I cannot forget what we saw on our return to the Nentir Vale, I am sure the memory of that night haunts us all. Our world was in ashes. Fire had swept the land, leaving nothing in its wake but shadow and smoke. The sky was a sickening ashen grey, lit only flashes of foreboding yellow lightning. In the east, where Fallcrest had once stood, was a great charred crater now ringed by a grim palisade of stacked corpses. There was no life left in this land. The trees and grass that once so vibrantly filled the valley were gone, replaced with soot and mass graves. Where once were animals, now only undeath could be found. From our camp near the summit of Mount Khel, we could see armies of the restless dead it seemed from that distance as though the hosts were swarms of glistening maggots. Fire fell from the sky and the wails of the undead echoed across putrid fields. None of us slept that night.
On the 75th day of Harvest, in the year of the Broken Wheel. Atop Mt. Khel. Castor Frost, Paladin in service of the Raven Queen.
The earth shakes now, almost every hour. At these times we can see Thunderspire erupting. See is perhaps an inadequate word for this event as its eruption throws us all to the ground with titanic tremors and rends our minds with it’s mighty roar. The sky grows bright with the glow of the mountain’s molten discharge. The magma, we soon found out, was the least of our worries, for we have noticed that each explosion brings scores of demons pouring out of the volcano’s mouth. Hell has come our world. The Queen sent an angelic messenger to our camp, it’s presence a reminder of the world that once was. Our hearts sank as the angel spoke to us of how Orcus, the Demon Prince of the undead had joined Vecna, the God of undeath and secrets, in an unholy covenant to destroy the Goddess of Fate. It seemed that the Abyss too had risen against the Raven Queen.
The 83rd day of Harvest in the year of the Broken Wheel. Atop Mt. Khel. Castor Frost, Paladin in service of the Raven Queen.