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Message: <blockquote data-quote="aartvb" data-source="post: 9511938" data-attributes="member: 7035557">I will soon add the log of our latest session. Here some flavor text I sent the players beforehand.You stand among the ruins of Seaquen, breathing in air thick with the scent of salt and scorched earth. The magical hurricane had come as a relentless storm, sweeping across the city like the wrath of the gods themselves. In its wake, all that was once Seaquen has been swallowed by the sea or shattered into ghostly fragments.Thousands of lives were claimed by the tempest’s fury. The refugee camp, once bursting with the displaced and desperate, has become a graveyard. Faces you’d seen every day—refugees clinging to hope—are gone, swallowed by the storm's wrath. The Shahalesti fleet, those proud elven vessels that had guarded the coastline, was reduced to drifting splinters.And yet, as if by some cruel twist of fate or final mercy, a small part of the Lyceum, Seaquen’s famed magic school, remains standing. You were there when the headmaster and the mages of the Lyceum chanted through the night, their voices hoarse with exhaustion as they wove the last threads of a protective aura around the school. Against all odds, the spell held. It shielded a handful of classrooms, a corner of the library, and a scattering of students and teachers—among them, you.For days after the storm, the survivors drift like ghosts through the crumbling halls, hollow-eyed and silent, searching for loved ones in the wreckage. The few healers left work ceaselessly, tending to the injured while food dwindles and exhaustion gnaws at you all. Each night, you feel the weight of Seaquen’s death press against the Lyceum’s barriers, the memories of the city’s last cries trapped like haunting echoes in the air.In the shattered heart of Seaquen, where survivors cling to each other and rumors swirl like shadows, there have been whispers of gatherings in the dead of night. Figures of the resistance—those few with the authority, cunning, and will to fight back—have been meeting in hushed secrecy. They murmur of plans, of what they might do next against a foe that has left the city in ruin. People speak of missions veiled in secrecy, covert operations meant to pry open the heart of whoever unleashed the storm. They say Simeon himself has been among them, his wisdom guiding those desperate enough to strike back.But secrecy, it seems, is hard to keep among those haunted by fear and desperation. Whispers drift through the crumbling halls of the Lyceum, murmurs of missions that could decide the fate of all who survived the storm. Some speak of a daring search for the Torch of the Burning Sky, an artifact said to hold ancient power, enough to tip the balance in the war. Others talk of spies who may be sent to infiltrate Shahalesti territory, risking everything to uncover the truth about those who conjured the hurricane that devastated Seaquen. Meanwhile, word spreads of forces mobilizing to protect the city of Gate Pass from the advancing Ragesians, a last desperate defense to keep the enemy from securing a foothold. In the faces of those around you, you can see both dread and determination—these missions, whispered and uncertain, are the last threads of hope binding the survivors together.Then, one evening, a messenger finds you, silent and pale as he delivers the headmaster’s summons. A knot forms in your chest as you recognize what this must mean. Duty calls you, the summons heavy with a sense of inevitability. There’s no one else who can answer, no other life you’d be leaving behind. It feels almost fitting; in a city stripped to its bones, you have nothing left to hold you back.So, you prepare yourself to face Simeon, to stand before the man who has been the strength of Seaquen in its darkest hour. You know he has called you for a mission. And deep down, you feel the same resolve. Whatever duty lies ahead, whatever he asks, you know that you will answer.</blockquote>

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