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Return of the Walking Man Forgotten Realms [3.5]

You and your fellow companions of the Order of Light had tracked the Walking Man across the desert and into the Nethernisian palace that floated as though on a cloud above the Great Dale. The very place tore at your heart, your life force as the desolation sensation all but drifted over you.  The shadows deeper than darkness, your eyesight straining even those with Dark Vision, could only make out certain shapes and things that scurried in the darkness.

The sinking feeling that washed over you was a weight upon your soul. The feeling of loss, the fear that you might fail, fail each other, fail the world that is depending on you.

Dazzling light illuminated the place as your companions burst into action and you follow suit. Allies are ported in through magic, and you know that the wood elves will stay and fight at your side until the bitter end. The contingent of battle ragers wanting nothing but glorious battle, and the Raptors and their saurial kin preparing to meet the worst that has been thrown at them.

Inside the throne room many companions fight against the Walking Man. Blades flashing and magic sizzling rogues in and out of the produced darkness attempting to press the attack with their own abilities. A foe was all but immune to the things that make a hero lucky. The best of critical blows only do the minimum and spells turning back on their caster not even the powerful cleric of Lathander able to turn the creature.

In the Courtyard, others fought the marilith queen. Who wove a dance of death and destruction. Many having to watch as friend and foe dropped at her feet. The creature not caring who she hit she spun in a dance of death. Her abilities to channel in other fiends, not failing her though mages began to work in tandem to keep this ability at bay. Everyone desperately persevering through the onslaught.

The Whistling Darkness weaving between Courtyard and Throne room taking out heroes as it saw fit. Hit and run tactics a powerful thing.

When all seemed lost fiddle music echoed through the palace and the powerful voice of Donodel The Bright halfling bard extraordinaire issued forward boosting morale, helping people focus and clear their minds of the chaos going on around them. This the turning point in the battle the illuminating power of the paladin's bade pushing back darkness, shadow fiend fleeing the potency. The Evoker Mara of the Many Chains along with her powerful ally Ava the Gray Render entered into battle with the marilith. At her side Dhorik Sharpshield the Battle Rager following suit, for glory.

Realizing the mirrorshard that lingerd behind the Walking Man was one of his sources of power several mages targeted it in attempt to dispel its effects and as they did the crystal shattered freeing Ansrlirratil Starwreath Eldritch Knight of Mystal, Hidden Magister and Forgotten Chosen of the first goddess of magic.

With her power the Palace descended to the earth below no longer capable of floating to maintain its connection with another plane. This allow a battle on the front the heroes were capable in.

The combat entered a pitched fury and it ended with the Walking Man backing away from his ruined kingdom. His body riddled with damage. Exploded in a pop but rather then bones as one might expect. The former Solar became burning pages of a book, that turned to ash before your eyes and faded away. Not before the Walking Man called upon his fury all that had been present at the battle felt the burning sensation on their wrist, a simple mark no one would notice unless they were looking extremely closely-having been left on them.

His final words chilling "I will find you." he promised.

The Marilith having been banished or fleeing the scene and the Whistler in Darkness having become powdered by the druidess who rose the land up to smite him.

While the Death toll was sobering, it was still a win.
It's always one of the nightmares, either you are being chased by something that is whistling around you in no direct location. Yet you feel it, the sting of sweat in your eyes, the ache of limbs stretched from running too fast, and the pound of your heart from fear. You know you are being stalked and it never truly fades neither does waking up and not being sure where you are for a second.

The dream has been getting stronger lately.

The mark on your wrist is burning.

You and the Company of the Light have settled in the Great Dale, Hartvale the name of the large village that has sprung up around you, and the other adventurers. You are considered lords and ladies in Myth Drannor, In Silverymoon and this gave you an insurgence of people.

Settling down to heal, and to fix the land. You are family men and women now. Some of you have had children, some of you have just married but really the life of an adventurer still looms, as you swore to each other when the Walking Man returned, you would rise up to combat him and now it seems the time is getting close at hand.