Session 1 - Dueling, Sailing, Climbing, and Battling

Rites of passage are always filled with mysticism and wonder for the uninitiated. This trepidation was further enforced by demeanor of the hoary, cryptic shaman who lurked before the hopefuls. The goblin enjoyed the discomfort that the jungle's wet heat added to the troupe's nerves as he paced, muttering, atop the massive Ritual Stone. Bathed in moonlight, Flaygh, the Oracle raised his arms and regarded the warriors with a wicked grin.

"It seems as though your tribes think you worthy of ascension, young ones." The goblin snickered. "As you well know, your predecessors failed and never returned to our lands. With this knowledge, I hope you have prepared yourselves properly."

With grace that defied his limp, Flaygh hopped off of the cyclopean stone and hobbled towards the five young strangers. "I think that I will take your measure, children. If any of you were unworthy, you would damn your comrades. Survival would be difficult for the strong. You have to be more than strong." He scratched at his chin for a bit while sizing them up. "You, the... uh. Orc, is it? No, Half-Orc. You and the grey Gnoll, I want you to fight with all your strength." He stepped back and deliberated with himself. "The two armored ones, yes, hobgoblins. You two fight. Lastly? The Longtooth and the red Gnoll. You two. Give yourselves room, now." He chuckled. "Let's see if you have the brutality needed to be worthy of your company."

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Within moments, the Oracle bathed the warriors in a the rejuvinating power of his magic and commanded them to cease fighting. The savage hopefuls still flared with battle, twitching eagerly to resume the fight, snarling and flexing their muscles against the viscous magic. "Very good, children! Very good. Now calm yourselves and know your task." He released the magic suddenly, nearly causing the young ones to stumble into their former opponents.

When he was satisfied that all attention was his, Flaygh elaborated. "The Lightning Scar, you know the place, I assume? There are creatures there unlike any other. Where normally a heart resides, one kind of creature carries a powerful jewel. If you wish to be revered among your brethren, you will return with five of these jewels." He grinned. "Or... you could be like the last of your brothers and never return at all."

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For five nights, they sailed along the rocky coast of their forgotten lands, braving harsh tide and jagged rock. They bested the sea as though her tortuous ravings were beneath their notice and paddled the boat without murmur or complaint when she tired. As the sun rose on the sixth day, the rocky shore opened to a great wall of obsidion, topped by a cacophonous, roiling storm. They knew there would be no beach, nowhere to make berth, so they anchored their boat in the open sea and swam to the wall. While swimming, the Shifter pointed the easiest route up the sheer face to the rest of the group.

The climb proved absurdly difficult, nearly costing Toryn, the red Gnoll, his life. Ramfell, the Half-Orc, swiftly caught him and returned him to the wall quickly enough for the troupe to crest the summit before nightfall. The warriors were rewarded with the sight of an unfathomably large crater, wherein gargantuan metal shards twisted up from the ground as though rent as mere shavings from an impossible construction. The wind billowed dust so thickly that the horizon had no meaning. Seeing no more than 300 yards ahead, the warriors slid down into the crater and began their quest towards is roiling center.


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After several hours of walking and charting their progress on a crude map against the darkening landscape of twisted metal abberations, the Shifter spied a series of sharp and consistent lights beyond the metallic glinting of the swirling dust. The Gnolls, being the fastest and stealthiest among the group, broke off to investigate. As they came within 50 yards of the 5 lights, the curiosities suddenly ceased moving, as though spotting the two. The Gnolls stood, curious, before the lights erupted with motion, streaking towards the two scouts at a meteoric pace. Valuing caution, Ashpaw, the greyer of the two, signalled for them to run.

As they bolted towards their advancing party, the lights behind them began to pull the strange dust into their wake, billowing it behind them like long curtains of black and silver. The closer the lights became, the more the dust began to swirl around the lights themselves, pooling and rolling into shapes until solidifying into the vestiges of limbs, weapons, and roaring faces. Crying into the darkened sky, the warriors met the charge of the lightspawn like a hammer, driving them immediately to a standstill. There were five in all, diverse, humanoid shapes. Ramfell and Gunjir, the Hobgoblin, leapt forward, bringing their axes into wide arcs, attempting to overwhelm the creatures. The two lightspawn with weapons charged to the front, protecting the less substantial of their group from the marauding steel of the warriors.

The humanoids at the rear of the group began warping the surrounding dust to their will, shaping it into powerful, explosive projectiles which flew, unhindered through their own numbers into the savage young warriors. Surprised, but uncowed by the nature of their attackers, Minas, the shifter, Ramfell, and Gunjir maneuvered immediately into positions which exposed the weakest of their opponents to the ravenous attacks of Ashpaw and Torym, the Gnolls. Overwhelmed by the fury displayed by the young pugilists, the first among the lightspawn's number fell to Ramfell's axe with a haunting yell before erupting with light and dissolving into the wind. Immediately seeing opportunity, Minas drove his spear into the creature which had been behind the fallen lightspawn and dragged it, screaming, between Gunjir and Ashpaw. Gunjir swung his axe, forcing the lightspawn to back into Ashpaw, who furiously dismantled its core so quickly, he nearly mistook Gunjir for another attacker.

Now, with avenues of attack cleared, Torym notched his gargantuan longbow and dispatched the two least substantial, yet most troublesome, attackers. The remaining, unarmed, lightspawn, seemingly desperate, drove forward into the heart of the group, ducking arrows, axes, sword and spear to clap his hands over his head and drive them into the earth, creating a massive shockwave which surprised the virile warriors and drove them from him. Unaffected by the attack, due to his distance, Tarkrim leapt over the blast and brought his glaive low. The blow which would have decapitated the creature, disappointed Tarkrim as the corporeal dust evaporated with a scream on his weapon.

The warriors, confused by the nature of this place and its inhabitants, walked to the nearest, skyscraping hulk to rest and discuss their next course of action.