PREVIEW: Our Terrible Purpose


Stars have started to come out. When I was a child, I would stand at the top of the watch tower and watch them. My father would be there with me, telling me the names of the stars and the pictures they formed on the aether. We would name the ones we could not.

Long long time ago, Aelich used to be a heart of a different Empire. Its wealth knew no bounds and it held its control over the Fugue sea vigorously. The invaders from the west...in the continents... raised massive fleets to plant its banners upon Aelrich soils. I have explored the islands in its entirety twice and I have never seen a single banner of their kind. Their fleets broke over the city's massive sea walls over and over again and not a single bannerman survived.

The men of Aelrich believed that they were bringing peace into the world. They believed that all the evils will break upon their walls until no men had the strength to continue fighting. Their peace died with them, through disease and inbreeding and the falling stars. The remainder surrendered to a New Empire, a New Order, and the last trace of them were wiped out. But their idea remained: for peace, men must die.

In the North I saw a band of men and women who rends the flesh of others so that they may bring food and water for their starving children. Sometimes, they would sell one in order to feed the rest.

In the far lands beyond the borders, I saw empty houses with children's toys in them. There were people in those lands once, before the doom encroached upon them.

In Aelrich, I saw children working in factories in spaces that were too small for an adult to fit in. The women came in from the countryside, believing that they too were being employed in the factories. The city's men and the brothels, as inseparable as cogs to each other, would process them and throw out their remains into the Fugue. I would sometimes be able to find their bodies.

I remained in Aelrich. Now, I am picking up what remains of the Empire's peace and prepare for the next war. The world is an ugly place, and it will never change. At the very least, I will not live to see the next.

Stars are beautiful tonight.
 
The problem with imgur is that it automatically reformats the map into a jpg, which is bad and terrible. That said, I would like everyone to see it, so I suppose I will have to bear a copy that has some blurriness.

Edit: Added a bit about magic to the first post.
 
I switched it to imageshack since it doesn't compress or convert. Hopefully it should be good now.

Edit: added some beasts and horrors, and two apocalypses.

Edit Edit: I like both the proposals so far, and I shall think on them. I hope neither of you mind if I do a teensy bit of editing.
 
We have heard some of what has passed upon this fading earth, but hearken here to what has befallen those who have dwelt beneath its cracked and scabrous surface.

Of the Dwerim

Before the world was stained by the evil doings of men, and before the zirrafim sang in their golden city, and before even the sun rose in the sky in the world far above, there was life; or so the Dwerim say. Warmth blossomed deep within the earth, and so nourished by this warmth grew the first folk. Vibrant and keen, they spread through the hollows that lie beneath. They brought with them their passion, their knowledge, and their light. They carved out their mansions and their cities, and bedecked them with all the splendor of their craft. For many long years there was peace, but whether on or below this earth, all things must pass.

The whole of the earth shook, as if seized in a violent rage, and fire came from below as water flooded from above. The great cities were destroyed, the grandest works thrown down in ruin, and the people decimated. Few of the first folk survived this cataclysm, but those who did persevered, striking out from those mansions that remained. Much of their craft had been lost, and their tribulation had made them a harder and grimmer folk. They built new cities in memory of the old, though they were only as faint echoes of those that had come before. But the fragile tranquility of this restoration could not endure. In the sundering of the earth, cracks and fissures were formed, and things wicked and cruel crept down from the world above. Denden, Sprin, and creatures far worse. Lonely mansions and houses fell silent, and travelers far from home vanished on the roads. The first folk whispered of fell beasts in the darkness, and a watch was declared by the great thanes and lords, but it was not enough. Emboldened by ever-growing numbers, the beast-folk made war upon the Dwerim, and wrought much slaughter and ruin. The Dwerim turned their craft towards axe and hauberk, and toiled in their forges and delved deeper in their mines, and for the first time there was war below the earth. Neither the hungry Denden nor the loathsome Sprin could stand before the fury of the gathered Dwervinhost, and in bloody battle they were thrown back to the far corners of the deep.

It was thus that the city of Rhaud emerged foremost among the dwellings of the Dwervin race. Their warriors - the fiercest in battle - had borne the brunt of the fighting, and had driven the beast-folk from the halls of their kin. Those displaced by war settled in Rhaud, and it grew, and became a great and mighty city. Rhaud thrived as the centre of craft and of art. Its Thousand Halls gilded and lit, wrought with carvings and monuments of the glory of the first folk, and the destruction of their enemies. The smiths of Rhaud were without peer, and their Masters sought only the brightest students. It was so that the greatest smith to grace the world with Dwervin craft, Andacer, was born. With a mind sharper and hands cleverer than any other, his creations would come to rival those of ages past in the beauty of their form and function. Though his rivals struggled to best him, none brought so much pride and glory to their clan as did Andacer to the Mhaldúlne. But in time his triumph brought only ennui, and Andacer grew tired of Rhaud, and quit the Thousand Halls for depths unknown. For his absence, Rhaud was the poorer, and the city did not seem quite so bright as it did before.

Though the city did not forget its greatest son, it perhaps grew comfortable in his absence. But all things must pass. It had been forty years and more, and Andacer at last returned. The Mhaldúlne rejoiced, and Rhaud groaned under the weight of celebration. Andacer brought with him many treasures, and the Dwerim marveled at his ingenuity and skill. But Andacer did not rejoice with them, for he was troubled and restless. For a year he secreted himself away in the lowest hall of the Mhaldûlne, to toil at what, he would not say. At last he emerged, bearing in his hand a small stone, aglow with inner fire. The stone pulsed with a bright and clear light, though its depths swirled ablaze with shadowed reds. It was named the Caerine, and all those who looked upon it were enamoured of its beauty, and held enthralled until it was parted from their gaze. The thanes and smiths of the Mhaldûlne were said to huddle about this pearl as if for warmth - presided over by Andacer, a fey smile on his lips. The clan was seized by fever, delving ever deeper beneath. Their forges lit without pause, churning out suits of mail and cruel axes beyond reason.

The thanes and lords of Rhaud grew troubled by the isolation of Andacer and the Mhaldûlne, and resolved that the Caerine be sealed away. The thanesmen stood before Andacer, demanding he turn over his pearl. But he only smiled. The room grew cold while the light of the pearl pulsed, and the thanesmen were filled with dread. "And who are you to speak so to me? To demand my prize?" Andacer said. And the Mhaldûlne about him turned their gazes upon the thanesmen, and laid hands upon the hafts of their axes. The thanesmen made to leave, but found the doors behind them barred and locked. It was then that the Mhaldûlne fell upon them, and Rhaud was soiled with Dwervin blood. In a fury, the Mhaldûlne boiled out from their hall, intent to punish those who would steal from them, and there was murder and strife in Rhaud. Though the Mhaldûlne were possessed by unnatural rage, the numbers arrayed against them were too great. Slowly, and grindingly, the Dwerim of the Pearl were pushed back. Andacer would not give up the fight, and the Mhaldûlne would not give up the gates, and so they were forced. Slaughter was visited upon that house, and those few who then remained fled into their deepest tunnels. The thanes found Andacer in the lowest hall, a wretched thing, huddled about his pearl. They slew him, and looked upon the Caerine with disgust, and resolved to destroy it. Chierne took up his hammer, and delivered a mighty blow to the the Caerine. It cracked, and sparked, and threw off heat. The thanes backed slowly away, but Chierne again took up his hammer, and shattered the pearl with a roar. And so Rhaud was undone, and Andacer given his revenge. A great shadow coiled about the room, and its shrouded heart glowed dully with flame. Chierne stood before it, and commanded the thanes to flee. The sounds of struggle pursued them as they ran, and there was a roar as of a furnace opened, and then silence. The thanes sat, gripped with fear, waiting for Chierne. But it was the shadow that emerged from the keep. And there was slaughter to humble that before, and blood ran from the halls and through the streets, and there were bodies at every door, and those who had not fled were never seen nor heard from again. And thus was the fall of Gleaming Rhaud of the Thousand Halls, and the sundering of the Dwerim.

Of Kaltë and Chierne

The Thousand Halls of Rhaud were soiled by blood, and the bodies of many Dwerim lay sprawled all about, hewn by axe and sword. Evil here was at work, but it had not come from without. This was the doing of the Dwerim. By Andacer's will the Mhaldûlne had come out from their Hall. Girded for war, they were dressed in their mail and bore cruel axes, long swords and heavy shields. There was a madness in their eyes, and the people of Rhaud fled before them. But in ancient days it was that Rhaud was the greatest city under the ground, and though the host of the Mhaldûlne was fearsome, they could not overcome all the warriors who were then against them. For many days they fought in the streets and in the halls, and crimes terrible and grave were there done, and the battle was more bitter and hateful than any Dwervinkind had yet known, and no quarter was given by any on either side.

But at last the Mhaldûlne were thrown back, and their lines were broken, and they were pulled down in the streets as they ran, and their places of strength were overwhelmed one by one. Chierne had gathered all those Thanes and Lords of Rhaud that remained to him, and in turn they had gathered all those sworn to them in arms, and they marched upon the Hall of the Mhaldûlne, and their fury was cold and righteous. The gate was barred against them, and the Mhaldûlne would not give it up. Chierne then stood before his host, and he called upon Kaltë to come forth: "Lord of the Mhaldûlne, King in the Deep, come forth from your hall and answer for the evil here that you allowed! Once I called you friend, and if ever you in turn named me so in truth, then come forth! If any shred of honour is left to you, come forth! I challenge you, Kaltë. Before our Ancestors and before the gathered warriors of Gleaming Rhaud I challenge you! So come forth!"

For many long moments there was no reply, and all was silent. But then the gate began to squeal as it slowly opened, as if to protest what it was to reveal. And from the shadows and through the narrow gap there made came Kaltë, and behind him the gate was closed with a boom. He wore the King's Mail, shining brightly, but on his head was a helm tall crested and dark, and his eyes were hidden in its depths. In his hand was the blade Bitterflame, and the sussurus of its muttering echoed from every corner, and as he drew closer it began to moan, and then to wail, and then it was aflame. The host of the Thanes drew back, for Kaltë then seemed terrible to look upon, and they were all of them afraid. Chierne met Kaltë upon the field, and though he was filled with sorrow there was no fear in him. His coat of plates was scarred and marked and its fine blue lacquer had been all but chipped away, for he had been always at the fore of the fighting. He carried the Bleakhammer, forged by the hand of Galand, and hoarfrost grew upon the ground where he walked, and his breath smoked in the air. They drew near, and for a single moment only was there pause as both looked upon the other. Kaltë struck out with a quick thrust, and Bitterflame skittered along Chierne's armour and screamed as it gouged a great rent. Chierne lept back, and then delivered a fearsome blow to Kaltë upon his helm, and it was said that the sound of it could be heard from one end of Rhaud to the other. If that helm were any other the fight would then have ended, and Kaltë would have lain dead upon the ground. But it was the Eboncrown.

In the bowels of the earth had Andacer found a strange metal, strong and dark. It seemed to drink of light, and ever did it hunger for more. And so year after year Andacer fed to it all the light that he could find, and by this bargain did it consent to suffer Andacer's hand. From it the Eboncrown was forged, and he gave it to Kaltë who was his father.

In this his son's work served him well, for Kaltë yet stood, though blood ran from his mouth and down his beard. He laughed then, and it was a wicked laugh, and he struck again at Chierne. It was that they fought one against the other for an hour, and then another. The fight was long and terrible, and both bled from many wounds ere it ended. At last it was that Chierne's great coat of plates hung in tatters, and Kaltë's breath was ragged for his chest had been caved by Bleakhammer's barest touch, and the King's Mail had not availed him. It was then that Bitterflame he dropped to the ground, and the Eboncrown he threw away, and it seemed that his madness had at last departed. Kaltë then fell to his knees, and then upon the ground, and Chierne came forward and cradled him upon his lap. They spoke then, but it was only Chierne who could hear the words of his friend, and none know what passed between them. And so passed Kaltë, who was King in the Deep, who was the Lord of the Mhaldûlne, and who was father to Andacer, Nír and Lanne.

Of Swide

In an earlier age when the great city of Nüln stood as a bright beacon in the dark, before sorrow and death again visited themselves upon the Dwerim, it was that goodly folk of all races could be found upon its streets and in its halls. They came to see its treasures, and were inspired by their beauty. They came seeking wisdom and knowledge from its people, and found stalwart friends. And it was that some who had visited would return, to reminisce on old memories and laugh with old friends. They would bring with them gifts of beauty and wonder, so that by their hand Nüln might grow in splendor, and that others might come to love that city as they did.

A young man once came to Nüln. He came from far away. They said he had sailed a deep and unknown sea in the world above, and that he had climbed over mountains that scraped the distant sky, and crossed tracts of sand that burned beneath the light of that great flame known as the Sun. He trekked below the earth, and at last he came to Nüln. None now know what it is that he sought in the city of the Dwerim. For though he went among the people of the city and told them his stories when they asked of that land far away, and though he saw all the wonder there was to see and thanked the masters for the making of it, he asked after no great knowledge, and sought from the Dwerim no craft or treasure. To Nír only he spoke in confidence, and it was that ere his passing Nír revealed not what words went between them, and so the answer to that question has passed from the world. And though he stayed for many years, it was that that young man left the city for places unknown.

An old man once came to Nüln. He said he came from far away, and then it was that some among the Dwerim recognized the young man who was now old. They were saddened, for the lives of Dwerim are much longer than those of men, and they thought it cruel that his life should be so short. But the old man only smiled and laughed. He said it was as it should be, and that as the Dwerim say they know, all things must pass. He came to his friend Nír as he sat in the Rose Garden, and it was that Nír's son Lothë sat beside him. They spoke for many hours, of life and of death, and of all the things between. Lothë listened quietly and with patience, for in this simple conversation many wise things were said, and he thought it good that he should know them. The old man made his farewell then to his friends. They asked him where it was that he went, and the old man simply said it was time for him to find a new beginning, and that he would come not again to the halls of Nüln, and there was sorrow in his voice. But it was that he had a gift for the city, as he would have it greater on his leaving then when he had arrived. It was a dragon's egg from a land far away, and he put it into Nír's hand. Small and golden-hued and speckled with green. Nír was uncertain. He thanked his friend for the gift, but wondered aloud if it would not be better to destroy the egg, for it is known that Dragons revel in destruction, and so make themselves enemies to men and Dwerim alike.

But the old man then spoke, and there was a twinkle in his eye: "Ah, but this egg is not from a dragon that you know. It is from a land far away. And who is to say what dragons in such a land are like?" He motioned to the Garden and the City about them. "Surrounded by such beauty, how could the heart of any creature turn to violence? Is it not that each one should be given the chance to prove itself?" And Nír thought this answer good, and he agreed that to each and every creature should be given such a chance. But then Lothë spoke, and he wondered if it would not be cruel to keep the dragon in the city, for dragons are vast creatures, and they delight in flight and open spaces. The old man's face warmed at the question, and he spoke again: "Ah, a wise thought, Prince Lothë. But in a land far away, dragons are long and slender and run upon the ground. Only when grown truly ancient may they choose to fly, and that is through their will and wisdom." And so the gift was accepted, thought it was made bittersweet by the departure of their friend, and the egg was held safe and warm until the day it might hatch.

It had been a year and a day since the old man had left Nüln behind, and it was that young Tiern, Lothë's son, stood watch over the dragon's egg. Still a beardless boy, he watched with awe as the egg began to shift and crack. A golden snout emerged, followed by a long and golden body. The dragon cried out, and young Tiern held her, and she was soothed. Lothë rushed in at the cry, and beheld the dragon in his son's arms. She was a beautiful creature, and she was named Swide, and soon all the city had come to look upon her. Swide grew and flourished in Nüln. She delighted in dancing a dragon's dance, and in singing dragon's songs in a dragon's voice, and Nüln was made the better for her company just as the old man had said. Of all the Dwerim, it was Tiern she loved most, perhaps because it was he she first beheld, or perhaps it was simply the kindness and friendship that he showed, and they were often found together.

But as the Dwerim know, all things must pass. It was then the height of Nüln's majesty, yet so soon before its fall. Though Nüln was great, and though it was strong, a sudden fear crept into Nír's heart. Strange and terrible dreams plagued his sleep, and slowly he became as someone else. A man who walked in Nír's skin, and talked in Nír's voice, but who said things and did things that Nír would never do. And as that fell madness slowly seized him, and as the city grew colder and less beautiful, it was that Swide no longer sang, and she no longer danced. She had grown great and long, but as the months went by she grew tired, and sadness then seemed to consume her days, and she lay in the Garden and would not eat. Tiern sat with her, and there were tears on his face, and Lothë stood by, helpless, and tears ran down his cheeks as well. Swide fell into a deep sleep from which she would not awake, and what little joy was left in the Dwerim then went out of them. And then it was that Nír's madness waxed full, and all could see that the Curse of the Pearl had returned to haunt the Dwerim. Nír's pride begat his ruin, and the ruin of his people, and the armies of the Dwerim were brought low, and soon it was that the city was assailed.

A horde of Denden innumerable at the gates, driven on by evil men, and then they were in the streets and in the halls, and there was a slaughter to echo that of centuries past. It was that Lothë gathered those of his people that he could, and those few treasures that he could, and made to flee the city, but Tiern could not be found, and a desperate search was made in the city as it fell. At last Lothë came upon his son in the Rose Garden, though the flowers had caught flame, and it raged all around. He cried out to Tiern over the roar of the flames and tried in vain to reach him, but he could not pass the fire, and Tiern held tight to Swide's neck and would not be moved by word alone. A great party of Denden who had made the Palace ahead of their fellows heard the cries of father and son, and grinned evilly to themselves at the prospect of more slaughter. They entered the Rose Garden, their minds intent on cruelty, and saw the boy and the sleeping dragon. They bellowed savagely, and made to fall upon him, spears and swords already red with blood, and Tiern cried out. It was that Swide suddenly awoke, and she roared as she gained her feet, putting herself between Tiern and the Denden. She lashed out with her tail, striking one dead off its feet, and she snapped with her jaws, and took one in her teeth. But the Denden were many, and their blood was up, and they were all about her, slashing and stabbing. Swide fought with them for many long moments, and crushed them beneath her feet, and sliced them open with her claws, but there were too many. Though her hide was tough and thick, the countless blows began to take their toll, and her soft green belly was pierced in many places. And it may have been that both Swide and Tiern would have been killed. But with a cry Lothë rushed to the side of the dragon, and those warriors that he had gathered were beside him, and they hacked viciously at the Denden, and cut into them bloodily with their sharp axes, and drove them away from Swide and Tiern, and chased them in the halls so that not a one would escape to bring their kin. Swide keened lowly and collapsed to the ground with a great rumble, and she looked to Tiern and sang to him one last dragon song, and then it was that she fell into a torpor, and it was a sleep deeper than that before, and she hardly drew a breath. The Dwerim were then gathered about her, and though they knew they must flee, they could not leave Swide, for her bravery in battle and the beauty of her song had reminded the Dwerim of who it was that they were. And so they took her up, and carried her slowly away, and sang for her a Dwerim dirge. And though her scales have become as stone, it is that Swide lies still in the Hall of the Ancestors in Mhaldûl-Nem, and the Dwerim hope beyond all other hopes that one day they will watch her dance and hear her sing once more.

Of Lothë, Lord of the Mansion

Nír, who was King in the Deep when the great city of Nüln yet stood, had but a single son. When Nír met his grisly end, and when Nüln was put to the sack and the Dwerim slaughtered, it was Lothë who abandoned his father's madness and saved the remnant of his people. He gathered up those few that he could, and led them away. It was a long and perilous journey, and many more yet died on the road. At last Lothë came to the pass of his ancestors, where in times near-dead to memory the Dwerim had set out to look upon the fair country Rem, and to treat with those who lived there. He climbed the Stair of Naini, and beheld the fearsome sky. Rem had grown feral and wild, and was not as he had heard in tale, and so Lothë desired to tame it for his folk. In the belly of the mountain Mouroumai the Dwerim set to build their last and final house. The mansion of Mhaldûl-Nem was carved from the rock with all the skill and craft that could then be mustered. The walls and gates were made strong and fair, the forges stoked, and halls dug deep and twisting.

In the Weald dwelt many fell creatures who would harass and haunt the Dwerim, and so Lothë decreed that it should be driven back, and with flame and axe it was. But the Dwerim stood ignorant of this strange land, and their work quickly gained the ire of a foul Queen of the Sprin. Her name was Blackrot, and she looked upon the house of the Dwerim from the shaded eaves she loved, and she was filled with hate. She raised from the pungent earth a great host of her odious kin, and set them against all the works of the Dwerim, and brought a new war to that harried folk.

The numbers at her command were vast, and she soon assailed the gates of Mhaldûl-Nem with a writhing throng. The Dwerim spilled fire from the battlements upon the Sprin, and the greater part of that host was blackened to ash. But again Blackrot came, and again her horde was driven back with flame. And then to the Dwerim there was left no more of their secret fire, and Blackrot was pounding at the gate, and the strange and ravenous cries of her folk were heard in the halls. Lothë resolved that this could not be the end of his people, and gathered all his warriors about him. The Dwerim issued from the gate, and though they were outnumbered, their axes were sharp and their assault sudden, and they drove the Sprin back, and cut to the heart of that host. But the Dwerim were then surrounded and pressed from all sides, and many among them began to fall, and it was that it might have been the end. But with a great cry Lothë took up his axe with new strength, and slew any beast that stood before him, and his men were all about him. They sung a dirge, deep and low, for all the losses of their people, and it brought fear even to the rotting hearts of the Sprin, and they quailed before the Dwerim. It was that Lothë at last espied Blackrot, and none now stood between them. He took up his great axe and cut into her hideous bulk nine times, and she fell with a groan. With the rancid blood of their Queen upon Lothë's blade the last of that vile host fled the field, and into the heart of the wood, and Lothë and the Dwerim stood triumphant.

His axe is yet named the Rotdoom, and the people of Mhaldûl-Nem cherish their Lord above all their riches. It has been a century and more, and the Mansion of the Dwerim has grown and prospered, as such houses of the Dwerim are wont to do - for a time. But the mines are dug deeper, and the forges stoked ever hotter, as the Dwerim know that their dominion some day shall pass, as all things must. Though he will not set the Crown of the King upon his fiery brow Lothë stands ready to defend his people, and woe to him who arouses the wrath of the Dwerim.
 
Definitely in.
 
Back
Top Bottom