Check this thread from time to time, we IMMs are going to be posting
global echos as they relate to IMM run quests. It will be a way for
people to keep track of what's going on in the quest front, even if
they aren't currently on CF.

Within the darkness of the Manse, Eshval looks into the blackness that is Her heart.

Laughing softly to Herself at events and occurances only She would understand or find amusing...

She removes the meat and trappings of Her flesh, revelling in the passion and truths of the Nightborn.

A burning, draining sensation fills your mind, as a vision slowly appears.

A dim light shines through the window of the local pub.

Locals gather to discuss all manner of events, mostly those out of the ordinary.

Tales and rumors spark within the tavern of the awakening of magi who claim affiliation with some sort of Consortium of the Eldritch...

..and of their approaching like-minded adventurers with opportunities of promise and magical rebirth.

Conversation of the tales quickly turn to discussion of the requisition of the next ale, and the sowing of the coming harvest.

Such complex and exciting times are lost on the simplest of folk.

Slowly, the strange visions fade, leaving you with a tingling feeling, running down your spine.

Quests/interactions/events have been running for about 3 realtime weeks now. In order to make future events more accessable to characters that haven't yet been involved and somewhat mitigate the tendency of some players to delete and take quest knowledge forever with them to their graves, I'm going to declare the following things "common knowledge" about current events that any character could have picked up. Obviously, any of the many PCs involved in some way will still know many things that aren't on this list, so seeking information IC is still recommended for interested parties.

A group of mages styling themselves the Eldritch Consortium has been conducting arcane research. They are known to have hired many adventurers for a variety of errands, generally paying them with magical rewards rather than coin. Known members of the Consortium include:

Destanin, one of its founders, a male human mage professing a special interest in the ancient magics of Order,

Festpath, its other founder, a male human mage professing a special interest in the ancient magics of Chaos,

Myshrai Ar'tinuilin, a benevolent male elven transmuter,

Simshipple Fligliveryshins, a portly female gnome invoker, and

Ssriel Llibani, an unbalanced male dark-elven necromancer.


One of the Consortium's recent acquisitions was an initially-incomprehensible ancient tome. Its secret contents have, at last, been deciphered, and the Consortium and their allies begin to follow where it leads...

The common knowledge part I mean.

Recently, Myshrai Ar'tinuilin asked several members of the Fortress of Light for aid in locating a healer of some infamy. This healer is known to travel the realm, helping where she can, creating what can only be described as miracles. Myshrai had something quite particular that he needed her aid with, and after some discussion and negotiation with the Fortress, she agreed to help. The following is a rumor of what happened there after:

A figure stands upon the cliffs facing the Sea of Despair. The setting sun illuminates her figure, decorating her with an unearthly beauty and flaring her hair red-gold.

She stands perfectly still for several long moments, watching the roiling clouds and restless waves.

She studies the pattern formed by the striking lightning bolts, moving forward so that the tips of her toes hang off the cliff edge.

The wind whips around her figure, a force pulling at her, trying to tear her from her stance.

She raises one hand to the clouds, clenches it and brings it to her heart, her eyes glowing with an uncanny magic.

The dark clouds shake suddenly, a violent tremor passing through them.

The lightning arcs shooting down from the sky above suddenly curve, striking down and then up in an arc through the clouds rather than hitting the Sea itself.

The wind begins to howl in anger as the magic corrupting this place shifts and is changed by an unnatural force.

They tear at the figure, buffeting her angrily, whipping her hair around her.

She raises her free hand, holding it in a powerful halting gesture to the winds, and they, too, seem to calm to her bidding.

The waves calm, though they are still hit by the occasional bolt, it seems as though most of the energy has been inverted to be kept to the clouds.

Two glittering teardrops of pure sapphire magic fall from the woman's glowing eyes, and the uncanny fades from her gaze, running in a track down her cheek.

Bathed in twilight blue and nearly-black violet, her hair like molten gold down her back, the figure atop the cliff finally steps back, lowering her hands.

Her knees buckle, and it seems simply through an act of will that she does not fall.

She turns and walks from the cliff slowly, her back straight, and disappears into the night.

Whispers murmur through taverns, streets, and even into the wild places, speaking of the Eldritch Consortium and its mystical meddlings.

Some speak of an ancient tome they have obtained and deciphered, and its hints of something buried deep beneath a hoary, lightningstruck sea.

Others speak of an elite group of miners rescued from the dangerous Underside of Thera to complete an important mission for the Consortium.

Still others speak of the storms over the Sea of Despair calming for the first time anyone can remember, and the witch-woman who tamed sea and sky.

More whispers strain of strange plants floating in the sea's waters, things never before seen by fisherman, pirate, or sailor.

They speak of a trail blazed through the foothills northwest of Galadon by a wake of necromancy, and how supplies now move to the Sea through the South Daerien Settlement and Dagdan.

And no whispers need be murmured of the mystical island which now floats above the surface of the Sea, its massive weight somehow borne by a tiny orb.

And now, the whispers still, and the sound of a pickaxe striking stone on the hard sea floor seems to ring through land, sea, and air - a beckoning call to both the curious and the wary.

A mysterious disease has begun to run through the people of Thera like wildfire... at least, some of them...

cecho bcyan On a crystalline island floating above the surface of the Sea of Despair, a lithe blue-robed elf begins an arcane incantation.

Striding confidently to the western edge of the mystic island, he extends both hands into the wind.

In one hand, he holds a tiny, flawless glass tube. In the other, he clasps a vial filled with a liquid which shimmers in the moonlight.

Deftly opening the vial with the same hand that holds it, the elf sprinkles a few drops of the fluid onto the glass tube before replacing the stopper and stowing the vial.

Never ceasing his sorcerous chanting, he pulls a pouch of black sand from within his robes.

As the energies of his spell reach their crescendo, he scatters some of the sands into the turbulent waters of the black Sea.

Completing the ritual, the elf mage raises the glass cylinder to the angry skies in triumph, as it is answered by a roar and churning within the depths of the Sea...

Rumors spread throughout the lands of a demon on the loose.

It fought its way into the Village of Battle and slew the Destructor.

Some even say, the great weapon of mastery was damaged and destroyed..
with it, the spirit of the Village.

The distant sound of rhythmic chanting can be heard throughout the darker wildlands.



In the darkness of the oldest forest, whose place is lost in time and to memory, the Jagad stirs uneasily in Her dark and bloody sleep.



Examining the Refugee, the ancient spirit finds the blood its members has grown thin and weak.



Still, there may be some hope...

Deep from within the bowels of Thera, a tremor is created that causes everything around you to vibrate.

A loud crack reverberates through the air as if an entire forest of trees were cracked simultaneously.

"There is power here.", booms a deep, wet voice. "It will be mine."

"Come to me, my minions!", calls the booming voice.

All over Thera, flocks of ravens and crows head towards the southern desert skies.

"I can smell the axe dripping with the souls of the weak. Find it."

Like a plague, the sky turns black with ravens and crows flying in organized flocks in all directions of Thera.

A streak of lightning cuts across the sky followed by a thunderous roar.

An elven maiden looks up at the sky and whispers, "The bolt of Uller? If that ancient stirs, there is an abomination in Thera. The stories must be true."

A tall Voralian knight looks down at his desk and states, "I will leave this missive for the Commander. I must leave for the hunt of the axe now."

A flock of ravens begin to circle in Eastern Thera and the bolt of Uller strikes them dead center.

Black feathers fall from the sky, singed and burning.

"If that fool gathers the souls, it could create a disturbance in our portals.", mutters a raspy voice.

"Although, if we can gather it... Cabdru was a good ally? If he would have left the portal in Maethian...", the voice continues to itself.


Meanwhile, elsewhere in Thera...


"That axe belongs to the Empire! Whether he liked it or not, he was a citizen of Thera and OWES his allegiance to us!"

Imperial spies silently slip into the search for the axe with their eyes watching the movements of the ravens.

Somewhere over the Imperials Lands, voices can be heard dripping down from the heavens.

"What are my priests supposed to do with all of this...crap?", grates a frustrated voice.

"The lazy sects want the touch of my divines, yet they bring nothing of use to them."

"The lazy sects? You mean the blades, don't you?", bellows a forceful voice.

"You two can argue all you want. The fact of the matter is that the shadow cannot fence everything that is coming in. It is a burden.", whispers a shadowy voice.

"Well, if the blades could tell the difference between worthless goods and things of value..."

"If the divine weren't so busy with their heads up your ass..."

"Why don't the two of you think with your heads instead of your prides for a moment?", rages a deep voice.

"Make them all gather what is needed instead of what isn't needed anymore."

"Oh, this is rich..."

Distant rumors speak of crop losses in the fields due to unknown causes. Leaders suggest limiting the amount of grains and fruit to wine and beer makers until new sources can be found.

Bartenders, winemakers and innkeepers threaten to boycott all sales of alcohol in protest.

In the great holy place of the gods, the sounds of a great feast can be heard throughout Thera.

It is well known that occassionally the gods have these feasts to brag about their followers and the strength of their religions.

Truth be told, it is also a time for allies to meet and for enemies to try to gain an edge.

It is well known that the foods of the gods are the most tasty of all, but each of the gods enjoy different things.

Amaranthe and her berries, Ordasen and his venison, Thrakburzug and his elves, Innis and his booze, Arvam and his tarts...all quite unique.

But, there is one god who has the worst fetish for food of all...Grurk and his damnable eggs.

Eggs are tasty...true...but, the quantity that he eats has a terrible after affect.

It was at this time that the Imp, Lyristeon, while chewing on a water nymph, saw Grurk lining up his eggs for a gorging like none before.

"Heeyy Gruurk! Yyoouu aangryy baastaard! Yyoouu shoouuld coomee ooveer toooo thee fuun siidee wiith mee foor aawhiilee!", slurs the Imp.

"You are lucky we are in the hall, Imp. I would love to find you outside of it just so I could cleave you in two!", shouts the Lord of Anger whose eyes widen as the Imp stumbles closer.

"Noow, noow Mr. Aangryy Paants. Leet's noot geet aall buuncheed uup in the sooft parts...WHOOOOOAAAAAAAH!", stutters the Imp as he "trips" over his own feet right onto the table where Grurk sits.

"MY EGGS!!!!", hollers the Angry Lord, Grurk as the eggs fall from the heavens to scatter all over Thera.

"Oops.", utters the Imp as a cacophony of gods laugh hysterically at the sight.

Name, followed by the number of eggs found - then their approximate award.

Rodhek (6): Quest spell, Extra form

Krolthan (5): Quest spell, 3 trains

Kunitsin (3): Quest spell, 3 trains

Aeria (3): 3 points of con and a quest spell

Zherkalt (2): 1 train

Zulgoroth (2): Deleted, in dormancy.

Jatleyo (1): 1 train

Ichvaysik (1): 1 train

Dunlin (1): Given Quest Spell (It's good to be my follower)

Hizznr (1): 1 train

Nreisshe (1): Got an upgrade to her appearance.

Saroiya (1): 2 points of con.

Inderah (1): 1 train.


In case anyone is wondering, (and I know you are) quality of rewards
were also based on roles and quality of roleplay- not just for number
of eggs found.

Hope everyone enjoyed!


G.


ps- if your name is listed above, and you haven't gotten your reward
yet, send up a polite prayer, and someone might be able to take care
of you. Thanks!

An invasion of rats at the Inn of the Eternal Star turned ugly as Soul Children flooded the Inn with death, plague and disease.

As the Soul Children possess the bouncers at the Inn, the battle turned very messy as the bouncers turned on the Heralds.

Even turning the cute bunny to darkness, the Soul Children pressed the attack.

Eventually a hag entered in the darkness, striking down the valiant Heralds and their allies.

As her corpse was felled, quiet reigned over the Inn...for now.

But within the Darkness, there was yet a card to play.

A final attack by a great hound formed of shadows and smoke is defeated in spite of a surprise attack by minions of the Refuge.