Saturday, August 16, 2008

Coda.

The war on the bloodlores was long and arduous lasting nearly two years. The effect of the battles could be seen as far as Iopos and Kratas, a swath of dessicated fields and ghost towns, from which severe raiding had culled the settlements to nothing. A small tribe of savage warriors at first, the Bloodlores rose suddenly to prominence under the new leadership for Mikkil Bloodeye, whose blitzkrieg of piracy inflated his sky navy with captured drakkars and ships from all tribes. Even worse was the inexplicable reserve of power they suddenly achieved. Seemingly unkillable, a fiersome bloodlore could cut down a score of trolls his equal, and their red cystal weapons cut through armor and crackled with lightning.

The speed of their war took the other Troll tribes by surprise. Bothe the stoneclaws and Ironmongers suffered terrible losses and chose to retreat outlying communes to a handful of fortifyed towns. There they entrenched themselves and reinforced their defenses, waiting for the bloodlores to slake their thirst for revenge and to finish their raiding parties by the end of winter.

But they never stopped.

Desperate for supplies the Ironmongers and Stoneclaws raided each other and weaker settlements, contributing further turmoil in the region. Times became grim indeed.

It was in the early winter of 1509 when an airship sailed near Volkshome, the Ironmonger mountain city. Hidden from normal view by the crevices of the Tylon Mountains, the warriors launched a desperate attack, but they did not find enemies on board - they found allies and kin. At first the crew of the Air Whisper could do little in he war. They remained passive gaining their trust, understanding the enemy and learning the customs of their new allies. Many weeks passed, and the vestiges of winter began to hit. Unable to persuade the Ironmongers to change their defensive stance, the crew launched out to strike a bold surprise strike of their own on a remote hasitly erected supply post. Though they faced a mere handful of enemies the battle was harsh,wounds seemingly unable to affect the red trolls. Even so, by the end of the night, corpses of their foes, and many friends fuelked a charnel house of flame. The outpost was no more.

This and a handful of other daring raids on remote outposts managed to gain the respect of the other trolls. Soon Jarls friend and old master Hasbjorn threw in his drakkar to support he air whisper, and after a month, the fleet was up four vessels. By month two they dared strike their first attack on a Bloodlore drakkar, sending the blood soaked vessel spiralling down in a raging ball of flame.
Though successful, the enemy was still too hard to beat and the crew of the Air Whisper knew they needed more than a few dissidents from the Ironmongers to help them. Careful they waited and watched the settlements of the Stoneclaws. When the bloodlores attacked a settlement, they tricked their associated fleet into a rescue mission. It was a dangerous gambit - but it paid off, the door to negotiations opened, and in time the trolls banded together for this common cause.

It was in the second year that the secret of hte bloodlores was revealed. Another group of Watchmen under the leadership of Wolf, defeated Lastail, one of the leaders of the Hand, and secured another Book of Harrow. Under interrogation the mystery unravelled. Using dark blood magic, the Bloodlores sacrificed captured slaves and took their life force, granting them untold srtength and vitality. The trolls used the very souls of their captives to increase their power. Once this truth came out, the remaining tribes did not need further convincing, the war effort was shifted from the defensive to a full on onslaught, one fuelled by outrage and vengeance for the dishonorable deaths of hundreds of their people.

But the Air Whisper and it's crew took leave from this battle for a while as tragic news reached them. The covert war in Kratas was not going as well, and their friend Vin Namek had been captured by the nefarious Vistrosh, and killed. They delegated the ship to a trusted commander, and left the skies to avenge their comrade and settle an old score. The Five Flames were alone once more.

Their fame preceeding them, they found no shortage of allies in the resistance of Kratas. Meeting with the supposedly dead Garthik One-Eye, the group aids in their guerilla war agains Brochers Brood, who use their ill gotten gains to raise a mercenary army. Eventually the heroes opt to strike at the financial core of their operations when they discover the source of the Mescal drug. Far to the east, within the veil of the Servos Jungle, the Brood ran a large plantation. With the Hands power, the Brood captured a Horror that had possessed a huge plant - it's roots laced nearly a mile of field. Slippery like tentacles the horror was milked for it's essence which was processed and refined into the addicitve soul blighting drug. The secret of it's location was the most difficult campaign of all: stealth missions, assassinations, misinformation and infiltration - all missions dependent on zero mistakes. But with the final piece of hte puzzle, the plantation slave masters received a wake up call of their own - in the form of blazing cannon fire from the Air Whisper. The destruction absolute, the resistance need not wait very long before the power struggle began to happen. Encouraging a sense of fear and paranoia the Brood began infighting and soon Vistrosh himself had to flee into the night never to be seen again as the heads of his underlings began to line the walls of Kratas.

Never ones to rest, the Five returned north, and to the war. Mikkil had revealed his latest and greatest weapon: a huge behemoth of a drakkar, made from true earth, wood and ruby red living crystal - The Reaver. Like a battleship it held hundred of bloodlores who descended on the Ironmonger capital and obliterated everythign and everyone within. The Stoneclaws were soon to follow. Unable to face the Reaver in the sky, the Five faced mortal danger in a climb up the mountains and crept clsoe to the Bloodlore home itself. Through guile they penetrated the defenses and managed ot reach the sacrificial chamber where the blood magic was cast. It appeared ot be another lost lab of the master magus Ferros. As they set about destroying it they were confronted by the leader himself - Mikkil Bloodeye . The bloody battle was long and arduous, the power of Mikkils Lighting Mace slew most of the Flames, but when almost all was lost they rallied and Mikkil was no more. A rift took them away before the army itself could follow. With their defiant leader down the power struggle left the Bloodlore vulnerable and by the end of the year the war was over.

For a moment in time, it seemed like the forces of rightousness were giving a moments breath. The Hand went back into hiding, their biggest two instruments destroyed, and their leadership weak. The trolls held overdue funerals and then feasts, Kratas took it's revenge on the usurpers and despots and if just for a little moment, the heroes could rest.

However the nature of things is fragile. They tried to find ways to curtail the raiding culture of the trolls and introduce a farming class, but it is hard to change a people dependent on war. The troll alliance fractued and things resettled to the ways they used to be. Fearful settlers refused to live so close to what they percieved as bloodthirsty raiding trolls, and the trolls themselves had to set out far to find food to steal. Kratas was in shambles from the great fire which Vistrosh had set upon it, and it was flooded with maniacal regugees, thirsty for more mescal, desperate enough to kill, crazy enough not to care. The Force of the Eye had to use the same force the previous tyrant used to "put down" this threat, something that left them hollow and empty. It seemed the Hand was winning even in it's defeat.

And this is when Thera invaded Barsaive.

Let it not be said that this was unexpected. The Throalic forces had been drilling and preparing for well over a year, or rather since the last war many years ago. Regardless, an invasion is anything but what the land needed.

The Five Flames did what they could in the war, using the Air Whisper to great effect, shipping refugees to safe haven, or smuggling supplies behind enemy lines to resistance troops there. But their true mission was never forgotten, and they still sought ways to destroy the Hand who even now exploited the turbulent atmosphere to great advantage.

Then it came, after so long, the moment the Watchmen had been waiting for. A young dwarf named Wilks, an almost new addition to the order, selected by the Flames themselves, uncovered a Hand safe house, and from that, the path to a hidden outpost.

The Watchmen staged a covert surprise attack on the outpost And a major showdown ensued with the last known leader of the Nihilists: Ianthe. The prize was the last books of Harrow and many scrolls and books full of the Hands magics and plans. With victory in the air they returned back to the forge to pour over what they could, and as quickly as possible before the Hand can react to the loss of their outpost.

Forgoing sleep, the great hall converted itself to a rudimentary library – with nearly the entire Watchmen force reading and rereading, making notes on chalkboards and extracting whatever information they could use. Wolf finally dropped his pretence of secrecy and ordered whatever lead to be pursued. If on a scribbled piece of a paper a name was mentioned of a petty thief, the latter would wake to find three grizzled warriors holding him down a knife to his throat and a demand for information on their lips.

The Hand reacted in kind, and soon battles took place wherever the Watchmen and Hand crossed paths. The Five caught up with Broker leader Postrish, but despite severe wounds she slipped through their fingers vowing bloody revenge. The hand then played their trump card and revealed how much they knew on the Watchmen themselves.

A single night passed. In the morning the Watchmen woke to tragedy. Their families, wives, husbands children, mothers, siblings, and friends had been slain. The Order was devastated, and became blind to tactics, spreading out eager for revenge. Just as the magi completed the research on Ferros, the Hand attacked the Forge itself and killed the agents where they slept. Postrish was killed here, and the myseterious assassin Absolution was found a day later culling an entire villiage to draw attention. His defeat cost K’eregem his life and stunned the Order of the Watchmen began to unravel.

The Five Flames, already a very shaky union, barely holding it together after many travails nearly splintered, but managed to hold it together for just a little longer. For they had found where the leadership was hiding.

As Throal managed a pyrric victory against the Therans, and rebuilding was taking place, the Five Flames did not let anyone rest.

Calling in every favour and all their allies the Five sieged a hidden fortress outside of Parlainth. The Orc Cavalry men on land, the Troll Sky Raiders in the air, an Omaron sponsored mercenary fleet, and a cadre of Obsidiman Magi to back them up the Five lived only fuelled by a duty to their fallen comrades and their hearts beat only bloody revenge.

As they blew the doors away to the central chambers the Five finally faced the secret leader of the Hand: Elendil - Elissars own brother. The voice in the nethermancers head was him all along and suddenly they found themselves incapable of action – the brand on their backs controlled by this very villain before them. It all began to come to gether – it all became clear.

Cast away in his youth, he swore to gain power by any means and as if fate guided him, he discovered a secret lab of the magus Ferros. Unlocking the powers within he was able to join a then weak group of idealists and restructure their power base into what became the Hand of Corruption. Persuading them of a fake cause he secretly used them as pawns in his greater game: achieving godhood – just like Ferros did.

“I could never trust these fanatics with the truth, nor could I get them to work together to help decipher the hidden meanings inside the Books of harrow.” Said Elendil. “So I allowed you to defeat my playthings and gain access to the books – your zeal to do right and uncover the secrets as a collective allowed me a insight I would have taken a lifetime to uncover”

Using the brand, Elendil played with them like rag dolls and set them upon one another. “A device allowed me to sense people who could affect my destiny – so I had them all round up and set about controlling them” he laughed maniacally. As nefarious as his plan was he could never collect them all. Cyrellion – unbound by this bond – destroyed the control device and the Five set upon the powerful magus.

Little is known what happened next, suffice to say the huge fortress itself collapsed in a chain series of magical explosions and the Flames emerged from a rift – even in the nether a battle had ensued.

Absolved of their duty, finished with their destiny and weary from their neverending battles the five Flames dissolved and one of the greatest Hero Bands to walk in Barsaive was no more – each having their own demons to face, a path they much each walk on their own.


Ahmok.

Ever since the Mist Swamps, Ahmok had drawn the attention of Thystonius. The god of conflict took a particular like to the T’skrangs philosophy and prowess and decided to make him an avatar – however the feeling was far from mutual. A Passion is not to be rebuffed and instead put conflict in Ahmoks path as a means to persuade him otherwise. Battles became a curse, even as Ahmok killed the first Bloodlore and as he pulled his sword from a Hand assassin, all Thystonious could do was clap and laugh heartily nearby preparing another fight for the weary swordmaster.

Ahmok still rebuffed the god, but accepted his role. He returned to Travar where his friend, the merchant Omaron, had managed to secure a thriving business. The dwarven merchant allied with Ahmok, and the latter amassed a small gladiatorial group and fought in the Guantlet winning the Olympic battle within. This secured Omarons position in the government and both profited beyond their dreams.

At first Ahmok opened a swordsman academy with his gladiators and turned to training. Despite it’s success and popularity, still Ahmoks heart was hollow, facing daily duels and Thystonious’ wiles. Also the prospect of teaching had made him miss his old master – the legendary Keregem. One day the famous swordmaster just packed his bags and left the material life behind walking in the path of his old master.

He walked the land, from town to town, village to village, always a stranger arriving at just the right moment to help people in need and almost never reaching for his blade to solve the issue. Years later, he faced Thystonious with calm and the passion lost interest in the T’skrang and Ahmok was free.

Even as he sat silent in a village tavern he heard people talking of the legendary Ahmok the greatest swordsman to walk the land, all he did was remember his master, and the sense of majesty the peace in the servos jungle had. There and then he removed his sword and walked away never to lift a weapon again. He died a quiet old man in a remote village you probably never heard of – his legend lives on.



Jarl

Jarl was always trapped in many worlds. He saw the allegory of his battle in the mist swamps as a connection of water. The war of the blood trolls was one of air. The next was one of earth.

During the Troll skirmishes Jarl returned to his homeland and met with his family. At first it was business as usual, hostile siblings and disapproving snide parents. But Jarl saw more there than met the eye. The Orc workers were herded and treated like slaves, and they mined more than special clay. The Skalders had unearthed a source of true earth. Angry at first, Jarl was positively incensed when he discovered his father was making trade agreements with the Hand itself. When his brother crept in the night to silence the upstart elementalist everything went white hot.

Jarl emerged from his lands with a fractured mind, having obliterated his entire bloodline in one night – his skin sizzling with the raw power he tapped into. Fortunately there was a war to channel his new found reserves into and after that there was Kratas, and after that there was the Hand. Jarl was a man possessed and alienated all those around him.

After this fire had calmed he had come full circle and he had faced all the elements wanted to throw at him. Time passed and he returned to his old self, but not before tracking down the mysterious bard he was supposed to seek out and finding the source of his family’s curse. The solution involved a heroquest – a journey into a god realm from which he absolved the taint his horror worshipping ancestors had done and in doing so his own. He returned and his family lands not only were fertile – they thrived.

Due to the Hands ploy to buy land in Skalders name Jarl was a very powerful landowner – but was never one for farming. He gave away the rich land to whomever seemed worthy of it – to the needy and to the bold, visiting each home like a wandering nomad and sleeping in barns. Occasionally he made a pot of the Skalder Spicy Stew, an honor bestowed on the few friends he had left.

He died relatively young in an unexplained explosion. Those who knew him best thought it was the way he would have wanted to go.



Ivor

Amongst the Ironmongers, Ivor found new brothers. The trollmoot held many secrets in the art of smithing kept secret for those worthy. Working side by side with their smiths to reinforce their vessels and overseeing more defensive structures, the skyraiders eventually blessed him with the trust he needed. By the end of the Bloodlore war, he had found new ways to meld various metals into new alloys. Finally deciding that this was the mineral he required to start his forgeblade he was inducted into the clan itself and dubbed “Voriok” meaning the Blessed.

Once the Hand was destroyed and his friends had parted ways he was left in a position he rarely had been before – completely up to his own devices. In a very short time he completed what should have been a life quest and forged a paid of perfect gauntlets, with retractable blades. With war still in his veins he donned his new creations and headed west where Theran and throalic skirmishes occurred frequently.

Two years had passed and the Orc nomads began to call him “Ga’Shan” meaning Steel Heart. As a guerrilla soldier among them he did what he did best – create new weapons, enhance their existing ones and built defences to keep them safe.

Eventually he returned to the Forge, and encountered a solitary old and weak Oaki, still keeping the site alive as it’s grandmaster. The secret of the forge and all the lore the watchmen had accumulated rested here – like a catacomb. The two realised it could never be truly defended. With Dol Kraals permission and a blessing from Upandal the two took it apart brick by brick, incantation by incantation: a process of many many months. Once the last pillar came down and the true flame pit poured through the complex and fused it closed Oaki lay down and died silently.

Still weary from the ordeals Ivor is recalled to the capital and offered the post of head weaponsmith, effectively demoting his father. The two have a terrible confrontation and Ivor denounces his name forever – becoming reborn as Vorshan.

He is next sighted at Urupa, tending to the temples of Upandal and the various buildings and monuments there. In time he draws an affinity for the city, marries and raises a family and eventually his popularity gets him elected governor of the city. When a new settlement is built in the north, the aqueducts and fountains he creates are considered a wonder of the world and remain standing for over 500years.

His funeral procession was over a mile long.


Cyrellion.

Cyrellion started his exploits as a slave liberator and returned to his roots after the Flames fractured. Though his calling was that of an archer, he started to live life as an Air Sailor. When Jarl began his descent into madness the dwarf saw to it that Cyrellion took over the Air Whisper as captain and the elf soon bonded with the vessel like no other.

So much so that Cyrellion was always stricken with duality. He was born into nobility but lived as a pauper, trained as a soldier but faught like a guerrilla. His many brushes with horrors only made his character more separate and apart. When his family was slain a part of him grieved while the other fought bravely one as if nothing happened.

During the last stand of the Elendil at the Hand fortress, he lost his grip in the nether space and nearly was consumed by the entities there. He had no more room to store his repressed thoughts. He became silent and then weeks later just fell into a coma.

It took over seven months before a Garlen priestess could draw him from the nightmare he was battling in his head. When he woke he was all but dead, his eyes wide and filled with void, and he lost all traces of the cheery elf he once was. Or at least half of him.

The other half became the most fearsome privateer the region had seen. With the Air Whisper he raided Theran ships and outposts with wonton recklessness leaving only destruction in his wake. He earned the nickname “Der’ishan” meaning Captain Winter and his fanatically loyal crew the Winter Wolves.

Eventually the ship was destroyed by a massed Theran fleet,, but not before it was sent into a ramming path with one of their behemoths. The two exploded and Captain Winter was presumed dead. But not Cyrellion.
He returns to what he knew best – training guerrillas to liberate slave camps. One the way he meets a mystic healer who threw passion powers and deep meditation finally heals the scar on his heart. For the first time in nearly twenty years, the elf weeps and feels real emotion again.

Restored of a soul he takes a pilgrimage across Barsaive revisiting old haunts and new places alike. He meets and falls gut wrenchingly in love with a blood elf and attempts to extridct her from her noble household and the dark inclinations of her parent household.

The two die in their escape though their passion draws the attention of Astendar who moved by their plight raises their souls into doves and both take wing together.



Elessar

Unable to truly understand why anyone would do what his brother did Elessar used his time to delve deeper into the lore. Thirst for power that consumed so many lives so much death for so little gain seemed inconceivable.

With the watchmen disbanded the Nethermancer absconded with the books of harrow and whatever lore he could get his hands on. He studied and researched for years and years, foregoing more than sleep and human contact, almost driven to obsession like his fallen sibling.

Both rituals – that of Ferros and Elendil – were drastically flawed and in order to become a true immortal they would have tapped the very essence of life. Elessar realised with his half magic that a tap was indeed running. It took time but he found The still living Magus Ferros, trapped in the body of a very frail old man, but yet brimming with power and immortal. He did not achieve an ascent to godhood, and in failing to do so he prolonged the aftermath of the scourge, the reason why the dice always seemed loaded at the start for the entire world. The reason why horrors still had an anchor to this world.

In an epic magical display lasting days, Elessar and Ferros locked themselves in a duel. When finally people could dare approach the seven mile crater they formed they found two bodies within.

With Ferros defeated, Barsaive entered a new renaissance, the weather was kind, the land bountiful, fortunes sweet and trust more easy to come by. It heralded an age modern historians refer to as the golden century, who also argue over the validity of the claims made about the final battle that took place nearly two thousand years ago.

Indeed only recently when breaking ground for a new metropolitan skyscraper, an old kaer was discovered. Within was a library – perfectly preserved first written in scrolls, and parchment, then in leather bound books, set printing and then typewritten material.

All the texts are a first person historical account of the history of Barsaive, it’s land, it’s people and above all it’s heroes. Archaeologists found this to be the greatest discovery of all time – all the texts seem valid and accurate, written in a multitude of languages. But the question they all asked is where did this trove of lore come from?


A silent internet user sits at a desk and starts a new blog. “It all began in a dark dank cell. I awoke, with my head throbbing from the kidnap, beside me were a dwarf, a windling, a human and a T’skrang”

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