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World Campaign

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The North supports a grand and epic campaign for players to participate in if they so choose. The storyline for this campaign begins as outlined below and is continued on the FRTN forums.



Korryn leaned on his scythe and gazed out across the golden field before him. “1372 DR, The Year of Wild Magic was going to be a fine year indeed,” he surmised, weighing up the harvest that the crop before him would yield. Beyond the sea of wheat, his wife sat hunched under the porch, busily scrubbing the dirt from last weeks overalls while a cradle held their infant son – destined to take his place on the farm in the years to come. He threw her a casual wave, then returned to the long slashing strokes of the harvest. Life in Tilverton was good.

Yet as the blade swept its next arc he was suddenly overcome with a sense of dread. The air hung still and the regular choir of songbirds was silent. A quick glance to his home barely caught a glimpse of everything he held dear when the blast hit. But it was not a fiery inferno or a frigid wind; rather, an eerie blackness as if darkness itself had gained substance. The wave spread like a ripple on a pond across the land.

Lying in the field, Korryn’s head swam. At the edge of his consciousness images coalesced of stars and suns, great spirals of light and veils, curtains of light that hung between the stars. It was as if all the knowledge that had ever been known or was yet to be discovered was his to understand. As he staggered to his feet the last of his memories faded and he stared at the inky wall that now lay between him and where the homestead once stood. Oblivious to his own tragic loss he stared in awe at the wall before him, until the sound of galloping hooves broke his reverie.

“You there! Halt!” boomed a voice from behind. Korryn stood still, already fully aware of the three Cormyrian riders levelling their lances at his back. “Explain yourself! What has happened here?” came the voice again. Fortunately Korryn was a gentle man who avoided confrontation. Rather than face the riders, he simply wished he were somewhere safe.

Korryn looked around at the strange city suddenly around him. The busy throng of the marketplace carried in the air. Silverymoon, he somehow knew, though he had never seen the Gem of the North before. Just as the faint memory of his wife and child re-surfaced in his mind, his sanity slipped from him.

Around the Realms confusion spread, for the wave of darkness carried an amnesia-like effect and many people staggered in confusion, though this soon passed as most of those stricken regained their memories in due time.

Meanwhile, far to the east in the parched sands of Anauroch, the City of Shade had returned.


Constellation of the Sword

A dominant feature of the Northern sky, the constellation of the Sword contains eight of the brightest stars in this region. Spanning two hand lengths, this feature is visible in all seasons and welcomed sight for any navigator. Common mythology describes the sword as “Mortal Strike”, the longsword wielded by Oghma, God of knowledge and invention. Ironically Elven legend dating from the Realm of Keltormir identifies the blade as “Sahandrian”, the mighty longsword of the chief Elven deity Corellon Larethian.

Whether the Elves can truly lay claim to this constellation might now be in doubt. A cryptic tome, recently falling into my possession, suggests a more ancient race than the elves charted this region of the night sky. Strangely, positions of the surrounding stars appear vastly different than they do today, while the eight brightest stars are recorded as not having moved over this period.

--Cambrizym of Candlekeep, Sage Pursuivant

The Tale of the Sword

(as told by Korryn of Tilverton)

Gather ye ‘round, I’ve a story to tell,
from a time long before ours.
Of Gods and their greed, of fair and foul deeds,
and of a Sword forged from the stars.

My tale begins before time was time,
in a cosmos other than this.
Where’n the heavens above, two Brothers did rule,
in truth, harmony and bliss.

To bind their rule a Sword they did forge,
from all the colors of light.
Born from the Stars, it served to all,
as symbol of righteous and right.

But as ages did past, discord did rise,
between the two divine Brothers.
When worship to one who toiled so hard,
far outweighed the others.

And in a moment of rage, a moment of zeal,
the Sword was took from its place.
Then driven by fate, and one Brother’s hate,
into the others fair face.

But the Sword did not strike, nor did it smite,
when used against one of it’s own.
Instead it did shatter, exploding in light,
destroying all that was known.

And from the gray dust of all that had been,
our universe did come to be.
So late at night, when the stars shine bright,
falling shards from that Sword ye’ll still see…