The Invisible War: Part 1

The High Councils of the gods were once beautiful symposia where those beings met to discuss the workings of the universe and the actions of their lesser creatures. The first conflicts to mar the High Councils were solved when Draconis was cast down to Primus, but time was all that staved off their return. As the ages passed, the Second generation began to take part in these councils, and with them they brought conflicts of their own.

Vrojk and Vivec, twin sons of Layla and Arigon shared an increasingly bitter rivalry. Though they sprang from the same stock, they were as diametrically opposed as the domains they ruled: war and wizardry, the martial and the magical. Vrojk was an impetuous youth who grew into a temperamental god. He embraced hedonism, and his greatest pleasure was the thrill of battle. Vivec was a being of thought and reason. He used his prolific creativity to shape reality into his ideal conception of it, usually to benefit the gods or their creations. The brothers' respective philosophies were irreconcilable, and each frequently thwarted the other's machinations.

The ages wore on, and the children of Man spread their works across the face of Primus. Beloved of Lena and blessed of Arigon, they prospered, forming great nations and building sprawling cities. Vrojk was a being of conflict, and though he hated and resented Man, he favored the strongest from among the peoples of Primus, and he taught them the ways of battle. These "Dogs of War" soon used their newfound prowess to oppress their neighbors. The nations became empires, and the peoples of Primus suffered under these warriors.

But Vivec saw this and intervened. He used his knowledge to work great miracles, unleashing forces of arcane power upon Vrojk's malevloent chosen and toppling their empires one by one. For the war god, this was too much. His anger grew, and he began to devise a way to kill his brother. However, the Old Law forbade a god to kill another of his kind, so Vrojk sought another way to bring about Vivec's demise.

The Old Law restricted the gods, but no such restriction lay on men or elves or dwarves. However, none of the created could hope to harm a god, even if gifted with the ways of battle. So Vrojk set about creating a weapon that would allow even a mortal to slay a god. The risk was great, if the weapon were to be turned on him, but his hatred drove him onward. For years he delved into the secrets of the age before, and in time he discovered the story of the downcast god Draconis, whose fall to Primus had spawned the first Dragons.

In the ages since the fall, two of these first Dragons had met their end. Vrojk forged a blade from their remains. These divine draconic relics, black and silver, held the power of divine death, and Vrojk called the blade forged from their union Draconis, after its progenitor.

The war-god called together the scattered remnant of his Dogs of War, offering the blade as a prize to the strongest among them. To decide this, they staged a deadly tournament. When all his opponents' blood was spilled, a warrior called Kaine emerged as the victor. Vrojk endowed him with Draconis and charged him with his greatest battle: a confrontation with Vivec.

Kaine walked the lands of Primus, slaughtering all in his wake, and his soul bonded with the spirit of the sword. In time, Vivec came to stop him, as he had stopped the Dogs of War in days past. He descended from the Sea of Stars, an arcane cascade rippling ahead of him, but it parted in around the acrid presence of Draconis. Undaunted, he called reality itself to his aid, his magical fusillade twisting even the lands of Primus, but Draconis refused to change. Kaine's body was ripped and bloodied by his divine foe, but his soul was tied to the sword, which seemed to wield his body instead. He sidestepped a burst of distortion and lunged with the curved blade, penetrating the tattooed flesh of the god of magic. Vivec's power gushed from the wound unmixed, rending the sword in twain and washing over the face of Primus. The god of magic was dead.

His body drifted, lifeless, through the Sea of Stars, and Draconis, now divided, was lost to the ages. But in Vrojk's victory came his defeat. Vivec's power infused Primus, and the denizens of that world slowly learned magic of their own. Vrojk seethed at the proliferation of his brother's legacy, the power of the scroll mitigating that of the sword.

Legend has it that Vivec's spirit chose a mortal to imbue with its power and dwelt therein, a silent visitor until it needed to find a new vessel. Tales are spun of the magic god's eventual return, but other tales of the divided blades of Draconis finding unity once more are whispered as well.

One day, the Invisible War will begin anew.

Back Story for Oleron Lethos

My story starts well before the rise of the Fire Legion and the fall of Altair, but for the sake of time, I will only focus on my part thus far in the affairs of Altair and the bigger picture of the grand struggle between the gods of war and magic. I will assume that the reader does, at least, know that there was a battle waged between Vrojk and Vivec. The first question the reader might have is how I even would have time to write such an account—this, of course, is assuming the reader knows anything about me from my people, the Eladrin. The short answer to that query is that I have had some time alone in a place not quite in the realm of Altair.

For the sake of understanding, I must give some attention to the rise of the Eladrin—which involves me pretty much from the beginning of their ascension. Even before the hard split between the groups now known as the Elves and the Eladrin, there was a splinter faction within the rule of the Regai family. My father and uncle uncovered only a small part of our ancient history. They always suspected that our family and very close friends were somehow set apart from the rest of the Elves. We didn't look much different from the rest, which would have given away the secret a lot sooner, but even in simple things like work and education “we” (sorry, I have to use that anachronistic term for ease) seemed to accomplish more with ease than the others. We, over the generations, began to suspect that we were somehow different, and when the fraction of the five ruling families occurred, that was all we needed cut ties with the Ragai family. In our minds, we had cut ties with the others years before, but we didn't want to make them suspicious.

So, what was it that my father and uncle uncovered that confirmed our suspicion? They found records, through much clandestine searching in the “royal” records of the elves that we had come to this plane a lot later than they. Our ancestors thought it best, at the time, to just blend in with the elves. Over time they just wanted subsequent generations to forget that we had close ties to another plane. The history may not have passed down like it should have, but the blood did not deceive us like our ancestors wanted. As I said before, we didn't want to let on that we knew the truth of being new to the material plane, but that did not prevent us from wanting to find more of the truth behind our ancestry.

My father and uncle, if the reader hasn't figured out by now, were the undeclared leaders of the yet to be named Eladrin; we wouldn't get the name until the splitting of the Five Families. My uncle handled the diplomatic side of things while my father had more of a knack for tactics. One of the first things my dad wanted done was for a trip to be conducted to the closer planes to see if there were any remnants of our ancestors. All we could figure out from the few remaining records was that we were not originally from this plane, but we didn't know where we were from specifically. The ancient records just didn't go back far enough. I demanded that I go on the adventure. I am not one to brag, but I was the strongest among my peers. OK, so maybe I do brag. Anyways, my heart is in the right place since I have a great devotion to my people.

I set off almost immediately on my journey to I didn't really know where; I took only enough time to grab basic supplies. When I left, the city of Altair was still standing; I only mention this because I had a strong feeling that when or if I return, the city won't be the same. Being that I didn't really know my heritage, I didn't what I'd be drawn or attracted to, but I did pick up on two strong, but different, magical auras leaving the city. One felt at peace, while the other was in great turmoil. I followed them out of Altair, never letting on that I was tailing them. Luckily for me they were planning on going to another plane.

When I arrived on the new plane, I noticed that they were already far ahead of me and heading towards some distant tower. I somehow knew that I was not meant to travel any more in their footsteps. As I sat down to contemplate my new surroundings, something began to awaken in me. I discovered that I could produce a cold ray and a sonic shock at will. I spent many days mastering these new found abilities; of course, days is only the way I can express time since the Cusp—as I later found out the name of the place—plays odd tricks on time. I can only assume that since I have a heritage that is not of the material plane, then that must be why I did not go completely insane in the time I spent on the Cusp.

Some time after this, some really odd things began to happen. The Cusp began to show some odd signs of fluctuation—like things were shifting and moving out of place. The magic essence was completely out of control. I began to see portals appear and disappear quite rapidly. I began to get both excited and nervous. I was excited that I might stumble upon the right plane where my ancestors came from, but at the same time, I knew that I might get dumped in a plane where I wouldn't survive for more than a second. I tried my best to sense the best portal around me, but I didn't really have much of a choice since a portal picked me by appearing right below me.

When I came to, I noticed that many other Eladrin were standing around me. I must have stumbled upon the realm of the Fey, I thought, and I then passed out again. I awoke again, this time in a rather well-done room. The bed had a canopy that seemed to float above the mattress. The windows appeared as there were no panes in them, but when I put my hand up to where I expected not to find glass, my hand was repulsed. This realm must not have been so aversely affected by the magic-god's death. I barely had enough time to take in this wonderful room before I was whisked away to some sort of training facility. Here, the first and only Eladrin greeted me. She introduced herself as Zephyria, and she somehow already knew my name. She told me that she had a gift for me when our time was finished, but before that time came, she was to train me, at least rudimentary so, in the skills of a wizard worthy of the Eladrin race. I did nothing but eat, sleep, study and practice for days—again I use the term “day” loosely. When our time came to a conclusion, she gave me my spellbook that she told me would only work for me and that I could never use another wizard's book either. As she conjured a portal and sent me back to the prime material, she told me that I would play an important role in the success of Eladrin, but that was all I heard before arriving near the village of Haven.

The Arigonean Creation Myth

From the Luminatus, Chapter 2:

There were four in the beginning, and there was balance. Those four were Arigon, father of light, Draconis, lord of darkness, Layla, mother of life, and Charvix, bringer of death. The Sea of Stars ran its eternal course above, and the Chaos whirled below. And Arigon made his domain among the Stars, and called it the Sun, and it was a world of light. Layla made her realm of the elements from the Chaos, and it was a realm of life. Charvix crafted his world from the shadows between the stars, and his kingdom harbored the spirits of death.

But Draconis had no domain to call his own, so he made a secret world between the Chaos and the Sea, between the land of life and the kingdom of death, and he called it Primus. And he shaped this secret world and hid it in his darkness, and the rest of the four knew not about it. He brooded in his realm and grew distant from the other gods, resenting their decisions and hating their servants, and his world became tainted and dark.

In time, the gods grew tired of Draconis and his open resentment of them and the Old Law which bound them. They cast him out of their council chambers, and he plummeted into his realm. When he fell, he broke into pieces, and these pieces became the first of the Dragons.

Over an age, the darkness around Primus cleared, and the gods forgot that world. In this age, the Second generation of gods was born. Golond, and Lena, and Vrojk, and Vivec, and Fargoth, and Icthareon were they. And Golond took interest in Primus and dwelt inside its stones. He made from them his children, the Dwarves. And they worked the stone of Primus.

And Fargoth saw the dry stone and filled its valleys with water, and called it the Sea, after the Sea of Stars into which he had been born. And he ruled the sea as Golond ruled the stone, and
his children were the peoples of the sea.

The realm of life and the kingdom of death were close upon Primus, and from the land of life came the beasts of the world, and the birds of the air, and the fish of the sea. And the peoples of the land of life also came to Primus, and they were called the Elves. And death spirits came from the realm of death, and the dwarves and the elves knew mortality.

The gods in their realms took little notice of Golond and his kingdom, and the dwarves and the elves and the Dragons lived and flourished. But from his citadel, Vrojk looked upon Lena, and he was filled with desire for her, and his need consumed him. But she would not requite him, so his desire bred in him anger and hate. He waited for her to be alone, and he came upon her and knew her, and she grew with child.

But the hate of Vrojk corrupted the child, and he was born with conflict in his heart, and Lena called him Man. She was afraid, for she loved the child, but Vrojk hated him, so Lena hid Man in Primus, where she thought Vrojk would not deign to look.

And Man flourished and multiplied throughout the land, living among the Elves and the Dwarves...

Character Profile: Ceralin de Roisin

For Walter de Roisin, life was good. A proud member of the Altair United Guard in the flush of his youth, the young soldier achieved a small degree of renown amongst his fellows. Although always a soldier at heart, de Roisin eventually left the Guard for the less stimulating but more reliable field of mercantilism. The de Roisin family, while never attaining the same level of fame and notoriety as Altair's more illustrious names, had a proud history in its own right, and Walter had inherited a modest tract of land from an obscure relative. Upon his honorable retirement from the Guard, at a still young age, he married his sweetheart, Rosalind Venstrom. After a few years working at his newfound trade, de Roisin had managed to turn his land into a reasonably prosperous wheat farm. Although de Roisin never regretted his decision to become a wheat merchant, he could never forget his glory days in the Guard, and when Rosalind became pregnant, he harbored a hope that the child would be a son (whom he intended to name Ceralac, after his father) to carry on the family name in the defense of Altair.

Rosalind went into labor in the dead of winter. It was an excruciatingly difficult birth, and despite the best efforts of the midwives in attendance, there was nothing that could be done to save her. Though heartbroken at the tragic news, de Roisin nevertheless asked that he be allowed to see his newborn child. Already stricken at the loss of his beloved wife, his first sight of the infant was too much for de Roisin. For the baby was female. With an unreadable expression upon his face, de Roisin announced that the child was to be called Ceralin. He then retired to his quarters and would not speak with anybody for some three days.

Walter's relationship with his daughter was always a confusing one. On the one hand, he could not help but blame Ceralin for the death of his adored Rosalind, and in his daughter, he saw the shadow of the son that never was. Accordingly, there were stretches of time during which de Roisin would all but ignore the little girl. On the other hand, Ceralin represented all that was left of Rosalind (she did resemble her mother a great deal), and she was his only child. During these times, Walter became a truly devoted father, and, as he had no son to whom he could teach such skills, began training young Ceralin in the art of weaponry.

To everyone's surprise, the mere slip of a girl took to battle like a fish to water. She was highly adept in most all types of weaponry, but most especially the blade. Walter could not help developing a deep respect for his daughter's skills, and he eventually ceased ruing that she was not a boy. In fact, when she reached the appropriate age, de Roisin presented Ceralin as a candidate for admission into the United Guard. With her talents and spunk, she was a sure-fire choice, and it was not long before a seasoned Knight of the United Guard, Sir Ulrich, offered to take the girl on as his squire, recognizing in her great potential. It was a proud day for Ceralin, and from then on, she strove to faithfully uphold her vow to defend Altair in her hour of need.

Then came the siege of Altair.

Perhaps if they had been forewarned, the Guard would have been able to hold off the advancing swarms of Fire Legion soldiers, at least for a little while. As it was, they were taken almost entirely by surprise, and in a flaming maelstrom of confusion and blood, the Guard's units were neatly dispatched. Ceralin became separated from Ulrich at some point during the fray; the last she ever saw of him was her master swinging a sword about his head as two orc footsoldiers pulled at his stirrups, attempting to drag the knight from his horse. As the battle raged about her, Ceralin began to feel a cold, numbing sensation which was unfamiliar to her: fear. Fighting back shaking hands and a bad taste in her mouth, Ceralin ineffectively tried to steer her mount back towards the fray, hoping to find Ulrich, but it was a losing fight against both her horse and her fear.

It was at this point that the wall behind which a portion of the Guard had been regrouping exploded in a shower of flame and shards of rock as wave upon wave of Fire Legion troops began to spill into the tortured city. Leading the horde of soldiers, which began tearing her comrades to pieces was an especially tall, barbarous looking orc. He slowly swiveled his head, surveying his victory, and it seemed to Ceralin that his eyes locked with hers, and for that brief instant, she foresaw her own death. And in the moment that she was to regret every day thereafter, Ceralin dug her heels into the side of her mount and bolted in the opposite direction. She was able to reach the edge of the city unscathed, the Fire Legion was too busy to concern themselves with one fleeing girl. And so she escaped Altair, tortured in mind and spirit, having left her comrades to almost certain destruction. . . . . but she was at least alive.

From there, Ceralin traveled south with no particular destination in mind, just so long as it wasn't Altair. She survived by hiring herself out as a bodyguard or soldier from time to time. Those who initially laughed at the idea of an 18-year-old girl as a hired sword soon lost their skepticism after witnessing her in action. After two long years of uncertain living, Ceralin found her way to the village of Haven, a refugee camp of sorts for the escaped citizens of Altair. There, she decided to stop and wait for her next adventure to come her way.

The Lands of Altair

These are the lands of Altair, in which the forthcoming adventures take place.

The Story of Altair

These stories take place in the lands surrounding the city of Altair. The city lies at the confluence of two rivers, south of a tall, frozen mountain range and north of an uncharted virgin forest called the Wilderness. The swamps of Fenwood mark the western edge of its territory, while a vast ocean defines its eastern boundary.

For many years this territory was a land of conflict, as the various tribes and city-states constantly fought one another. Gradually, five warlords elevated their families to prominence, and each carved out a niche for himself. This consolidation of power only served to intensify the devastation spread by their constant wars. This continued until the leaders of the five warring tribes held a summit.

The Treaty of Five Swords put a final end to the conflict of the Figaro, Oberian, Regai, Kaldorn, and Gro-Bannor families. The symbol of their peace was a new city, ruled by a council of the leaders of the five families. It was called Altair. Once they ceased their infighting, the families formed the United Guard of Altair to face external threats like the increasing attacks by gnoll and bugbear tribes from the west.

Each family gave its own contribution to the people of the city. The Figaro family and its vassals were cunning merchants, establishing a valuable trade relationship with the independent port city of Darvin. The Oberians held the most fertile parts of the countryside before the treaty, and they were diligent farmers, feeding the city with their labors. The Gro-Bannor family was the result of intermarriage between the human Bannor clan and the orcish Grobak tribe. They brought military prowess to the city while simultaneously serving as a political deterrant against potentially aggressive orc tribes. The elven Regai scholars and the skilled smiths and miners of the dwarven Kaldorn family completed the alliance.

The Treaty of Five Swords held fast for over one hundred years, and Altair flourished. However, where fierce battles once raged, political struggles rose within the alliance. Each family received one vote in the ruling council, despite the fact that the Figaro family contributed the largest percentage of the population. This imbalance led to the council passing the occasional tariff over the protest of the mercantile Figaros. As this continued, some members of the Figaros began to consider a withdrawal from the treaty.

Meanwhile, the orcish tribes in the west became increasingly brazen, marching on border settlements under the name "The Fire Legion." This army of zealots fought tirelessly at the will of the object of their devotion, an ancient red dragon named A-Zaruk. As tensions rose in Altair, the Legion drove further and further east. The United Guard struggled to keep these raids contained, while council members' careful rhetoric kept the Figaros from secession, but the situation remained in a fragile state of balance.

This all changed when Torvald Oberian was poisoned. The Oberian family blamed the Figaro clan, while the Figaros took offense at the allegations, pleading their innocence. This controversy was the tipping point, and in its wake, the Figaro family left Altair. While the city's political and economic structure reeled from this upheaval, disaster struck.

Altair was weak. It had lost its most important economic contributors, and even the port city Darvin sided with the renegade Figaros. Its very foundation, the century-old treaty, was rent asunder. It was then that the Fire Legion struck. The orcish battalions seemed endless, dotted with trolls and ogres, as they laid siege to the city. The citizens of the city rallied, fighting the invaders from Altair's walls. Hope flared in the defenders' eyes, but a second betrayal arose. A-Zaruk's influence reached even into the Gro-Bannor family itself. Just as the United Guard began to push the Fire Legion back, traitorous cultists within the city opened the gates. Though they fought in every street, the citizens of the city were no match for the might of the Ancient Wyrm herself as she soared overhead, lighting Altair ablaze.

The Fire Legion ruled the city, and what citizens failed to escape the city were either slain or enslaved. The remnant of the Regai elves fled to the Wilderness, the Kaldorn dwarves retreated to their mountains, and the remaining citizens scattered.

In time, they gathered to in the south, forming a new city. Little more than a tent village, Haven was their new beacon of hope. There they prayed, wished, and plotted for the eventual liberation of their home.

Origins

Though we never have given a name to our group, I Zeph (as I shall be known), have now given a name to our group--Triangle DnD. The chronicling of adventures is the sole purpose of this blog. So for any others who may stumble upon these posts, our group plays Dungeons and Dragons, hence the name DnD. If you are entertained, intrigued, or otherwise interested, that's fine, but if not, that's not why this blog is here. Other members of the group will post things as well, so forgive any confusion that the change in perspective or writing styles may cause. We more or less got our start last year, 2007, but only now are we chronicling our adventures or misadventures as they may be at times. We finished our first campaign in May, and we have now started on a sequel of sorts. But more on this in the next post.