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1.4.10 Audience

Confront the Pact

Opening Monologue

The time for whispers and diplomacy has ended. Veylith has called every elf to the field, and before you now stands the full strength of a people who refuse to be erased. Their banners rise not in ceremony, but in defiance. This battle is not conquest—it is survival. To stand, to prove the elves have the right to exist in this Pact-ruled city, and to force their enemy from genocide to the table of negotiation.

Three commanders lead the hosts of the elves:

  • Aelion Varethil, “Memory of the Deep Root” — scarred veteran, washed-up in the eyes of many, but here he marches at your side. His hands know both the art of war and the saving touch of battle medicine.

  • Theren Silquar, “Crown of Quiet Song” — heir of arcane tradition, his family’s lore pressed into a single bead of spellstoring, ready to turn the tide of battle.

  • Vaelen Duskthorn, “Watcher Beneath the Branch” — guardian of the old faith, whose loyal Silaen Valar devotee has sworn an oath to die for this cause if need be.

And above them all stands Veylith Lorarion—diplomat, leader, and voice of his people. His presence steels the ranks, binding them with hope, granting every warrior strength enough to stand against despair.

Before you looms the Pact’s fortress, an iron bulwark against freedom. Its walls will not fall easily, and the elves’ strength is not infinite. Their forces are split into three strikes—each led by one of these commanders. You may lend your might to whichever you choose, but know this: every victory buys hope, and every failure feeds the Pact’s conviction that the elves should be no more.

Tonight, the choice is yours. The fate of a people hangs in the balance.

Scene 1

Opening gambit

Support the forces to take the distribution centre and speak with the pact leaders.

Silaen Valar

Magisters

Soldiers

Scene 2

A Rumbling from below

The ground beneath your feet shudders, a low, bone-deep rumble rolling up from the earth’s heart. At first it is distant—then suddenly it grips you. Your knees buckle as an unseen force drags you downward, pulling at your very marrow. Weapons feel impossibly heavy, your limbs straining just to rise, and across the battlefield you see even your enemies stagger and sink, all caught in the same unnatural pull.

Then—release. A thunderclap from beneath the soil, followed by a deafening blast. The battlefield erupts as the earth itself is torn skyward in a geyser of rock and dirt. From the ragged wound in the world, noxious vapors spill—sickly green and lurid purple, burning the air and stinging the eyes.

And then—movement. Claws, jagged and too long, gouge their way out of the rupture. A glistening tongue, serpentine and slick, writhes into the open air. Shapes emerge, grotesque beyond reason—bodies half-formed, twisted, seething with deformity, dripping with ichor. They drag themselves free from the pit, creatures born of nightmare, clawing their way up from Hel itself.

Hammerfall is no longer just a battlefield—it is a gate to something far worse.

Session Notes

Just scribble anything down here, its important to record ending point or if there is any hooks or decisions as we need to reference that next session.