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The Silver Kings Awash in Crimson
RY 770

A year had passed since the Empress vanished without word or trace. Rumors abounded of Thorns and The Bull in the icy North – forces that have resisted and bested Realm forces. The ports of An-tang were fertile ground, the whispered words of sailors in their cups, blossoming into the booming rhetoric of rebels and revolutionaries. At first demonstrations in the streets, protesting the Realm’s yoke, but later the burning or seizure of Realm assets. The screaming masses in the decrying the Lady of Blood and the Crimson Whore, the red flames the last tribute and sacrifice they would pay. The Realm Legions never answered, but the House legions of Peleps and Ledaal did. No longer a might lion with the neck of the world in it’s jaws – but a many headed hydra snapping all about it.

Hundreds of thousands fled the region – armies crushed under first age relics not used since the Shogunate, demons in their hundreds marched in tight ranks of brass and shadow, and the fire and lightning of will-workers painted the sky for weeks on end. Tens of thousands died to disease and strange beasts within the Crescent, more from thirst in the arid empty lands south, and for fear of the Realm dogs at their heels the diaspora marched until the very horizon shimmered with heat and malice. Fear in their eyes, for but a moment, before towers of obsidian glass and mirrored silver slip into view from air that melts like butter.

The domain of the Three Demon Princes. Secret guardians of the Southren Wylds, surely they wondered what threat could drive so many mortals from the soft lands past the dangers of the Crescent and to the edge of Creation. The An-tanganese were ushered in, past the ((XXXX)) of lost legend, to the Grand Plaza aglow in the moonlight. On silver thrones sat the magnificent looming forms of the Demon princes – who in soft voices of honey did bid the mortals to share their plight. The truth of the Realm and Empress revealed and the dangers to Creation made apparent – the three great gods did bow their heads. They raised them as one as Mars passes behind the glow of Luna, “It has been deemed that the Princes of the Earth have lost their ages old mandate – they can safe guard nothing.”

Writ upon cloud, in the song of the beast and woven into the fabric of dream as if flows into Creation upon gossamer threads at the edges of the Wyld – the call to war has been raised, the cry for allies sent out. Who will answer?

The Silver Pact watches.
The Five Score Fellowship debates.
The Deathlords Compet.
The Yozi whisper to any who will listen…
and in the Beyond a thousand possibilities are pursued as one.

The Dragons Shattered
RY 771

Two years have passed since the Empress vanished without word or trace. Rumors spread of Thorns and The Bull in the icy North – forces that have resisted and even bested Realm forces. The ports of An-tang were fertile ground for such seditious whispers, slurred words of sailors in their cups, blossoming into the booming rhetoric of rebels and revolutionaries. At first demonstrations in the streets, protesting the Realm’s yoke, but later the burning or seizure of Realm assets. The screaming masses decrying the Lady of Blood and the Crimson Whore, the red flames upon her idols the last tribute and sacrifice they would pay. The Realm Legions never answered, but the House legions of Peleps and Ledaal did. No longer was the Realm a mighty lion with the neck of the world in its jaws – but a many headed hydra snapping all about it.

Hundreds of thousands fled the region – armies crushed under first age relics not used since the Shogunate, demons in their hundreds marched in tight ranks of brass and shadow, while fire and lightning of will-workers painted the sky for weeks on end. Tens of thousands died to disease and strange beasts within the Silent Crescent, more from thirst in the arid empty lands south, and for fear of the Realm dogs at their heels the Diaspora marched until the very horizon shimmered with heat and malice. This was the last anyone has heard of them, their souls feeding the Fae or simply marched out to some slavers den to be sold, who can say?

Yet, this is not why these current times are called the Sundering of the Dragons, for the Realm remains as mighty as ever. No, it is the Dragons of Creation themselves that lay shattered. None too few know how it came to pass, but in the last days of Descending Wood the sky itself cracked and slowly fell to the earth over the span of five days. So large was this fragment that it stretched beyond sight into the frigid North, beyond the eyes of man and beast, landing upon thousands of miles of Creation with the muffled cry of Armageddon. The land bears a dark and mighty bruise and now a seven thousand mile long scar of Shadowed-land severs countless Dragonlines and Creation its very self. Ill winds can be felt and trees sicken – what will your place be in this new world?

The Silver Pact hastens.
The Five Score Fellowship investigates.
The Yozi whimper and celebrate at once …
And for the first time, the Deathlords find themselves not knowing the whole of it.

Lakes of Blood and Ash
RY 772

Three years have passed since the Empress vanished without word or trace. Few even spare it a thought now. The thoughts and words on everyone’s lips revolve around the Skyfall. A terrible event where a great stone fell for five days and nearly cut Creation in twain. Rains rarely reach the East now and the Sun has turned his hateful gaze on the great Shadowland that had sprung up in the wake of that terrible sky omen. Crops have begun to wither west of the cured scar, even blighting the Realms bountiful fields. The scar left by the Skyfall is largely gone now, a line of bleached and blasted stone all that remains, till one comes upon the Spire itself. Visible from anywhere, it looms an icon of dread, piercing the sky amid a swirl of opaline mist even now. Immutable shadowlands ebb about it’s base like hungry waters, dispassionate of the Sun’s ire and flame.

The year has been a hard one for many. Thorns was destroyed completely by the Skyfall, so close to it’s impact. The great Fire Fleet of the Realm suffered catastrophic damage as well by the harsh gales and swirling hurricanes kicked up in it’s wake. Others have been swift to capitalize, Harborhead has begun to demand more power with the armada weakened, even as it’s cattle sickens in the fields. Akhet, the Lake Country in its shadow, it watches its martial neighbor and weighs the scales for its own independence. The Realm, it looks at the year of food shortages and hardships to come and tightens it’s iron fist around the necks of the Satraps, all to quiet the bellies and frustration of it’s own countrymen.

The Lunar Walkers and the Deathlords each look to Akhet for greater glory new and old. It will become Lakes of Blood and Fire when all is over and done…but what will hold those ashes. The Realm? The current pharaoh or the old risen from the dust of time? Who can say?

The Silver Pact contends.
The Five Score Fellowship secures.
The Yozi test newfound cracks …
The Deathlords find a new member not among their number.
And the Fae enjoy the fruits of a harvest long ago planted.

Break

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Current Date: Descending Wood 18

Break

tinker.jpg I frequently Tinker with the rules of the game (customs)
story.jpg My games will tell an interesting Story
brain.jpg My game focuses on Player Skill rather than character abilities
disturbing.jpg My games include Disturbing content
drama.jpg My games focus on interesting Characters and Drama
mirror.jpg I will Mirror back player ideas I think are interesting in the game
Peace.jpg My game is primarily Non-Combat in nature
pvp.jpg There will be Player vs Player combat allowed in my games
run.jpg Players in my game should be prepared to Run when the odds are against them

Lakes of Blood and Ash

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