To Slay The Last Dragon

To Slay the Last Dragon - Notes and Prologue

After some work-related delays, I’m moving forward with my D&D 5th Edition mini-campaign, “To Slay the Last Dragon.”

I’m looking for 4-6 regular PCs; occasional guest stars are possible. No Dragonborn or Tiefling PCs; “Variant Humans” (the ones that start with a Feat) are okay (we’ll be using the optional Feat rules). See the original email below for other character-creation details. All PCs are assumed to be from the same general area (around the villages of Hengistbury and Thornbury in the County of Holdenshire). I’ll be using the Greyhawk pantheon, for that “old-school” feel.

I’m aiming for one session a month, though two shorter sessions might be doable. The regular venue is expected to be Shrewsbury, though I’m open to other offers. I could start as soon as mid-July.

In keeping with my traditional syncretic DMing M.O. (and shortage of prep time), I’ll be mashing various published sources together, stewing them in my brain-juices, and animating them into a Frankensteinian creation through the lightning of my will. As usual. If you’ve seen “To Slay a Dragon” (a Pathfinder mini-campaign Kickstarted by ENworld), or “The Lost Mines of Phandelver” (the adventure booklet from the D&D 5E Starter Set), some things may look familiar. I trust you not to use your knowledge for evil.

I’ve currently received 2 1/2 character sheets:
  • Squire Madogan, Male Human Noble Wizard (Andrew)
  • Credia, Male Human Hermit Monk (John)
  • Unnamed Male Dwarf Cleric of Olidammara (JT, partial paper sheet left in my PHB)

And now, a prologue of sorts:

Formerly known as ‘The Beaming Hearth’ (it’s a long story), The Bleeding Heart Tavern forms the social hub of Hengistbury. At any given moment during its open hours at least a half dozen local residents can be found enjoying the fine offerings as served by Meridith Jones. The Tavern has a somewhat unusual arrangement with the local populace. Lord and Lady Pemberton own the tavern, but regularly appoint individual members of the community to run the bar on a weekly, rotating basis. Typically this passes through more established members of the community, such as Stefan the Baker and Rorus Klain, the blacksmith. Those who run the tavern are allowed to keep a percentage of that week’s profits to offset their losses from their regular business during the week. Sometimes this duty is rotated through the less fortunate members of the area if they are in need. Lord and Lady Pemberton are not so foolish as to allow the more unsavoury members of the community to have this opportunity.

Speaking of whom, Three-Finger Jake is back in town, and the travelling bard is waxing historical as the blood-red moon rises:

A thousand years ago, the world was once… more.

Before the Day of Flame, when the moon was still silver and the stars still shone, great kingdoms divided the land between them, waging wars of might and magic. In their arrogance, they thought themselves Masters of All… even the Dragons.

Aye, there were Dragons aplenty in those days, spanning every shade of the rainbow and every metal of the earth. One mighty empire thought to bend the chromatic Dragons to their will, to use them as weapons of war. In self-defense, its enemies called on the metallic Dragons for succor. But when Dragons fight, the land itself loses. Crops burned, castles crumbled, the very earth split asunder and unearthed ancient evils. All seemed lost.

Fortunately, there were also heroes in those days, men of great mettle and iron will. They sought out primordial powers, and used them to cast the Dragons out, beyond the Walls of the World, never to return. The forces that were unleashed overthrew the remnants of the warring kingdoms, and unmade much else besides, even the heroes themselves; but they died knowing that they had triumphed, and that the world had seen the last of Dragons.

Sadly, they missed an egg, crimson as the moon; and after long years, it hatched. Hence, Cirothe! Behold, I say her name and without fear, though she is fearsome beyond compare; for the wise know that only her true, hidden name has power, and none but she knows it, or may say it and live. Still, mighty as she is, she reigns alone in far-off Skull Mountain, with no comfort for her body save her massive hoard; for she is the last of her kind. Someday she too will die, and those long-lost heroes will finally rest easy.

Let’s all drink to that happy day!

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