Session 104

General Summary

The Aftermath in Lark'Hal

Rani touches base with her family. Tatya is still experiencing small lapses in his memory – the Lady of Dread clearly had her claws deeper into him than any other family member. Lakshmi will be looking after him; she's a Grandmother-in-training, after all. Hamida expressed how proud she was of Rani, though she wasn't expecting this to be the fires her daughter was forged in. Timur is the only one not present in the family home as he checks in with family and friends in the northern portion of the city. Rani senses that Timur isn't quite like himself and is perhaps harboring some guilt over what happened to Tatya.

Declan tries to find the optimal solution for what to do with a hulking, four-armed man. Maybe one day they can find him a nice office job, but for now, where to put him so The Doctor can't get him? Angelos, despite being haggard and tired, has taken up his regular position guiding and escorting Acolytes of the Dead. He and his mother are both fine (thank you) and was willing to house Ragnar within the massive confines of his mother's warehouse. When Declan explained the risks, Angelos assured him that his mother doesn't like people messing with her business; there are wards up.

Ghilani touches base with Savant Three. The halfling blood witch is clearly not all there as she talks to someone who isn't present and seems to have no qualms with glaring at Rani every now and then. When asked what happened, Savant Three explained that she forgave the Heart of the Desert once... for The Purge. She's not about to forgive them for draining her blood for 1,000 years and leaving her Blood Sworn to rot and die in front of her, unhonored and unburied. If she had it her way, she's bleed the city dry to make up for what they took from her. While Savant Three is fully obedient and acquiesces to Ghilani (Primus) decisions... there is a hint of disapointment in her eyes. Lux is summoned to escort Savant Three to The Compound. Declan asks Six to go visit the Compound and offers an interior design job to Therarask (no restrictions, oh definitely). Lux seemed very exasperated that the first order Ghilani almost gave them – a High Lord – was to clean.

After Zephus mentioned that his Grandfather (and aunts?) were in the Temple, Rani entered into the chamber of the Great Tree. The Laurels are normal again, no longer "glitching" into something more monstrous. Among them sits Lark, having returned to the City he can now see again. Rani asked if there was anything he recalled about Judas. Anything specific? When Rani mentioned a betrayal, Lark seemed confused. No, I... I can't imagine betraying him. Perhaps he misinterpreted my intentions? Judas and I were the closest among my siblings; it is hard to imagine I would do such a thing and yet everything seems off as of late. Rani then inquired about the Muses' Paint. Lark is vaguely aware of it, yes. Rani mentioned that they have forgotten what they did to a blood witch for 1,000 years... they should not forget what they did for another 1,000. Lark is of the mind that if it was literally made with her blood and tears, then it should be her decision what is done with the art. Regardless, he will speak to his High Priest and... perhaps it is Zephus who will be poised to drive this motion forward.

Outside the city, the Curators have begun to offer their services to caravans and merchants who suffered losses during the city takeover. Rani spoke with Reti, who is very pleased the Royals got what was coming for them. However, he will not say no to helping the common folk. When asked about Akeldama, Reti paused and then explained that while Akeldama grants him power, it is not without its drawbacks. Should he set foot upon the Dune Sea, he will be devoured. He is not opposed to seeing her curse lifted.

Moira touches base with her two parasitic buds. They are... not fused. Moira thought they would have fused. They appear to be having a contest of wills. "Annie" is still 100% on board with Moira. "Nias", however, seems to be a bit more militaristic (and angry). Why do we linger? We must move forward. Moira, however, is able to convince them that she's committed to helping them, they just need to wrap things up here first. Nias reluctantly agrees. It is good that she is not puppetted like the previous host, but she has one less set of arms and is weaker. Moira could TOTALLY get another set of arms!

With Emir Maletshatsi's arrival, the remaining political players of the genasi families have gathered to oversee the aftermath. Their priority is honoring the dead and addressing the public... and giving a target of blame in a nice tidy package. Provided the group is not opposed, they wish to place the blame on Phaedra, entirely. They plan to full investigate all families for further ties to the Descendants of Fortune. The city must be repaired and the people's confidence rebuilt before they can proceed with an election for Monarch. In the meantime, Emir, Zumena, and Ignatia will share equal power. Rani mentions that individual heroic efforts should be recognized as well... an perhaps legitimized. Zumena snaps to attention: I have already begun that process... I merely must find the right words. She seems to harbor some guilt over her relationship with Zephus.

Speaking with hostages, the Descendants of Fortune believe that they were the rightful heirs of the City of Fortune. They are clearly racist with a belief in genasi superiority... which doesn't quite match up with how they were complicit in murdering mostly genasi. The Dread Prophets seem to adhere to the will of the Eternal Oracle. This occured because it was woven in the red threads. It is hard to determine if the Eternal Oracle and the Lady of Dread are seperate entities to them... perhaps that is intentional. And the White Masks... have withdrawn to the shadows, but they are clearly searching. Declan speaks to Angelos again, who offers to move Ragnar to Carmenthia. The Executioner is familiar with the island and what is below. Declan agrees.

The Deep End, knowing how much he means to Serene, resurrected Apophis. WOW, the weave of magic looks so different... or maybe I'm seeing my path to the realm of the Dead. How is Marcella? How is Serene? Apophis recalls being attacked and killed by his TA... or not his TA; he seems to realize she hasn't been his TA for quite some time now. She wanted something with Marcella and did or took something from her before Apophis fell unconscious and then into death. Apophis is incredibly grateful for being alive again.

Finding Marcella, the gnomish professor has been gifted an arcane skiff from Ironborn and she has afixed her miasma warding device to it. She seems prepared to undertake an adventure – the culmination of her academic (and personal) career! She's only waited over a century for this! Before discussing plans, however, Rani had Moira do a mind check. With the aid of her buddies... Marcella things she's never read the journal before. Rani freezes. So that's why the Lady of Dread didn't need to visit my dreams anymore... she took them from Marcella. The professor explained what happened. From her description, Declan and Ghilani note that Apophis must have literally unwoven the Simulacrum from existence. And, per the traditional spell, the Lady of Dread should not be able to have two of them at once...

Marcella than briefly describes and hypothesizes about the miasma. It is not merely a toxic gas or poison; it is composed of natural, divine, and otherworldly magic. Marcella hypothesizes that the miasma isn't sentient, but it has intent. The Miasma has never crossed the "border" between regions and therefore, must be a regional-based phenomena. Her device should ward against the miasma, but it isn't perfect. Further, she hypothesizes the effects will only worsen. When Declan asked about what specifically would happen, Marcella mentioned that even she isn't sure. She's only gone perhaps 1/4 of the way to the City of Fortune... and they'll be pushing for the City. The present and future demands it. And the next morning...

The wall of miasma churns and swirls, seemingly held at bay by an invisible barrier where the desert begins to shift from loose sand to something more solid. The miasma resembles a swirling smoke, but with an ominous orange-red undertone. You can see, perhaps, 20 feet into the miasma before everything beyond becomes obscure – a mystery sealed away by events of a millennium past. As Marcella’s Device hums to life, choking and sputtering for a moment before releasing an ethereal hum that persists as shimmering light encompasses you, stretching slightly beyond. The miasma almost hisses as the ward makes contact, pulling back slightly, but pushing and lapping constantly at the barrier. As you progress into the unknown, the miasma is quick to seal you in, obscuring your view of freedom…
As you seal your fate in the Wasteland.

Before entering, the Deep End sends their final messages. Declan sends a final message to Six. Did you pack food? I don't plan on staying long. Are you sure time works the same there? You know– and the message is cut off. Rani sends feelings of love to Ezra who returns them almost immediately. Moira sends to Caliban and he responds that he has full faith in her. Newt updates Oksha and tells her he loves her. Oksha would very much prefer he not die. Also, was that you in Lakr'hal? Ghilani, after not messaging Ismera since the polyamoury question, informs Ismera that he fused with Primus, there was a massacre, and that he is now going into the Wasteland. Ismera responds with worried panic: WHAT?

The Historic Road to Fortune

The first few hours of the journey are peaceful. The Wasteland appears to be devoid of life, although not devoid of activity. A dark silhouette became visible on the horizon, familiar to Rani and Marcella: an old Outpost. Upon reaching the landmark, the journal suddenly flew open and the last final entries unlocked. Dysis' moments of doubt were followed by sudden clarity, tinged with sadness and also with hope. The Deep End presses onward.

For a time, the MWD continued to hum its constant tune... until it shifted slightly in tone. There was the sound ofa gear grinding, straining. The miasma felt more forceful, vindictive almost. It writhed against the ward, attempting to find a crack.

You feel the faintest trace of something settle over your body... grace your mind. Like the lightest touch of someone's fingers on your arm. The prick of a thought emerging from the depths of your mind. And then a sharp sting.

Marcella seemed to struggle, growing weary and tired, but Declan and Newt both help with the machine maintenance. Moira gets a bit tired and then seems to be inflicted with some kind of slimy DOOM. Ghilani is constantly aware of how he's aging (he's not) and one step closer to the grave (he's literally immortal). Newt starts to babble incoherently and then goes blind (but blindslight man). Marcella, at one point, tries to leap off the skiff in fear, but Rani entices her with a dramatic reading of the periodic table. She settled down after that.

Pressing onward, the Deep End deals with fluctuating vision and the miasma's attempts to destroy them, either physically or mentally, whichever comes first. Despite a few hallucinations, Newt babbling, and Ghilani getting increasing irritated at the lack of progress (he's wasting precious time here), the MWD holds strong and the skiff flies forward through a land lost... and then a silhouette of a massive structure occasional flickers into view through the red-orange haze. It seems more likely a hallucination as it fades in and out, but then the MWD releases a horrible hiss and stalls... dead. The full force of the miasma strikes, prying into body and mind. The silhouette remains now... the outline of a wall, a massive gate... and a large Temple beyond.

As you continue forward, your vision constantly shifts. One moment, the barren red rock obscured by the red-orange haze. Ample skeletons are scattered about, arms oustretched as if reaching for some vain hope at a future. You blink. The next moment, you see a stone lined road flaked in gold surrounded by lush flora. In the distance, you see an orante city like none you have seen... miasma pouring from it in a torrential wave as people scream and run all around you. Another blink, and you return to the Wasteland with only the silhouette – the ghost of the past – to guide you forward.

With no other place to go but forward, the Deep End presses on... some beginning to hallucinate. (DM Note: I put all hallucinations here and starred the ones you unlocked in the session)

The Last Gatekeeper*: From amidst the hoard of fleeing people, you notice a man in incredibly dark leathers, face obscured by a dark hood. The sickle in his hand changes to a staff as he stops to summon a massive green crystalline gate. Red-orange miasma slams into, leaking through the bars. A hound cries. The figure braces. Together the two stand, as bits of them are ripped apart… carried away as the miasma breaks and shatters through the lingering figure of the Goddess of Death.
One Last Dance*: From amidst the hoard of fleeing people, a sandstorm swirls through, collecting people and sending them ahead on a rolling dune of sand. The figure that emerges wields a double-edged sword as they turn, twirling the blade in two steps of a dance before drawing forth a wall of sand. The figure strains and holds, before the sand spits and flies. She begins to break too, fading away like grains of sand. The wall collapses beneath the force of the miasma and shatters through the lingering figure of the God of Creativity.
The Grove's Daughter*: From amidst the hoard of fleeing people, the eladrin woman stands out, swarmed by druid-like guards. With a wave of her hand, she sends a surge of vines forward, taking her guards further from the city. She turns and slams her staff into the ground, calling forth a wall of bramble vine. A hand rests upon her stomach as the miasma winds its way through. It slips through the cracks, surrounding the woman and shatters through the lingering figure of the Goddess of Life.
The Broken Lyre: From amidst the hoard of fleeing people, you hear the sound of a lyre. The tune is inspiring, putting a spring in your step. When you locate the source, you see a beautiful figure urging people forward. They strike another chord, drawing forth a wall of gold to combat the encroaching redorange haze. For a moment, it holds. They smile. And then the gold cracks, the figure vomits gold, and the haze shatters through the lingering figure of the God of Pleasure.
Death of Andromeda*: A shadow passes overhead as you watch a great bronze dragon fly overhead, its scales dipped in stars. Diving towards the ground, it spews its breath at the encroaching haze as a figure on its back weaves a wall of red thread and stars. The haze, however, is unthwarted, striking both dragon and rider. The figure falls, the dragon dives… and as their bodies crash into the ground, the haze and dust shatters the lingering figure of the God of Fate.
Poisoned Poisoner: From amidst the hoard of fleeing people, you see scalecovered woman vainly attempting to help a child. She picks them up underneath the shoulder before flinging them away, turning to raise a wall of both light and darkness to combat the encroaching haze. She smiles and then it fades, her arms begin to crumble and weaken. The miasma crashes through her barrier and shatters through the lingering figure of the Goddess of Knowledge.
Wildshaped Druid: From amidst the hoard of fleeing people, you see a massive creature resembling no creature you have seen, but sharing features of many creatures of the wild. On its back, it carries multiple people and it continues to scoop up more as it moves. Yet despite the strain of its muscles and the length of its bounds, it cannot escape the inevitable. The creature stumbles and careens to the ground, grabbing and cradling who it can as the miasma crashing over them, shattering the lingering figure of the God of the Hunt.
As Ordained*: From amidst the hoard of fleeing people, you see a dwarven man completely adorned in metal armor. With a wave of his hand, he fixes a wagon and gives a bark as it begins to move… without him. He turns and summons forth a magical barrier, stopping the miasma. He strains and mutters under his breath… and then he ceases, folding his hands on top of his sword. The miasma swarms over him, shattering the lingering figure of the God of Order.
Fire and Blood*: From amidst the hoard of fleeing people, the large form of a half-flaming man is visible. With large arms, he scoops up those who have fallen and urges them forward. As the miasma licks his back, he turns and in an instant a wall of fire bursts upward. With a roar, he holds the flames, rippling and rising… and then the miasma extinguishes it, crashing through, and shattering through the lingering figure of the Goddess of War.
Last Sunlight*: From amidst the hoard of fleeing people, a small shadow passes overhead before a sunkissed Elian figure lands, directing other aarakocra to pick up others in the crowd. They take hold of the pendant around their neck as they turn to face the advancing wall of miasma. They whisper words and a beam of light appears, cutting through the miasma for a moment, before it surges forward again, shattering the lingering figure of the Goddess of the Sun.

At the end of the road, the miasma suddenly parts, revealing the grandiose City... and there's a cold, otherwordly sensation that settles over you. Similar to what lurked over the Heart of the Desert, but... the miasma seems to be held at bay.

The City of Fortune

The City of Fortune is grandiose and one can only imagine how it would outshine Eredet if it hadn't come to an unceremonious end 1,000 years ago. As the miasma effects abate, the Deep End finds a shop for Marcella to lay low in and potentially fix the MWD. The city itself is oddly preserved, wood that should have rotted remains and even some food (albeit rotted) still lingers on stalls and altars. Moving through the vast open market, there are nods to a variety of other cultures: avian perches for those of Elis, fighting rings for Ragnar, pleasure houses flying the colors of Therarask, statues of Judas and Lark at the entrance to an art guild, and a mural that goes from flowers to decay to death.

Upon entering, red threads drift at the peripheral, but Newt notices something else... the odd silhouette, partially ethereal, of a massive dragon. By its size, it must be a Greatwyrm. Around its neck are red threads, pulled taunt. And then time seems to converge, vision shifts from the desolation to an active war zone... as everyone saw from different perspectives. Amidst each vision, tendrils of magical energy – in varying colors – drifts from the various warriors through the air... towards the Temple. Wrapped around the magical resonance are even thinner red threads.

With the visions giving a clear sense of direction, the group pushes forward. Primus chimed in... I sense more of it ahead. Those creatures you fought? The Titans? Yes, they linger... nearly whole. Do we wish to bring them the final piece? Ghilani found his head turning to look at Moira. Do you wish to deliver the final piece right to their doorstep? Ghilani takes a moment to think. 

A circular pool of water marks the transition from open market to the Temple Courtyard. Two large statues of the Judean goat stand, horns proudly displayed and presented at the other. Beyond that, two buildings with colorful roofs. Before the steps leading to the Temple, there is only one other notable feature: a wishing well. Compared to the rest of the city, the well is considerably older and partially crumbled. It is simple in structure and lacking all ornate embellishment. Draped over the wishing well is a single body. And upon approach, everything shifted.

Her face is covered in grime and dried blood. Her breathing is heavy from exertion. The rhythmic movement of your vision suggests she is running, frantically and with haste. Her eyebrows are furrowed. She is determined, focused, but there is a realization in her eyes. She is not your destiny. You are not her destiny. And so your paths must diverge.
She coughs, a bit of blood dripping from the corner of her mouth and down her face. Beyond her, a murky haze begins to leak from the vast, open expanse of the two large Temple doors. She stumbles and then collapses, catching herself and leaning against a structure. It is oddly silent. Smoke drifts. Fires blaze. But all you can hear is a constant ringing. Still hunched over, she turns over her shoulder – from where she just came – as the haze pours down the steps, slowly drawing closer. It is inevitable.
What... what has she done.
The haze consumes the vibrant streams of colors wrapped and bound in red thread. She pushes herself up. You see the wishing well. The one in the center square.
No... I will have faith. My moonlit friend, I... trust you.
A portion of your view lifts as one of her hands rises, just below her eye level. The distortion in your view causes some discomfort.
Destruction now...
And the distortion ceases, your viewpoint restored to harmony.
To create... and protect a better future.
She is emotional, yet strong. The single tear that falls might hold the tumultuous weight of a storm. She knows. You know.
I have never believed in wishes. I have always seen you more... as a father-in-law than a god. Please, whatever remains of you... one wish. Return these great gifts to my people. Return them to your son, to Kostas. Return them to OUR people.
And you fall…. And fall… Soyolmaa’s face growing smaller and smaller… until she is consumed by haze. And you are consumed by darkness.
When you blink, you see a face. Lighter skin and lighter hair. His tears stream freely, covering his cheeks. The child slung across his chest – bundled and secure – does not understand. Behind him, the blurry shapes of faces, colorful tents and wagons… the sounds of goats and camels. Older faces come into view. Some lay comforting hands on the mourning man. Delicately, you feel their hands too. A cloth covers part of your vision.
"Are you sure?"
They are not for me. They never were and never will be.
As the last tear falls, he looks down.
But they will be for someone... one day.
Another piece of cloth obscures your vision. Before your vision is blocked completely, you see – perhaps only a few hundred feet away – a wall of haze. Perhaps you will sleep. It will be some time, you think. A few centuries, perhaps? Await they who will return you to where it ended.
And where it will begin again.

Returning to the present, Suraksha and Vinaash speak as one, unified voice. It is time to bring forth the future. Rani takes a moment to lay Soyolmaa's body on the ground and close her eyes. You did well desert rat. And The Deep End ascended the steps to the great Temple doors. The future lies beyond... BUT before that. Ghilani tells Moira what Primus said. Declan verifies that Moira is prepared. Are you ready to make whatever choice you may have to make? Moira promises that if it comes down to it, she will choose the continent. And the doors to the Temple open...

The House of Luck and Fallen Fortune

As the Temple doors are pushed open – groaning and straining on partially rusted joints – you find yourself in the past once more. The sounds of war echo all around, dulled only slightly by the walls of the Temple. You can still hear screams, artillery, metal on metal, pounding feet, and the crumbling of structures. Within, you see the main hall of a massive, ornate temple. The wooden floor is polished and adorned with intircate details and designs. Multiple statues and pillars line the space, shining and shimmering in the light. And halfway down the ornate hall there sits a silver-haired woman with dress covered in blood and a knife clutched in her hand... with 11 tendrils of magic drifting from the hilt.


In her other hand, she cradles the large form of a human man: somewhat pale skin, strawberry blond hair, chiseled jaw, and dressed in an orange tunic beneath what remains of fractured black armor. His veins are blackened. Darkness drifts off of him and shatters, large portions of it coalesce into four large pieces, bound by various threads of magic, encased in orange and gold. As the woman looks up, there is blood splattered across half of her face. Her eyes hold a mixture of emotion: fear, determination, sorrow, hope, pain, relief… you return. The woman is there, eyes violet and frail. The Titan drift throughout the temple hall, all bound by an intricate web of red threads.

I see you’ve survived the perils of a land ravaged by time. Entered the halls of fate… stepped within MY web of red threads.

Beyond the wishing well at the far end of the hall rests a dais. Upon that dais sits an elaborate throne, surrounded by gold coins, trinkets, and other luxury items – perfectly preserved and untarnished by time. And upon the throne, there sits a dark-skinned woman donning purple, black, and gold regalia. Seated upon her claimed throne is the Lady of Dread. One eye glows a brilliant violet, touched by the Void. Tendrils of black swirl around her fingertips and up her arms. A few tendrils drift off her, swirling and expanding until two shadowy figures form – one on either side of the throne.

A pleasure to actually meet you face to face. It was a predestined fate, after all. Unfortunate for me that the threads dictated you must arrive here… But unfortunate for you that your arrival is where your written destiny ends. And I control the threads now.
I control the Eternal Oracle.
I control The Void.

As the Lady of Dread yanks on the red threads, the Eternal Oracle's head snaps to attention. Darkness begins to build around her... and around you, trapping you within the center of the Temple and obscuring the Lady of Dread from view. Red threads snap, tighten, and pull the Titans together, vanishing into the darkness. And then you see a huge figure composed of shadow step forth, covered in dark obsidian-like armor and wielding a wicked looking sword. There is only destruction in its eyes. 


Declan and Ghilani sense a surge of vague fear... from Primus. Annie is resolved to stand by Moira. Nias is now more on Moira's side... it will not be controlled. Weaken it. Break through the armor.

Report Date

15 Dec 2023

Primary Location

The Wasteland

Secondary Location

The City of Fortune

Related Characters

• Angelos "Angel" Dun'Mar
• Denarya
• Dr. Apophis Khalil
• Dysis
• Experiment #19: Ragnar
• First Advisor Ignatia Sarkani
• Hamida
• High Lord Emir Maletshatsi
• Imani Maletshatsi
• Lakshmi
• Lark
• Prime Minister Zumena Hevego
• Prof. Marcella Dunebrook
• Reti
• Savant Three
• Sister Six
• Tatya
• The Charismatic Cahareth
• The Lady of Dread
• Timur
• Zephus

Lark'Hal Updates

Zephus & The Temple. Although the mirage has ended, Zephus remains in the Temple of Lark, helping the people there. He also seems to be trying to find the courage to see his family... he doesn't want to make matters worse for them with everything that just happened. Deucalion is present here, either avoiding or barred from the Palace. While he is not directly under guard, there are more guards than usual present in whatever room he is in. The people here, despite what has occured, still adore Aerope, who is either sitting with her uncle or shaadowing Zephus. Idalia, it seems, has returned to the Palace to support Ignatia.

Denarya & Stephanus. Courtesy of Angelos, Denarya has moved her son to some of the spare rooms at the Dun'Mar warehouse. They are currently forbidden from leaving the City until the whole Palace affair is dealt with. Stephanus (Cahareth) is willing to testify. He has very clear memory lapses corresponding to his worst episodes. He vaguely recalls seeing Denarya in his studio. He vaguely recalls the Palace. He thought he was invited to meet the Queen... she... she was his sponsor, after all? He does recall hearing a voice whisper in his ear before his memory would lapse. And, he recalls that he had a strange aversion to removing the mask.

What Happened in the Throne Room?

1. Ehsaan pulled Imani out of the party because he was unable to forward Imani's message to Emir at the scheduled time. Shortly afterward, there was a commotion from the throne room and Ehsaan spirited his charge away to hide.
2. Zaynaba was speaking with the chef when she heard a commotion and cris. One of the caterers slipped into the door, throwing it closed with a cry of: "The Queen's gone mad". There was a tangible shift in the "vibes" of the Palace. She and the chef helped the other servants bar the doors and moved down to the lower levels.
3. Ignatia was in her office... but is clearly hiding something.
4. Zumena was also working in her office. She was disturbed when her door was kicked in and two air genasi shoved into the room with her. They were left with three vials... the only liquid in the room, but clearly poison. Something was off. A pull... clocks... her head was ringing, but she wouldn't drink it. She had to live for her daughters. For Zephus. The other two suddenly snapped to rigid attention and downed it... as if they had just accepted something.
5. Cahareth was present in his booth in the Throne Room. He has some notion that Phaedra made an announcement and masked figures swarmed in. The Palace was selaed. People were rounded up. There was a deliberate effort to not kill anyone by brute force. She wanted them to do it themselves... when all hope was lost.

In the Wasteland

Emerging from the thick miamsa, you first see the crumbled remnants of what once was a perimeter wall. Shortly after, you note ancient crumbled stones arranged crudely in the outline of homes, stores, and other buildings. The most striking feature, however, is not the ruins of a village or trading center... but the massive silhouette of some monstrous behemoth that lingers just beyond the miasma's haze. By the gaps in the silhouette, it must be long dead... nothing more than bones.

A man stands, perplexed, off the side of the stone road near a broken wagon in the shade of towering, green trees.
"Traveler, could you lend a merchant a hand? If not, fret not, though perchance have you seen two goats?"

From the miasma, you note a series of rings in the ground: bits of carved stone and bones. By the arrangement, was this a camp?

There is definitely a bridge of that nice chasm up ahead!

A flowing river stretches before you. Nearby, you see a small boat. It's old, but it vaguely resembles the scout boats of the Moon Guard. Three cannons rest proud upon it as lightly armored figures move across, calling orders to one another. Are they in a rush to leave? In the distance, smoke rises.

A stone structure emerges from the miasma. Most of it has collapsed and fallen, but bits of a statue remain. A shrine to Elis.

Bones just up from the miasma. As you continue, you see more and more... quadruped creatures with giant horns on their skulls.

Remnants of the Champions

The Last Gatekeeper: From the red dirt, a set of skeletal remains is visible, still somehow bound by scraps of worn down, pitch black leather. The remains have managed to remain upright and braced, unmoving, and frozen in the red-orange haze.
One Last Dance: Amidst the red dirt, a pool of sand sticks out – golden flecks mixed with copper red. An old, rusted double-sided sword emerges from the center.
The Grove's Daughter: The red rock becomes slight darker and softer, like dirt. The path of darker land stretches far off in both directions. A line of dirt crossing the main road. In the center, a withered staff is firmly embedded.
Broken Lyre: The subtle wind produces a sudden, jarring note. A shattered instrument, strings flung about.
Death of Andromeda: Multiple thin silhouettes surround you. It takes a moment for you to realize… that you are walking through a ribcage. Nearby, you see the skull of a great draconic head, the skeleton of a humanoid delicately clutched in its massive clawed hand.
Poisoned Poisoner*: A glint around the neck of a collapsed skeleton catches your eye. You’ve seen the symbol before… Yin-Yang… the symbol of Carmenthia.
Wildshaped Druid: A large skeleton catches your eye. Parts of it resemble that of a cat, other parts a bear, and still others resemble that of a wolf. The large form is wrapped around other humanoids as if attempting to shield them.
As Ordained: Although rusted and covered in a thin layer of grim and dust, a set of armor stands. The metal is the only thing keeping the skeleton upright and with bony fingers clasped around the hilt of a sword.
Fire and Blood*: A patch of scorched ground lies before you with the figure of a massive humanoid skeleton at the center. Rusted metal weapons and brass knuckles linger near the fallen warrior.
Last Sunlight: A humanoid skeleton rests at an odd angle. As you approach, its not the angle… but wings. A metal pendant hangs from around a bony neck… a half-rusted symbol of the sun.

Visions in the City of Fortune

When your vision returns, you are… higher up than you remember. You dance across roof tops, feel your hands moving and strumming, and can hear the music cutting through the sound of chaos and conflict around you. At your periphery, a scrum: darkened armored figures surround a massive man half-encased in a fiery, molten exterior. A few more steps and you look down at them. You strum the lyre. As your hand passes over the strings, a familiar spectral hand mimics yours. It looks different than what you are familiar with… but the feeling of them is unmistakable. The eyes of the armored figures, beneath their helms, go pink and then gold, pausing – some dancing. The molten warrior tears through them, a spectral image of a vaguely female fire elemental mimicking his motions.

“You’re welcome, Prince Elect! Do hurry now, to the Temple, remember? Don’t get too distracted~”.
The massive man fixes you with a scowl and a glare, before surging forward with a terrifying roar.

There is a strong wind on your face and your hands grip firmly onto leather. As your vision clears, you see the long expanse of bronze scales tipped in stars. You feel the sensation of two powerful wings beating. You grip the leather tighter right as your mount rolls, whipping you through the air. You are ready, though. You trust your companion, your friend. You watch the arrows miss entirely. A voice echoes in your mind, vaguely feminine: "There".
As she dives, you lean over, peering past her left shoulder. An injured Elian, careening towards the ground below. You send a weave of red threads, forming into stars as you dive past, catching the Elian – it is not their fate to die yet. As the Elian lands next to you, your mind feels the three arrows pierce her underside. She does not stop. It will take much more to bring her down. You focus on the Elian. The robed arm that mimics yours as you cast a healing spell is familiar – skin composed of stars. As the Elian blinks, the spectral image of a sun-kissed aarakocra nods.
“Well met, Oracle. Perhaps together now we push to the Temple.”
Around you in the sky, multiple Elian archers fall alongside you, five braids drifting behind each of them.

Heavy steps echo around you accompanied by the timely communication of voices and the groans of wood and metal. Oxen haul heavy cannons forward, pulling them through an archway in the city. Smoke drifts in the air all around as multiple dwarven and gnomish figures release and move the oxen, preparing and loading the cannons with impeccable speed and efficiency. Although small in number, they do not balk at the task at hand. Among them stands a dwarven figure donning plate, behind him a spectral figure of a regal, blindfolded dwarf.
“Prepare to fire. On my mark.”
The dwarven man freezes, raising his hands quickly. An arcane rune expands around most of his forces as fire and smoke engulfs them. When the smoke clears, many lay wounded, bleeding, and dead. But not a moment later, a green light passes over them, healing wounds and reviving the dead. An eladrin woman returns her hand to her wooden staff. She stands flanked by druid-like guards. The spectral image of a taller, green-haired dryad stands behind her.
“Life-Giver, well-timed. Perhaps it is best if we pave the way forward to the Temple together.”

The stench of death is not unfamiliar to you as it fills your nostrils. Crouched, you look down at a wounded comrade as the light fades from her eyes. You reach forward – arm covered in dark leathers – to close her eyes forever. As your arm moves, so too does a spectral arm wreathed in shadow. Movement in your peripheral. You’d raised your shield just in time – an arrow lodged in the center. You stand; once free hand now conjuring a sickle. Armored figures approach. You dodge the first attack, bringing the sickle around to pierce through the back of the attacker’s neck. You know each blow is lethal; she guides every strike. The hairs on your neck stand. Too slow. They go to swing… but then choke and collapse, frothing at the mouth. A Yuan-Ti woman stands, the image of a watery being behind her. Bodies lay on the ground all frothing.

“Going to the Temple all alone, Executioner?”
You sense them before they lunge for her, emerging from the Void. The dark hound is quicker, leaping from shadow and ripping into both before they can harm her. You put away the sickle.
“I’m never alone.”

You feel at home. This sensation is familiar. You stand – or perhaps float – in the eye of a sandstorm. Yet as the sands tear through the air, you only hear a song. The beat and rhythm like a guiding beacon to you. Though you cannot see, you know where you are and where you must go. The sands disperse in a brilliant flash of color. You know the steps to this dance and so you fall into them, cutting through enemies one by one. A touch on your wrist, redirecting a strike or the feeling of a hand on your waist. His presence is felt, like a partner in this dance. In the distance, you see more of them flooding out of from a side street. Your comrades have fallen behind. But before you can even think to retreat, a massive creature bursts through a nearby building, showering the approaching troops with debris. A spectral stag stands nearby, oddly unperturbed. The creature is not one you’ve seen, resembling a wolf, bear, and wildcat all at once, tearing through enemies. When the last has fallen and your dance paused, the creature shifts to a shifter man.
“Come now, Muse! Shall we dance to the Temple together?”
With a wolfish grin, the man transforms into a dragon-like shape, adorned with moss and trees. A new dance partner is always welcomed.

The sounds of waves crashing ruptures the silence. As the water withdraws, you hear footsteps, careful and calculated. A poised, regal elven man seems incredibly out of place amidst the chaos unfolding around him – a city on fire, the sounds of metal on metal, and the collapse of stone and history. With poise and flourish, he draws forth a rapier while guards – dressed in deep blue scale mail – swarm around him, engaging with the approaching dark-armored figures. A shadow looms over them as another wave rises and crashes down, choking and screams echoing before silence. The spectral figure of a merfolk woman is hidden within the retreating waves, momentarily behind the elven man. Her warriors, however, seem unharmed… though not unaffected. Some glow a myriad of colors, others move quicker, and a few seem bigger than before. The elven man turns to glance at an approaching, lightly armored warrior bearing colors blue.

“Word from central command. Soyolmaa has rashly begun to push for the Temple. Shall we break the lines for her, my Lord?”
Valdove: “Rashly, you say? Would we have done it any other way? Let us break the lines. Finally, a time where Varoona destroys a different city.”
The elven man waves his hands, capturing the receding sea water. He and his men fall in.

The Void, The Dread King, "Annie" & "Nias"