(Session 02) Red Hand of Doom (Dnd 3.5)

(Session 02) Red Hand of Doom (Dnd 3.5)

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The Wyrmsmoke Mountains shook with the thunder of ten thousand screaming hobgoblin soldiers. From the phalanx emerged a single champion. One by one the tribes fell silent as the warlord rose up, red scales gleaming along his shoulders, horns swept back from his head. A hundred bright yellow banners stood beneath him, each marked with a great red hand. He stood upon a precipice and raised his arms. “I am Azarr Kul, Son of the Dragon!” the warlord bellowed. “Hear me! Tomorrow we march to war!”

Red Hand of Doom is a Dungeons & Dragons adventure designed for characters of levels 6—12. Confronted with the relentless advance of Azurr Kul’s horde, the characters must undertake vital missions to influence the outcome of the war. Can they shatter the armies of the enemy, or will Azarr Kul’s dreams rain destruction upon the human lands?

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Campaign Summary: The Rise and Fall of Frostfall
An Adventure path, where the heroes would take on the survival on a small islands - the remote fog-isles, which is commonly used to send high profile criminals from Waterdeep into permanent exile. No-one has yet returned from these islands. However, it soon becomes clear that the heroes, despite their amnesia, do not seem to be criminal at all, the opposite is true.
What they uncover - on their way to survival - is much, much bigger than just their fight to stay alive, An ancient evil spins an intrigue, which can be world changing and shift the forgotten realms as we know them into chaos. (Level 1- 20, really long term campaign, got a lot of material there)

Teaser:
The perspective slowly clears. You find yourself within the mystical world of the forgotten realms. Merely one hundred years ago, a memorable fight between two arch-mages turned some of the small islands, merely a couple hundred miles away from the swordcoast into a strange, alien terrain.
Within the epic conflict, the island of Nymm - the Isle of Fog as it is known among the common townsfolk - has changed. The final conflict between the arch-mages seemingly drew upon the power of the land itself and a mighty spell has changed the once beautiful nature of these islands into a remote wasteland, consisting of nothing but ashen ground, hardened wood and unnatural wilderness.
It is here, within this tundra, that exiles from Waterdeep are being cast out. As a more "merciful" exile compared to their awaiting death sentences. The fog-isle however is a tricky one, since none ever returned. An impenetrable wall of fog surrounds the island, shutting it off from all directions. Every attempt to sail towards the island so far resulted in vanishing ships or even worse.
As you awake on a massive, cold stone floor, your head hurts. The red shimmering lines of power run through the floor and seem to feed energy into three massive pylons. If you wouldn't know any better, you would guess that you are standing on magical runes or symbols, which are carved into the ground.
The surrounding landscape appears to be unreal. Ashen dust, fine but yet distinctive, covers the area around the stone-circle. Your vision is hampered by an almost white fog that surrounds the area. You merely can spot single brushes without leaves, that just consist of thorns and vines. It is now that you almost start to realize that you can barely move at all. Your limps begin slowly to freeze as the arctic temperature tears upon your body and your rags provide not enough shelter to withstand the cold for long.
You notice that you are not alone in this stone circle. You are surrounded by further beings, who seem to awake out of a similar slumber. Dizzy and unsure about the situation, all of you notice a studded halfling, almost dwarfen in his statue, who is wrapped in a warm cape - made of thick fur.
Despite your best attempt, you cannot remember - not about the last days and also not about the past years. Where there was memory, it seems as there is only empty coldness.
With a smooth gesture, the halfling throws a mantle into your direction and says in a deep, slow voice:
"Welcome to Nymm, follow me if you don't want to freeze to death." With these words, he vanishes into the thick fog.