Dragon cell disbanded in Everlund and with Sir Baldur’s demise. Of these veterans all reliable information that could be gathered was that: Brum of Stone Seat returned to Dead Snow and was acclaimed as its perpetual guardian, Sir Luther Throniak spent years in Cormyr and returned to the North as a high ranked Purple Dragon, and all the others were found deceased or declared missing shortly thereafter.

On the seizure of Nesmé

On Marpenoth of the Tankard to Flamerule of the Unstrung Harp the city of Nesmé suffered under a coup d’etat of its impoverished half-ork population. The council of mages that once defended the city was quickly hounded and no counter-strike mounted. The Alliance watched removed for the outcome of the conflict, but after Flamerule there were signs that dragons had secretly controlled the coup. Now, they were extending their reach and disrupting the trade route to Waterdeep and the Alliance started to plan an intervention. During 1371 of the Wild Magic Illidan of Nesmé dismantled the half orkish rule, banished the remnants of the mage council and avoided a showdown with the dragons that would ensue the city’s destruction. But he didn’t stay around to organize a new power structure, and the city would be left to its own devises if not for the intervention of Warrior Saint Alandros of Torm. He created an Asylum, after the one in Dead Snow, and trained a new generation of knights, that for many years helped to maintain the order in the city.

However, on 1374 of Lightning Storms, a much feared and anxiously expected Uthgar rise happened and a large migration movement began due south. For many months the city was under the capricious barbaric rule, while the defending forces of the city ran harassing assaults from the marshes and from the hills. It was only in Targath of 1375 of the Risen Elfkin that the occupying force was dislodged and forcefully moved westward to Gryphon’s Nest.

On the migration moves

Suddenly the Silvery Alliance was a force to be reckoned and unsuspected consequences shaped the following years. With several fortifications concluded (like Stone Seat, River Keep, High Keep, Eagle’s Aerie, and Crossroads), over two thousand professional warrior on the ready, a religious crusading order of elite gryphon mounted warriors, and high quality dularuna equipment the Alliance finally felt ready to tackle the barbaric human, orkish, and giant hordes that infested the mountains.

But the outcome was tragically different. The orks and giants crossed over the Spine of the World and utterly enslaved the Ten Towns Confederation and forced Mirabar to pay tribute. While the Uthgar moved first southwest, then south lying waste to Longsaddle and Loudwater, all the way down to the doors of Waterdeep, with rich plunder. Then the horde moved northward and attacked Illuskan, but a truce and subsequent alliance was forged with pirates of the city. For the first time in generations the Uthgar returned to the oceans as raiders, and in a few months not even the experienced fleet of Waterdeep could protect totally the merchant flow. Mirabar was raided and plundered, and still the pay heavy tributes to the barbarians. Now they stagger raids (and there are rumors of plans of conquest) on the insular realms.

For the Silvery Alliance such events were of little consequence, since neither our trade nor our people suffered with such migration moves. But we deliver all humanitarian help we can and there is a strong feeling that Nesmé must be protected as much as Dead Snow once was.

On the fall of Menzoberranzan
No one can say for sure what happened down there, but since 1371 of the Strung Harp there haven’t had any sign of surface activity of the drow and of their slaves. Some kind of savage civil war took place, and it was only in 1375 of the Risen Elfkin that scouts reported anything from the dreaded drow city. All the reports indicated that the city has fallen either to a massive slave revolt or widespread civil war, probably both. From this point on raids from the Underdark became gradually less organized, frequent and more feral. The ruins of the former drow holdings are occupied by degenerated survivors, who are unable to give any reliable account on the true sequence of events.

On the current state of affairs
The Alliance is still waiting to flex its muscles in the military arena, but since it is by conception a defensive organization we can only wait. The real threat now comes from the growing Uthgard and Ork tribes under the banner of Illuskan and conquered Mirabar to the west. There are still many ork and goblin war bands on the Rauvin Mountains and Valley and soon the southeastern border may require our attention. This may the hour and moment to show to the world that we are ready to lend a helping hand and a strong arm to our neighbors in need.

I hope this short report shed some light on our age for those who come after us.

Baron of the High Keep, Commander of the Knights in Silver and Chief-in-Command of the Army of Silvery Moon and surrounding lands,
M. Arumsulé.