Die Geschichte vom Dorf Aetherglen:
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Es gab eine Zeit, da schwärmten Legionen von Untoten über die Hügel. Als Tod und Leben keine Bedeutung mehr zu haben schienen. Als ein Grauen die Seelen der Menschen von Damara heimsuchte und ein paar tapfere Helden die Armee aus Verdammten, welche einem Hexenkönig dienten, am Blutstein-Pass zurückschlugen.
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In dieser Zeit fiel der Hexenkönig, und seine Horden wurden in alle Winde zerstreut, kehrten in ihre Gräber zurück, und diejenigen, die ihm folgten und an seiner Macht Teil hatten, wurden vernichtet. Dies ist nun schon lange her.
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Aetherglen liegt an der Kreuzung des Ilinver-Pfades, auf dem wir reisen, und des Nordglister-Passes, weit entfernt von den Ländern Vaasa und Damara, und doch können viele Menschen, die diesen Ort heute ihr Zuhause nennen, ihren Stammbaum bis zu den Flüchtigen jenes unheiligen Krieges zurückverfolgen.
Und auch wenn die großen Gulthias-Bäume des Glumpenwaldes diese Kreuzung schützend überragen und ihrerseits Geschichten verdient hätten, sprechen die Menschen in dieser kleinen Siedlung immer noch vom großen König Gareth Dragonsbane und seinem Triumph über jenen Hexenkönig.
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Als dann Nebel in den Glumpensumpf und den Zitterwald eindrangen und zahlreiche unselige verschlangen, waren diese Menschen aus jener Zeit bereits das Misstrauen gewohnt. Und der Nebel führte so weit weniger von ihnen in die kalten Länder von Barovia.

Besucher sind in Aetherglen willkommen, aber man begegnet ihnen mit wachsamen Augen und einem misstrauischen Gemüt.
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Außerdem weißt du, dass letzte Woche etwas seltsames vorgefallen ist:
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Eine Frau ist in ihrem Haus im Schlaf von Baumwurzeln durchbohrt aufgefunden worden. Sie wurde neben dem Kelemvortempel beerdigt und auf ihrem Grab wächst jetzt ein kleiner Baum. Der Friedhofsgärtner hat schon versucht ihn zurückzuschneiden, aber er wächst immer wieder nach...

Du kennst ein kleines Mädchen, Millie, die immer zusammen mit ihrer Katze "Furball" auftaucht. Die beiden sind unzertrennlich und Millie ist nicht ganz so erschrocken und angesickt von deinen Streichen. Eigentlich hast du den Eindruck, dass sie eher gerne wissen würde, wie du das machst.
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Letzte Woche hast du sie gesehen, wie sie Aushänge angeschlagen hat, auf denen sie nach Furball sucht.
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Sie hat immer ein kleines grünes Kleid an (die Mutter ist nicht besonders wohlhabend und tatsächlich weißt du, dass Millie am letzten Tag der Woche immer im Haus spielen muss und ihr Nachthemd trägt, damit die Mutter das Kleid und die andere Wäsche waschen kann...) und ihre Haare sind oft ein bisschen verfilzt.

Lyana hat in letzter Zeit mehrmals in den Lathandertempel eingebrochen und dort ein bisschen Poltergeist gespielt.
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Letztens hat Lyana einen Dorfbewohner (Athanasius) einen Streich gespielt:
Erst kam plötzlich um ihn herum ein Bodennebel auf und gespenstische Geräusche waren zu hören. Laternen an den Eingangstüren der Häuser, an denen er vorbei gegangen ist, sind seltsamer weise immer dann erloschen, als er an ihnen vorbei gegangen bist. Dann klapperten plötzlich neben ihm die Fensterläden und schlugen unvermittelt auf. Er hat sich so sehr erschreckt, dass er rücklinks in eine Pfütze gefallen war. Dann hat er von der anderen Straßenseite ein leises Kichern gehört und Lyana gesehen. Als sie bemerkt hat, dass er sie entdeckt hast, ist sie schnell weg gerannt.

Teilnehmer:
(10) Arikatzi020 - Lyana Ghostlight - Aasimar - Grave Clerik lvl 10 - None (Doomguide)
(10) C0ldW0lf - Corellius - Custom Lineage (Aasimar/Tiefling) - Vengeance Paladin 6/Fiend Warlock 4 - Harpers
(10) Echo - Sylaris "The Grimoire" - Living Spellbook (Autognome) - Aberrant Sorcerer - Harper
(10) Karrakasz - Barry - Wood Elf - Stars Druid 10 - Emerald Enclave
(10) Raimundo_O - Schatten im Wind - Tabaxi - Fighter 2 - Kensei Monk 8 - none

"She was a saint of the sword. A flame in the dark. A voice for the dead. But now... she screams in the night, clad in corrupted steel, her prayers twisted by blood and bone."

When a devout paladin of Kelemvor is torn from her rest by the unholy love of a mad necromancer, the veil between life and death shatters. Twisted into a monstrous undead, Lysandra haunts the world she once saved, a cursed echo of divine grace.

Called by visions, haunted pleas, and the tolling of death’s unheeded bell, your party must brave a haunted forest, confront a mind shattered by obsession, and face the blade of a fallen saint. Will you end her torment—or dare to redeem the blood-cursed chosen?"

Info:
Zarthus, der Magier hat Lysandra wieder erweckt, aber nicht auf die beste weise.
Lysandra Graveheart, Paladinen von Kelemvor und Chosen.
The Vows Beyond Breath, Orcus Herietic Text der Lebende mit Tote verheiratet die an das leben ihrer Lebenden Liebenden gefesselt werden.

Letter:
I pray this letter finds you swiftly and safely, though I fear time itself is now our greatest enemy.
My name is Alren Vass, scholar of antiquities and devotee of Kelemvor’s divine order. I write to you with great urgency concerning a matter most grave—one that threatens the delicate balance between life and death itself.

There are whispers—too many to ignore—of a fallen heroine, Lysandra, once Chosen of Kelemvor, risen from her honored tomb not in glory, but in torment. It is said she walks again, but not by divine will. Her soul cries out in anguish, chained by vile sorcery and held in thrall to a madman named Zarthus—a former arcanist now consumed by obsession and rot.

But I am no hero. I cannot cross into the Shadowfell, nor confront what haunts that cursed forest. I am merely a seeker of truth, and now I turn to those who have the strength to act where I cannot.

If you have even a sliver of reverence for the dead or the courage to challenge fate itself, I beg you—come to the village of Elmspire, two days’ ride east of the Ironglade. There, I shall meet you and reveal all that I have learned. But do not delay... for each night that passes, the rift widens, and the cries of the damned grow louder.

In humble desperation,
Alren Vass
Seeker of Lore, Servant of Balance
Elmspire, Edge of the Ironglade

Rausgerisse Tagebuchseite:
Date: The 14th Day of Mourning, Year of the Black Sky

I beheld her again today.

She rode into the fray like a blade of divine fire, cutting through the rot and filth of undeath with the elegance of inevitability. Lysandra. Her name tastes like silver and incense upon my tongue. Each syllable is a prayer. Each movement she makes is sacred geometry.

Her armor glowed—not from enchantment, no, but from within. I saw it. I swear I saw her soul bleed light through the seams of her very skin. How is such radiance contained in flesh?

She did not see me. She never does. I watched from the edge of the ravine, behind the veil of shadow and sorcery. A coward, perhaps, but even the stars must keep their distance from the sun.

She healed a child after the battle. I wept.

I do not deserve her.
But I will have her.

Date: Unknown. I’ve stopped counting.

Her smile haunts me.

Not like a ghost—no, not like the lifeless things I raise. It lives in my mind. It sings through my thoughts like a golden aria, even as I sleep. She is everywhere, now.

I stole a scrap of her cloak today. Don’t ask how. I will not tell you. But I have it, and I have burned it into incense. I breathe her. She is in my lungs. In my blood.

I thought at first this was admiration. I believed I was merely captivated by her divinity. But no... no, this is not reverence.

This is need.

They whisper—those crusted robed fools in their death cults—about how I’ve changed. I see them staring, judging. What do they know of love? Of beauty that devours you from within?

Kelemvor doesn’t deserve her. That pale corpse-god never loved her, not like I do. He chained her to the laws of death, used her as a weapon. I would never chain her.

I would worship her.

Even in death, she will shine.
Especially in death.

Date: Unknown. Scrawled in dried blood. Hidden inside the false spine of a holy text.

If you find this… then I have failed. I couldn't resist the power of the book. It consumed me, used me. I'm sorry. But as long as I'm sane, I want to write these words down. As long as I am myself.

She rages in the dark now. She tears through walls, screaming prayers in Kelemvor’s name with a voice like thunder and rot. She is still beautiful, but twisted. The ritual... it was perfect. It should have worked. It did work. Why did it make her a monster?

Maybe it was me.

I see her in every wall, every mirror. I do not sleep. I do not eat. She stalks my dreams like a lion in a cage of fire. She speaks only in one word:

"WHY."

There is another ritual. He swore never to write it down, but the memory burns like fire beneath my skull. It can free her. Not bring her back to life—but release her. Let her soul return to the quiet halls of her god. It needs:

The Tears of the Dead, gathered beneath a gallows.
Moonshadow lilies from the banks of the River Styx.
A soul, freely given—someone who loves her truly. Enough to die for her.

You must find the altar beneath the black tree in the forest where the veil is thin. There, the words must be spoken under an „eclipse“. It will hurt. It will cost more than you are willing to pay.

But it will be the first kind thing she has known since I laid my hands upon her tomb.

Tell her I’m sorry.
Tell her I loved her.
Tell her to forget me.

Date: The Night of the Rite. The stars are wrong. The moon bleeds.

I did it.

She lies before me.

I dug through consecrated stone with bloodied hands. Her tomb wept holy water until I choked on it. Her armor still glowed. Her lips—blue, still smiling. As if she knew. As if she had waited.

I washed her with rosewater and bone ash. I dressed her in the black silks I wove from the shadows of the Veil. I placed obsidian upon her eyes and whispered the true name of death, the one even Kelemvor fears.

And then... she moved.

Her eyes opened—not hers, not yet. Black as the void between stars. But she looked at me.

She saw me.

She screamed.

No sound has ever been so perfect.

But something is wrong. Her touch burns. Her voice echoes with hunger, not harmony. She does not remember the love I poured into her bones. Not yet. But she will. She must. This is not failure. This is simply... transformation.

It will take time.

She is mine. Mine.

Date: One week before the Reclamation

She is still alive. Fragile. Vulnerable. Flesh. How cruel.

I watched her from the ridge as she knelt to pray. Her voice—it could have shattered glass, it was so pure. And yet she prays to a god who says nothing, offers nothing but finality. He will not save her. He does not deserve her devotion.

I do.

She is wasted on this world. This battlefield. This life. I can give her more. I can give her forever.

But to do so, I must make a choice.

I must be the dagger.

I must end her.

It will be beautiful. A moment of perfection, frozen in death. She will become mine in that instant, a bride reborn in the silence after her last breath. I’ve been preparing the ritual for months. It sings to me. The language of gods and monsters alike.

They will curse me. They will hunt me.
But when she rises again, she will stand by my side, and we will unmake the false divide between death and love.

Forever.

Rite of the Severed Oath

A spoken liturgy to free Lysandra from her blood-curse.
Preparation

Arrange the Tears of the Dead in a silver bowl at the head of the sarcophagus.

Lay moon-shadow lilies across Lysandra’s breastplate, their petals touching steel.

The voluntary soul-bearer kneels at her feet, hand over heart, knowing their spark will be surrendered for hers.

Extinguish all lights but one candle; when its flame gutters low, begin the chant.

The Litany

(Leader reads the bold lines; companions echo the italic words.)

Leader:
“By tears unnumbered, we wash away the night.”
We wash away the night.

Leader:
“By lilies that bloom where life and Lethe meet, we call the dawn.”
We call the dawn.

Leader:
“By a heart offered freely at the precipice of ending, we weigh the scales anew.”
We weigh the scales anew.

(Place a drop of Tears on each lily. The soul-bearer speaks next.)

Soul-bearer:
“Judge of the Silent Gate, let my spark stand in the breach.
Ride it as a bridge, not a chain.
Claim only what I yield—no more, no less—
that Lysandra’s oath be cleansed.”

(All clasp hands in a circle around the crypt.)

Leader:
“Radiance once sworn, now stained in blood,
Return! Return!
Chains that bind in crimson spite,
Shatter! Shatter!
Let oath and soul divide;
Let death and life abide.”

(At “Shatter!” the lilies turn a ghost-pale gray; if they blacken, the rite is failing.)

I had heard tales of Lysandra—the Chosen who walked where grave-soil still smoked—but stories do her no justice.
This morning our band breached the catacombs of Duorn Keep. Fog clung to the stones like ghosts with nowhere left to haunt, and even my arcane light felt thin. Yet there she was, helm tucked beneath one arm, laughing as she hoisted a wounded militia boy to his feet.

That smile… it was sunrise in a burial chamber.
I spoke a single cantrip, weaving the air into drifting motes so the lad thought the dawn itself had slipped underground. She turned—silver eyes meeting mine—and thanked me for the “small miracle.” No knightly pomp, just warmth and unshakable courage.

She asked my name. “Zhartus,” I managed, throat suddenly dry.
“Then walk beside me, Zhartus,” she said, “for the dark is thinner when we share the flame.”

I will be the wizard of her company, the quill to her blade. Not for glory, but to stay within the orbit of that never-fading smile that can enlighten even the deepest dungeon. If the gods grant me nothing more in this life, let them grant me proximity.

Loot: 700gp
1x Perfume of Bewitching
1x Spellwrought Tattoo of Lifetransverance
1x Spellwrought Tattoo of Summon Undeath

Trinket: Music box of Haunted Lullabies
2x Trinket: Obsidian signet ring styled with Kelemvor’s scales fractured down the centre). worth 150gp (ausgekauft)
“Forever, even in death”

Doll of Lysandra (Talking Doll)
Wondrous item, common (requires attunement)

The puppet is a diminutive, porcelain-skinned replica of Lysandra—perfectly sculpted cheekbones, the same cascade of raven hair, but its beauty is forever frozen beneath a fine web of hairline cracks. Hollow glass eyes—one a shade too bright, the other ever so slightly askew—gleam with trapped candle-light, giving the unsettling impression that something inside is trying to peer out.

A tattered black wedding gown—stitched from funeral veils and midnight satin—clings to its frail wooden frame. Every hem is frayed as though moth-eaten by time, yet intricate silver embroidery still glitters like frost along the corset seams. Where a living bride would wear lace gloves, the puppet’s jointed fingers are bare maple, stained the color of old blood around the nails.

Most disturbing is the golden wedding band looped loosely around its right wrist—far too large to fit any finger, it slides and clinks with every jerky marionette twitch, an ironic mockery of vows never sworn. With each subtle movement, the dress sighs as if woven with whispers, and faint necromantic sigils pulse beneath the silk like bruises on pale skin. When the necromancer’s strings tug, the puppet’s cracked lips part in a silent laugh, and for an instant the bride of darkness seems poised to step out of her doll’s body and claim a life of her own.

Normal press (devoted yet unsettling)
“Wound me tighter, beloved master.”

Failsafe press (after the necromancer’s death – obsessive, ominous)
“Your heart has stopped; mine hunts. Death...won’t keep...us apart.”

Only the Necromancer can attune to this Item. Once he dies the failsafe activates and the message stays forever the same.

The Ring can be kept as a Trinket. Its inner is engraved with the following text: "LYSANDRA—MINE IN LIFE, MINE IN DEATH, MINE BEYOND THE LAST DAWN."

Gravemaiden's Aegis (Dragonguard with Guardian Property)
Medium armor (breastplate), rare

You have a +1 bonus to AC while wearing this armor.

It grants its wearer advantage on saving throws against the breath weapons of Dragons.

Spectral Sentinel. The Chosen’s restless shade drifts at your shoulder, whispering a chill warning the instant danger stirs. While you are not Incapacitated, you gain a +2 bonus to Initiative.

https://files.d20.io/images/447073950/mdOtUFhCN0kWvQFBTrXWfQ/max.png?1751356011
"This hauntingly elegant set of armor was once a sacred vestment of a revered warrior-priestess of Kelemvor. Forged in sanctified steel, it was designed not only to protect her body, but to reflect her solemn role as a dignified guide to the afterlife—a figure of peace, finality, and mercy. It bore the sigils of judgment and balance, its dark tones an homage to death's inevitability, not its cruelty.

But death was not her end.

After her fall in battle, her corpse was stolen by a deranged necromancer, a man who had once loved her in secret. His forbidden ritual tore her soul from the grasp of Kelemvor, but the god’s divine protection had not faded. The resurrection failed—and the body twisted. The armor, once a vessel of divine purpose, absorbed the backlash of celestial and necrotic forces and was forever changed.

What remains is a grim echo of its former self. The armor's dark beauty endures, but now it radiates cold, hateful energy. Subtle runes of warding are cracked, weeping black ichor in fine lines across the plating. Its intricate lace-like trim and high gothic form remain pristine—as if mocking the purity it once stood for. A bitter aura lingers around it, whispering of interrupted rest and vengeance denied."

Story Award – “Scion of the Balanced Heart”

Awarded to any character who consumes the Heart of Devotion and carries its radiance within their own.

You have swallowed the luminous Heart of Devotion, a relic once offered to Kelemvor as proof that love can temper judgment. The artifact dissolved into your flesh, leaving a faint, palm-sized scar above your sternum that pulses with a soft, golden glow. Though its power has spent itself, its legacy endures in you.

Narrative Boons

• Mark of Mercy. Priests, acolytes, and funerary caretakers who serve Kelemvor, the Judge of the Dead, feel an instinctive reverence when they notice the scar. They greet you with solemn respect, offer guidance without payment, and may waive minor temple fees such as burial rites or divination services.

  • Echo of the Heartbeat. In moments of utter stillness—graveyards at midnight, crypt corridors deep underground—you sometimes hear a single resonant thump that no one else perceives. It points you unerringly toward desecrated ground or unliving abominations in need of judgment, guiding your party like a moral compass.
  • Whisper of the Departed. Spirits bound to unfinished vows—in particular children, widows, or oath-sworn knights—recognize a sliver of hope in you. They will attempt to communicate first with you before resorting to haunting or violence, granting your group chances for parley where others would earn only terror.

Narrative Complications

• Beacon of Balance. Necromancers, wraiths, and other entities that defy the natural passage of souls feel a subtle sting in your presence. Some recoil; others become obsessed with extinguishing the scar’s light and may track or single you out in a crowd.

• Weight of Judgment. When you knowingly commit an act that would disturb the balance between life and death—raising an unwilling corpse, defiling a grave, or striking down a helpless foe—the scar chars black for a night and throbs with cold pain. Those who notice may question your worthiness—or your own conscience might.

“Story Award: Whispers of Peace”

Awarded for: Successfully freeing Lysandra’s soul and returning her to Kelemvor's embrace.

Effect: Word of the party’s deed spreads quietly among those who listen to the stillness between life and death. In sacred places, old priests and deathless spirits nod in passing silence. Ghosts part the way without hostility. The party has earned the silent respect of those who tend the threshold.

Narrative Benefit: In future adventures, agents of Kelemvor—mortals and immortals alike—may offer unexpected trust, guidance, or information. The players are not just adventurers—they are soulkeepers.

“Story Award: Marked by the Veil”

Awarded for: Having a servant of Kelemvor in the party when Lysandra’s soul is freed, receiving a subtle yet unmistakable blessing from the Judge of the Dead.

Effect: The eyes of the Kelemvorite now shimmer faintly with a silver flame—not bright, but ever-present, like the last flicker of a funeral candle. It does not burn, nor does it harm—it watches. Priests, spirits, and acolytes of the death god recognize it immediately as a sacred sign. None dare question its origin.

Narrative Benefit: The character is forever seen as one who has walked the border of life and death and returned with purpose. They may be sought out by Kelemvor’s clergy for divine judgment, last rites, or visions. Among the faithful, they are a living omen—a bearer of quiet mercy and inevitable truth.

Lyana Ghostlight

Size: 140 (medium)
Weigth: 35kg
Eyes: Silber
Hair: Schwarz
Skin: Silbrig/Braun

Costomizing your Origin:
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Race: Aasimar
Proficiencies Language: Common, Celestial
Source: Ability +2, one +1
Chose: Wis +2, Dex +1
Ability Score Point ´Buy:
St 8, Dex 13, Con 15, Int 10, Wis 15, Cha 10

Class: Grave Cleric
Weapon Proficiencies: Simple weapons
Armor Proficiencies: Light Armor, Medium Armor, Shields
Skill Proficiencies: Medicine, Insight

Touched by Death and Light (Akolyte Backgound umgedingstelt)
Proficiencies Skill: Religion, Perception
Proficiencies Language: Sylvan, Abyssal
Feat: Skilled
Proficiencies Skill: Acrobatics, Survival, Stealth

Class Equipment
Shield, Holy Symbol, Mace, Scale Mail, Light Crossbow and Crossbow Bolts (20), Priest's Pack
Equipment from Background (Acolyte)
Holy Symbol, Stick of Incense (5), Vestments, Common Clothes, Belt Pouch15 gp, Prayer Book

Biography

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(Geboren und aufgewachsen im Dorf Aetherglen.)
Lyana war schon immer besonders. Bei ihrer Geburt glimmte ein seltsames Licht um das kleine Mädchen mit den Rabenschwarzen Haaren und ihre silberenen Augen flackertern im Licht. Die Heiler des Dorfes wahren erstaunt und gleichzeitig etwas entsetz, da sie nicht wussten was dies zu bedeuten hatte. Als das kleine lebhafte Mädchen dann heran wuschs wurde schnell klar das sie magisch sehr begabt war. Sie bekam meist skeptische Blicke. Sie war oft am Schrein von Kelemvor anzutreffen wo sie meisten Selbstgespräche führte. Ein Priester der das Dorf einmal besuchte stellte fest das die kleine wohl einen jetzt schon gut ausgeprägten Sinn für die Einstellung zu jenen Gott hatte und gab ihr ein Heiliges Symbol das sogleich hell aufleuchtete. Trotz des Glaubens den sie hegte war die Kleine doch ein rechter Wildfang und spielte im Dorf viele Streiche die zwar einerseits lustig und gruselig zu gleich waren, doch andererseits bei den erwachsenen keinen guten Anklang fand. Dadurch standen oft Nachbarn vor Lyanas Elternhaus und beschwerten sich oder jagten sie wenn sie es wieder übertrieben hatte quer durchs Dorf. Sie war meist zu flink und lies sich selten erwischen. Sie versteckte sich oft am Schrein an dem sie sich am wohlsten fühlte. Ihr Vater war als sie gerade 4 Jahre alt war ausgezogen um sein Glück als Abenteuer zu suchen und war seither nicht mehr heimgekehrt. Ihre Mutter war daraufhin nach zwei Jahren des Wartens erkrankt und verstarb kurz vor Lyanas 6ten Geburtstag. Seither Kümmert sich ihr Großvater um sie der ein Erfahrener Forscher war und sich in ihren Dorf zur ruhe Gesetzt hatte. Seine Spezialität war Forst zum Einfluss von Vorhersagungsmagie auf geschichtliche Ereignisse. Es war eine seltsame Beziehung die die zwei zu einander hatte. Doch keine negative, sie liebte ihren Großvater (Isaac Ghostlight) und der sie ebenfalls, trotz des Schabernacks den sie ab und an trieb. Er wollte sie solange Kind sein wie sie konnte da sie. Erwachsen werden kommt noch früh genug.

Ein seltsames Licht umgibt das junge Mädchen mit den Rabenschwarzen Haaren das zu einen Zopf geflochten ist und ihre silberenen Augen. Sie ist noch recht klein mit ihren 140 cm und leicht. Doch das tut sie schnell ab und meint sie währe noch im Wachstum. Sie trägt ein schwarzes Gewand mit einen Ledernen Gürtel darum. Um ihren Hals legen sich 2 Kragen die sich überlappend auf ihre Schultern . Sie trägt dazu Lederne Armschützer und Stiefel die ihr bis zu den Oberschenkeln reichen. An einer Seite trägt sie ein Schild das aussieht als wäre es ihr etwas zu groß, darauf abgebildet eine knöcherne Hand die eine Wage hält. In der Hand hält sie oft einen Streitkolben oder einen Dolch.
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[Protector Aasimar Touchd by Light (angel) named Soulguide]
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Erscheint in Form eines kleinen Lichts das manchmal aussieht als wäre es eine kleine human like form.

Besucher sind in Aetherglen willkommen, aber man begegnet ihnen mit wachsamen Augen und einem misstrauischen Gemüt.
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Lyana hat mitbekommen, dass letzte Woche etwas seltsames vorgefallen ist:
Eine Frau ist in ihrem Haus im Schlaf von Baumwurzeln durchbohrt aufgefunden worden. Sie wurde neben dem Kelemvortempel beerdigt und auf ihrem Grab wächst jetzt ein kleiner Baum. Der Friedhofsgärtner hat schon versucht ihn zurückzuschneiden, aber er wächst immer wieder nach...

Kaufte einen Dolch für 2gp

es geht weiter :D****

1x Potion of Healing verbraucht

Durgeddins Handaxt (magischer Meisterschmied aus Khundrukar))

Loot:
Rapier +1
Weapon (rapier), uncommon
You have a +1 bonus to Attack and Damage Rolls made with this weapon.

1x Potion of Healing
1x Potion of Climbing
1x flask of holy water

weiter gehts!

Mistress,
Our endeavor is about to take shape. Having removed the blasphemous image of this slave deity and replaced it with the benign countenance of our God-Queen, we eventually have secured the way back by the measure we discussed. No creature of the lower races will ever know where she came from, and so they will never be able to find the way to the lake or disturb the experiment. I regret that I cannot be there when you put a stop to this demoness. Her screams of pain would certainly have given me pleasure and joy. But one thing concerns me. It seems that the roots do not stop at our troops as we had intended, but I am sorry to report that two of our soldiers have succumbed to them as well. They are only men, so the damage is limited. Nevertheless, I must humbly confess my inadequacy and ask, Great Aurundil, that in your boundless wisdom you investigate this unintentional inconvenience in order to eradicate it before we can no longer fulfill our task. I promptly await punishment for my failure and remain with the utmost respect.

Your servant Vy'listree

Lyanas Notizen

Großer raum mit wasserbecken worüber eine lolh statur wachte mit 3 fallen drin.... eine "entschärft und 2 umgangen. wenn man rätzel löst dan fliest das wasser ab und man kann weiter runter gehn.
viele spinnen und ein reisender fluss mit wasserfall.
Zwergennamen aufen untergrund friedhof:
Borgol the Old, Gharin Orc-Doom, and Numik the Unlucky.
Untendrunter piltzwald
Stinkeficher die einen angreifen und aussehn wie steine (Note to myself: Ich hasse Rätzel!!! Warum kann man nich sagen/schreiben was man will!? Beleidigtes Backenaufblasen)

****Es geht weiter!

Wurden mehrmals von den stinkefichern verklopt und mussten in der nesting höhle übernachten. danach fanden wir ne risige echse die einen "schatz" bewachte.

Longsword +1
Weapon (any), uncommon (+1)
You have a bonus to attack and damage rolls made with this magic weapon. The bonus is determined by the weapon’s rarity.

The dwarf skeleton clutches a +1 longsword that bears Durgeddin’s smith-mark.

Ring of Spell Storing
Ring, rare (requires attunement)
This ring stores spells cast into it, holding them until the attuned wearer uses them. The ring can store up to 5 levels worth of spells at a time. When found, it contains 1d6 − 1 levels of stored spells chosen by the GM.

Any creature can cast a spell of 1st through 5th level into the ring by touching the ring as the spell is cast. The spell has no effect, other than to be stored in the ring. If the ring can’t hold the spell, the spell is expended without effect. The level of the slot used to cast the spell determines how much space it uses.

While wearing this ring, you can cast any spell stored in it. The spell uses the slot level, spell save DC, spell attack bonus, and spellcasting ability of the original caster, but is otherwise treated as if you cast the spell. The spell cast from the ring is no longer stored in it, freeing up space.
Spells Stord:
1x Shield
2x Mirror Image

Morndinsamman Zwergengott der Toten

Heirloom of House Xathyr

Heavy armor, very rare (Story Item)

65 lb. AC 18

This valuable armor has been made of well-crafted and blackened steel. Embedded in the breastplate is made of platinum the symbol of the House of Xathyr, a hammer and a staff on a shield.

While wearing this armor, you gain a +2 bonus to AC. In addition, if an effect moves you against your will along the ground, you can use your reaction to reduce the distance you are moved by up to 10 feet.

The wearer has disadvantage on Dexterity (Stealth) checks.

If the wearer has a Strength score lower than 15, their speed is reduced by 10 feet.

1x Potion of Healing
1x Potion of Hill Giant Strength

Rapier +1 von Lyana Ghostlight (Arikatzi020)
Getauscht gegen:
Shield of the Moon von Fyren (Arikatzi020)
https://www.adventurersleaguelog.com/users/36450/characters/89811/trade_log_entries/927615

Die Geschichte vom Dorf Aetherglen:
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Es gab eine Zeit, da schwärmten Legionen von Untoten über die Hügel. Als Tod und Leben keine Bedeutung mehr zu haben schienen. Als ein Grauen die Seelen der Menschen von Damara heimsuchte und ein paar tapfere Helden die Armee aus Verdammten, welche einem Hexenkönig dienten, am Blutstein-Pass zurückschlugen.
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In dieser Zeit fiel der Hexenkönig, und seine Horden wurden in alle Winde zerstreut, kehrten in ihre Gräber zurück, und diejenigen, die ihm folgten und an seiner Macht Teil hatten, wurden vernichtet. Dies ist nun schon lange her.
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Aetherglen liegt an der Kreuzung des Ilinver-Pfades, auf dem wir reisen, und des Nordglister-Passes, weit entfernt von den Ländern Vaasa und Damara, und doch können viele Menschen, die diesen Ort heute ihr Zuhause nennen, ihren Stammbaum bis zu den Flüchtigen jenes unheiligen Krieges zurückverfolgen.
Und auch wenn die großen Gulthias-Bäume des Glumpenwaldes diese Kreuzung schützend überragen und ihrerseits Geschichten verdient hätten, sprechen die Menschen in dieser kleinen Siedlung immer noch vom großen König Gareth Dragonsbane und seinem Triumph über jenen Hexenkönig.
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Als dann Nebel in den Glumpensumpf und den Zitterwald eindrangen und zahlreiche unselige verschlangen, waren diese Menschen aus jener Zeit bereits das Misstrauen gewohnt. Und der Nebel führte so weit weniger von ihnen in die kalten Länder von Barovia.

Besucher sind in Aetherglen willkommen, aber man begegnet ihnen mit wachsamen Augen und einem misstrauischen Gemüt.
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Außerdem weißt du, dass letzte Woche etwas seltsames vorgefallen ist:
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Eine Frau ist in ihrem Haus im Schlaf von Baumwurzeln durchbohrt aufgefunden worden. Sie wurde neben dem Kelemvortempel beerdigt und auf ihrem Grab wächst jetzt ein kleiner Baum. Der Friedhofsgärtner hat schon versucht ihn zurückzuschneiden, aber er wächst immer wieder nach...

Du kennst ein kleines Mädchen, Millie, die immer zusammen mit ihrer Katze "Furball" auftaucht. Die beiden sind unzertrennlich und Millie ist nicht ganz so erschrocken und angesickt von deinen Streichen. Eigentlich hast du den Eindruck, dass sie eher gerne wissen würde, wie du das machst.
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Letzte Woche hast du sie gesehen, wie sie Aushänge angeschlagen hat, auf denen sie nach Furball sucht.
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Sie hat immer ein kleines grünes Kleid an (die Mutter ist nicht besonders wohlhabend und tatsächlich weißt du, dass Millie am letzten Tag der Woche immer im Haus spielen muss und ihr Nachthemd trägt, damit die Mutter das Kleid und die andere Wäsche waschen kann...) und ihre Haare sind oft ein bisschen verfilzt.

Lyana hat in letzter Zeit mehrmals in den Lathandertempel eingebrochen und dort ein bisschen Poltergeist gespielt.
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Letztens hat Lyana einen Dorfbewohner (Athanasius) einen Streich gespielt:
Erst kam plötzlich um ihn herum ein Bodennebel auf und gespenstische Geräusche waren zu hören. Laternen an den Eingangstüren der Häuser, an denen er vorbei gegangen ist, sind seltsamer weise immer dann erloschen, als er an ihnen vorbei gegangen bist. Dann klapperten plötzlich neben ihm die Fensterläden und schlugen unvermittelt auf. Er hat sich so sehr erschreckt, dass er rücklinks in eine Pfütze gefallen war. Dann hat er von der anderen Straßenseite ein leises Kichern gehört und Lyana gesehen. Als sie bemerkt hat, dass er sie entdeckt hast, ist sie schnell weg gerannt.

Teilnehmer:
(10) Arikatzi020 - Lyana Ghostlight - Aasimar - Grave Clerik lvl 10 - None (Doomguide)
(10) C0ldW0lf - Corellius - Custom Lineage (Aasimar/Tiefling) - Vengeance Paladin 6/Fiend Warlock 4 - Harpers
(10) Echo - Sylaris "The Grimoire" - Living Spellbook (Autognome) - Aberrant Sorcerer - Harper
(10) Karrakasz - Barry - Wood Elf - Stars Druid 10 - Emerald Enclave
(10) Raimundo_O - Schatten im Wind - Tabaxi - Fighter 2 - Kensei Monk 8 - none

"She was a saint of the sword. A flame in the dark. A voice for the dead. But now... she screams in the night, clad in corrupted steel, her prayers twisted by blood and bone."

When a devout paladin of Kelemvor is torn from her rest by the unholy love of a mad necromancer, the veil between life and death shatters. Twisted into a monstrous undead, Lysandra haunts the world she once saved, a cursed echo of divine grace.

Called by visions, haunted pleas, and the tolling of death’s unheeded bell, your party must brave a haunted forest, confront a mind shattered by obsession, and face the blade of a fallen saint. Will you end her torment—or dare to redeem the blood-cursed chosen?"

Info:
Zarthus, der Magier hat Lysandra wieder erweckt, aber nicht auf die beste weise.
Lysandra Graveheart, Paladinen von Kelemvor und Chosen.
The Vows Beyond Breath, Orcus Herietic Text der Lebende mit Tote verheiratet die an das leben ihrer Lebenden Liebenden gefesselt werden.

Letter:
I pray this letter finds you swiftly and safely, though I fear time itself is now our greatest enemy.
My name is Alren Vass, scholar of antiquities and devotee of Kelemvor’s divine order. I write to you with great urgency concerning a matter most grave—one that threatens the delicate balance between life and death itself.

There are whispers—too many to ignore—of a fallen heroine, Lysandra, once Chosen of Kelemvor, risen from her honored tomb not in glory, but in torment. It is said she walks again, but not by divine will. Her soul cries out in anguish, chained by vile sorcery and held in thrall to a madman named Zarthus—a former arcanist now consumed by obsession and rot.

But I am no hero. I cannot cross into the Shadowfell, nor confront what haunts that cursed forest. I am merely a seeker of truth, and now I turn to those who have the strength to act where I cannot.

If you have even a sliver of reverence for the dead or the courage to challenge fate itself, I beg you—come to the village of Elmspire, two days’ ride east of the Ironglade. There, I shall meet you and reveal all that I have learned. But do not delay... for each night that passes, the rift widens, and the cries of the damned grow louder.

In humble desperation,
Alren Vass
Seeker of Lore, Servant of Balance
Elmspire, Edge of the Ironglade

Rausgerisse Tagebuchseite:
Date: The 14th Day of Mourning, Year of the Black Sky

I beheld her again today.

She rode into the fray like a blade of divine fire, cutting through the rot and filth of undeath with the elegance of inevitability. Lysandra. Her name tastes like silver and incense upon my tongue. Each syllable is a prayer. Each movement she makes is sacred geometry.

Her armor glowed—not from enchantment, no, but from within. I saw it. I swear I saw her soul bleed light through the seams of her very skin. How is such radiance contained in flesh?

She did not see me. She never does. I watched from the edge of the ravine, behind the veil of shadow and sorcery. A coward, perhaps, but even the stars must keep their distance from the sun.

She healed a child after the battle. I wept.

I do not deserve her.
But I will have her.

Date: Unknown. I’ve stopped counting.

Her smile haunts me.

Not like a ghost—no, not like the lifeless things I raise. It lives in my mind. It sings through my thoughts like a golden aria, even as I sleep. She is everywhere, now.

I stole a scrap of her cloak today. Don’t ask how. I will not tell you. But I have it, and I have burned it into incense. I breathe her. She is in my lungs. In my blood.

I thought at first this was admiration. I believed I was merely captivated by her divinity. But no... no, this is not reverence.

This is need.

They whisper—those crusted robed fools in their death cults—about how I’ve changed. I see them staring, judging. What do they know of love? Of beauty that devours you from within?

Kelemvor doesn’t deserve her. That pale corpse-god never loved her, not like I do. He chained her to the laws of death, used her as a weapon. I would never chain her.

I would worship her.

Even in death, she will shine.
Especially in death.

Date: Unknown. Scrawled in dried blood. Hidden inside the false spine of a holy text.

If you find this… then I have failed. I couldn't resist the power of the book. It consumed me, used me. I'm sorry. But as long as I'm sane, I want to write these words down. As long as I am myself.

She rages in the dark now. She tears through walls, screaming prayers in Kelemvor’s name with a voice like thunder and rot. She is still beautiful, but twisted. The ritual... it was perfect. It should have worked. It did work. Why did it make her a monster?

Maybe it was me.

I see her in every wall, every mirror. I do not sleep. I do not eat. She stalks my dreams like a lion in a cage of fire. She speaks only in one word:

"WHY."

There is another ritual. He swore never to write it down, but the memory burns like fire beneath my skull. It can free her. Not bring her back to life—but release her. Let her soul return to the quiet halls of her god. It needs:

The Tears of the Dead, gathered beneath a gallows.
Moonshadow lilies from the banks of the River Styx.
A soul, freely given—someone who loves her truly. Enough to die for her.

You must find the altar beneath the black tree in the forest where the veil is thin. There, the words must be spoken under an „eclipse“. It will hurt. It will cost more than you are willing to pay.

But it will be the first kind thing she has known since I laid my hands upon her tomb.

Tell her I’m sorry.
Tell her I loved her.
Tell her to forget me.

Date: The Night of the Rite. The stars are wrong. The moon bleeds.

I did it.

She lies before me.

I dug through consecrated stone with bloodied hands. Her tomb wept holy water until I choked on it. Her armor still glowed. Her lips—blue, still smiling. As if she knew. As if she had waited.

I washed her with rosewater and bone ash. I dressed her in the black silks I wove from the shadows of the Veil. I placed obsidian upon her eyes and whispered the true name of death, the one even Kelemvor fears.

And then... she moved.

Her eyes opened—not hers, not yet. Black as the void between stars. But she looked at me.

She saw me.

She screamed.

No sound has ever been so perfect.

But something is wrong. Her touch burns. Her voice echoes with hunger, not harmony. She does not remember the love I poured into her bones. Not yet. But she will. She must. This is not failure. This is simply... transformation.

It will take time.

She is mine. Mine.

Date: One week before the Reclamation

She is still alive. Fragile. Vulnerable. Flesh. How cruel.

I watched her from the ridge as she knelt to pray. Her voice—it could have shattered glass, it was so pure. And yet she prays to a god who says nothing, offers nothing but finality. He will not save her. He does not deserve her devotion.

I do.

She is wasted on this world. This battlefield. This life. I can give her more. I can give her forever.

But to do so, I must make a choice.

I must be the dagger.

I must end her.

It will be beautiful. A moment of perfection, frozen in death. She will become mine in that instant, a bride reborn in the silence after her last breath. I’ve been preparing the ritual for months. It sings to me. The language of gods and monsters alike.

They will curse me. They will hunt me.
But when she rises again, she will stand by my side, and we will unmake the false divide between death and love.

Forever.

Rite of the Severed Oath

A spoken liturgy to free Lysandra from her blood-curse.
Preparation

Arrange the Tears of the Dead in a silver bowl at the head of the sarcophagus.

Lay moon-shadow lilies across Lysandra’s breastplate, their petals touching steel.

The voluntary soul-bearer kneels at her feet, hand over heart, knowing their spark will be surrendered for hers.

Extinguish all lights but one candle; when its flame gutters low, begin the chant.

The Litany

(Leader reads the bold lines; companions echo the italic words.)

Leader:
“By tears unnumbered, we wash away the night.”
We wash away the night.

Leader:
“By lilies that bloom where life and Lethe meet, we call the dawn.”
We call the dawn.

Leader:
“By a heart offered freely at the precipice of ending, we weigh the scales anew.”
We weigh the scales anew.

(Place a drop of Tears on each lily. The soul-bearer speaks next.)

Soul-bearer:
“Judge of the Silent Gate, let my spark stand in the breach.
Ride it as a bridge, not a chain.
Claim only what I yield—no more, no less—
that Lysandra’s oath be cleansed.”

(All clasp hands in a circle around the crypt.)

Leader:
“Radiance once sworn, now stained in blood,
Return! Return!
Chains that bind in crimson spite,
Shatter! Shatter!
Let oath and soul divide;
Let death and life abide.”

(At “Shatter!” the lilies turn a ghost-pale gray; if they blacken, the rite is failing.)

I had heard tales of Lysandra—the Chosen who walked where grave-soil still smoked—but stories do her no justice.
This morning our band breached the catacombs of Duorn Keep. Fog clung to the stones like ghosts with nowhere left to haunt, and even my arcane light felt thin. Yet there she was, helm tucked beneath one arm, laughing as she hoisted a wounded militia boy to his feet.

That smile… it was sunrise in a burial chamber.
I spoke a single cantrip, weaving the air into drifting motes so the lad thought the dawn itself had slipped underground. She turned—silver eyes meeting mine—and thanked me for the “small miracle.” No knightly pomp, just warmth and unshakable courage.

She asked my name. “Zhartus,” I managed, throat suddenly dry.
“Then walk beside me, Zhartus,” she said, “for the dark is thinner when we share the flame.”

I will be the wizard of her company, the quill to her blade. Not for glory, but to stay within the orbit of that never-fading smile that can enlighten even the deepest dungeon. If the gods grant me nothing more in this life, let them grant me proximity.

Loot: 700gp
1x Perfume of Bewitching
1x Spellwrought Tattoo of Lifetransverance
1x Spellwrought Tattoo of Summon Undeath

Trinket: Music box of Haunted Lullabies
2x Trinket: Obsidian signet ring styled with Kelemvor’s scales fractured down the centre). worth 150gp (ausgekauft)
“Forever, even in death”

Doll of Lysandra (Talking Doll)
Wondrous item, common (requires attunement)

The puppet is a diminutive, porcelain-skinned replica of Lysandra—perfectly sculpted cheekbones, the same cascade of raven hair, but its beauty is forever frozen beneath a fine web of hairline cracks. Hollow glass eyes—one a shade too bright, the other ever so slightly askew—gleam with trapped candle-light, giving the unsettling impression that something inside is trying to peer out.

A tattered black wedding gown—stitched from funeral veils and midnight satin—clings to its frail wooden frame. Every hem is frayed as though moth-eaten by time, yet intricate silver embroidery still glitters like frost along the corset seams. Where a living bride would wear lace gloves, the puppet’s jointed fingers are bare maple, stained the color of old blood around the nails.

Most disturbing is the golden wedding band looped loosely around its right wrist—far too large to fit any finger, it slides and clinks with every jerky marionette twitch, an ironic mockery of vows never sworn. With each subtle movement, the dress sighs as if woven with whispers, and faint necromantic sigils pulse beneath the silk like bruises on pale skin. When the necromancer’s strings tug, the puppet’s cracked lips part in a silent laugh, and for an instant the bride of darkness seems poised to step out of her doll’s body and claim a life of her own.

Normal press (devoted yet unsettling)
“Wound me tighter, beloved master.”

Failsafe press (after the necromancer’s death – obsessive, ominous)
“Your heart has stopped; mine hunts. Death...won’t keep...us apart.”

Only the Necromancer can attune to this Item. Once he dies the failsafe activates and the message stays forever the same.

The Ring can be kept as a Trinket. Its inner is engraved with the following text: "LYSANDRA—MINE IN LIFE, MINE IN DEATH, MINE BEYOND THE LAST DAWN."

Gravemaiden's Aegis (Dragonguard with Guardian Property)
Medium armor (breastplate), rare

You have a +1 bonus to AC while wearing this armor.

It grants its wearer advantage on saving throws against the breath weapons of Dragons.

Spectral Sentinel. The Chosen’s restless shade drifts at your shoulder, whispering a chill warning the instant danger stirs. While you are not Incapacitated, you gain a +2 bonus to Initiative.

https://files.d20.io/images/447073950/mdOtUFhCN0kWvQFBTrXWfQ/max.png?1751356011
"This hauntingly elegant set of armor was once a sacred vestment of a revered warrior-priestess of Kelemvor. Forged in sanctified steel, it was designed not only to protect her body, but to reflect her solemn role as a dignified guide to the afterlife—a figure of peace, finality, and mercy. It bore the sigils of judgment and balance, its dark tones an homage to death's inevitability, not its cruelty.

But death was not her end.

After her fall in battle, her corpse was stolen by a deranged necromancer, a man who had once loved her in secret. His forbidden ritual tore her soul from the grasp of Kelemvor, but the god’s divine protection had not faded. The resurrection failed—and the body twisted. The armor, once a vessel of divine purpose, absorbed the backlash of celestial and necrotic forces and was forever changed.

What remains is a grim echo of its former self. The armor's dark beauty endures, but now it radiates cold, hateful energy. Subtle runes of warding are cracked, weeping black ichor in fine lines across the plating. Its intricate lace-like trim and high gothic form remain pristine—as if mocking the purity it once stood for. A bitter aura lingers around it, whispering of interrupted rest and vengeance denied."

Story Award – “Scion of the Balanced Heart”

Awarded to any character who consumes the Heart of Devotion and carries its radiance within their own.

You have swallowed the luminous Heart of Devotion, a relic once offered to Kelemvor as proof that love can temper judgment. The artifact dissolved into your flesh, leaving a faint, palm-sized scar above your sternum that pulses with a soft, golden glow. Though its power has spent itself, its legacy endures in you.

Narrative Boons

• Mark of Mercy. Priests, acolytes, and funerary caretakers who serve Kelemvor, the Judge of the Dead, feel an instinctive reverence when they notice the scar. They greet you with solemn respect, offer guidance without payment, and may waive minor temple fees such as burial rites or divination services.

  • Echo of the Heartbeat. In moments of utter stillness—graveyards at midnight, crypt corridors deep underground—you sometimes hear a single resonant thump that no one else perceives. It points you unerringly toward desecrated ground or unliving abominations in need of judgment, guiding your party like a moral compass.
  • Whisper of the Departed. Spirits bound to unfinished vows—in particular children, widows, or oath-sworn knights—recognize a sliver of hope in you. They will attempt to communicate first with you before resorting to haunting or violence, granting your group chances for parley where others would earn only terror.

Narrative Complications

• Beacon of Balance. Necromancers, wraiths, and other entities that defy the natural passage of souls feel a subtle sting in your presence. Some recoil; others become obsessed with extinguishing the scar’s light and may track or single you out in a crowd.

• Weight of Judgment. When you knowingly commit an act that would disturb the balance between life and death—raising an unwilling corpse, defiling a grave, or striking down a helpless foe—the scar chars black for a night and throbs with cold pain. Those who notice may question your worthiness—or your own conscience might.

“Story Award: Whispers of Peace”

Awarded for: Successfully freeing Lysandra’s soul and returning her to Kelemvor's embrace.

Effect: Word of the party’s deed spreads quietly among those who listen to the stillness between life and death. In sacred places, old priests and deathless spirits nod in passing silence. Ghosts part the way without hostility. The party has earned the silent respect of those who tend the threshold.

Narrative Benefit: In future adventures, agents of Kelemvor—mortals and immortals alike—may offer unexpected trust, guidance, or information. The players are not just adventurers—they are soulkeepers.

“Story Award: Marked by the Veil”

Awarded for: Having a servant of Kelemvor in the party when Lysandra’s soul is freed, receiving a subtle yet unmistakable blessing from the Judge of the Dead.

Effect: The eyes of the Kelemvorite now shimmer faintly with a silver flame—not bright, but ever-present, like the last flicker of a funeral candle. It does not burn, nor does it harm—it watches. Priests, spirits, and acolytes of the death god recognize it immediately as a sacred sign. None dare question its origin.

Narrative Benefit: The character is forever seen as one who has walked the border of life and death and returned with purpose. They may be sought out by Kelemvor’s clergy for divine judgment, last rites, or visions. Among the faithful, they are a living omen—a bearer of quiet mercy and inevitable truth.

Lyana Ghostlight

Size: 140 (medium)
Weigth: 35kg
Eyes: Silber
Hair: Schwarz
Skin: Silbrig/Braun

Costomizing your Origin:
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Race: Aasimar
Proficiencies Language: Common, Celestial
Source: Ability +2, one +1
Chose: Wis +2, Dex +1
Ability Score Point ´Buy:
St 8, Dex 13, Con 15, Int 10, Wis 15, Cha 10

Class: Grave Cleric
Weapon Proficiencies: Simple weapons
Armor Proficiencies: Light Armor, Medium Armor, Shields
Skill Proficiencies: Medicine, Insight

Touched by Death and Light (Akolyte Backgound umgedingstelt)
Proficiencies Skill: Religion, Perception
Proficiencies Language: Sylvan, Abyssal
Feat: Skilled
Proficiencies Skill: Acrobatics, Survival, Stealth

Class Equipment
Shield, Holy Symbol, Mace, Scale Mail, Light Crossbow and Crossbow Bolts (20), Priest's Pack
Equipment from Background (Acolyte)
Holy Symbol, Stick of Incense (5), Vestments, Common Clothes, Belt Pouch15 gp, Prayer Book

Biography

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(Geboren und aufgewachsen im Dorf Aetherglen.)
Lyana war schon immer besonders. Bei ihrer Geburt glimmte ein seltsames Licht um das kleine Mädchen mit den Rabenschwarzen Haaren und ihre silberenen Augen flackertern im Licht. Die Heiler des Dorfes wahren erstaunt und gleichzeitig etwas entsetz, da sie nicht wussten was dies zu bedeuten hatte. Als das kleine lebhafte Mädchen dann heran wuschs wurde schnell klar das sie magisch sehr begabt war. Sie bekam meist skeptische Blicke. Sie war oft am Schrein von Kelemvor anzutreffen wo sie meisten Selbstgespräche führte. Ein Priester der das Dorf einmal besuchte stellte fest das die kleine wohl einen jetzt schon gut ausgeprägten Sinn für die Einstellung zu jenen Gott hatte und gab ihr ein Heiliges Symbol das sogleich hell aufleuchtete. Trotz des Glaubens den sie hegte war die Kleine doch ein rechter Wildfang und spielte im Dorf viele Streiche die zwar einerseits lustig und gruselig zu gleich waren, doch andererseits bei den erwachsenen keinen guten Anklang fand. Dadurch standen oft Nachbarn vor Lyanas Elternhaus und beschwerten sich oder jagten sie wenn sie es wieder übertrieben hatte quer durchs Dorf. Sie war meist zu flink und lies sich selten erwischen. Sie versteckte sich oft am Schrein an dem sie sich am wohlsten fühlte. Ihr Vater war als sie gerade 4 Jahre alt war ausgezogen um sein Glück als Abenteuer zu suchen und war seither nicht mehr heimgekehrt. Ihre Mutter war daraufhin nach zwei Jahren des Wartens erkrankt und verstarb kurz vor Lyanas 6ten Geburtstag. Seither Kümmert sich ihr Großvater um sie der ein Erfahrener Forscher war und sich in ihren Dorf zur ruhe Gesetzt hatte. Seine Spezialität war Forst zum Einfluss von Vorhersagungsmagie auf geschichtliche Ereignisse. Es war eine seltsame Beziehung die die zwei zu einander hatte. Doch keine negative, sie liebte ihren Großvater (Isaac Ghostlight) und der sie ebenfalls, trotz des Schabernacks den sie ab und an trieb. Er wollte sie solange Kind sein wie sie konnte da sie. Erwachsen werden kommt noch früh genug.

Ein seltsames Licht umgibt das junge Mädchen mit den Rabenschwarzen Haaren das zu einen Zopf geflochten ist und ihre silberenen Augen. Sie ist noch recht klein mit ihren 140 cm und leicht. Doch das tut sie schnell ab und meint sie währe noch im Wachstum. Sie trägt ein schwarzes Gewand mit einen Ledernen Gürtel darum. Um ihren Hals legen sich 2 Kragen die sich überlappend auf ihre Schultern . Sie trägt dazu Lederne Armschützer und Stiefel die ihr bis zu den Oberschenkeln reichen. An einer Seite trägt sie ein Schild das aussieht als wäre es ihr etwas zu groß, darauf abgebildet eine knöcherne Hand die eine Wage hält. In der Hand hält sie oft einen Streitkolben oder einen Dolch.
.

[Protector Aasimar Touchd by Light (angel) named Soulguide]
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Erscheint in Form eines kleinen Lichts das manchmal aussieht als wäre es eine kleine human like form.

Besucher sind in Aetherglen willkommen, aber man begegnet ihnen mit wachsamen Augen und einem misstrauischen Gemüt.
.
Lyana hat mitbekommen, dass letzte Woche etwas seltsames vorgefallen ist:
Eine Frau ist in ihrem Haus im Schlaf von Baumwurzeln durchbohrt aufgefunden worden. Sie wurde neben dem Kelemvortempel beerdigt und auf ihrem Grab wächst jetzt ein kleiner Baum. Der Friedhofsgärtner hat schon versucht ihn zurückzuschneiden, aber er wächst immer wieder nach...

Kaufte einen Dolch für 2gp

es geht weiter :D****

1x Potion of Healing verbraucht

Durgeddins Handaxt (magischer Meisterschmied aus Khundrukar))

Loot:
Rapier +1
Weapon (rapier), uncommon
You have a +1 bonus to Attack and Damage Rolls made with this weapon.

1x Potion of Healing
1x Potion of Climbing
1x flask of holy water

weiter gehts!

Mistress,
Our endeavor is about to take shape. Having removed the blasphemous image of this slave deity and replaced it with the benign countenance of our God-Queen, we eventually have secured the way back by the measure we discussed. No creature of the lower races will ever know where she came from, and so they will never be able to find the way to the lake or disturb the experiment. I regret that I cannot be there when you put a stop to this demoness. Her screams of pain would certainly have given me pleasure and joy. But one thing concerns me. It seems that the roots do not stop at our troops as we had intended, but I am sorry to report that two of our soldiers have succumbed to them as well. They are only men, so the damage is limited. Nevertheless, I must humbly confess my inadequacy and ask, Great Aurundil, that in your boundless wisdom you investigate this unintentional inconvenience in order to eradicate it before we can no longer fulfill our task. I promptly await punishment for my failure and remain with the utmost respect.

Your servant Vy'listree

Lyanas Notizen

Großer raum mit wasserbecken worüber eine lolh statur wachte mit 3 fallen drin.... eine "entschärft und 2 umgangen. wenn man rätzel löst dan fliest das wasser ab und man kann weiter runter gehn.
viele spinnen und ein reisender fluss mit wasserfall.
Zwergennamen aufen untergrund friedhof:
Borgol the Old, Gharin Orc-Doom, and Numik the Unlucky.
Untendrunter piltzwald
Stinkeficher die einen angreifen und aussehn wie steine (Note to myself: Ich hasse Rätzel!!! Warum kann man nich sagen/schreiben was man will!? Beleidigtes Backenaufblasen)

****Es geht weiter!

Wurden mehrmals von den stinkefichern verklopt und mussten in der nesting höhle übernachten. danach fanden wir ne risige echse die einen "schatz" bewachte.

Longsword +1
Weapon (any), uncommon (+1)
You have a bonus to attack and damage rolls made with this magic weapon. The bonus is determined by the weapon’s rarity.

The dwarf skeleton clutches a +1 longsword that bears Durgeddin’s smith-mark.

Ring of Spell Storing
Ring, rare (requires attunement)
This ring stores spells cast into it, holding them until the attuned wearer uses them. The ring can store up to 5 levels worth of spells at a time. When found, it contains 1d6 − 1 levels of stored spells chosen by the GM.

Any creature can cast a spell of 1st through 5th level into the ring by touching the ring as the spell is cast. The spell has no effect, other than to be stored in the ring. If the ring can’t hold the spell, the spell is expended without effect. The level of the slot used to cast the spell determines how much space it uses.

While wearing this ring, you can cast any spell stored in it. The spell uses the slot level, spell save DC, spell attack bonus, and spellcasting ability of the original caster, but is otherwise treated as if you cast the spell. The spell cast from the ring is no longer stored in it, freeing up space.
Spells Stord:
1x Shield
2x Mirror Image

Morndinsamman Zwergengott der Toten

Heirloom of House Xathyr

Heavy armor, very rare (Story Item)

65 lb. AC 18

This valuable armor has been made of well-crafted and blackened steel. Embedded in the breastplate is made of platinum the symbol of the House of Xathyr, a hammer and a staff on a shield.

While wearing this armor, you gain a +2 bonus to AC. In addition, if an effect moves you against your will along the ground, you can use your reaction to reduce the distance you are moved by up to 10 feet.

The wearer has disadvantage on Dexterity (Stealth) checks.

If the wearer has a Strength score lower than 15, their speed is reduced by 10 feet.

1x Potion of Healing
1x Potion of Hill Giant Strength

Rapier +1 von Lyana Ghostlight (Arikatzi020)
Getauscht gegen:
Shield of the Moon von Fyren (Arikatzi020)
https://www.adventurersleaguelog.com/users/36450/characters/89811/trade_log_entries/927615