Our story so far...
CHAPTER ONE:
The festival of Armasse officially began at noon on the 16th of Arodus with the blessing of the festival by Lord Hulrun, ruler of Kenabres, himself. The crowd, gathered in Clydwell Plaza, quieted as the aged inquisitor took the stage, clad in shining, resplendent armor. He cleared his throat and, just as he was about to speak, a bright light shone from the west, as if the sun were rising from the wrong direction. A moment later, the sound of a thunderous explosion ripped through the air and earth, along with a violent tremor. To the west, the fortress known as the Kite—the location of Kenabres’s wardstone—had vanished. In its place, a brilliant plume of red fire, lightning, and smoke erupted into the heavens!
Above the city, in a sudden burst of the blackest smoke, another form appeared--as nightmarish as the dragon was breathtaking. A humanoid shape three times the size of any man, with skin coated in fire and lightning, gripped a flaming sword and whip. The creature’s identity was immediately obvious: Khorramzadeh, the Storm King of the Worldwound, had come to Kenabres!
Just as the fear started to wash across the crowd, a powerful roar accompanied a welcome sight: Kenabres’s greatest guardian, the ancient silver dragon Terendelev, who had until that moment been attending the opening ceremony disguised as a human, had launched herself into the air, transforming instantly into a shimmering, scaled symbol of beauty and goodness! The dragon and the balor lord clashed above while on the ground
gates and
portals erupted from below the earth as demons exploded into the streets.
A screeching roar of fury and pain yanked your eyes skyward again. Khorramzadeh, Storm King of the Worldwound, cut deep into Terendelev’s body, and crashed down into her chest. A few more blows, and the titanic duo spiraled downward toward the crowd...
The sight of the dragon smashing into the facade of the Cathedral of St. Clydwell is one no witness would ever forget, but even now you remember that at that moment, a titanic demon erupted at the far end of the plaza, reducing several buildings to ruins as it smashed into this world. The rift it created cracked like splintered wood across the plaza, and this time there was no escape—it opened below the feet of the crowd, below your feet, and you felt the world tilt and fall, sliding away into darkness.
Yet, even as hundreds fell, the dragon--broken herself amongst the shattered Cathedral, noticed the plight of "her" citizens. Though she saw death standing over her, she seized this final chance to save the souls she could, if only a handful. A bleeding talon stretched out toward the crowd, toward you. Arcane words tumbled forth from the dragon's blood-speckled maw, and--- just as gravity yanked you into the abyss--- you felt her magic take hold of you, slowing your plummet into the darkness as if you were mere feathers falling into a pit. The last thing you saw of the
Fall of Kenabres was Khorramzadeh drifting above the ancient silver dragon, his sword lashing out and cleaving full through her neck. As her severed head fell, as you floated slowly downwards amidst the screams of others falling to their deaths amidst the rubble, the rift above you suddenly filled with stone and slammed shut. The light of the world above was gone.