Forgotten Realms (A)
Scenario One: War of the Avatars
In the misty dawn a long column of men-at-arms marched forth from a dusky castle. Viewed from the parapets, their snaking lines were quickly swallowed up by fog and the foreboding darkness of the neighboring woods. Despite the chill and the morning gloom, Ulvane Firehand watched the company's departure with a mixture of excitement and anticipation. From this small beginning he would carve out a mighty empire. The wilderness of the Savage Frontier would yield its bounty to a strong Lord; those beings unwilling to join his banner of their own accord would do so at the point of a sword, or die.
As the last of the silver-mailed expedition exited the gates, Ulvane reflected upon the Time of Troubles now at hand. It was a time when the gods themselves would be cast down and their avatars would walk the face of Faerun. It was said that when gods made war, men would tremble--but while they did, the Firehand would conquer! Prepared to take every advantage of uncertain times, Ulvane's scouts had been scouring nearby lands to locate targets.
There would be red war, a conflict encompassing men and elves, dwarves and orcs, mortals and gods. "Where swords fail, our magic will carry the day!" Ulvane spoke aloud to hearten those warriors who stood near to him. The die was cast; in the months ahead, the Firehand would ascend to the ultimate pinnacle of power or fall into the gaping jaws of defeat.
"Let neither men nor gods impede us! To victory!" Ulvane's voice rang from the castle courtyard as he jumped down from the parapet, mounted his charger and accepted a lance from his waiting squire. He spurred his horse and raced forward to join his men in the snowy field. He turned his horse to look once more towards the past. Then the mists closed in, obscuring his departing form as well as the future...