Quest Brainstorm - Mattiverse
It was not long after the newly raised gods retreated behind their veil that their brood took to mischief and the wars against the darkness were replaced with the wars of the green. The men established their cities, the gildenfolk dug their burrows, and our people rode free and unchallenged across the plains of the midlands under the reign of the Wolfen-Khans, who ruled from their fortress where the grass ended and the mountains began. A fortress of stone and iron at the far end of our great, green sea.
And so Hadrian, called the Ubrekt, bastard son of the bastard son of War and Strife, came to make his Seat on the Stormchalice, at the furthest edges of our realm. He made war with a people called the Pon, then ruled by Natashial's daughter, whose name has been erased from history.
The war went disastrously for the Pon. Though they defended their colony well, the Ubrekt raised a fleet and set about an invasion of the capital of Phon. At that battle, Hadrian the Ubrekt saw his son slain, and in return made brutal war until Natashial's daughter met her end at his hand.
When Hadrian again marched against the Pon, whose sigil was the Gar fish, the Wolfen-Khan gave their aid. The Pon, now ruled by a council, made clever war but Hadrian made better war.
The power of the old gods was such that even a dram of that blood has the strength of armies. A generation of our kind raised to lullabies of mournful howling.
And so the Wolfen-Khan made exchange with the Naga for the secret of star-iron, called the usurper ore. And so set her people to scour the Cragbon until she had enough of the stuff to have made a great lance, which she took into battle against Hadrian the Ubrekt and slew him.
For reasons unknown, the power of the Ubrekt did not pass on to the Wolfen-Khan, however, but to the lance itself. It took in his power, but so too did it take in his personality. Conqueror. Lawbringer. Sovereign. The Wolfen-Khan fell under its sway.
The Ubrekt slain, his people made peace and elevated the child Hadrian II to the Seat. Quarrelsome and vain, he brought his folk once more into a war with the Pon. Our people, having launched a campaign against Servitors, did not honor their alliance and the empire of the Pon came to an end. Their monuments were toppled, their people enslaved, and their language forgotten.
For the Ubrekt, there is no peace but in ruination.
While our two peoples were celebrating their victories, discord also grew. Both leaders grew into tyrants, and both came to similar and interconnected ends. When Hadrian II was inevitably assassinated by his inner circle, a civil war resulted. The Wolfen-Khan, ambitious and no less tyrannical under the influence of the Lance, made war on both sides, seeking to annihilate forever the troublesome kingdom. This only served to drive the two sides together, and thus began our final war.
Sword against Lance. The Manticore versus the Wolf.
And so she who was to be the last Wolfen-Khan made indiscriminate war against the Ubrekti people. Cities razed, slaughter and ruination followed wherever she rode. The war was costly for our people, too, soon the costs became too high to bear.
The circle of druids came together against the Wolfen-Khan and overthrew her. Her cursed lance was broken into seven parts, each entrusted to a different elder druid to hide or protect.
Sadly, the breaking of the great lance was also the breaking of our dogs of war. The war quickly turned against us, and the young Ubrekti republic visited against our villages and campsites the death we had once handed out to them.
In the end, our people were defeated utterly, though not totally annihilated. The Ubrekti tore down the great fortress and carted the stone back to their capital to erect a great structure. The Concord of the Highways was struck, and the survivors of our old way of life assimilated into the expansive Ubrekti-Republic.
Somewhere, sunken deep in the Cragmore, is the Wolfen-Stone. A lost reminder of who we were and an ever-present reminder of who we are. Masters of war. Masters of peace.
Every generation we decide anew the destiny of our people.
thunderclap winds pick up around you. blue sky gives way to grey. newborn clouds dance in rings around a clear blue circle of light. a beam of light: white. hot. painful. you avert your eyes and are blinded. heat washes over you. it is followed, shortly after, by a pulse of force, almost like a heartbeat, but you are already destroyed. grey clouds spin and darken, taking form as a many-pronged vortex. a dancer: skirt billowing. legs kicking, arms reaching. reaching and lighting fires. fires that join each vortex, becoming salamanders taking flight into starry night, seven long limbed acrobats, each quickly learning to dance. thunderclap You are drawn into the storm. Lightning arcs around you. The genesis of thunder shatters your bones. You become nothing but your screams which become the raging storm which becomes the tines of the forking cyclone. You dance with the salamanders and the djinn. The winds howl around you, and your world becomes a hundred foot circle of peace in the maelstrom, lit only by the filtered light of fire and lightning. thunderclap you are the heart of the storm. you are the rod that captures the lightning. you are the lance that rules the world.
- The emaciated druids continue their dancing. They no longer look sublime, but tortured. They are thin now, and bony. Tears stream down their face. Once beautiful hair is stringy and matted, falling out in clumps. Around midnight, the druids begin to chant eerily in a language none of you understand/ Their chanting fills the camp. You wake up with a feeling of dread.he nonsense fills your ears and, though you still do not understand the language, you reckon the meaning.
- DEATH IS COMING / DEATH IS COMING / DEATH IS COMING
- The earth begins to tremble. The confused masses of dogmoot murmur and look around anxiously. Some begin to break and panic, hiding and running. Nightmare: A pillar of flame erupts near your location, and assumes the form of a coal black stallion, with a mane of fire.
- You run.
- You flee in a panic, every halfling for themselves.
- Behind you are the sounds of slaughter and the laments of the damned.
- You lose track of your brothers. The smell of soot and ash fills your nose and mouth.
- You run until you collapse in exhaustion.
- You seem to have run for miles.
- You are alone. In the distance, you see the Cragbon light up the night's sky with its inferno.
- You collapse into an exhausted pile of restless, dreamless sleep. This was no dream, though you wish it were.
- When you awaken, still exhausted. Five dogs sit, each staring at you blankly.
- A Mastiff. A Greyhound. A Sheepdog. A Hound. A Fox Terrier.
- [Religion / Arcana Checks]
- As you stand up and approach the dogs, they bolt! Each goes in a different direction!!
- [Q]: "Who do you follow?"
- You are separated from the others and run until you no longer can. Then, on the edge of collapse, you catch up with the dog you followed and end up asleep next to it.