Missing Image

Display image here.


Sarl Lashlock, for all intents and purposes, was born somewhere around the age of 30. The first thing he's tell you he remembers, if you can get it out of him, is waking up, his clothes charred, pastel Tiefling skin cracked and red, under a pile of rubble. He lay there for days, unable to move. He'd try to force some of the stone and wood around him around, but he wasn't built for muscling his way around, especially not out of a situation like this.

At some point, he gave up, and simply started to lock himself inside his head, awaiting to die. This became a bit concerning though rather quickly. You see, Sarl couldn't remember who he was. All he could remember is waking up in near darkness, surrounded by rubble. Frightened by this realization, he started to push again. But the cage he now found himself in wouldn't move. He tried harder and harder, until at some point, something inside him erupted.

Suddenly, energy flowed in all directions around him with concussive force. Sarl didn't hear anything but himself grunting one minute, and the next, just a ringing in his ears. One minute he was looking at a dimply lit piece of stone, the only light coming through a crack somewhere high above, only providing an ounce of light after bouncing around inside whatever was above. The next moment, he couldn't see anything, his vision filled with white, couldn't feel anything, and was gasping for air. The explosive forces that came out of him had blinded him from sensing anything.

The first of his senses to recover was touch. He felt something cold and wet hit his cheek. His mind only barely registered it though, still being overwhelmed by everything else. Then came another. And another. As his vision started to return, he saw a snowflake. It seemed like a dream. Everything was moving so slow, and he could just barely remember what happened before.

Eventually, Sarl awoke from his daze, and managed to make his way to civilization. He would later learn that the place he crawled out of was a convent of magic wielders: wizards, sorcerers, and the occasional good witch. He realized when he found that out that he must seek out another with such gifts, as he must be so gifted. Years later, he was now a master of his powers once more. In that time, he had made a little bit of a name for himself among the guardians of the Nerath Empire's borderlands, aiding successfully on many occasions in stopping oncoming hoards from ransacking villages and pillaging supplies.

One day, deep in meditation, working for a deeper connection with the natural forces that constantly rush around the world, so that he may channel them more effectively the next moment his powers are needed, he came to a sort of realization. Perhaps a message in a bottle, telling him what he should be doing. Regaining his full consciousness, he arose from his position in a crude circle made from straw in the barn he was in, he began to pull his few belongings together. He walked around the town he was in, taking his time, saying farewell to the people he had come to know.

When they asked him where he was going, he simply said the capitol. When they asked why, he would smile a little, and say 'a little bird told me to'. He gathered some supplies before leaving, and made his way to the center of the empire. Once there, he became a member of a somewhat elite fellowship in service of the empire, and was soon sent out on an adventure that would be his last.


Game I: 1 Day Past 100 Years

The first day awake in 100 years. I never thought I'd see 10 more years down the road; thought I'd die in some battle in defense of the people, or be consumed by the powers of nature during some conjure. Let alone spend another 100 asleep. But here I am with a new group of comrades, but no one else, trying to regain a grasp on this new existence, possibly a grasp on reality itself. After all, this doesn't even seem too real.

The day unfolded somewhat normally though, surprisingly enough. We began, after realizing that we had awoken in the same forest, simply decades past, to continue on our journey. We quickly arrived at the keep, only to find it mostly in rubble with age, a foreboding sign of what would be found inside. As we made out way into the keep, I couldn't help but to think that this could be my tomb, just as it appears to be for those who once stood guard over what the stone fortifications where meant to protect.

We found an entrance to the lower levels, and descended. Once we reached the bottom: ambush. We fought hard, and where able to make our way past some more dead bodies. But once again afterward, we found ourselves embattled, after making our way down another level of the keep.

The battle was not a success however. Our comrade whom I regret to say I never got his name, was injured in battle. We all had been cut or stabbed, or even burned in some cases by globules of fire thrown by the enemy, but alas, our warrior brethren took much of the damage, and shortly after, his life in this world ceased to be.

After mourning his passing, and giving him as much a burial as could be in such a place, we moved on. I however, could not join my fellows for a time. It seems our luck is even worse than it already appeared. I found myself shortly after taking stride toward the next doorway, back in the time from which our party originally came. And oddly enough, in the same place. Upon realization of the slip in time, I began to seek out Sir Keegan.

This however, proved difficult. The first corner I turned, proved to be my last. I was immediately waylaid by a set of the keeps guards on patrol. You see, they thought of me as an intruder. And rightly so, I thought of it afterwards, for even though it was my and my party's quest to get to this very place and speak with Sir Keegan, I was not invited this far. But before I was able to explain myself, I vanished in time again.

I found myself once more in the future, or the present, depending on the perspective I suppose. Or is it the past? Surely, I write this to read once again at some date past the current. But that is aside from the purpose of this writing. I must chronicle these events.

It was explained to me by the others when I began to share time with them, the events while I was gone, which was nothing abnormal for the keep. In this case, a tussle with a seemingly never ending series of the undead. None of my thoughts on this where good. Especially since the horde only ended, when out of a spat of desperation, prayed to Bahamut for help in this endeavor. Now, I know from experience that Bahamut is wise almost above reason, but this did not quite make sense. If Bahaumt so chose to save us, it would be through an endowment of wisdom which we might use to smite our foes.

This uneasiness proved to be warranted, as we entered the next room. Atop a raised area of the room we now stood in, against the far wall, we saw what could only be the resting place of some past person. But that of course is not the very thing which was ill, but what we found to be inside. For it was Sir Keegan himself, a once Paladin of Bahamut. But our charge was not yet dead, but undead. For he had broken his oath to the God, and in penance, locked himself alive in his grave, so that he may one day arise once again to protect that which he almost gave to the enemy: the portal.

And now I lay my pen down, for another day, for I must get some rest. If some foe comes this way, and discovers the crypt seal has been breached, the doors may fly open once more, only with us on the inside, and a sea of the enemy on the other. If we must fight for our lives once more on this day, I need some bit of rest to have any hope through.

Game III: History Revealed

It seems that the discovery of what was Sir Keegan foreshadowed what our journey may be for some time to come. After awaking after some hours, we began to make out way further into the depths of these ruins that lead deeper and deeper toward the Shadowfell, as if the very essence of this place has been tainted by the mere existence of the portal in its bowels.

Our first encounter of the day proved to be nearly fatal for myself. The room, not its contents, where what they seemed. Upon entering, we found after I tossed some lit rocks around the room to provide some illumination, some odd statues on the far side, facing a central figure in what could be described as a stooped repose on a raised dais, clad entirely in brass. We soon found though, that it was a sleeping giant of sorts. I later realized that what was the mechanical apparatus in front of us, lashed out at the party based solely upon the tiles which we stood. An ingenious contraption really; perhaps if ever in the opposite situation, where trapping a room, I may suggest use of similar pressure devices and mechana.

Upon destroying the brass hulk in the center, we still had to disable the winged statues blowing us toward the center of the room. We discovered their role in the larger trap of the room in the middle of trying to skirt, instead of disable (or destroy, as we did) the central figure. They blew us right up to his feet, so that he might swing mightily at us.

Upon disabling all the clever little tricks in the room, including a set of statues in the corridor beyond which, without forethought may have trapped us for eternity in walls hewn entirely of raw force, we found a room that almost appeared to be a well for blood. This nearly made me shiver, the realization of what was afoot at the bottom of the aperture in the floor. My guess, which proved correct, is that someone was in the middle of such a ritual as to open the very portal we where sent to protect its seal.

As we climbed down the hole by rope, we found Kalarel, the fiend that lay us to rest for over a hundred years, nearly finished with his duty of opening the rift to the Shadowfell. And he was not alone either. There where walking, rotted corpses, hacking at us and firing arrows in our midst, their flesh almost entirely disintegrated, aside from the bones and sinew that remain. And their strength! A man would not expect the undead left to rot so long would be able to twang a bow, let alone swing an axe with such force. They lack the very mechanism that allows man to do so! And if they where not enough, there was what I could only identify from my knowledge and study to be a White.

Those fearsome minions where trouble, I assure you. If it were not for the power of my magic, combined with the sheer force of my companions steel and wit, we may never have even laid a hand on Kalarel. The White froze our Halfing companion Tim in place for nearly the entire battle! If it where not for the fiery wrath I let forth on their heads, or the skillful craft of the shadows by Kel, or even the soothing hands of Ms. Duskpainter, our talented healer... I shudder to think.

Eventually, we beat of most of the hordes, with only Kalarel left. But the portal was open! It must be closed before the effect became permanent! I yelled to my allies instructions, and we all put forth all of our knowledge and skill to bear in order to reverse the ritual, and re-close the portal. And at the same time, we continued to fight Kalarel. Thank the Gods that Tim was able to finally able to be freed from the invisible chains wrapped around him by the Wite, otherwise even Ethyrion's great assistance in closing the void would be enough.

And it almost wasn't. The White was not the only one that could affect our movements, was Kalarel froze Echo, mid stride, very near the portal. I think we all feared for her life, and even her very soul, as tentacles emerged from the portal and started to drag her in. Kharduun was also nearly pulled into oblivion, but by some grace, they both managed to free themselves. And not a moment too soon, for once we closed the portal, it took all of us to rend some piece of revenge from Kalarel, paid for with what was left of his seemingly unending life, granted to him by Orcus.

With that great undertaking behind us, we defiled the statues and runes found throughout the room, and with some precision wielding of the forces of magic, brought down the columns supporting the ceiling as we made out exit. Let that be a final tomb for that wretched incarnation.

As we left the fortress behind us forever, we made our way toward Winterhaven, the only place to our knowledge which lay near. And that is where we are now. It is not what I expected, or hoped for, but it is also more. I will describe it more for my record in later days, but for now I must rest. Tomorrow I must venture to the Mage's district, so that I might learn what has befallen the word while we where locked in stasis.


Equipped Items

  • Weapon: ???
  • Armor: ???

In Bag

  • ???


Sarl's race, class, paragon path, and epic destiny features.


Bloodhunt: You gain a +1 racial bonus to attack rolls against bloodied foes.

Fire Resistance: You have resist fire 5 + one-half your level.

Infernal Wrath: You can use infernal wrath as an encounter power.




Level 1: 2 At-Will, 1 Encounter, 1 Daily


Level 1: 1 Feat


Unless otherwise noted, these rituals are inscribed in Sarl's ritual book.