Gods and Monsters: Legends Reborn main campaign thread

DR 1340, 8^th of Hammer, unknown location


Pain.... It courses through you, like a searing spit rammed through the length of your torso, from hip to neck. White motes blanket the corners of your eyes, as the excruciating ache burns through you. Your limbs afire, and yet unfeeling. Is this what it feels like to die? Air flees from your lungs, your vision instantly darkens, you fade from one hell only to rise in another as the pain does....not....end. Your thoughts can't be contained, can't be fully formed. Gasping for air, for a moment of reprieve, for a lapse in this ceaseless agony. It doesn't come.

You hear screaming, roaring, and a thunderous howl. You aren't sure if it is your own body giving voice to the infinite ache radiating throughout. You sense hopelessness wash over you. Consume you. Weightless, and lost in your own mindscape, desperately seeking refuge from the pain. Then, as if on cue, your body relents. An intense burst of white slams your mind. You feel numbness, pins and needles, everywhere. Coldness creeps in to replace the numbness. Boreal, stinging cold. Searing hot cold. You wake and open your eyes, gasping for huge breathes of air... that come and warm you from within.

You can barely shift a muscle. Ice cracks and flakes off your flesh with each breathe. Slowly and steadily, you begin to feel warmth from within, and through. Your flesh, the color of a frozen corpse, slowly regains its correct pigment. You feel your blood pushing itself through your icy veins. And you know you are alive. The entire area around you looks as if an arctic storm had burst forth from where you lie, and then was suddenly quelled. Trees lay shattered and blown back by unseen icy winds. Bushes and grasses flash-frozen solid. The very earth upon which you lie has been turned to tundra. As your mind clears, and eases from the living hell it just woke from, thoughts begin to take form, turning to questions, which become voice. You clear your throat. It is very hoarse, sore, and you cough out puffs of snowflakes and chunks of ice, and frozen blood. Warmth returning to your vocal chords, your voice pushes its way up out of your thawed lungs. You listen for a response, but none comes. You are probably alone.


A thousand miles of unknown land between you and anything you find familiar, or so it would seem. Your eyes wander, as you push your atrophied muscles to their thawed limits, and climb to your feet. Save for the incredibly circular winter devastation around you, out for several yards, you perceive that you are safe, but are the only sentient being within your sight. Head still clearing away the remembered pain, you notice that you are naked. Head to toe, as if a new-born babe. You stumble over something under your feet, and kneel down to investigate. A dark blue satchel lie in a hole under you. As if the earth itself formed around it. You dig it up, clawing at the frozen earth, hands aching, fingers throbbing, and it is heavy. You unlock the clasp, and within are your belongings. You know they are yours, you remember them each, but can't recall where you got them. You try to remember. The pain strikes you again. White motes appear in the corners of your vision as your mind is chilled to its core. You instinctively relinquish your grasp of the satchel, to grasp the sides of your head. It falls to the ground in a muffled thump. Your mind reels, and you lose focus on your memories. You clear your head of thoughts, of events long past, of places near and far, and the pain slowly resides. Lifting the satchel to your shoulder, you contemplate the meaning of your amnesia, and the pain it suddenly brings.

Sheela- Some large pine trees near you provide a great deal of shade, outside of the small frozen circle of devastation. You don't hear any small game animals, but there are a few crickets chirping in the grasses. Then a dread sense of being watched creeps up your spine. You feel like you are not alone in this small woodland glade, but do not immediately see anyone. The hairs on the back of your neck begin to stand. It is about midday.


Loki- The circular devastation around you is soon hidden by ordinary snow, just a few yards away. A light breeze is blowing, and a gentle winter flurry is picking up. A single, large, rectangular shaped black stone is standing nearby, with a glowing, circular shaped symbol etched into it's surface. Slight sounds of a bustling mead hall can be heard on the winds, from the east. You are unsure of the language being spoken at this distance, but it seems familiar. The sun is starting to set.



Zoser- The frozen ground below you yet remains, but gives way to warm sands, and a brightly lit sun in the sky, however it is late in the day. A cactus stands tall, near to you, and it would appear that there were others, but those now lie on the ground as if blasted flat from where you first found yourself. A breeze is blowing sand and grit around, and music can be heard on the wind, similar to that which you would normally hear played in a caravan crossing the desert. A sandstorm is brewing in the distance, to the west.



Kossuth- What little vegetation there was appears to have been blasted flat around you, but beyond the frozen circle on the ground and rocks under you, a mountainous landscape emerges, despite the heavy rainfall currently soaking you to your bones. Mud begins sloshing down the slope toward you, and you can hear the sounds of rocks tumbling down the slopes with it. It is just after sunrise, as a mudslide comes barreling down the mountain toward you.



Red Knight- The vegetation that was blasted down near you is now more clear: training dummies that one would typically find at a soldier's barracks. The field in which you now stand seems to have recently been used as a marching surface, or for some tactical formation training, as many booted footprints are left in the mud and grasses. A cluster of trees stands about 50 yeards from you, with several archery targets standing infront of them, and a freshly doused campfire still smoking near you. A light rain is coming down, and the smell of cooking meat is in the damp air. You hear a feminine chuckle come from the trees.



Zuoken- Several trees lay blasted to the ground around you, in a frozen circle. Chirping of birds, bustling of animals, and the startled squawk of a disturbed squirrel can be heard nearby. The air is cool, and fresh smelling. The night sky filled with many bright stars, and a half-moon. Glancing around, you find yourself in the middle of a peaceful, old forest, somewhere. There are other typical forest sounds, around you, and the loud flapping of strong wings heading toward your position from overhead.



Merlin- The bushes about you have been blasted with ice in a circular pattern. Beyond them are stones, standing as tall as 3 men. Some in peculiar positions. A simple stone table stands, flash-frozen, behind you. Upon it is the corpse of a man, but it appears to have been mummified to some degree, and left in a fur wrapping. Out beyond the circle of stones, a fog has descended, obscuring your sight beyond 30 feet. You can hear the sounds of footsteps in the grasses and mud, out in the fog, but none of it seems to be getting closer. An unneasy sense of dread creeps up on you, as you have no memory of this place, despite it seeming all too familiar.



Helm- After looking around, trying to get your bearings, you surmise that you are in the middle of an ancient burial ground. Hundreds upon hundreds of grave stones, overturned and standing, stretch out before you in all directions. Ruined mausoleums, toppled standing stones, broken sarcophagi, and miles of worn and wrecked fencing. An unnatural calm and haze, a pallid feeling of dread hangs over the area. And not a single sound to be heard. No crickets, no birds chirping, no game animals scurrying. Even the air ceases to blow, no grass rustles. Just your own breathing and heartbeat.

Stark against the white background of the blasted and frozen mountainside a single dark skinned man looks up towards an onrushing danger and lets out a single harsh sounding syllable. Quickly he looks about him for some form of cover, a rock overhang perhaps or a sufficiently robust tree. In the meantime he swings the mysterious bag down from his shoulder and reaches inside. Spotting what he needs he quickly draws forth a vial with blue almost incandescent liquid sloshing about. He quickly flicks the cork out and downs the contents. The effect easily evident as he begins to move with utmost haste towards safety.

"Dragon strike?" The man wonders, finding the calm center of his ki, losing it in a flash as scaled monstrosities strike the ground under him. Long golden talons extend from the tips, while thickly muscled arms covered in iridescent scales reach back towards him. To his shoulders. His broad, corded, scaled shoulders. His mental barriers spring erect, attempting to dispel the illusion that is no illusion.

Kossuth- With speed enhancement of the haste potion, you temporarily overcome your sluggishness, and start moving quickly toward safety




Zuoken- Indeed, the beating of wings is no illusion, as a huge purple-colored dragon lands in the glade infront of you. It stares at you in calmness, eyeing you up and down, but does not speak. It looks at the wintery circle, to you, and then glances to the sky directly above you. It's gaze returns to meet yours, as it slowly moves closer to you, in order to converse in a calm manner.
"Who are you, and where do you come from?", it asks in Draconic.

As he shambles along, Thaklor spots a likely shelter in the former of a large spear of stone sticking out of the mountainside. He angles towards it while doing his best to watch his footing and shambling over the occasional boulder.

Calmness washes over me as I feel my mind reaching out to examine this great beast before me. I straighten to my full height and gently answer, "I am who you see before you, and I come from here and now. Tell me, great dragon...have you wrought this upon me?"

Janus rises to his feet shakily, forcing his uncooperative body back up to stand. Knees wobbling, slowly he works himself to his maximum height, long strands of straight black hair matted to his face from the ice and melting frost.

His stoic gaze settles across the static landscape, taking in the sights. Habit and training keeps his level commander's face in place. Inside, his mind roils, trying to find an explanation for what he just felt, and why he is here.

He reaches for the threads of power woven into him by Siamorphe, the familiar power of the right to rule and the charge of noble duty.

For the first time in three decades of life since his anointing, it is gone.

Gone? Gone?

Janus exhales sputteringly, forcing himself to a calm. I won't get anywhere if I panic like a novice. For now, shelter and preparation, then I'll worry about finding out where I am.

Janus hauls the heavy satchel onto his shoulder, eyes scanning for the first intact mausoleum that seems unlocked and unbarred.

Kossuth- Your hurried retreat from the mudslide proves fruitful as you find a small cave amongst the rocks. Squeezing yourself in, just in time, the mud and debris washes over the entrance, gently pushing you back, and slathering you in dirt and mud. Taking a moment to look around the cave, you notice many stalagmites and stalactites as the tunnel seems to bore deeper into the mountainside. The entrance is completely filled with mud and debris, and in your current state of exhaustion, it would take you a long time to dig your way out. What would you like to do?


Zuoken- The dragon chuckles, with starlight sparkling off its amethyst hide. "I see a human, tired from an unknown journey, confused by the circumstances surrounding him, but also marked by the ancients as one who is in balance. Nay, mortal, it is not I who has brought you here. But if you do not know the answer, either, then perhaps you are meant to discover the answers on your own." The dragon pauses in thought. "I am called Narthcellus. What would other humans call you?" It asks with a slight smile.


Helm- You sight an intact mausoleum about 200 yards from where you stand. There is a fence around it, and winged statues of what appear to be demons on each corner of the fence, and the structure itself. It appears to be in the best shape of all of the buildings around it. You also see a broken sarcophagi laying next to the entrance. The occupant has been ripped apart, and ichor dots the area. There are chew marks in the leftover bones, but no flesh. The entrance is a heavy stone door that is closed, and ichorish tracks lead up to it, with claw marks on its surface.

Janus stops, contemplating the scene.

This place feels...wrong. The silence is wrong, my inability to sense the connection to Siamorphe is wrong.

There is danger here.

Thinking better of it, Janus drops the satchel, wearily pulling out the heavy slabs of ornamented metal, gambeson undercoats, and bindings that make up his armor. Better to be prepared, even moreso in this state.

Dropping heavily to a knee, Janus begins the process of donning his armor and weapons anew.