The Phandelver Irregulars

Welcome my friends to the world of the Forgotten Realms. It is year 1489. The past decade has been a turbulent one.

A millennia ago, the essence of magic changed. The conduit of magical energy, commonly named the Weave, degenerated in a process called the Spellplague. Those who understood the ancient arts almost immediately lost their abilities. Magical items stopped working or were destroyed. To counter the Spellplague, the gods placed marks on their followers, called spell scars, through which spells could be cast. The arcane arts that were passed from generation to generation faded into history.

The Seer Elliandreth wrote a prophecy centuries ago that predicted what then come to pass.

When the trials begin, in soul-torn solitude despairing, the hunter waits alone. The companions emerge from fast-bound ties of fate uniting against a common foe.

When the shadows descend, in Hell-sworn covenant unswerving the blighted brothers hunt, and the godborn appears, in rose-blessed abbey reared, arising to loose the godly spark.

When the harvest time comes, in hate-fueled mission grim unbending, the shadowed reapers search. The adversary vies with fiend-wrought enemies, opposing the twisting schemes of Hell.

When the tempest is born, as storm-tossed waters rise uncaring, the promised hope still shines. And the reaver beholds the dawn-born chosen’s gaze, transforming the darkness into light.

When the battle is lost, through quake-tossed battlefields unwitting the seasoned legions march, but the sentinel flees with once-proud royalty, protecting devotion’s fragile heart.

When the ending draws near, with ice-locked stars unmoving, the threefold threats await, and the herald proclaims, in war-wrecked misery, announcing the dying of an age.

It seems that this prophesy has come true. In the destruction gods long silent found new worshipers and again answered prayers. Yes, the very heavens have been shaken.

As war raged in the celestial domains, the spell scars began to fade and the Weave regenerated. The long forgotten arcane arts could now be relearned. Now, Empires scramble to find the lost libraries filled with forgotten tomes and the mines that were used to forge magical weapons.

Into this world, you have come of age. Looking for riches you long for your first adventure. As a small party of you gather in Neverwinter looking for work.

The Phandelver Irregulars