In Search of... Hoard of the Dragon Queen

RetCon Redux

(Or Fixing this Damn Mess)

Episode 0 – An Ominous Beginning There is a greater darkness than the one we fight. It is the darkness of the soul that has lost its way. The war we fight is not against powers and principalities, it is against chaos and despair. Greater than the death of flesh is the death of hope, the death of dreams. Against this peril we can never surrender.

Now let what is past be prologue…

Each of you slumps back against the nearest wall with a sigh
of relief as the cheers go up from the beleaguered defenders . The aches and pains seem to seep into your
bones as you think of those lost, and the smell of death settles in around you.

You are granted a few moments of respite before the voice of
Governor Nighthill rings out from below calling for discipline, “Hold on men,
we may have driven off that blasted dragon, but our town is aflame and these accursed
raiders are still assaulting and killing our people! Now is the not the time for jubilation, now
is the time to steel ourselves for the hard work that remains ere the light of
day finds us without a village to protect!”

Suddenly there is a cry from the tower, an oddly sweet and acrid
smell, a flash, and then as you lose consciousness, the last thing you hear is
the sound of thunder, at once both near at hand, and yet somehow quite distant,
receding into darkness…

You awake with a start, face down on a hard wooden surface,
the smell of much spilled ale heavy about you.
What happened to the keep, the burning town, the dragon, THE
DRAGON! As you raise your groggy head
you are startled to see you are in a tavern you know well, the Winsome Wench,
in the city of Iriabor. All around you are
unconscious tavern goers, serving maids, and staff. The last thing you recall was laughing and
drinking after a hard day on the road… You
see only a handful of others beginning to rise, including one fellow who is literally
picking himself off the floor as if he had collapsed mid-stride. Everyone else in the tavern appears to be
either deep asleep, or possibly dead.

Though the faces of those who are stirring seem vaguely
familiar, you’re not entirely sure who they might be… but you know them… or
wait, do you? They were with you in the
keep at Greenest, but wait, you’ve never been to Greenest… or have you? As you shake the cobwebs from your head and
look about the room while trying to wake the others at your table, you realize
there is one figure who doesn’t appear to be waking from the stupor you feel
muddling your head. How you missed him
when you first looked around you can’t figure…

The figure stands leaning upon an ornate spear in front of the door
to the place, poised like some dark harbinger of forlorn hope before a cemetery
gate. Clad in dull black leather with shining studs,
and with an even blacker cloak settled about his shoulders, its cowl shuttering
his features from the light, his unseen gaze passes across the room with a
palpable aura of power, silently regarding you, observing, measuring, waiting…
Suddenly a deep voice issues forth from behind the shadows that mask
his visage, with a low almost echoing rumble as if he were speaking to you from
the end of a long tunnel, “You are the hands… come now with me or all you have
seen shall come to pass, exactly as you remember it.”

With that and nothing more he turns, and with a gesture the
door opens before him and he passes beyond it, into the still and silent darkness of

We’ll start next week with you all with your normal package based starting equipment, level 1, at full health, with the same spells you had memorized last session, and deciding whether to follow the figure out the door or not…



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