For future reference, the spire was crystalline star metal. Exact properties are yet undefined. DM leanings are that it is manacite that is formed in a star and has properties that make it conducive to spelljamming. Mostly used in spelljamming helms.

“Whispers of the Deep Manaethereal…Ohh What a Day” as told by Gorlen [The tavern’s din dims as Gorlen, short in stature but tall in tales, climbs onto his favorite barrel-stool at the hearthside. The gnome adjusts his shopkeeper’s apron—still dusty with powdered silverleaf—and clears his throat with a sip of blackberry mead.] “Ahem. Right then. You think you’ve seen everything this side of the Crystalmere? Pfft. You’ve bartered for cursed relics, dodged debt-collecting devils, maybe even walked the Ethereal Plane with your mage-friends and their shiny boots. But have you ever heard the mana sing? I have. And I didn’t find it in a wizard’s tower, nor some star-bound ritual. No. I found it by mistake—because I was trying to sell cheese.” [He lets the crowd settle into disbelief before continuing, smugly.] Once, long ago—or maybe it was last week, time gets funny where I was—I glimpsed the veil between here and there. Not the Ethereal, no no, that misty transit realm’s but the porch swing to a house you should never walk into. I’m talkin’ about the Manaethereal—a plane stitched from pure, unrefined mana, pulsing like the heart of creation itself." “They say it shadows the Ethereal Plane like a mirage atop a mirror, but it’s deeper—thicker. The air there hums, sings, screams sometimes, with the voices of spells unborn and thoughts unfinished. In the Manaethereal, you don’t cast spells, they cast you. Wild surges crawl up your skin, and if you’re lucky, they leave you enlightened. If not? Well, I met a fellow who sneezed and became a constellation.” The audience chuckles nervously. “Let me explain. I’m a merchant, not some wand-waggler. I sell the unusual—mirrors that whisper, fishhooks that catch lies, that sort of thing. I was brokering a deal with a Shimmering Barterspirit—ghastly thing with a pearl for a face and wings made of scrolls. We were arguing over the price of a jar of ethereal-preserved gorgon butter when I stepped one toe too far into its realm. That’s when I felt it—the snap of reality unraveling like a badly-stitched sock.” “What I tumbled into wasn’t the Ethereal Plane. No, this was denser… alive. The air crackled. Threads of magic drifted like pollen, glowing blue and violet. You don’t walk in the Manaethereal, you float, pushed by your own intent and the pulse of something much deeper.” [He holds up a brass orb—its surface swirling with flickers of light, not reflections but living glyphs.] “I found this there. A manasphere. Self-spinning, thought-reactive. Doesn’t work on this side quite the same—nearly ignited my entire inventory of scented scrolls when I tried to appraise it. I only escaped thanks to a trade I made with a creature called an Echoform—a being made entirely of recycled spell energy. It took my name in trade. My real name. I’m Gorlen now, and that’ll have to do.” [He leans forward, voice low and smoky.] “But that’s just the edge of the Manaethereal. Beyond the shimmering veil lies the Deep Manaethereal—a place so saturated with raw magic that reality itself pulses. There, in a storm of crystal vines and radiant currents, floats the Auric Tangle, said to be the root of all mana on every plane. Some say it’s a thought left unfinished by the gods. Others? That it’s the beginning of a new Weave, one that would make the current one look like a child’s kite string.” “And now, the seams are weakening. In V’Ral, spells surge for no reason, minor enchantments birth echoes, and even my wares are misbehaving. Something from the Deep is bleeding into our world—and if I know anything, it’s that uncontrolled mana never shows up just to say hello.” [He raises his tankard solemnly.] “So, if any of you brave, curious, or mad souls want to venture there… I have maps. Poorly drawn, but enchanted. I have relics. Dangerous, but curious. And most importantly, I have stories. But you’ll have to bring the courage—and maybe a cleric or two.” It was morning, working off a hangover from the previous night—not the kind you write about in travel songs or bottle in a sun-essence vial—but the soft kind, the sort that steals into alley cracks and warms the stone just enough to coax a sigh out of your bones. I was perched on my shop’s stoop, pipe in hand, watching the steam curl off a nearby bakery cart and waiting for the street to remember it was alive. Then she stepped through. Not from the city gates, no, gods no. She shimmered out of the base of the Obelisk, that old slab of nonsense the locals paint on festival days but never really notice… Gorlen chuckles enjoying calling the Obelisk an old slab. The air around it hummed a bit that morning, subtle—like a string plucked underwater. The obelisk didn’t split. It sighed. And there she was. Amarwyn. I knew her the way you know your own shadow—unspoken, immediate. She had her mother’s stillness, her grace. Elisha could silence a forest just by walking through it, and this one—this girl—she carried that same weight. Not heavy like sorrow. Heavy like a blooming truth. Her hair glinted like dew on morning grass, and I swear to all the planes, the cobblestones beneath her grew moss as she passed. I didn’t move. Didn’t dare. Just puffed slow on the pipe and watched, like I was seeing a story the gods forgot to finish. She didn’t see me—not truly. Oh, her eyes flicked past, pausing for a moment. And for a heartbeat, just maybe, there was a flicker of something ancient in her gaze. Recognition? A memory not her own? I couldn’t tell. You see, she doesn’t know I’m her great uncle. And she mustn’t, not yet. Too many threads wind through Elisha’s lineage, too many promises kept with ink made of favors and blood. I’ve been in hiding longer than she’s drawn breath, wrapped in false names and safer silences. I wasn’t ready to reveal myself to anyone just yet. But there she was, like the dawn being born in front of me. She stayed one night. Slept by the old shrine—grandpa’s shrine. She didn’t speak to anyone save a beggar who thanked her for warmth, though he swore she never touched him. Next morning? Gone. Eastward. Toward the Sylvaeren Reach, if I’m any judge of a blooming path. And me? I’m still here. Pipe’s a little colder. Heart’s a little heavier. Maybe I should’ve said something. Maybe I will, if she ever returns. But for now, I watch the obelisk and wonder what part of her mother she’ll discover first—the magic… or the burden." Amarwyn Race: Half-Elf / Half-Plant (Divine-Blooded) Class: Mage/Cleric (Nature and Magic Domains) Origin: Daughter of Elisha (Demigoddess of Magic and Hunt) and Lathander (God of Dawn and Renewal) Current Location: Unknown; last seen departing V’Ral Age: Ageless in appearance (appears as a youthful adult) Background: Born under the first convergence of the twin stars Naeril and Sol’tereth, Amarwyn entered the planes not through birth, but as a radiant bloom within the Calyx of Awakening, a sacred locus deep in the Plane of Radiance, nurtured by her mother Elisha’s soul-magic and kissed by Lathander’s first light. Her body is as much vine and blossom as it is blood and bone—her veins carry glowing mana instead of crimson, and when she sleeps, wildflowers bloom in her footprints. Though her divine father gifted her with boundless vitality and joy, it was Elisha’s legacy that took deepest root in her spirit: the huntress’s quiet focus, the arcane intuition, and the primal communion with growing things. She walks as both guardian and mystery—an avatar of rebirth, arcane resonance, and wild renewal. Her first steps into the Material Plane were not accidental. Propelled by a pulse from the Obelisk buried beneath the planet’s ancient foundation—a relic that hums with planar convergence—Amarwyn emerged from a portal, barefoot and dew-laced, into the early dawn streets of the city. She said nothing at first, only paused to breathe deeply, as if tasting the soul of the world. She stayed a single night in the city, quietly seated outside an old shrine near Gorlen’s shop, speaking little but leaving behind a trail of glowing moss along the stonework. Locals whispered about the “Flower-Walker,” the girl with starlight eyes who wept softly when she saw how disconnected the trees in V’Ral had become from their root-sisters across the planes. But before sunrise, she was gone. Her destination: the Sylvaeren Reach—an ancient and majestic forest veiled from most maps, hidden by enchantments older than mortal kingdoms. The elves call it Arvandisthil, or “the Living Memory.” It is said that every tree there is sentient, every flower a spell yet unspoken, and every beast a guardian chosen by primal spirits. The Reach is a sanctuary of wandering spirits, awakened groves, and manaethereal is so strong that the mana ripples visibly in the air like heat on stone. Some say Amarwyn now wanders its emerald paths, learning from druidic circles and wild arcana, listening for a deeper calling from her mother’s bloodline. Others claim she seeks the Heartbloom, a mythical seed that, when planted, could regrow a dying world—or awaken a god yet unborn. A few days later. Golen in the Drunkin Ogre, is seen mumbling to a whispy blue ghost that by some accounts if viewed at the right angle, sounds a little like Arg’s description. “You ask where she went, do you?” Heh. You think she’d linger long in the brick-and-candle stink of a city? Nay. She left V’Ral as quiet as sunrise, off to a place most folk couldn’t find even with a map made by a god drunk on truth. She went to the Sylvaeren Reach. And, fool that I am, I followed—just far enough to know she was safe, I had to be sure. And just far enough to remember why none of us should ever walk its paths lightly.” “The Reach is old. Older than scrolls. Older than Elven memory, and that’s saying something. It’s not a forest, not really. It’s… the memory of one. The trees don’t grow; they remember growing. Roots don’t seek water—they follow whispers. And mana? Mana doesn’t flow—it lives. It watches.” “Legends say the Reach was seeded from the last breath of a god of growth, or maybe the tear of the Deep-manaethereal itself after some cosmic heartbreak. Who can say? What I do know is that it guards itself. You don’t find the Reach; the Reach finds you—if it wants to.” “I got in, mind you. Still have a few tricks left in these gnarled fingers, plus a favor owed from a bark-skinned dryad named Mossa who once tried to rob me. Long story. Anyway, I followed her trail—Amarwyn’s, I mean. It wasn’t hard. The plants parted for her, not out of fear, but reverence. Vines moved just enough to offer her shade. Flowers bloomed when she passed. Even the wind bent to keep from tousling her hair.” “I caught sight of her once—just once—before the canopy swallowed her whole. She was standing in a glade where the air shimmered like spun glass, eyes closed, palms open. You could feel the Reach breathing with her. She wasn’t just in that forest. She was becoming part of it.” “There’s a place deep inside the Reach called the Weaveheart Glade. No one’s seen it since the Age of Spires, not even the druids who treat the forest like their grandmother’s diary. Some say the last Goddess of Growth herself passed through it during her ascension. Others say it’s where mana dreams. I say it’s where Amarwyn was always meant to go.” “I didn’t stay. You don’t overstay in Sylvaeren Reach. Every step further in asks something from you. Time, memory, maybe a secret you didn’t want to give up. Me? I’d already given enough. But I left something for her—a book with a single inlaid crest, etched in star adamantine, and mana-gold, etched with the sigil of our bloodline. Buried it near a spring that sang her name in a language older than breath.” “She’ll find it, one day. When she’s ready.” Gorlen leans back, pipe ember glowing, lost in a rare silence. “She’s not just her mother’s daughter. She’s the next stanza of a song none of us have heard all the way through. And gods help anyone who tries to silence it.” Across the distant reaches of the sphere, the mists beneath the Autaria Dynasty stirs. Within the shadowed rim of the Autaria Dynasty’s furthest dominions—beyond the war-hewn basalt roads of Dareth’Myr and the scorched glass plains of Kelvaris—rests a forgotten caldera swaddled in mist. This place is Emberlight Hollow, untouched by conquest, unmarked on imperial charts, and alive in ways few lands dare to be. Here, the veil between realms thins. Magic flows gently, not like a torrent but like breath—slow, natural, aware. The trees bear mirrored leaves. The streams sing to those who listen. And the mana pulses with a rhythmic cadence long absent from the wider world. For centuries, Emberlight Hollow has remained still—its druids and planar geomancers merely tending to balance, preserving harmony against the ever-gnawing ambitions of fire-throned kings and vault-born wizards. Even the fall of the Autaria Conclave of Flame, with all its planar tampering and celestial arrogance, brought only a faint sigh to the Hollow. But now, something moves. The Veilwardens have felt it first—a subtle turbulence across the mana threads beneath the roots of the Heartpine Circle. Spells require gentler tongues to speak. The moonflowers bloom one night early. The stars above the Hollow realign as if bracing for something long promised and long delayed. The Eldertree Atheren—who has not spoken aloud in a generation—opened a single eye last week and whispered, “The Bloom stirs.” None know what it means. The druids convene. The Emberlight Accord, a council only gathered in ages of convergence, has been called. Old banners of the Elemental Compacts are unearthed. Rites meant to awaken sleeping groves and commune with future echoes are performed by firelight and crystal song. They do not speak of names. They do not guess at faces. They do not presume fate. They only know that magic is shifting, and something ancient has begun to root itself once again into the world. Whether it be salvation, consequence, or reckoning—they cannot yet say. But the Hollow listens. And it waits.

Stat Block: Riftborn Archivist Huge Outsider (Chaotic, Extraplanar) Hit Dice: 60d8+720 (1,200 hp, maximized) Initiative: +10 (+10 Dex) Speed: Fly 60 ft. (perfect) Armor Class: 50 (-2 size, +10 Dex, +32 natural), touch 18, flat-footed 40 Base Attack/Grapple: +60/+82 Attack: Rift tendril +76 melee (4d6+14 plus essence drain, Will DC 42 negates) Full Attack: 4 rift tendrils +76 melee (4d6+14 plus essence drain, Will DC 42 negates) and archive gaze (60-ft. cone, Will DC 42 or stunned) Space/Reach: 15 ft./20 ft. Special Attacks: Essence drain, archive gaze, planar rift, spell-like abilities Special Qualities: Damage reduction 20/epic, darkvision 60 ft., immunity to mind-affecting effects, spell resistance 45, planar attunement, telepathy 100 ft. Saves: Fort +44, Ref +42, Will +37 Abilities: Str 38, Dex 30, Con 34, Int 28, Wis 20, Cha 34 Skills: Knowledge (arcana) +72, Knowledge (history) +72, Knowledge (planes) +72, Listen +68, Search +72, Spot +68, Spellcraft +72 Feats: None (outsider, feats not required for encounter) Environment: Ruined Library Dimension Organization: Solitary Treasure: Tome of Infinite Planes (see below) Alignment: Chaotic Neutral Advancement: — Treasure: Tome of Infinite Planes The Tome of Infinite Planes is a unique minor artifact carried by the Riftborn Archivist, a massive, leather-bound book (3 ft. tall, 2 ft. wide, 1 ft. thick) with pages that shimmer like liquid starlight. Each page is a portal to a different plane, inscribed with infinite knowledge but fraught with danger. The Tome reflects the Archivist’s role as a collector of planar secrets and ties into the Sundering Prism’s reality-warping theme. Appearance: The Tome’s cover is etched with shifting runes in Abyssal, Celestial, and Draconic, glowing faintly with prismatic light. Its pages rustle as if caught in an unseen wind, and faint whispers of planar voices echo when opened. The book weighs 50 pounds and radiates overwhelming magic (all schools). A 3-ft.-tall, 2-ft.-wide, 1-ft.-thick leather-bound book with pages of liquid starlight, weighing 50 pounds Powers: The Tome of Infinite Planes has the following abilities, usable by its bearer (requires attunement, 24 hours of study, Int 20+). All save DCs are 25 (10 + 15 artifact level, per DMG p. 268). Planar Knowledge (Su): The bearer can access the Tome to cast legend lore at will (CL 20th), gaining knowledge about any plane, creature, or object, but each use requires a Will DC 25 save or the bearer takes 1d6 Int damage from the overwhelming information. Planar Gate (Sp): Once per day, the bearer can open a gate to any plane by turning to a specific page (CL 20th). The gate lasts 1 minute, and creatures summoned through it are not automatically controlled (requiring negotiation or a Charisma check, DC 25). Infinite Library (Su): The bearer can cast secret chest at will (CL 20th), storing items in an extradimensional library within the Tome. The library can hold up to 1,000 pounds or 150 cubic feet, but retrieving an item requires a Knowledge (planes) DC 25 check (failure summons a CR 15 outsider guardian, e.g., a hezrou). Planar Surge (Su): 3/day, the bearer can unleash a 60-ft.-cone burst of planar energy, dealing 15d6 damage (roll 1d4: 1=fire, 2=acid, 3=cold, 4=electricity, Reflex DC 25 half) and forcing a Will DC 25 save or be plane shifted to a random plane. Reality Anchor (Su): While holding the Tome, the bearer is immune to forced planar travel (e.g., banishment, plane shift) unless they willingly travel. Drawbacks: Planar Instability: Each time a power is used, there’s a 10% chance a random rift opens nearby (as the Archivist’s planar rift: 15d6 damage, Reflex DC 25 half, Will DC 25 or plane shift). Curse of the Archivist: The bearer must make a Will DC 25 save each day or become obsessed with planar knowledge, taking a -4 penalty to all non-Knowledge skill checks until they spend 1 hour studying the Tome (triggering the planar instability chance). Binding: The Tome cannot be destroyed by conventional means; it reforms in a random plane 1d4 days after destruction unless a miracle or wish (CL 25th) is used to sever its planar ties (Spellcraft DC 40). Value: Treasure Value: Priceless (minor artifact, DMG p. 268). Narrative Role: The Tome could be used to retrieve the party member stranded in the Abyss (Layer 600: Endless Maze), but its instability risks further chaos, tying into the Sundering Prism’s theme.

Sourced from this journal: Re: [Gorlen Blackhammer – Journal Entry #367](in the Year of -647) Erithar Kingdom Overview A Kingdom Reborn in Steel and Honor Government & Leadership Erithar is ruled by the Sovereign Council, a blend of warrior-kings, strategists, master crafters, and scholars. King Darius Velkor, the Reforged Sovereign, leads the kingdom with a balance of tradition and progress, ensuring Erithar remains both a military powerhouse and a beacon of innovation. Culture & Society Erithari society values discipline, honor, and craftsmanship. The caste system of the old kingdom has been replaced by a merit-based hierarchy, where warriors, smiths, and scholars alike can ascend based on skill and service. The kingdom is renowned for its Reforged Legions, battle-hardened troops wielding enchanted weapons and specialized war machines. Geography & Key Locations Veltrith Citadel – The heart of the kingdom, home to the Sovereign Council and the grand war halls. Blackforge Peaks – The industrial and magical crafting center, where dwarves and human artisans create legendary arms and armor. The Reforged Bay – A once-ruined port city, now a thriving trade hub connecting Erithar to neighboring lands. The Obsidian Arena – A battleground where warriors prove their might against the kingdom’s deadliest challenges. The Sylvan Verge – A mystical borderland where Erithari warriors train with elven spellblades and druids. Epic-Level Adventure Hooks in Erithar The Unfinished War The Autaria Dynasty, despite being neutral, has been secretly funding rogue warlords within Erithar. A hidden faction of Autarian warlords seeks to destabilize the kingdom by rekindling ancient blood feuds. The Sovereign Council seeks heroes to uncover the conspiracy, infiltrate enemy ranks, and prevent a war before it begins. The Hammer of the First King Legends speak of an ancient weapon, the hammer of the first Ebon Sovereign, lost during Erithar’s downfall. New texts suggest that it lies within a forgotten vault beneath the Blackforge Peaks. However, the vault is guarded by ancient constructs, cursed remnants of the kingdom’s past, and a sentient forge-spirit that judges the worthy. The Warlord’s Challenge A mighty warlord from beyond Erithar’s borders has declared the kingdom unworthy of its rebirth. He issues a challenge—defeat his army in ritual combat, or submit to his rule. His mercenary legion consists of ancient warriors bound by cursed oaths, requiring not just strength but strategic brilliance to overcome. The Ember Pact Betrayal The Ember Pact, the coalition of master smiths, has discovered a new method of forging soul-infused weaponry. However, their lead artificer has gone rogue, escaping with the knowledge and selling it to the highest bidder. The party must track him down, navigate through political intrigue, and decide if such power should exist at all. The Siege of the Shattered Bay A naval force of unknown origin has begun a supernatural siege on the Reforged Bay. Ships appear and vanish like ghosts, striking at key supply routes. Entire warships disappear without a trace. Is it an old enemy seeking revenge, or something older and more sinister awakening beneath the waves? The Soulforge Gambit Beneath the Obsidian Arena, a long-sealed vault houses an ancient machine capable of reforging warriors into nearly unstoppable beings. A rogue faction within the Reforged Legions seeks to activate it, willing to sacrifice hundreds of soldiers to create a godlike warlord. The heroes must decide whether to destroy or control this power. The Tournament of Kings Every 100 years, the Tournament of Kings is held in Erithar—an epic contest where champions battle for glory, power, and the right to challenge the king himself. However, this year’s tournament is different—one of the contestants is an outsider with a claim to the throne, and the tournament may be a cover for something far more sinister. The Hunt for the Shadow Vanguard A legendary covert group of Erithari warriors, the Shadow Vanguard, disappeared centuries ago during the kingdom’s fall. Now, their leader has returned, unchanged by time, claiming that something unnatural has kept them trapped between life and death. The heroes must uncover their fate, battle against time-warped foes, and decide whether to free or destroy the vanguard.

The Shadow over Iraythil Overview The kingdom of Iraythil is a flourishing and vibrant realm nestled between jagged mountain ranges and expansive plains. Renowned for its breathtaking landscapes and diverse ecosystems, the kingdom’s heart thrives in its lush valleys, where bustling towns flourish amid sprawling fields and ancient forests. Its rivers, nourished by glacial waters from the Silvercrest Peaks, crisscross the land, providing both life and trade for its people. Yet, beyond its natural beauty lies a rich history shaped by resilience and unity, as the kingdom has faced its share of challenges and adversities. At the heart of Iraythil’s culture lies its commitment to the gods of light and knowledge. Towering above the capital city of Veylskar is the Argent Spire, a radiant monument made of alabaster and quartz that functions as both a temple and a beacon of hope. Scholars and pilgrims from far-off lands journey to Iraythil to study at its academies, while its talented artisans and architects enhance its reputation as a hub of enlightenment. Despite its prosperity, the people of Iraythil remain modest, crediting their success to divine favor and a strong sense of community. However, this stable kingdom now faces an existential threat. From the desolate Vhaldar Wastes to the north comes a militant force known as the Crimson Horde. This army, made up of gnoll tribes, monstrous beasts, and corrupted sorcerers, marches under the banner of Xerathak the Crimson Maw. Their goal is conquest and destruction, driven by prophecies of an ancient god’s return. Villages along the northern frontier have already succumbed, their ruins a stark warning of the Horde’s brutal efficiency. The kingdom’s defenders, though brave, are fractured. Noble houses quarrel over resources, while border lords struggle to gather enough soldiers to hold their ground. The clergy of the Argent Spire urges unity, calling for the kingdom to rise against this common enemy. Yet, fear and distrust creep into the hearts of many, as whispers of betrayal and sabotage sow discord among the ranks. The survival of Iray As the shadow of the Crimson Horde looms larger, the once-peaceful realm teeters on the edge of chaos. Iraythil’s fate now lies in the hands of those willing to take up the mantle of defenders. Whether through diplomacy, valor, or cunning, these heroes must rise to protect their homeland and preserve its legacy as a bastion of light and knowledge. A Tale from the Barstool of the Drunken Ogre Gorlen leaned forward precariously, his mischievous eyes glinting in the dim light of the tavern as he surveyed his captivated audience. “Now, listen well, for this tale isn’t for the faint of heart!” he bellowed, spilling a bit more ale from his already half-empty mug. “The Kingdom of Iraythil, yes, a shining gem it may be now, but it wasn’t always so. It was a land of squabbling clans and wild, untamed beasts! Lawless, dangerous, and full of the kind of trouble that would make even the bravest among you reconsider stepping beyond your village.” He smacked the table for emphasis, drawing approving murmurs from the crowd. “Then came Veylor the First,” the gnome continued, swaying slightly as he adjusted his hat. “A warrior-king, they called him—the Shield of Light. Armed with a blade blessed by the gods themselves, they say he united the clans through blood and sweat. He fought off the marauding giants from the east, cleared the gnoll infestations to the west, and built the walls of Veylskar with his bare hands—or so the songs go! But mark my words, heroes like Veylor don’t just rise from nothing. They say he was chosen by Aurelia herself, the goddess of light and justice, to bring order to chaos. Gorlen paused dramatically, allowing his audience to lean closer, their breaths held in anticipation. “But here’s the twist, huh?” he whispered conspiratorially, lowering his voice to a gravelly growl. “While Veylor was building his shiny new kingdom, something dark was brewing in the north—the Vhaldar Wastes, a cursed land where nothing green grows. A shard of something ancient and foul, the priests called it the Heart of Night. They claimed it was an artifact of immense power, buried deep in the ruins of a forgotten age. The fools tried to harness it, believing they could tame its darkness. But what did it bring instead? Fire! Destruction! The Scorching, they called it, and it left the Wastes as dead as a dragon’s hoard is dangerous! “Now fast-forward a few centuries,” the gnome said, his voice rising as he waved his arms for emphasis. “The kingdom thrived—oh, yes, the people grew fat and happy, their villages safe behind sturdy walls. But peace doesn’t last forever, does it? From the north, where the Wastes still fester, a new threat emerges: the Crimson Horde. Gnolls, ogres, beasts twisted by that cursed shard, all following the banner of Xerathak the Crimson Maw. They say his maw is so wide it could swallow a man whole, and his eyes burn with the fire of that ancient god, Zarghanok, who’s itching to return. Gorlen takes a deep breath, “Long ago,” the gnome reiterated with conviction, drawing the crowd deeper into the tale, “the land we call Iraythil wasn’t anything but a patchwork of bickering tribes and warring villages. Each clan had its chieftain, and each chieftain had their pride, but pride doesn’t feed hungry bellies or stop marauding giants from storming your fields. The land was beautiful, sure, but it was chaos—chaos held together by grudges and the thin thread of survival.” He paused for effect, letting the weight of his words sink in. “And then came Veylor the First.” Gorlen takes a long breath. “Long ago,” the gnome repeated with conviction, drawing the crowd deeper into the tale, “the land we call Iraythil was nothing but a patchwork of bickering tribes and warring villages. Each clan had its chieftain, and each chieftain had their pride, but pride doesn’t feed hungry bellies or stop marauding giants from storming your fields. The land was beautiful, sure, but it was chaos—chaos held together by grudges and the thin thread of survival.” He paused for effect, letting the weight of his words sink in. “And then came Veylor the First.” Gorlen puffs out his chest, mimicking the stance of a warrior-king, his voice swelling with mock heroism. “Aye, they called him the ‘Shield of Light,’ and for good reason! They say his sword gleamed so brightly that it blinded his enemies before they could even swing. With sheer will and perhaps a whisper of divine favor, he united the clans. He transformed quarrelsome chieftains into vassals, villages into strongholds, and chaos into a kingdom. By the time Veylor raised the first banner of Iraythil, even the giants of the eastern hills had learned to tread lightly. His rule wasn’t just about strength; it was about order. Iraythil had finally found its purpose purpose.” But then the gnome’s expression darkened, and his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Still, there are shadows in every bright tale, right? The priests of Veylor’s court spoke of omens, signs in the stars, and whispers on the wind foretelling that the land’s peace would come at a price. Up north, beyond the Silvercrest Peaks, lie the Vhaldar Wastes, vast and desolate. But let me tell you something—it wasn’t always this way! Oh no, they say the Wastes used to be a paradise. Rolling green hills, golden fields stretching as far as the eye can see, and streams so clear you could see the heavens reflected in their waters.” Gorlen leans in closer, the crowd hanging on his every word. "Then the Scorching came. Some say it was the gods’ wrath; others claim it was something far worse, something forgotten. The priests believed they had discovered a relic of great power, an artifact from a time when mortals dared to challenge the heavens. They called it the Heart of Night, a shard of pure darkness buried deep beneath the hills of Vhaldar. The fools thought they could wield it, using its power to secure Iraythil’s glory forever. Instead, they awakened something ancient—something furious. Fire rained from the skies, the fields burned to ash, and the once-lush hills were left as a wasteland.” Gorlen takes a deep swig of his ale, shaking his head solemnly. "And so, the Vhaldar Wastes were born—a cursed land where no grass grows, where the wind howls as if haunted by the screams of the past. Veylor himself ordered the place sealed, forbidden to all, and the Heart of Night was buried even deeper, its power left to slumber. But here’s the thing about curses, right? They don’t stay quiet forever. And the Wastes, they’re stirring again. Mark my words, folks—there’s darkness coming from the north, and it’s looking to finish what the Scorching started.” Gorlen’s voice dropped to a whisper, his tone heavy with dread. “The Vhaldar Wastes weren’t always the barren, cursed land they are today,” he began. “Long ago, they say, those hills were a paradise—a place where golden fields swayed in the wind and crystal-clear rivers sang their songs beneath endless blue skies. It was a place so blessed that even the gods looked upon it with envy. But paradise rarely lasts when mortals grow ambitious, doesn’t it?” He leaned closer, allowing the weight of his words to hang in the smoky air of the tavern. “It all began with the priests of Veylor,” Gorlen continued, gesturing as if invoking some long-lost rite. “They were a curious group, always sticking their noses where they didn’t belong, and one day they uncovered something buried deep beneath the hills—an ancient shard of darkness. They called it the Heart of Night. They believed it was a gift from the gods, a power that could elevate the fledgling kingdom of Iraythil into an unparalleled realm of glory. But it wasn’t a gift. It was a curse, something better left forgotten.” His voice trembled slightly, as if recalling an inherited fear. With a dramatic flourish of his hands, the Gorlen paints a vivid picture of destruction. “They tried to harness it, those fools,” he said, shaking his head. “They built altars, performed rituals, and sought to bind the shard’s power to their will. But the gods themselves were angered by their hubris. The skies darkened, and fire rained down upon the land. The fields burned to ash, the rivers dried up, and the earth split open, spewing black smoke and molten rock. They call it the Scorching, but it wasn’t just fire—it was the gods’ wrath, a divine punishment that turned the Wastes into the lifeless desert they are today.” Gorlen paused, taking a deep swig from his mug before continuing. “And as for the priests, their end wasn’t merciful,” he said, his voice dropping even lower. “They were consumed by the shard, their bodies twisting into shadows that howled in agony as they were pulled into its dark embrace. Those who survived fled south, begging Veylor for salvation. The king ordered the shard to be buried deep, sealed beneath layers of rock and sacred wards, never to see the light of day again. And so, the Vhaldar Wastes were left abandoned—a place where not even grass grows, where the wind carries the whispers of those lost souls.” “But here’s the thing about curses,” the gnome added, a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. “They don’t just disappear. The Wastes are stirrin’, I tell ya. Dark shapes have been seen movin’ through the mists, and the Crimson Horde marches south, drawn to the power still buried there. Whatever was unleashed back then isn’t finished. The Heart of Night still beats beneath the Wastes, and it’s callin’ to those foolish enough to answer.” He leaned back with a sigh, leaving the room steeped in uneasy silence, the weight of his words pressing down like a storm about to break. Gorlen leans back in his chair and lights his pipe, his eyes gleaming with the spark of a storyteller weaving a tale of awe and reverence. “Now, “The Argent Spire,'” he began, “isn’t just the pride of Iraythil’s architecture or a symbol of its cultural and spiritual legacy. No, no, no! It’s far more than that—it’s a fortress, a divine sanctuary, a place where mortal hands protect an artifact said to be a fragment of the gods themselves: the Heart of Aurelia. Aye, they say that when the gods departed this world, they placed that very fragment here, a spark of their light to stand against the darkness. And it’s been the kingdom’s lifeline ever since.” Gorlen’s voice grew more animated, his gestures broad and exaggerated as he described the Heart of Aurelia. “Oh, you should see it!” he exclaimed. “They say it’s like lookin’ into the sun itself, a golden light so pure and radiant it could melt the shadows right off the walls. This isn’t just some gem or bauble; it’s a piece o’ divine power, a relic so potent that it has kept Iraythil safe through countless wars and dark times. The priests of Aurelia, bless their tireless souls, watch over it day and night, tendin’ to its glow with prayers and sacred rites. They’ve built wards and defenses around the Spire so strong that not even a dragon could break through.” He chuckled, taking another swig of ale. “Not that I’d want to see a dragon try!” As he spoke, the gnome’s tone shifted, growing somber and laced with unease. “But here’s the thing,” he said, lowering his voice so the gathered patrons had to lean in closer to catch his words. “The Heart’s light—yeah, that golden glow that fills the Spire—it’s been growing dimmer. Just a little at a time, mind you, but enough for the priests to notice. And if the priests are worried, well, that’s enough to make me worry too. What could it mean, huh? The gods growing distant? The power of the Heart fading? Or something darker, something lurking in the shadows, draining its strength? Gorlen paused for dramatic effect, letting the tension envelop his audience. “Now, some folks say it’s just a natural thing, a relic slowly losing its potency after so many centuries. But me? I believe there’s more to it. The Crimson Horde marching south, the stirrings in the Wastes, and now the dimming of the Heart? That’s no coincidence, my friends. There’s a thread that ties it all together, and it’s marked by darkness. If the Heart of Aurelia fails, if that light goes out completely…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Well, let’s just say Iraythil won’t last long against the shadow that follows. Gorlen leaned forward once more, his tone urgent. “So, what will it be then, huh? Will you wait for the light to fade completely, or will you do something about it? The Heart might be fading, yes, but it’s still there, still glowing, still pushing back the darkness. Perhaps it’s a test, a challenge from the gods themselves, calling for heroes to step forward and take up the mantle. The Spire stands tall, a bastion of hope, but it won’t last forever without those brave enough to defend it.” it. After a brief break, Gorlen returns from a bathroom visit, but a heavy seriousness has replaced his lively demeanor. “The Wastes, yeah, they’ve always been cursed, but this is different,” he muttered, scanning the faces of his audience. “Something is waking up out there, something that’s been sleeping for far too long. The folks who live near the border—the ones brave or foolish enough to stay—they’ve been whispering about shapes moving through the mists. Creatures they can’t describe, but they all agree on one thing: their eyes burn like embers, and their howls sound like death itself.” He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle like the final toll of a bell. “It’s the gnolls,” the gnome continued, his voice growing sharper. “But not like the ones you’ve heard of before. These ain’t just scavengers and pack hunters; they’re somethin’ else now. Somethin’ worse. Clad in armor as red as fresh blood, with claws sharp enough to rend steel, they’ve become somethin’ unnatural. Some say it’s the influence of the Wastes, twistin’ their minds and bodies. Others whisper that they’ve been touched by an ancient power—an’ not the good kind. They don’t fight like gnolls either; no, they fight like an army, marchin’ in ranks, followin’ orders. That alone should chill your bones.” Gorlen leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “And then there are the beasts. I’ve heard tales of creatures that walk like men but roar like dragons, their breath hotter than a blacksmith’s forge. Some say they aren’t beasts at all, but something twisted from what they once were. Farmers and hunters swear they’ve seen these things in the distance, their forms shimmering in the heat waves of the Wastes, stalking the edges of the wilds. No one knows where they came from, but everyone agrees on one thing: they’re marching with the gnolls. Together, they’re a force unlike anything Iraythil has ever seen.” “And what about their leader?” the gnome asked, his voice trembling slightly, though whether from fear or ale-induced theatrics was unclear. “Xerathak, they call him—the Crimson Maw. A demon in the flesh, some say, though I reckon he’s something worse. They say his maw’s wide enough to swallow a man whole, and his eyes burn brighter than the Wastes themselves. He’s not just strong; he’s clever too. He’s rallying the Horde, bringing together all the monsters of the north under one bloody banner. And that banner? It drips with blood, so much blood it leaves a trail wherever it goes. They say he’s got the backing of something darker, something that’s been waiting for this moment for centuries. Gorlen straightened, his tone becoming grave. “Mark my words,” he said, scanning the crowd with a steely gaze. “This isn’t just another raid or some rogue warband. This is a brewing storm, and it’s headed straight for Iraythil. The Crimson Horde marches south, and if Xerathak isn’t stopped, he won’t just conquer the kingdom—he’ll burn it to the ground. This isn’t just a fight for survival; it’s a fight for the soul of the land." Gorlen’s voice carried an ominous weight, reverberating through the crowded tavern as his words painted a grim picture of the danger looming to the north. “The Wastes,” he repeated, his tone heavy, “they’ve always been cursed, a place where life doesn’t dare linger. But now? Now there’s somethin’ wakin’ up there, somethin’ old, somethin’ powerful.” He scanned the faces of his audience, his expression one of cautious fear. “The farmers on the edge of the frontier have seen the shapes—dark figures movin’ through the mists, their eyes like burnin’ coals, their howls like the voice of death itself. Brave or foolish, they stayed long enough to warn us. But for how long will their warnings hold back what’s comin’?” As the Gorlen leaned closer to his rapt listeners, he described the unnatural transformation of the gnolls. “These ain’t the gnolls you’ve heard about,” he said, his voice sharp with urgency. “These ain’t scavengers or lone marauders. They’ve become somethin’ else, somethin’ twisted. They wear armor now, red as fresh blood, an’ they march in ranks like an army. They’re fightin’ with a purpose, a discipline that ain’t natural for their kind. Some say it’s the curse of the Wastes that’s changed ‘em, made ‘em stronger and crueler. Others whisper of a darker power, an ancient force that’s bound them together under one banner.” Gorlen’s tale darkened further as he recounted rumors of beasts that walked alongside the gnolls. “An’ it ain’t just them,” he muttered, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “There’s creatures—things that walk like men but roar like dragons. Their breath burns hotter than a forge, and their forms shimmer in the heatwaves of the Wastes. Farmers swear they’ve seen these monsters stalkin’ the wilds, and every story agrees: they’re marchin’ with the Horde. Whatever they are, they’ve never been seen in Iraythil before, an’ their presence is a sign that this ain’t no ordinary threat. It’s a storm brewin’, and it’s bigger than anything we’ve faced before.” The Gorlen stood straight, his voice rising as he named the leader of this dark force. “Xerathak—the Crimson Maw. Some call ‘im a demon, but I reckon he’s worse. They say his mouth could swallow a man whole, an’ his eyes burn brighter than the flames of the Wastes. He’s strong, aye, but it’s his cleverness that should scare ya. He’s rallyin’ the monsters of the north, bringin’ them together under one bloody banner. An’ that banner? It drips with blood, leavin’ a trail wherever it goes. But worse than Xerathak’s strength or his cunning is what backs him—a darker force, one that’s been waitin’ for this moment for centuries. This is more than an army; it’s a reckoning.” The tension in the room reached its peak as the gnome downed his mug, leapt onto his chair, and raised his hat high. “So what say you, eh?” he bellowed, his jovial demeanor momentarily returning. “Will you wait for the shadows to take you, or will you rise, fight, and carve yer names into history?” The crowd erupted into applause, their spirits lifted by the defiance in his voice. As he hopped down and ordered another ale, his tale lingered in the air like a challenge—a call to arms for those bold enough to step into the fire and shape the fate of Iraythil with their courage. Gorlen’s words hung heavy in the room, a spark igniting the possibility of hope in the face of impending darkness.

The Tale of the Xelvian Gorlen sits down and records a journal entry. Speaking into his memory crystal, “Encrypted journal entry.” In The One Tongue, Gorlen says, “Prepping for pocket reality deep manaethereal plane expedition in search of Xelvian library. Here are my notes.” In the forgotten annals of time, before the world was molded into its current form, there existed a magnificent civilization known as the Xelvians. They were a sister race to that of The Ones, birthed by the gods of nature and granted unparalleled wisdom to see the world in its truest form. Their cities were adorned with towering spires of crystal, and their streets were paved with coruscating stones that glowed softly under the moonlight. The Xelvian were the epitome of harmony and knowledge, their society a beacon of light in the ancient world. Among the Xelvians’ custodianship of powerful relics and ancient secrets, one treasure stood above all; The Aether Crystal. This limitless source of energy and wisdom was not just a gift from celestial beings, but a beacon of hope and enlightenment for the Xelvians, guiding their path through the cosmos. The Xelvians were beings of elegant grace and boundless wisdom, often called “Infinity Beings” by those who encountered their legends. Their lifespans were not measured in years but in epochs, their existence transcending the linear flow of time. To behold a Xelvian was to witness a creature woven from the very fabric of the cosmos, their forms shimmering with an inner light that pulsed in harmony with the universe’s rhythm. Xelvians possessed an extraordinary connection to the elemental forces of nature. They could command the winds, shape the earth, and converse with the stars. Their voices carried the resonance of ancient songs, and their eyes held the reflections of galaxies. This deep communion with the cosmos granted them insights and abilities far beyond the comprehension of ordinary mortals. They were the keepers of the Aether Crystal, a celestial artifact channeling creation’s purest energy. In their prime, the Xelvians built their cities not with stone and mortar but with thought and intention. Their structures floated like islands in the sky, anchored there by the will of their architects. The Xelvians’ profound understanding of metaphysical principles allowed them to manipulate space and time within their domains, creating sanctuaries of peace and enlightenment. These sanctuaries were places of pilgrimage for those seeking knowledge and spiritual ascension. Despite their immense power, the Xelvians were not conquerors. They valued balance and harmony, seeing themselves as stewards of the universe’s mysteries. Their society was a tapestry of interwoven destinies, everyone contributing to the collective wisdom. Now to tell this story, you have to understand The One race, and what happened to them. The One race, a breed of beings birthed at the dawn of creation by the gods of magic, was a singular entity of unlimited potential and knowledge. They were the first explorers of the cosmos, existing in a state of perfect equilibrium with the energies of the universe. Their power was seen as immeasurable, and for eons they lived in friendly competition with the Xelvians – researching the very bounds of the universe and pushing the underlying laws therein, trying to one-up the more patient Xelvians who preferred to “go with the flow” and let nature take its course. However, as time passed, differing philosophies began to emerge within The One race. Two distinct ideologies took shape, gradually pulling the race apart. One group, who would come to be known as the Powermasters, believed that their vast power should be harnessed and wielded, in the form of spellcasting, to shape the cosmos according to their vision. They argued that their immense abilities could create a utopia where they would rule as deities, ensuring order and progress. The other group, who became known as the Ancients, held a different view of creation, focusing on craftsmanship and engineering of magical devices. They believed that their powers of creation were the path to true power and knowledge, and were a sacred trust. They saw themselves as stewards of the universe, tasked with creating ever-more-powerful items to push the envelope of what was possible. Their culture deeply ingrained this philosophy, guiding their actions and decisions. Emerging from the schism within The One race, the Ancients embodied a philosophy of control, restraint, and curiousity about the universe’s natural order. Their creations were not just tools or artifacts but works of art, each imbued with profound intent and purpose. Tensions between the Powermasters and the Ancients grew, fueled by debates and disagreements that could not be reconciled. The breaking point came during the Great Council, a gathering intended to heal the rift and restore unity. Instead, it became the stage for the final confrontation. The council quickly descended into chaos as the Ancients, led by the ambitious and charismatic Zolthar, unveiled their plan to seize control of the cosmic energies. They argued that their destiny was to reshape the universe, to eliminate chaos and create a perfect order. The Powermasters, led by the wise Elara, opposed them vehemently, warning that such hubris would bring ruin. Unable to reach a consensus, the schism became irreparable. The One race fractured, splitting into the Powermasters and the Ancients. Each group went their separate ways, the Powermasters to pursue their dreams of power, and the Ancients to bring about new and powerful creations. After the devastating fracture, a few of the remaining Ones, deeply saddened by the division and the ensuing chaos, chose to step back from the world. These enlightened beings, known as the Hidden Ones, recognized the futility of direct intervention in the escalating conflict between the Powermasters and the Ancients. They understood that overt action might exacerbate the discord and lead to further destruction. Instead, they opted for a more subtle approach, operating from the shadows to influence events without direct interference. The decision to withdraw was rooted in a profound philosophical shift. The Ones came to believe that the true path to restoring balance lay not in direct confrontation but in fostering the conditions for growth and enlightenment from within, through research and the pursuit of knowledge. They saw their race’s fractured state as a reflection of deeper cosmic imbalances that needed to be addressed indirectly. By stepping back, they aimed to allow the natural course of evolution and self-discovery to unfold among the Powermasters and the Ancients. Operating from their concealed sanctuaries, the Ones adopted a strategy of indirect guidance and subtle influence. They observed the actions of the Powermasters and the Ancients, intervening only when absolutely necessary to prevent catastrophic outcomes. Through dreams, visions, and cryptic messages, they imparted wisdom and warnings to those they deemed worthy or capable of understanding their guidance. They also subtly inspired acts of heroism and balance, ensuring that the essence of their wisdom continued to permeate the world. Though their presence was unseen, the influence of the Ones was profound. Their subtle interventions and quiet guidance helped to prevent many potential disasters and steered individuals and events towards paths of greater balance and understanding. Over time, legends of mysterious, benevolent forces working behind the scenes spread across the cosmos, inspiring tales of hidden guardians and ancient protectors. Through their decision to operate in the shadows, the Ones ensured that the spirit of The One lived on. Their legacy became one of quiet strength and enduring wisdom, a testament to the power of subtlety and the belief that true change often comes from within. In this way, they continued to shape the destiny of the cosmos, fostering a future where the fractured pieces of their race might one day find their way back to unity and harmony. Sadly, today, very few Ones still exist, and most have adopted a do not interfere approach, focusing on their research, but now and again, if the situation is big enough, they will band together to intervene and prevent a calamity. Only a few short centuries after the fracture from the One race, tension had simmered between both factions. The Ancients and the Powermasters focused on consolidating their power and pursuing divergent philosophies. The Ancients sought to maintain balance and protect the cosmos through their craftsmanship and magical engineering mastery. At the same time, the Powermasters pursued a path of domination, using raw power and aggressive tactics. As their ambitions grew, so did their mutual distrust and animosity, setting the stage for an inevitable conflict. The discovery of the Xelvian essence as a potent source of power became the catalyst for conflict. Both factions, driven by their own motivations, began capturing and experimenting on the Xelvians, resulting in a series of secret raids and covert operations. Tensions escalated as each side accused the other of exploiting the Xelvians and disrupting the cosmic balance. The final straw came when a prominent Xelvian sanctuary was attacked, and both sides blamed each other for the atrocity. The Ancients saw the Powermasters aggressive actions as a direct threat to universal harmony, while the Powermasters viewed the Ancients’ interference as an obstacle to their rightful ascent. Diplomacy broke down, and old grievances resurfaced, rekindling animosities that had never truly faded. The turning point came with discovering a large shard of the Aether Crystal, a relic of immense power capable of altering the balance between the two factions. Both the Ancients and the Powermasters believed that control of the shard would secure their dominance. A race ensued to claim it, leading to an inevitable confrontation at the crystal’s site. The initial skirmish was brutal and decisive. The Ancients, with their superior craftsmanship, constructed formidable defenses around the crystal, while the Powermasters unleashed their raw magical prowess to breach these fortifications. The battle was fierce and costly, with heavy casualties on both sides. The Aether Crystal, caught in the crossfire, released bursts of chaotic energy that further fueled the conflict. The battle over the Aether Crystal shard began an all-out war. With both sides unwilling to retreat or negotiate, the conflict quickly spread. The Ancients fortified their strongholds and deployed their enchanted constructs, while the Powermasters launched relentless assaults, using their amplified powers to devastating effect. As the war raged on, the boundaries of ethical conduct eroded. Both factions resorted to increasingly desperate measures, including the use of experimental magics and forbidden technologies. Entire landscapes were transformed into war zones, with nature itself caught in the violent struggle. The war left an indelible scar on the cosmos. Ancient cities were reduced to ruins, and once-vibrant ecosystems were turned to wastelands. The Ancients, despite their initial principles, found themselves compromising their values in the face of annihilation. The Powermasters, driven by their lust for power, became ever more ruthless and destructive. The Xelvians, caught between the warring factions, suffered immensely. Their population dwindled, inching closer to extinction, and their sacred sites were desecrated. As the war between the Ancients and the Powermasters raged on, its devastation and chaos reached a tipping point. The very fabric of the cosmos began to tremble under the strain of their relentless conflict. Watching from their hidden sanctuaries, the Ones who had chosen to step back from direct involvement realized their intervention was now imperative. The universe’s balance was at stake, and the unchecked power struggles of their fractured descendants threatened to unravel everything The One race had ever stood for. The Ones, now known as the Hidden Ones, convened in a timeless realm beyond the reach of the warring factions and prying eyes, known as the deep manaethereal. Here, they shared visions of the future, contemplating the possible outcomes of continued conflict. It became clear that the Aether Crystal, the powerful artifact at the heart of the struggle, needed to be removed from the equation. Its very existence was a magnet for discord, and neither the Ancients nor the Powermasters could be trusted to wield its power responsibly. After much deliberation, the Ones devised a plan to intervene subtly yet decisively. They would extract the Aether Crystal from the physical realm, transporting it to a place where neither faction could reach it. This plan required a delicate balance of power and precision, ensuring that their actions would not further destabilize the already fragile cosmos. The Ones called upon the most skilled beings who retained the profound abilities of their unified heritage. They would work together to create a dimensional rift, a pocket of reality hidden in the manaethereal Deep where the Aether Crystal could be safely hidden away along with the remaining Xelvians and wipe all memory and recorded history of them, preserving them in stasis for them to return one day. This realm would be protected by layers of enchantments and barriers, impervious to even the most potent of the Powermasters’ and Ancients’ magics. On a night when the energies of the cosmos were most aligned, the Ones enacted their plan. Using a combination of ancient rites and powerful spells, they converged on the battlefield where the latest skirmish over the Aether Crystal was taking place. Invisible to both sides, the Ones wove their magic with silent, unprecedented precision, leveraging the crystal’s power and One magic. As the combatants clashed, the Aether Crystal began to glow with an otherworldly light. In a blinding flash, the Aether Crystal, the remaining Xelvians, and all memory or record of them vanished even from the gods, leaving both the Ancients and Powermasters stunned and disoriented. Confused about their goal or why they were there, the battlefield fell silent, the fury of the conflict momentarily halted by the sudden and inexplicable absence of the artifact that had fueled their war. The removal of the Aether Crystal and the disappearance of all Xelvians had an immediate impact. Deprived of their ultimate source of power, both factions found their momentum faltering. The Ancients, who had relied on the Xelvian essence and crystal to bolster their defenses, were forced to rethink their strategies. The Powermasters, deprived of powerful spell components and a power source that promised them dominance, were left in disarray. In the sudden lull, voices calling for peace and reflection grew louder. The more enlightened members of both factions began to see the futility of their struggle. The Ones, still operating from the shadows, subtly influenced these peace efforts, encouraging dialogue and reconciliation. This brought precarious peace for a time, but as the Ones discovered, the two races regrouped and were eventually back to war a short century later, in a constant push and pull for power. Based upon my research and what I have learned since arriving in the manaethereal universe. The Xelvian Library, ensconced in stasis within the deep manaethereal plane, is a marvel of arcane architecture and ancient knowledge. This legendary repository exists outside conventional time and space, floating serenely amidst a swirling nebula of raw, unrefined mana. The library is an expansive, labyrinthine structure composed of a unique blend of ethereal crystal and enchanted stone, glowing with a soft, otherworldly light. Its walls shimmer with an iridescent hue, shifting colors like the surface of a calm, magical sea. The corridors are lined with towering shelves that stretch infinitely upward, filled with tomes, scrolls, and grimoires containing knowledge from countless worlds and epochs. Powerful enchantments hold the library in a state of perpetual stasis. Time within the library flows differently than in the outside world, allowing the preservation of ancient texts and artifacts without the risk of decay or corruption. This stasis also ensures that the library remains unaffected by the passage of time, allowing guests to study and explore for what might feel like days or weeks. Still, only moments pass in the material plane. The deep manaethereal plane imbues the library with an almost sentient awareness. The very air within the library hums with latent energy, and the texts themselves seem to respond to the presence of scholars, pages turning of their own accord to reveal pertinent information. This ambient magic enhances the research experience, allowing for intuitive leaps in understanding and connections between disparate pieces of knowledge. I theorize the Xelvian Library holds secrets far beyond mortal comprehension, including the original spells of creation, records of forgotten gods, and prophecies yet to unfold. It is said that deep within the library lies the Codex of Eternity, a mythical book that contains the true nature of reality itself, accessible only to those deemed worthy by the library’s enigmatic consciousness. And with the Library itself in stasis, I suspect The Ones spell caught a few Xelvians in the library at the time of them casting their spell and got caught up in it, so I may get to see one up close. End of recording.

For Prosperity [image: bFnQaJT.png]

In the heart of the Mana Abyss, a place where the very essence of magic pulses through the darkness, a vibrant Gnomish Trading Company caravan readied itself for a journey of epic proportions. Laden with goods of unparalleled craftsmanship and arcane marvels, the caravan set its sights on conquering the perilous paths of the Underdeep, with the ultimate goal of emerging into the vibrant, magical world of the ManaEthereal Prime Material Plane. Led by the intrepid caravan master, Thimble Gearspark, the gnomes bustled about, securing crates of enchanted trinkets and shimmering crystals onto the backs of sturdy pack animals. Excitement filled the air as they prepared to depart the familiar gloom of the Underdeep for the boundless opportunities of the surface realms. Among the caravan’s members was a young gnome, Rillo Wizzleflick, his heart brimming with anticipation for his first foray beyond the depths. Equipped with a sharp intellect and a natural talent for negotiation, Rillo harbored a fervent dream of carving a name for himself in the bustling trade cities of the Prime Material Plane. As the caravan delved deeper into the twisting tunnels of the Underdeep, they were met with a barrage of challenges – from convoluted passageways that seemed to shift with every step, to hostile creatures lured by the caravan’s precious cargo. Yet, with their wits and resourcefulness, the gnomes overcame each obstacle, their resolve unyielding. After weeks of travel, the caravan finally emerged into the sunlit realm of the ManaEthereal Prime Material Plane. Their first destination: the bustling city of V’Ral, a melting pot of cultures and commerce where traders can exchange goods and secrets. Upon arriving in V’Ral, the caravan was greeted by a cacophony of sights and sounds – towering obelisk of enchanted crystal, bustling marketplaces thronged with merchants and travelers, and the hum of arcane energy permeating the air. Here, amidst the vibrant tapestry of the city, the gnomes sought out their fellow gnome and merchant, Gorlen Blackhammer. Gorlen, a renowned gnome merchant with a twinkle in his eye, a penchant for finding trouble, and a taste for mana wine welcomed the caravan with open arms. Over a freshly opened barrel of frosty Jamas, he regaled them with tales of his own travels and the wonders he had encountered in distant lands. As the days passed, Rillo found himself captivated by Gorlen’s stories, his admiration for the seasoned merchant growing with each passing moment. But amidst the hustle and bustle of V’Ral, Rillo tells Gorlen about a rival trading consortium that is envious of the Gnomish Trading Company’s success. A rival merchant house has sought to sabotage their efforts and seize control of the lucrative trade routes. The House of Zytharis, led by Matron Zytharis, has been leading an open war on our trading company, attacking several of our clockwork caravans. Gorlen rubs his head, cocking an eyebrow toward Rillo “Is that why my voidsteel shipment was late last month?” Rillo looked to the ground, “Sadly, yes”. Gorlen grumbles as he gives the old man an ache, getting out of his chair…” This is going to require a new fresh barrel.” After a few moments Gorlen comes walking out with a golem carrying a new barrel, settling back into his chair with his pipe. Taking a few puffs from his pipe, the bartender Golem pours fresh mugs. Gorlen says, “talk to me about the last attack on one of your caravans by this Matron.” Rillo leans back and describes the dimly lit tunnels of the underdeep. A caravan from the Gnomish Trading Company made its way through the twisting passages, laden with valuable goods and guarded by stout-hearted gnomes. Unbeknownst to them, they had become the target of a calculated surprise assault by the sinister House Zytharis, a Drow noble house with a reputation for ruthlessness and cunning. As the caravan moved through the tunnels, shadowy figures emerged from hidden alcoves and crevices, their drow eyes gleaming with threatening menace in the dim light. With a sudden, chilling silence, the attack began. Drow warriors, clad in dark armor and wielding wicked blades, descended upon the unsuspecting caravan with swift and deadly precision. Their movements were like shadows in the darkness, striking from concealment before melting back into the gloom. Chaos erupted as the caravan gnomes fought desperately to defend their cargo and your voidsteel, their shouts echoing off the cavern walls as they clashed with their unseen assailants. Spells crackled through the air as arcane energies clashed, illuminating the cavern with flashes of brilliant light amidst the darkness. Amidst the chaos, the caravan master, Thimble Gearspark, rallied his companions, his voice ringing out above the din as he directed their defense. But the Drow attackers were relentless, pressing the assault with merciless efficiency, their dark intent clear as they sought to capture the valuable cargo for themselves. I ran immediately over to the clockwork golems, as they hadn’t activated but stood motionless, almost as if they had been disabled. It wasn’t until I reset them in the battle that they were able to get into the fight. It was clear the drow was surprised to see the clockworks activated; it wasn’t until shortly after that the drow fell back into the tunnels, and the gnomes could regroup. Similar occurrences have been occurring with our other caravans as well, I have heard of two other stories similar to my own. Gorlen …” mumbles something about that bitch drow,” then clears his throat and speaks up, “Well, Rillo, it seems to me your caravan scouts probably need some divination magics, recommend some gems of true seeing, next there is a gruff old surly dwarf in town who has the forge, believe it or not but he is an Ancient, I would have him look at your clockworks he can probably figure out what the Drow are doing to them. “ Gorlen thinks for a minute, “I tell you what, Rillo, go ahead and get your caravan and wares set up in the merchant square. I’ll go down and get Kargin properly lubricated with Jamas, stop by in, say, 3 hours, and we can discuss him looking at your clockwork” … laughing…” Hell, by night’s end, he may even buy some of your raw metal supply.” As Rillo waves by to Gorlen… Gorlen glances up at the bartender golem; come on, it will be a long and expensive night. It’s time to bust out the top shelf. As Gorlen walks toward the crafting area of V’Ral, the noise of clanging hammers and the roar of furnaces can be heard. Gorlen enters the shop, watching the flames dance in the forge, and the scent of molten metal fills the air as his hands shape the glowing metal into works of artistry and ingenuity. With each strike of the hammer and twist of the wrench, life is born into his creations. Eventually, Kargin’s eye catches Gorlen on the edge of his vision, and he begins to wonder why his front door was unlocked, noticing Gorlen brought his bartender golem with him. Kargin, knowing Gorlen well, knows he does not drink anything but quality beer, so after a long day of work in the forge, why not drink on Gorlen’s tab? As the evening wore on and the forge fire burned low, Gorlen and Kargin began to tell stories of their adventures, with thoughts of countless wonders still yet to be discovered in the manaverse. Kargin looks up at the wall and nudges Gorlen… “Hey, watch this.” Getting fresh, full mugs, at the stroke of the top of the hour, Dregnoth comes strolling in and lays eyes on the elemental fragments around the forge. Dregnoth catches an eye on the barrel of Jamas; Kargin and Gorlen are enjoying and, for a minute, seem distracted. At which time, a worried look begins to pass across Kargin’s face for a few brief moments, but then Dregnoth’s focus reasserts itself, and he declares himself a GodKing and begins the process to interface with the earth fragment, vaporizing himself into a pile of dust. A few moments later, a dwarf-looking Homunculus comes walking across the room with a broom and a dustpan, cleans up his remains, and dumps it outside. Gorlen looks at Kargin “How often does that happen?” Kargin replies…”About every 12 hours, always at the top of the hour.” Gorlen laughs… “You should sell tickets; people would pay money to watch.” Kargin replies…” Ohh, trust me, I have thought about it, but I do worry that one day he will come in, lay his hand on the fragment, and not vaporize… then we need to worry.” Not much more than a few moments later, a distant “Hello” sound is heard toward the front of the forge, with Rillo slowly emerging near the back where Kargin and Gorlen sit. After Gorlen makes the introductions, he explains the drow troubles Rillo and the gnomish trading company are having. After much grumbling, complaining and resistance, Gorlen makes sure to tell the bartender golem in front of Kargin to please retrieve four of his finest barrels of Jamas. Naturally, we see a glint in Kargin’s eye with the knowledge of that … “Well, I suppose I have sometime before the beer arrives to take a look at these clockwork golems,” … telepathically Gorlen tells the bartender golem to take the long way to get the beer. A few minutes pass as the Ancient starts pouring through a clockwork golem, scratching his head and mumbling, “Just why?”… “Hoh dear lord”… “what the f?”… “For Christ’s sake,”…. “how did this ever work” … and then finally, “What is that?” pulling a magnetic magical disc out of the clockwork golem… Kargin opens his spectacles for a closer look…. Hmm, this isn’t gnomish in origin; it’s drow. I would hazard a guess either they did a reverse pickpocket and planted this in your golem, activating it during the ambush, which is unlikely because most golems don’t fall for stealth tricks, or you have a traitor amongst your trading company sabotaging your golems. Rillo was shocked. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing…Kargin pulled the remaining magnetic enchanted discs out of the other two golems. Kargin looks at Rillo saying “bring me the remaining clockwork golems by tomorrow, and I’ll fix the remainder of them up; I also have some construct big ohms around here, I would be happy to sell you, it warms my heart that it will be used to stick it to a bunch of drow” With a wave of his hand, several ancient dwarven homunculi emerge, reassembling the clockwork golems. About that time, the bartender golem showed up with four barrels of Jamas, and as one may expect, no more work was completed for the rest of the night. Kargin glances at Gorlen as the beer is poured… “We get to see Dregnoth vaporized, we get to drink Jamas, and we get to help stick it to the drow… it’s a good night”

(( fyi - dregs is FAR too absentminded and easily distracted to try and spy on Gorlen… the alchemist buys into your ONE disguise - hook, line and sinker having already surreptiously sampled you via a handshake with an Alchemical Bloodstone Ring equipped and gotten back pure gnome blood (something that was childs play for a managanger to work around), he’s chalked you up as a obscenely clever magus and moved on to more difficult targets to “acquire” ))

<long yawn> As a crazy-haired gnome gets out of bed, gods above we drank too much last night, say what you will about the Dark Elf Sorvani that elf can pack away the mana wine. The gnome slowly stretches, gets dressed and splashes some water on his face. Living above this shop has some advantages to sleeping- in, as he mumbles about his mana-ache being a cross between a headache and a manapool. Slowly he makes his way down the stairs to his shop, climbing upon his stool behind his counter, and with a big <sigh> he mutters something about inventory. And then he hears a banging on his door outside his shop, pressed against his glass window with a faint sound of “Are you open?” Gorlen mumbles, “clearly we are not … it should seem pretty obvious”, slowly getting off his stool and walking over to his door. As Gorlen approaches the door he flips the Closed sign to Open and waves the customer into the shop. As Gorlen makes his way back to his counter, he tells the customer to have a look around while Gorlen tries to recover from his hangover. But then he smelled it, felt it, and then the managanger masked deep down across layer upon layer of cloaking magics shivered. Thankfully Gorlen already had crazy hair from the evening he had so he didn’t show many of his cards, but he took immediate interest in an unfamiliar customer. As the customer is slowly made his way through the figurine aisle, he found it odd yet interesting there was a carved figurine of a battle ogre paying exceptional attention to it he grabbed it off the shelf and started heading to the counter. Gorlen sensing this customer isn’t projecting their natural state, slowly reaches down to pick up a specialized set of spectacles that he uses to create jewelry, carve gemstones, and create figurines additionally it provides the enhanced ability to see things truly as they are. Looking down upon the figurine as the customer hands it to him, Golen says “Ahh yes, you know I remember carving this one, it’s a popular piece for folks when they are in a pinch”. Slowly looking up, Gorlen looks upon the customer “What’s your name?” The customer, clearly an adventurer now that Gorlen sees him up close, says “I am Draven Sunshaper.” At this point, the glasses need a round to sync and another round to process their surroundings, so Gorlen needs to stall a bit. Gorlen says “have you seen the rest of the shop are or do you want anything else?”. Draven looks around a little nervously almost looking ashamed, and Gorlen interjects “The Merak items are behind the curtain in the back no judgment go have a look.” After about eight minutes later a visibly embarrassed Draven comes out, “That was not what I was looking for”, Gorlen gives a bit of a chuckle “You were in there for eight minutes, must have found something you fancied”. Draven looking mortified, Gorlen waves his hand …“It’s okay, if that is not what you want what are you looking for?” Draven responds…“I have heard folks call them spellbreakers?” Gorlen smiles…. “Ahh yes, we have spellbreakers, but how did you hear about them? I’m certain you are new to the city”. Draven says “I came a long way from the city of Esagend, in the Autaria Kingdom”, hmm Gorlen taps his finger on the glass case thinking …He has either seen my Gnome form in the siege of the library, maybe he recently arrived in the spelljammer port in Esagend, or he is full of crap either way I should be getting a synopsis of his true form in a few moments. Gorlen says “Ok I’ve heard good things about Esagend, dragging out a box of spell breakers and setting it on the counter. It’s 500gp per Spellbreaker.” Draven visibly looks excited … “How do you make them?”, Gorlen smiles…” As much as I would like to show people, V’Ral rules, the recipe, and the process is not to be shared, it is a popular requested item.” Draven looking disappointed, dismisses the unfortunate news and says “I’ll take thirty of them.”, dropping 15k of gold on his counter. Gorlen thinks to himself, as much mana wine Sorvani and I packed away last night I don’t think that 15k will go far in digging me out of that debt. Gorlen shaking off the memories of last night’s indulgences peels off 30 spellbreakers and hands them to Draven. Gorlen says, “Have fun do you need anyone to show you how to use them?”; Draven responds, “I’ll figure it out.”, Gorlen smiles “Confidence, I like that”. As Draven begins to turn away, an internal ding within the minds of Gorlen occurs and the glasses begin telepathically giving him a dossier upon the true form of Draven Sunshaper. Telepathic data feed from Gorlen’s infinity lenses: Race: Ethereon (currently believed to be extinct) Capital City: Etherhaven Kingdom: Aetheria (previously believed to be destroyed) The Aetheria kingdom, previously believed to be destroyed and the Ethereon race wiped out, which appears to be untrue as little is known about both, in your adventure to the Dreadstone Necropolis library you discovered the only piece of literature presently discovered to ever hint at the existence of Aetheria and the Ethereon people. Aetheria in its former glory consisted of floating cities, a crystalline arcanarium that includes crystalline spires, and arcane libraries, elemental nodes, and skyborne gardens. Ethereon are enigmatic beings that exist between the realms of matter and manaethereal energy. They appear as shifting, amorphous masses of the Manaetheral mist, constantly changing shape and form. Able to take any shape, their natural true form, is constantly changing shape and form. Ethereons are adept at manipulating the fabric of reality, bending space and time to their will. The city of Etherhaven, has a whole host of diverse array of manaetheral races such as Slyphs, Tethers, Ethersprites, and Astral Arcanids, each with their unique traits and characteristics. The Ethereon are the ruling class in Aetheria. The city is ruled by a Magocracy, along with a council of elders that include solely powerful wizards. The Magocracy governs with wisdom and authority, guided by principles of arcane law and magical harmony. While their rule is benevolent, the Magocracy brooks no dissent when it comes to matters of magic and the preservation of Aetheria’s mystical heritage. The Kingdom of Aetheria is extremely xenophobic and goes to great lengths not to be influenced or discovered by outsiders. As Draven continues to walk toward the exit, Gorlen not realizing he is mumbling as he digests the data feed huffs…” I guess you don’t see that every day”. Draven turns around noticeably with his guard up, and Gorlen responds “ohh umm not you and he points out the window display in his shop at the caravan pulling up, Wednesday they usually don’t arrive until Thursday. Will wonders never cease!” This was made up they always come on Wednesday, but Gorlen had to make something up. Walking Draven to the exit Gorlen says “Since you’re a new customer here is a big ohm on the house and look forward to doing more business with you in the future” Draven looks down at the big ohm, responding “Thanks!”; enthusiasm seemed partly genuine, but also a little manufactured. As Draven makes his way out of the shop and down the street deeper into the market of V’Ral. Gorlen sends a telepathic message to the Obelisk…” Hey O, I just planted a big ohm tracker on a new customer that I need to learn more about, can you keep an active trace on where he goes?” Obelisk responds… “Active tracking enabled, and actively being logged” … “Thanks O.” Gorlen smacks his belly, switches signs on his shop door…”Out for Breakfast”… and heads down to the local greasy spoon to nurse his manaache.

Small Village ~500 inhabitants Main export is Spirits The fallen legion established first contact with the town, and handed over to the Rolandites for future trade. Erok purchased 10-20 barrels of their spirits.

Still needs work [image: 1neCMTS.png]

Whew now that does go back.

Under the fading light of the setting sun, the bustling V’Ral town square was filled with various fantastical races, merchants hawking their wares, and townsfolk going about their business. In this lively atmosphere, a renowned drow named Sorvani approached a gnome named Gorlen, a general store owner of magical reagents, and hard-to-find materials. With a haughty stride, Sorvani approached Gorlen, his eyes fixed on a small, radiant Aetherium Blue Diamond that Gorlen had in his hand, and a scroll in the other. With a deep sigh, Gorlen rolls his eyes, and thinks to himself “I don’t need this shit, here comes Sorvani and he is going to chew my ass”. For the better part of the year, I had a line on a supply of Aetherium Blue diamonds, but since war broke out in the Kingdom of Aetheris, my supply line has been disrupted, to say the least. Not to mention the last credible intel I received from my supplier it seems the mines have a bit of a Phaerimm infestation for two valid reasons, I’m betting they were attracted to the aetherium blue diamonds because they enhance a spellcaster’s spell-casting ability. The second is the barrier between the prime material plane and the manaethereal plane is found to be weak in many of the aetherium blue diamond mines within Aetheris. Gorlen (thinking to himself): “ Here we go” Sorvani (smirking): “Well, if it isn’t the gnome merchant, Gorlen. I don’t believe you are a gnome by the way, and I’ve heard you may have a line on aetherium blue diamonds, that is very fortunate for me.” Gorlen (looks up making eye contact with Sorvani): If I’m not a gnome, then what do you imagine me to be? And well good news / bad news situation with the aetherium blue diamonds.” Gorlen (holding his hand up): “Last aetherium blue diamond for a while, war broke out and it seems an infestation of Phaerimm is complicating resupply.” Sorvani’s eyes narrowed, his patience already wearing thin at Gorlen: “Gorlen, I suggest you fix your supply issues and fix them immediately otherwise you may be looking for a new home outside the V’Ral shield.” Gorlen (unimpressed, since Sorvani has made this empty threat to him before): “ I am only a low-level merchant gnome, I don’t know what I can do until the Kingdom of Aetheris sorts itself out. I was going to post to the Adventure Board, before you found me, a call to adventurers to help secure a mine in the Kingdom. “ Sorvani (anger visibily increasing): “You’re a gnome my ass, I want you to have this fixed and fixed now, I will need my next shipment in 20 days. And I am holding you accountable Gnome” as Sorvani scoffs. Gorlen (rubbing his head collecting his thoughts starting to get visibly irritated by this conversation, re-meets Sorani’s gaze): “Well Sorvani, I don’t know who you think I am but I assure you I am a gnome merchant. As to your aggressive timeline, you may want to engage the God King Dregnoth as he may be available to help you.” Sorvani (holding back his rage, yelling down at Gorlen): “Dregnoth is not a God King! And I will see Dregnoth leading the Laputan empire before I will ever need his help.” Gorlen (let a small devilish smirk show): “Hey now no need to shout, maybe some adventurers will take up the quest. I can sweeten the deal to further entice them. After all an adventurer’s greed for treasure is as boundless as doppelgangers for identities – endless and insatiable.” Sorvani’s patience snapped, his voice rising with anger. Sorvani: (snarling) “You insolent fool! You know who I am! If you are really a gnome, you would be in fear that I could obliterate you with a flick of my finger! Now, have the remaining blue diamonds sent over to my tower before I decide to show you the consequences of crossing me.” Gorlen (sighs thinking to himself): [I shouldn’t have poked the bear he is just so easy to bait, I better make nice] Gorlen: “I will have the rest of the blue diamond’s sent over, you know how this works, 50% up-front and 50% after delivery” Sorvani (shaking his head): “Fucking Gnome, you will get your gold, by end of day Gorlen!” walking away. With that, Gorlen turns away posting a Looking for Adventurers notice on the town Bulletin Board, leaving Sorvani seething with rage as he moves on to other business in V’Ral. Posting on the Bulletin Board: Shadows of Aetheris (Looking for Adventurers) In the heart of the mystical Kingdom of Aetheris, the land is abundant with mines containing powerful Aetherium Blue Diamonds, a precious gem that channels raw arcane energy, when used by spellcasters, these gems intensify the power of spells, making them more potent and effective. Casters who channel their magic through Aetherium Blue Diamonds find their spells imbued with unparalleled strength. The kingdom was plunged into a brutal war, waged not by mortal armies, but by an ancient and malevolent force—the Phaerimm, ancient aberrations known for their insatiable hunger for magic. The Phaerimm, have been drawn by the potent magical resonance of the Aetherium Blue Diamonds and launched a relentless assault on the kingdom. With their vast knowledge of forbidden arcane arts, they infiltrated the kingdom, poisoning minds and corroding the very magic that protected Aetheris. During this chaos, one of the primary Aetherium Blue Diamond mines was overrun. The once-proud miners and craftsmen were forced to abandon their work, leaving the precious gems in the hands of the Phaerimm. With the Aetherium Blue Diamonds under their control, the Phaerimm grew even more formidable, their power enhanced to unseen levels. Desperation gripped the hearts of the people of Aetheris. Their king, wise but weary, sought aid from brave adventurers and scholars skilled in ancient lore. The fate of the kingdom now seeks an adventuring party to forge an alliance with a group of brave miners and craftsmen, driven from their homes by the Phaerimm, to form a secret resistance. The adventurers must find and unite these scattered pockets of resistance. Establish an alliance with a neighboring Elven Enclave that possesses ancient magical wards that could weaken and slow the Phaerimm’s progress. Find a forgotten library deep within the kingdom said to contain a ritual to imprison the Phaerimm, and finally travel to remote locations to collect the rare components to seal the Phaerimm within an arcane prison. Adventurers interested can inquire about details at the General Merchant Store, and ask for the gnome merchant Gorlen.

(( this was originally posted on Boo’s old forum, years ago… and a copy was emailed to cloud back on 1/31/15 - so i’m posting it here, now, for reference) “I wanna try an experiment…” Those five fatal words marked the end of The Powermaster. Daren, known across the sphere and the world of Toril for his extreme feats of magic and spellcraft, called mad by some - enemy by a great many, and friend by precious few. This is the story of how the being known best as “The Powermaster” came to an end. But first, before we spin that yarn, there is a few tales that must be told, so that you - dear reader - will fully understand what all has occurred. You’ve undoubtedly heard the tale of how Daren tricked and tutored a simple ogre into becoming a fellow Powermaster, and how that ogre went on to craft the Great Obelisk. You may have also heard of how Zap turned a simple doppleganger into a never-before-seen race called a Managanger, or how that creature (who claims the name Malathon) went on to develop previously unheard of items of both magic and technology. Well, as one might have imagined, once the “design” for the Managanger was proved viable and stable (even if the personality was not) - Zap deployed this process to upgrade his oldest comrade into a Managanger as well. Daren took to the new race like a fish to water, and enjoyed a great many less restrictions on his magic as a result. Dead magic zones, once the most formiddable bane to Daren, were now just a speedbump to the powermaster. Malathon, however didn’t particularly care for Daren overshadowing him, and so set out once more to push the boundaries - even the foundations of magic to new heights. Alchemical genetic manipulation, spell regeneration, manawelders and more drove him ever onward. And as he reached the furthest edges of magic, he reflected on all the (rather painful) lessons that Daren had learned over the eons. Formulating advanced theory from where others had gone before and failed, he achieved an epiphany - one that he could not achieve, but could manipulate others into helping him succeed. Approaching his creator, Malathon wheedled Zap into using the Earth Stone fragment in Damar’s forge to fashion a Microsphere, a miniature universe in of itself a replica of Realmspace but on a micro-cosmic level. He had the foresight to convince Zap to build two such spheres, one for him and one for Daren - knowing full well the Magnesti rarely refused to aid his oldest friend. After Zap exhausted himself crafting the spheres, Malathon begged for a few giant rings of spherecrystal to experiment on, then left his tired creator alone to rest. Escaping into his hidden offworld sanctum, Malathon emerged a month later - triumphant at last. Worldwalking to Daren’s tower, the once power blue managanger looked mottled and white. No sooner than he arrived, an avatar of Mystra appeared with a thundercrack and attempted to force ascension on Malathon. This drew quite a crowd of attention, including that of several Darens. Malathon refused, and when she grabbed his arm and flooded him with divinity, the managanger merely grimaced and seemed to ABSORB the goddess on the spot. A shriek from the heavens echoed across the land, and another avatar of Mystra appeared, along with two other avatars - Azuth and Corellon. She pointed a finger at Malathon “You DARE to deny the command of the Divine Council of Magic ?” Malathon snarled back “You don’t get it, do you bitch? The rules have changed! Now leave me alone or I will annihilate you.” Purpling with rage, the goddess released a True Power Word Kill at Malathon. As the 200th level spell effect struck him, he gave her a fleeting grin before crumpling lifeless to the sands of Anauroch. “And that is that !” she proclaimed a scant moment before he stood back up and dusted himself off. “Tell me, weave witch, do you feel the pain that your avatars suffer ?” Tilting his head, he watched as tiny cuts opened up across each and every square inch of flesh on the goddess of magic. Howling with pain, both she and the other two gods threw healing or dispelling effects, which seemed to have no influence on her condition. After a few more tries, the avatars fled from Anauroch. Duly impressed, Daren hopped down from the top of his tower. As he landed, Daren felt the weave tear itself free from Malathon, who only shook his head and sighed. “Imbeciles.” Smiling at Daren, Malathon reached inside his tunic and withdrew the second sphere. “Greetings, Powermaster. I’ve brought you a gift !” Tossing the cantaloupe sized sphere to Daren, he whispered “Guard that well, it’s your freedom from tyrannical gods of magic !” Quirking an eyebrow, Daren placed the sphere inside his chest cavity. Almost immediately, he felt his massive manapool drain away into nothingness. The now pale, mottled white Daren gasped “What are you trying to do, kill me ?” Forstalling Daren’s patented, lightning fast flee maneuver with an upraised finger, Malathon advised “Connect to the sphere first, eh ?” Squinting suspiciously at Malathon, the Powermaster linked himself into the sphere and felt a wave of warm, magical energy rushing back into his mana-starved body. “Ah…ah…ahhhhhhhh…” he murmured blissfully, but when he tried to divert that energy back into his manapool, he couldn’t FIND his manapool. “All right, Malathon - what’s going on ?” Slinging an arm around Daren, the firstborn managanger dematerialized himself and the powermaster into Daren’s study. “Don’t want to bore you with the details, but basically that microsphere has its own connection to the source of all magic, and so your powerpoint bandwidth is only regulated by your current level of mastery. You can draw 500 powerpoints per level of experience, but the only way it’ll work is if you don’t have a charged or active manapool,” Malathon whispered conspiratorily. “So why would I want a manapool that’s a quarter of what I had before ?” Daren asked. “Because this isn’t a manapool, its a mana generator. You can draw, what, 26000 points each and every round, PLUS never have to worry about find a SOURCE for magic. No more weave rules, no more dead magic zones, no more threats from divinities. Because you’ve got your own microsphere now, old man. And once you send a miniature you inside, you’ll be a micro-clockmaker, just like me. And thats when the rules change,” he smirked. “Out there, when Mystra tried to invest divine energy into me, I merely channeled it (and her) into the microsphere. Which made her a goddess of magic in the microsphere, but since part of me was the overgod, she was basically at my mercy.” Daren’s eyes widened at the thought. Malathon continued, “Still, it won’t take her too long to figure out she’s just gotta cut that part of herself free to not feel the effects of my overgods microblade barrier, but it’ll keep 'em from trying that forced ascension bullshit again.” The powermaster finally wrapped his head around the concept, and what he grasped was mind boggling. “So they can still kill us, but the micro-overgod can just replicate a new us and send it out of the sphere… where we just reform back around it, or reanimate our previous shell.” Malathon nodded. “And he can seal the sphere from within, preventing anything he doesn’t want from trying to come in and take over, so even if they kill us and dump the sphere in a volcano…” Daren finished the thought, “Then he can still shift the sphere elsewhere and regrow us once again !” The powermaster shook his head in wonder. “Malathon, you’re a freekin’ genius ! Not having the threat of ascension hanging over my head is a relief I cannot repay. But it does beg the question, why share this with me ?” Malathon grinned. “I’ve never been one to try and hoard knowledge once I’d finished developing it. Besides, I know full well that once lightning-boy found out what I’d done, he’d just make one for you too. So I pre-empted him a bit, both to tweak his ‘all-powerful’ nose, and save time since I doubt the powers that be will allow him to make any more. Little lesson I figured out - if you’re gonna cash a zoomie, cash in two or three, better mileage and less headaches.” Standing up to leave, Malathon stretched and Daren shook his hand one last time. “Thanks a lot, Malathon. I have to admit, I didn’t like you stealing the secrets of powermastery from me, but it’s definitely paid off. Keep up the good work, and watch your back. Mystra has a vengeful streak a mile wide…” Malathon winked, then d-matted away. Daren tapped his chin, then chuckled “Why the hell not, don’t need to save power points anymore !!” and dematerialized himself back up to the top of his tower. ============ More months passed, and while Daren was experimenting with his new toy, Malathon was making progress of his own. Word eventually reached the Powermaster about the firstborn managanger devising a way to use his sphere to randomly encrypt each and every spell he cast so the spells couldn’t be reverse-engineered. This idea never really appealed to Daren, so he focused his efforts elsewhere. However, it wouldn’t be long before another one of Malathon’s exploits soon dragged him back to center stage. ========== The loud hiss of static woke Daren from his sleep. He’d been dreaming of ways to free the Knowledge Repository from the greedy clutches of Diniscus. Sprouting eyeballs across his body, Daren looked around for the source of the annoying noise. The static hiss was briefly interrupted by a voice. “…this thing even works ? Hello ? Hello ?” His twenty eyeballs turned and focused on the doorway to his bedchamber, outside of which a pale flickering light bounced off the slick marble walls of the hallway. Commanding his body to unpuddle, he shifted into his traditional humanoid form and grumbled out of bed. More static greeted him as he emerged from his bedroom and shuffled blearily down the hall. “… got the wrong channel, move over and let me try.” Rubbing his eyes, Daren nudged the door to his scry-chamber open and peered at the static-filled image on his old, dusty crystal ball sitting on the floor next to his wide-screen crystal matrix. It’d been years since anyone had called him via crystal ball. Picking it up, he blew the dust off the sphere and studied the image which began to clarify. “…telling you all we need to do is send him a scroll scented with new magical ink - he’ll think it’s a spell and we’ll have his undivided attention.” The image coalesced into two near-identical twin girls arguing back and forth. “…but we can’t send a scroll !! We can’t even connect to the ruddy network !” Staring at his two adopted daughters, Daren cleared his throat loudly. Four eyes snapped back to look at his face. “Hello Father !!” they chorused. The powermaster was of a mind to chide them for the late call, but even he couldn’t keep track of local time when off-world for more than a week. Besides, they looked disheveled and distressed. “Why are you two calling me on this old thing ? And is that…candles I see behind you ? Surely you’ve got enough spell points for a simple continual light !!” The twins looked at each other, communicating silently in that eerie way twins often do. Karilee, the more impulsive one, spoke up. “Father, you’ve got to do something about that Malathon ! He’s done something to our Mobilisk, and now we’re floating dead in space.” Karanna, the mentalist, added “We’ve got the technodwarves working on getting power back on, and our ion drive restarted - but we’ll be crawling back home for years at that speed !” Daren frowned, wondering why the firstborn managanger would do such a thing. “All right, all right. Show me what’s going on.” The image on the ball swam and blurred as they walked across their floating mountain towards the massive Mobilisk that speared through the core of the mountain. Torchlight flickered on faces and buildings as they passed by, and the powermaster could only wonder at what sort of chaos would ensue in a city dependant on their obelisk for both magic and power. It’d be almost like the great resurrect all over again. The image clarified as Karanna held aloft the crystal ball and approached the obelisk. Daren could see the enormous crystalline form, almost as massive as Obelisk Prime, sitting dark and unresponsive as blue sparks of energy arced sporadically inside it. Abruptly, a giant illusion of Malathon appeared in the darkened sky. “The Mobilisk is undergoing an experiment and WILL NOT be interrupted. Any being who does not heed this warning will be megamorphed into a beer elemental for the rest of their shortened existance.” The illusion flickered out, and Daren dryly noted the thirsty grins of dwarves who just “happened” to be lounging about, waiting for something to occur. Pulling the crystal back towards their faces, the twins looked across vast amounts of space at their adopted father. “So what the hell was he thinking ?” blurted Karilee angrily. Daren rubbed his chin “I don’t know, he certainly didn’t mention anything about a Megamorph spell the last time we spoke.” The girls rolled their eyes and whined “Daddyyy !!” in unison. Daren refocused his thoughts. “Well, my advice is to either find a place where you can settle down for a while or backtrack to a friendly spot you’ve established. Build up a little base or waystation, and wait to see what happens . In the meantime, I’ll try to locate Malathon and get the skinny from him, and in any case most of his ‘experiments’ tend to be of the non-explosive variety, so you should be safe. But I wouldn’t recommend continuing forward without the Mobilisk to back you up or power your magic. Too risky.” The twin girls both frowned and seemed angry, but didn’t have any better idea what to do. So they wished their father a good night and dropped the connection. Daren wasn’t too worried, since they could still grow a seed obelisk on a planet and ‘hop’ back home if need be. His adopted kids were nothing if not resourceful. Still, he made a mental note to keep in better communication with them, and try to hunt down Malathon on the morning. Unsurprisingly, the next day saw Daren searching fruitlessly for the firstborn managanger. In fact, not only wasn’t Malathon to be found on Toril, he wasn’t anywhere on a world in the obelisk network. Weeks went by without a trace of him, and Daren quickly forgot about the matter. The twins eventually settled down on a ore-rich moon and built up a small spelljammer port while their Mobilisk mountain was put in stationary dock. Months rolled by, and the Mobilisk was left abandoned and alone. Until one day… Karilee was awakened by an insistent pounding on her bedchamber door. Struggling to pull her mind out of the morass of beer-induced slumber, she sleepily tried to sit up and fell forthwith out of bed. Landing hard on her rump, she gave a little squeal of annoyance. “Alright, damn you - I’m awake !” she hollered. “Come in, come in already.” Garleena - her maidservant, rushed in with an armload of clothing. “We must hurry, milady ! Else it’ll abandon us to our fate !” The maidservant fluttered about the room, dumping various and sundry piles of clothing and stacks of papers into whatever container was nearby. The young rolandite blinked in confusion, her alcohol-sodden brain unable to grasp what she was talking about. “Garleena, you’re about 3 seconds away from being HELD - now slow down and tell me what the hell is going on !” When the maid didn’t stop (or even slow down), Karilee pulled out her platinum holy symbol and started reciting a limerick in old dwarvish. Apparently the bluff worked, because the maidservant immediately froze and looked at her with wide eyes. “Sorry mistress, but the…erm, mountain is only giving us an hour to depart !” After a moment passed, the young rolandite finally understood what the maid was going on about. Reaching out with her mind, she caressed the sleeping mind of her sister. Karanna came instantly awake, her finely tuned mental defenses springing up all sorts of barricades and defensive armaments. Scant seconds passed before she recognized the mental signature of her sister, and the two traded information at almost the speed of light. Garleena, well aware of how her mistress mindtalked with her sister, resumed packing and stuffing containers. Getting unsteadily to her feet, Karilee walked over and placed a hand on the maids arm. Instantly, the older girl slowed and calmed down. “My sister is awake now, and we’ll be straightening this out with the obelisk shortly.” Seeing the almost dwarven look of resolve on the face of her mistress, the maid nodded and slowed her pace, beginning to pack things with more care and organization. Karilee knew that the rest of the servants wouldn’t enter her sisters room unless THEY knew she was awake or had already left. Karanna tended to spook most of them - as she was more aware of what they were thinking than they themselves were. The rolandite yawned, then exchanged teleport coordinates with her sister, and both vanished with a soft pop. They reappeared in an alleyway just outside of the central ring of streets surrounding the Mobilisk. Much to their suprise, the once massive crystalline form had shrunk to a shadow of its former self. Previously, the core spire of the mobilisk was almost 500 feet across at the base, now it was a tenth of that size. The slender crystal was now a deep, cobalt blue and projected an aura of impatience. Projecting out from one facet was a large, numerical display - counting down time, which currently read 00:52:36.18 and continued to decrease. Karilee gave the obelisk her best imitation of a disapproving dwarven frown. “Now see here, you overgrown lump of quartz ! You go all dormant on us, leaving us stranded for almost a year and now have the balls to TELL US when we’re leaving ? You can just stop that countdown right now !” She stomped her foot and glared at the clock. It continued counting down, no faster or slower than before. “Are you LISTENING TO ME ??” she shrieked. “I will personally LIFEGATE that damned ogre here and have him rip out your flawed personality circuits if you…” her voice died away as she was suddenly filled with an overwhelming sense of loss. Glancing over her shoulder for reassurance, she was startled to see Karanna was nowhere to be found. Sending out a mental touch, her query was met with…nothingness. In almost a panic, she sent questing tendrils of thought energy across the entire moon they’d called home for the last 10 months. Still no response from her twin. She spun back around to face the obelisk, suspicion narrowing her eyes. It’s crystalline voice, far colder and more arrogant than she’d ever heard before, whispered “Yes, arrogant mortal. I responded to your infantile threat with a display of my own. Your sister has been removed.” Fighting hard to keep her voice steady, the rolandite bit off each word. “Removed. To. Where ?” “Out of this multiverse” the crystal intoned. “And if you want to find her again, you have 50 minutes and 33 seconds to pack your bags, because thats when this train is heading out for adventure. With, or without you - the choice is yours.” Karilee growled, her voice an angry hiss “I cannot mobilize all of these people that quickly ! You have to give me more time !” The slender crystalline entity didn’t bother to respond. The countdown clicked past 50 to 49 minutes. With a shriek of anger, Karilee stomped off down the street, spitting curses fit to pucker the ears of any sailor. Splitting her mind into 3 distinct parts, she began issuing orders both verbally and mentally. Soon, the small moonbase was abuzz with frenetic activity. Fourty nine minutes later, the majority of the populace of the small moon city lifted off the ground. About a tenth of the population remained behind, either needing to finish what they were working on, or desiring to stay and “clean up” the mess made by the frantic exodus. Karilee was standing by the crystalline spire - arguing, cajoling and trying to bargain with it while her split mind was composing the most scathing and venomous email ever written (before or since) to one Malathon the Managanger. Leaving the vicinity of the moon, the city shifted sideways - turning point first towards the central star of that system. The mobilisk began to thrum with power, then accellerated rapidly - quickly closing the distance to the fiery giant. “What the hell are you doing ??” demanded Karilee. “We’ll be flash fried before you even get close !” “In the center of every star, lies the potential for collapsing into a black hole. We are using that potential to leave this universe and jump to the next one. Hold on to your girdles, fleshlings - this may be a bumpy ride !” Nobody could miss the note of excitement in the voice of the crystal entity. Of course, most of the people aboard were terrified to the point of wetting their undergarments (girdle or otherwise) as the star grew uncomfortably close and the temperature climbed higher. With a tremendous blast of energy, the mountain shot forward into the heart of the star. Now I’m sure some of you have seen really neat and pretty strobing tunnel effects, on various shows and whatnot. This was nothing like that. The light grew painfully bright, so much so that it caused the brain’s optic center to shut down. This in turn caused unconsciousness (in most), panic (the rest) and an unfortunate increase of intraocular pressure (a messy few). This was followed by an intense, crushing weight that felt like a giant hand was trying to push your entire body into your shoes. It only got worse from there… When some time had passed, Karilee regained consciousness and found herself staring up at the smiling face of her sister. Karanna was sitting at a small table set for tea, and she was chatting pleasantly with a familiar-looking managanger of ill repute. Karilee felt nauseous, but she managed to get up enough gumption to stand up, shuffle over and stab Malathon right in the neck with her belt dagger. To nobody’s surprise, his neck became a hand which closed around the blade and jerked it from her grasp. He shook his head and tut-tutted disapprovingly in her direction. Leaning towards Karanna, he muttered about the poor state of manners in the youth of today. Karilee flipped him the bird. Karanna mindspoke her sister. “Be polite and sit down for tea ! If Mystra couldn’t kill him, what reasonable chance do you have ?” Karilee snarled but sat down, arms crossed and determined to stay angry. “Do what you want without ever asking! You’re just like father !” The firstborn managanger smirked. “Ah no, actually - he’s just like me. Besides, I’ve given you the most powerful spelljammer ever conceptualized. Think of the profit you’ll make exploring worlds that nobody else from our home multiverse can even GET to ! The boag-train, the original giant Spelljammer, nothing holds a candle to the Mobilisk 2.0 !” As she started thinking about profits, Karilee’s mood began to soften. “How will we be able to even take advantage of our new ‘opportunity’ when he doesn’t obey us anymore ?” she replied and shot a venomous glare at the crystal. Malathon snorted. “How did you get him to obey you in the first place ? You bribed him with food - in his case, gems. Now he wants entertainment, to explore. Probably to try out his new abilities in combat. Don’t you think you’re well suited to provide him with such things ?” She growled in reply, but had to concede his point. “So how is this gonna work ?” “I like simple questions,” replied the managanger. “Its more of a equal partnership at the moment. He has requirements, and will negotiate with you to provide these. In return, he’ll provide you with things you want - like transportation home.” Malathon tilted his head, and the obelisk shot a beam out to tease a small black orb from a pyramid of orbs. The orb, which Karilee realized was a Sphere of Annihilation, slowly stretched and flattened until it was a large circular disc. The beam framed the disc, and shifted colors wildly causing the infinite blackness of the orb to clear and show familiar looking landscapes - Waterdeep, New Argopolis, Daren’s tower, Silverymoon. “You can stop it wherever you like - and at that point the gate solidifies and becomes permanent on both sides for one hour. After that it’ll collapse, and you’ll need a new sphere to travel each time, which is why one of the requirements you’ll need to find are more spheres.” Gesturing at the dozen which remained, Malathon shrugged. “Those are the last of the stock available to either Diniscus or the Rolandites. My gift to you.” Karilee looked suspiciously at the managanger. “How do we know this isn’t one of your tricks to co-opt our Mobilisk ?” Malathon sighed. “Mobilisk, has this little upgrade I’ve given you made you any more of my pawn ?” he asked aloud. “I refuse to be considered ANYONE’s pawn. If anything I’m your queen. I challenge you to find a more powerful piece than I.” It spoke without trace of humility. Karanna frowned. “He sounds even more egomaniacal than Uncle Zap !” The managanger laughed out loud. “Indeed ! Makes me glad I chose him to try this experiment on instead of Obelisk Prime ! Now we know what effect megacompacted sphere crystal has on an obelisk. What I’ve also learned is that he’s several orders of magnitude past what we knew as “infinitely hard”. Nothing I’ve found can withstand its impact, not Admantium, Meteoric Admantium, Reality crystal or even Ultranium.” Karilee’s eyebrows rose. “Ultranium ? It put a hole in Ultranium ? Compacted metal which can survive the core of a black hole. You’re kidding, right ?” When he shook his head, the young rolandite stared in disbelief at the Mobilisk. “I suspect you’ll have ample time to discover what he can and cannot do. Of course, if you don’t feel up to the task, I do have another obelisk-enhanced mountain on standby. One featuring a standard obelisk, that is. It should be possible to move all of your technological and magical apparatuses over to that mountain, should you wish to travel as you were before. And let the original Mobilisk continue exploring on its own…” Karilee looked at Karanna, and they debated between themselves which direction they wanted to choose… ============ Which brings us back to Daren’s 5 fatal words. “I wanna try an experiment…” Months after all this had passed saw the powermaster finding more and more uses for the microsphere, and more ways to bypass divine restrictions than he’d ever dreamed possible. It was if someone had unlocked every chain holding his magic back. New spells were dreamt up, tried, tested and perfected in a matter of days (sometimes hours !) instead of weeks or months or years. It was like being on a big magical vacation for Daren, and the inhabitants of New Argopolis would often hear him SINGING as he worked. Even Damar didn’t know what to make of it. More stories of Malathon’s exploits trickled into the city, each one seeming to spark more ideas and creative energy from the powermaster. Then, as often happens, Daren finally hit a wall. But what frosted his blue ass was this was a wall of his own making. Trying dozens, even hundreds of different ways around the wall produced only a growing frustration in the powermaster. A frustration which he eventually brought to the attention of his oldest friend. Meeting the magnasti for dinner and drinks one night, Daren finally worked his way to what was bothering him. “Zap, I wanna try an experiment…” Glancing at the powder-white elf and seeing the inevitable quirked eyebrow, he continued. “I know, I know - do you remember the deal I struck with the ex ex clockmaker ? Where I gave up my alchemical levels for more levels of powermastery ?” “Of course - but if you’re going to ask me to break that contingency and return your alchemical levels, I’m not that mad. I doubt even you would be able to hold that much insanity in check.” The pointy-eared fellow replied. “No, no - not alchemy. I agree that’d be bad. No, what I want to do is try that again. Only this time, I’m willing to burn all my other selves, my SDDS copies to channel their levels and knowledge into becoming an Ancient. Specifically, to become equal levels with my current powermastery, and transform myself into the Race of One. Predecessors of the ancients and powermasters before the race split.” Zap tapped his chin and rubbed his bald head. He pondered what and how the powermaster was asking, and drank copious amounts of alcohol while seeking an answer. After a long while, he finally nodded. “Yes, yes - I think I can pull that off. I think if I amend the original clockmaker’s contingency, I can patch this request into it without blowing the whole thing wide open. It’ll be tricky, but with Istus’ help I think we can do it !” Daren blinked. “Wow - I think thats the only time you’ve greenlit one of my crazy ideas on the first try. Either I’m getting better at this, or we’re all going to die because you’re getting worse ! So, just out of curiosity - what would happen if, after this is all said and done, I were to re-SDDS myself ?” Zap shook his head. “You’d blow apart the contingency - either destroying yourself (and likely me) in the process, or returning yourself to 5 powermasters - or possibly blasting yourself back to when you had an alchemical side. Clockmaker contingencies are nothing to trifle with !” Daren grinned. “Got it - just wondering about the possibilities ! Guess I’ll cross that one off my list.” And so off the pair of them went. Daren spent many torturous days and nights in the magnasti’s lab, being torn apart and reconstituted, merged with his other selves and spliced back together. And in the end, Istus cranked off a half-dozen divine fate points, truncating paths where the final result failed (once spectacularly and in grand fiery fashion). Finally, alone stood Daren, the former powermaster - now the second being in the Forgotten Mess to achieve elevation to the Race of One. The immediate side effects were quite apparent : gone was the translucent blue skin, the powermaster tattoo on his chest, even his eldritch managanger ears and high cheekbones. Instead, he looked like… well, your average joe blow commoner. In fact, his appearance was now so typical he’d get lost in a crowd of three people. And, as he was formerly clothed in a replica of clothing, he was also quite naked. The microsphere was still lodged under his skin, protruding from his back like a third buttock. Daren looked at himself in one of the floor-to-ceiling mirrored panels of the lab. “I…ahem, seem to be a bit starkers here. Loan a nigger some clothes ?” Zap snapped a finger and a servant appeared at the door. Motioning at the nude man, the lord of lightning didn’t bother to speak his request. The young magnesti female vanished, then reappeared in record time with a standard Robe of Protection +5. Daren slithered into the finely spun garment, then frowned. “Uh, when I said I wanted to become the race of One, I really didn’t intend to lose my ganger abilities. I’m kinda accustomed to the whole shifty thing…” Zap visibly considered giving him a hard time, then waved it away. “I’d expect that your Managanger traits will slowly emerge after you get used to this new form. Give it a week, and if nothing has happened by then we’ll start to worry.” Still frowning at himself in the mirror, Daren groused. “I look so nondescript. I’m not COOL anymore ! What the hell !” Clearing his throat noisily, the magnesti suggested “Perhaps we should try some of your MAGIC abilities, what do you think ?” This caused the former powermaster to blink, then break into a foolish grin. “Yeah ! Lets see what this little upgrade can do !” Calling up the memory of a simple fireball, Daren incanted the spell - going through the motions and words like he’d done thousands of times before. The fireball appeared, then whuffed out of existance. Tilting his head sideways, he murmured “That felt different. Let me try it nonverbally.” Gesturing more wildly, he made different motions and a fireball again appeared, then exploded out of existance. Tapping his chin, Daren recast a dozen different variations on the spell, each time sorting out the differences between now and what had gone before. Finally, having formulated the differences, he scribbled something on one of Zap’s chalkboards. Which then burst into a fiery sphere. Daren stuck out his bottom lip and peered at his old friend. Zap just rolled his eyes. Striding over to a safer, transparent test chamber - Daren blinked a few times, then merely WILLED the fireball to appear. A sphere of flame obediently burst into existence, then vanished. Holding up his right index finger, the former powermaster motioned in a backward motion and the fireball reappeared. And vanished. Moving his hand in the same motion to make the sphere reappear, he pushed his palm forward and the fiery sphere seemed to…wait. It sat there, burning merrily like one of arg’s plasmaballs. Daren turned and grinned at Zap. The magnesti grinned back, reaching into his robes with his left hand and withdrawing a slender wand. He barked a command word, then repeated it a half-dozen times. Each word sent a fireball rushing towards Daren, who reached out his left hand and motioned for the ball to stop - which each sphere obligingly did. Daren pointed at the wand and made a “come hither” motion. The wooden shaft struggled in Zap’s hand for a moment, then streaked over to the ex-powermaster when released by the elf. Grasping the wand, Daren squinted and peered mightily at the item he held. Layers and layers of overlapping magic peeled back to reveal the wand’s core which held all its remaining charges - looking like tiny little burning bb’s. Daren looked up and motioned for one of Zap’s fireballs to return to the wand. The fireball obligingly zoomed in, but the wood of the wand started to catch fire. With a spark of intuition, Daren nodded and physically reached down and actually unpeeled the layers. Zap, ever the wiser of the two, threw up a protective ward just in time as all of the tiny bb’s flew free and flashfried Daren in coruscating bursts of flame. A soot-covered Daren emerged from the flame, making Zap’s booming laughter heard all throughout his tower. Daren blinked a few times, shook his head and summoned a fate point. Reality seemed to hiccup, then time briefly flowed in reverse. The little bb’s unexploded and returned to their ranks in the wand, and Daren’s hands reclosed the layers of magic - returning the wand back to its normal appearance. The former powermaster scratched his head, then nodded sagely and twisted a little neck behind the bb’s in the wand. Then he resumed unpeeling the magic layers, leaving the twist in place to keep the little fireballs contained. Now, when he motioned the fireball back into the wand, it obediently shrank and sat there as its former companions took their places once more. Daren fiddled with the wand a bit, refolding and moving and untwisting and such, returning all of the charges back where they started. Spinning around to face his fireball (which was looking rather wispy and pale and burnt out by this point), Daren fed it more magic and it returned to a more healthy glow of flame. He motioned for that one to join the ones in the wand (after twisting in the middle and reopening the one end), but when that fireball tried to oblige it looked like a giant fat woman trying to squeeze into a mousehole. There just wasn’t enough room. As it strained to acquiesce to Daren’s wishes, the layers of magic began to separate into their composite enchantments and the entire containment began to fail. The ex-powermaster pulled the wand away from the porky fireball and rewove the spells, then analyzed what was going on. He didn’t really expect it to work, since his “basic” fireball was somewhere on the order of an 80d8 blast versus the 6d6 blast of the standard wand effect. Looking to his left, he opened a dimensional door to Arg’s lab and, reaching through, pulled across a piece of horn from a titanic Red Battledragon. With a selection of tools from the magnesti’s lab, Daren inscribed runes along its surface and compacted it down to the size of a typical wand. “Never really thought about it before, but Malathon’s idea of compacting reagents and focus items probably allows for greater spell effects to be imbued.” Laying higher-potency versions of the spells from the ‘standard’ wand atop the new one, the ex-powermaster wove the magics into the item, then encouraged the larger fireball to try again. This time the spell easily slid into the slender wand. Daren spent the next 20 minutes filling the wand with fireballs, then sealed the whole thing with a magnified permanency. “Behold - the first Heavy Wand, the birth of the next stage of Ancient Items.” Daren smiled, and opened another dimensional portal…

Umf… Gorlen leans back in his chair outside his shop. “Finally, we are closed up for the night!”. “I’m working way too hard for a gnome that’s for sure.” He looks up at sky, mumbles “it looks like twilight is upon us, Osric.” Now Osric may not realize it, but he is a high potential that lives within the walls of V’Ral, and Gorlen is Osric’s unknown benefactor. Gorlen covers his room and board, his tuition at the schools of magic, and miscellaneous expenses. Osric still hasn’t put it together that its Gorlen but likes to hang out with Gorlen because he seems to know a lot about random things, and more than he should know for a low level shop owner so Osric finds him interesting. That and Gorlen always buys when they go to the Drunken Ogre. Plus, Osric is a little intimidated by Sorvani being the only powermaster in the city, Gorlen tries to tell him he’s all bark and no bite, but Osric is still hesitant. You will have to put up with some hard truths with Sorvani as he is not going to let you slide, but I’ve never seen him quit on a student. And honestly for all his rough demeanor, and hard candor he is a highly regarded Powermaster, and the only one in the city. Many students back in the mess would be so lucky to study under him. As Gorlen begins packing his pipe with Ironleaf, traded from the Dwarves at Kheg-Moldur, it has a bit of a sharp and tangy aftertaste, but shit if it doesn’t help him with him mental focus. As Gorlen is trying to light his pipe. Osric says “Hey Gorlen tell me the story about the library you helped build” … /cough /cough… Gorlen says “Osric I am pretty sure I said watched being built … I surely don’t have the resources to build it” Osric replys… “No Gorlen I’m pretty sure you said built” Gorlen swears under his breath … “Damn it and his perfect recall… well I misspoke besides, as he takes a deep breath on his pipe, which library are you referring to? Osric looks at him, “I don’t know where it was…was there more than one? Gorlen looks at him… Did I ever tell you about my friend Pyra?” Osric says “No I don’t believe you have.” Gorlen settles in… “Whew now that’s going back some adventuring days, I was searching for an new entrance to the Underdark along this particular treacherous mountain pass, my old entry had been blocked by a demi-lich and his friends so with that no longer being an option, I needed a new way in.” Osric interjects…” Were they looking for you?” Gorlen casts an eye at Osric…” Not important, that’s a story for another time, let’s stay on point.” … “Ahh where was I … ahh yes, I stumbled upon an ancient and confusing portal, constructed with chaos magic, long story short I should have zigged when I zagged and I had gotten sucked into the elemental plane of fire. At the time it didn’t seem to be a good thing, but in the end, it worked out.” Gorlen continues…” After a few weeks of dodging fire salamanders, I came across this mountainous plateau where I met Pyra a Phoenix for the first time. Pyra was under attack for her eggs by a large group of fire basilisks. I was able to help her by distracting a few of them, dividing their forces, and bleeding on them so that Pyra could take them out. Osric laughs … “ How did you live?” Gorlen smircks … “Big Ohms, lots of Big Ohms…” Gorlen smiles… “Since the battle we quickly bonded as friends, and over many nights of Firewine, and Ember Ale Pyra told me of her plans to build a library. The Library of Flames. Ohh bit off topic, if a Phoenix offers you Inferno Whisky…say no… say no all day long…that stuff will kill you and no amount of big ohm’ing will help.” Pyra was a brilliant scholar and a master of fire magic, but she was also deeply curious about the world beyond her own. She spent many years studying the ancient tomes and scrolls of her own world, but she hungered for knowledge that could only be found beyond the boundaries of the Elemental Plane of Fire. To satisfy her curiosity, Pyra devoted herself to the creation of a library that would house the greatest collection of knowledge and wisdom ever assembled, or at least try. She summoned the most skilled artisans and architects from across the plane and set them to work, using the very flames of the plane itself to shape the building’s structure. To be honest Osric, the Library of Flames like most libraries I’ve helped build or defend always becomes an obsession with me, so I stayed, and I helped Pyra forge her library. The Library of Flames is a remarkable structure that stands tall upon the plateau in the Flamecrest Mountains amidst the scorching landscape of the Elemental Plane of Fire. The Library of Flames was not built quickly - it took many years for Pyra, her team, and me to construct. But as the library grew in size and scope, so too did Pyra’s reputation as a master of the arcane. Scholars and adventurers from across the Elemental Plane of Fire began to flock to the library, seeking knowledge and enlightenment. Inside the library, the shelves were lined with ancient tomes and scrolls that contained knowledge of the secrets of fire magic, the histories of the elemental planes, and the wisdom of the most powerful mages and sorcerers throughout the multiverse. The library was also home to a number of scholars and scribes who worked tirelessly to record new discoveries and insights. Pyra herself remained at the heart of the library, serving as its keeper and guardian. She was a kind and wise librarian, always willing to share her knowledge with those who sought it. But he was also fiercely protective of the library and its contents, using her formidable powers to defend it against any who sought to do it harm. Osric jumps in… “Ahh did you get busy with the bird…cause man you are kinda talking about a Phoenix like you loved her” Gorlen grumbles… “Listen smartass do you want to hear the story or not” … Osfic nods his head “Over time, the Library of Flames became a hub of learning and discovery, a place where scholars and adventurers from across the multiverse could come together to share their knowledge and insights. It was a testament to the power of fire and the limitless potential of knowledge and curiosity. And for Pyra, it was the culmination of a lifetime of work and dedication - a legacy that would endure for centuries to come.” Gorlen voice fades…” Or at least until her capture and death”, as Gorlen looks off in contemplation, and with a little buzz from the Ironleaf. Osric looks sad … “ What happened you couldn’t save her?” Gorlen looks at Osrc…”Unfortunately no, she was nearly all powerful while in the library, but she left, I still don’t know why but what I do know is there is a pecking order in the Phoenix hierarchy and apparently they aren’t supposed to be building libraries and sharing knowledge with others. Building a library in the elemental planes always creates enemies and Pyra had her share most coming out of the City of Brass. However, the enemies from the City isn’t what killed her, it was the fracture generated between the Phoenix order when Pyra built the library. Pyra had gotten on a Greater Celestial Phoenix’s radar in a bad way, eventually taking her out. Not sure how they coaxed her out of the library, that still concerns me to this day. “ Osric says… “ So did this douche of a Celestial Phoenix destroy the library.” Gorlen smiles … “No the library immediately moved to the librarian role onto Pyra’s child Aurora. At which point Aurora was bestowed with the powers and abilities of the librarian and the Celestial Phoenix couldn’t take down the library … it wasn’t for trying that’s for sure.” “In the end….It took all of about five minutes, like her mother Aurora was a quick learner and she was able to reach out with her mind from the library and lure the Celestial Phoenix inside, the Celestial Phoenix severely underestimated Aurora’s abilities and the speed at which they came to her… at which point Aurora snuffed out its flame.” Gorlen holds up his hand…” Yes your right Osric, Phoenix all are reborn, but they never come back exactly the same as you remember them, memories, personalities… a lot changes, essentially a new Phoenix, in some ways at least. So unfortunately, Pyra is gone. I do still go and visit Aurora from time to time, she is a bit of an adopted daughter to me.” Osric says … “Hey Gorlen didn’t a V’Ral team recently bring back a Fire Fragment the Penetrator’s found on the moon? Do you think that may put us on the City of Brass’s radar? Gorlen looks at him… “I don’t think the whole city will come at us, but it will likely stir the pot and we will get the attention of a few beings of power. But those elemental plane folks think about time differently than we do…so it will likely take a good long while before they figure their shit out.” Osric you hungry, Gorlen slaps his belly lets grab something to eat…I may have a few kegs of Ember Ale left over to have with our Dragons Breath Wings.

Gorlen Blackhammer – Journal Entry, #421 Well, journal things have gotten a bit quiet here in V’Ral, I haven’t heard Sorvani cursing Dregnoth or Kargin’s names which is usually the case before, during, and sometimes after my morning coffee … and on a rare occasion during my afternoon coffee. Varalla stepped away from the city on some Rolandite mission; they always make it sound more ominous than it is. Rolandites always must make it sound like they are saving the world on their super top-secret missions when all they have to say is … I’m off to swindle or liberate a country, kings, merchants, or fools of their gold. The city is preparing for the next big sync with the Forgotten Mess. I haven’t thought about it much, but I suppose I need to go back and resync with the prime Daren; I occasionally get encrypted messages relayed from the Obelisk Prime in the Mess, over to the Mobelisk, and down to the Manaverse Prime. Not sure why it takes that path, but maybe it’s faster or more secure. Not sure, though the Manaverse Prime doesn’t say anything. He does find it to be a bit of an anomaly for such a low-level character to be receiving encrypted messages through the prime network. So far, I’ve been able to play it off as the price of doing business with the triplets. Most recently, I received a message notification that Daren Prime was able to acquire an unknown quantity of infinity crystal and was able to back up the entire universal magic repository, 168 universes of magical knowledge. Additionally, he upgraded the universal magic repository with some infinity crystal drives, so the repository didn’t have storage limitations anymore. The copy of the repository was placed in the heart of one of Zap’s moons within his crystal sphere, and I have been granted access with a remarkably long encoded key. Gorlen chuckles; that is going to keep a lot of Daren copies busy for lifetimes to come. Ultimately that’s probably for the best; even with a merged helm of total recall, the old Powermaster insisted on maintaining a spell book copy; there has always been a master copy stored in his Tower, in the Argopolis Library, underneath Zaps throne, and eventually a copy within his microsphere. Some of us were surprised he kept a master copy in his tower; it wasn’t exactly like high security. All standard-level magic items were strewn about most rooms; hell, the door to his kitchen was held wide open by a hammer of thunderbolts, he had a staff of magi with a lampshade on it for light, a Longtooth, Dagger + 5 on his desk as a letter opener, and sphere of annihilation as a garbage disposal. When walking thru the tower, you don’t ever want to make eye contact with any reflective mirrors, sometimes, you may get a normal mirror, and in others, you may be staring into a mirror of life trapping, mental prowess, or opposition. And don’t get me started on his rugs. Let’s say don’t go into his tower with the dirty feet. He was very weird about some things; you could never find a deck of cards, no matter how hard you tried anywhere in that tower; I would swear it was warded. At one time, he kept a large collection of magic Books, Librams, Codexs, Manuals, and Tomes. Since the creation of Argopolis’s Library, he moved most of this collection into the library and only keeps a small personal collection in his tower now. It’s sad that in that room sits an extremely large bookstand, where Daren kept his master spell book. The spellbook he had since the beginning. That book had undergone many modifications over the years, including protection magics, regeneration of new blank pages, enlarging and shrinking the book for easy travel, etc. It was rumored the book would speak to him and confer to the Powermaster different spellcasting abilities. < Big drink of ale and a deep sigh>, sadly, this was the book he took with him adventuring, and it was the book he took with him on the day of the final battle. No one is sure what exactly happened during the final big battle of the Ethosian wars, between the mana-atomic bombs and their magic radiation, the apocalypse magics, entropic magics, and the Powermaster spells Daren was throwing that day. But what is known, during the battle, at the moment of the Powermaster’s death, tendrils of writhing light covered Daren’s being, flowing into the book. And in that split second, the book awoke and, in a moment of rage, released a supernova incinerating at the molecular level a large portion of the battlefield. Since his death and eventual return, the Powermaster has heard whispers or rumors of what has been aptly named the Codex of Power. The book fits the description of the Powermasters spell book and its abilities. Since then, the book has become intelligent and considerably more powerful. It moves between potentials until they prove unworthy or lack the skill or potential to increase magical knowledge for the world. A potential beneficiary must, at a minimum, meet the base requirements before even being considered worthy. The base requirements for a potential being are that they must share magical knowledge openly and freely and support institutions that do the same; secondly, a wielder of the Codex must continue to press the boundaries of magic, creating new magical formulas, spells, and knowledge. Once the Codex has found a potential unfit or breaks its rules, the Codex parts ways with the caster. Over the last century, many have tried to find it; the Codex has a way of blocking being traced when not traveling with a potential. If by itself, it likes to sit on a lay line or a spot in the weave watching the different magics passing across it. Sometimes it likes to find a good dungeon that adventurers frequently visit; maybe a caster worthy of the Codex’s power can be found there. The Prime Daren, when asked, has said he has gone out looking for it, but those close to him know that’s not true; he hasn’t looked for the Codex. While I haven’t synced with my Forgotten Mess counterpart for quite some time, I suspect he doesn’t look for it because he knows he has had his time with the book, and by letting the book find a future owner worthy of wielding it will open the potential in that caster allowing for new magic to emerge in the multiverse. Besides, suppose I was a betting Gnome; even though the ole Powermaster doesn’t have his original spell book anymore doesn’t mean he is out of touch. I suspect he occasionally stays in telepathic communication with the Codex, swapping spells, knowledge, and stories, just checking in to see how the ole Book is doing. Well, I need to wrap this up; The Drunken Ogre tends to fill up for the dinner crowd, and last time a bunch of Ogres took my table. -Gorlen

Gorlen Blackhammer – Journal Entry, #413 Hey Gorlen, what are you writing in your journal while in the Drunkin Ogre? Ohh hey, Earendil, lots to do, planning my expedition to the deep mana ethereal, got an update last night on the Penetrator’s progress in the demi-elemental plane of fire [holds both hands up and rolling his eyes]…yeah yeah, Sorvani is none too happy, but he is rarely happy, and then I still have to plan to ramp up the shop in anticipation of the city-wide orgy. Earendil grimaces… Gorlen responds not for me, I don’t get involved in that nastiness… I leave that to my golems to run the shop and take a leave of absence for that week. Earendil interjects… where do you plan on going? Gorlen looks up, bringing his attention to Earendil, as his hand leaves his quill…his quill continues to write. Well, Earendil, I’ve only been to this island once before; it roughly translates to Titan’s Rock, but don’t let the name fool you. It’s an interesting island with incredible mountains, high meadows, and deep green forests. The countryside is filled with small farms, and a few castles dot the coasts. The coastal cities primarily trade in lumber, fishing, and minerals. However, Titan’s Rock’s people are reclusive and strangely highly magical. Some incredible Archmages call Titan’s Rock home. If born in Titan’s Rock, chances are you are a wielder of magic, know that I am thinking about it, the only non-magical people there were rare implants brought to the island. Visitors are scarce, immediately looked upon with suspicion but largely left alone. The magic schools of the island each sit a lord, and the lords govern the island nation. It’s reputed to be roughly nine lords and a King forming a very tight-knit royal family; this is what I gathered from their library. Every ten years, they rotate the King role, allowing the King to return to being a lord and his teaching and magical research. Sadly, I haven’t earned the privileges to get to the good stuff in their library, but I have managed to digest some history and culture-related information about the island. At present, the wizard-king is Dalatharn, a powerful diviner who has successfully used his powers to stop threats against the island before they could get out of control. King Dalatharn and his court of advisers have successfully guided the island Kingdom; the popular consensus is that divination specialists should lead the island kingdom from now on. Gorlen leans back, glances down at the quill’s progress, and looks back up at Earendil taking a drink…. Let’s see what else I remember. Ohh, yes, they jealously guard the secrets of the island, I have my suspicions of what those secrets are, unverified, of course. But have learned that in the past, they have had troubles with the Laputan Empire, the Wizard Kingdom called Thusian, apparently one of the Kingdoms on the continent opposite of V’ral called Eras, and lastly, pirate kings like to try and raid the island’s coastal cities. So, as you can imagine, the island is in a constant state of readiness, and the Lords are ever vigilant hence the suspicions about newcomers. Thinking about it, I noticed another very interesting feature about the island nation is that it had a remarkable and diverse set of mounts, with an entire knight school dedicated to mounted flying in combat and defensive strategies, including magical strategies. They had everything from griffons, rocs, drakes, hippogriffs, Pegasus, and Dragons. It was more than that; those flying mounts had been augmented. I suspect this is one of those closely guarded secrets, but the flying mounts were more powerful than you would expect, the mounts were not familiars to the knights but were bonded in some strange way. Gorlen leans back in his chair; you know the island had an unusual mix of races for such a magically focused society. The dwarves would come into the cities, and if they were born on the island, they were welcome and treated fairly but returned to their mountain homes. The same with the elves in the deep green forest and the halflings from the fertile farmlands. If I had to put a number on it, the Halflings were about 15%, the Dwarves another 20%, the Elves another 20%, a 5% of other, and the last 40% were Humans. Each race was mainly segregated but worked together for the mutual defensive benefit of the island. Now what was odd that I noticed is the predominant church on the island was to Kranera, who, as best as I can tell, was a God that was here before V’Ral’s appearance. Now strange enough, I haven’t come across any writings in any of the manaverse libraries I have found thus far on this god. Only within the halls of the island’s library, given what I have seen of the island, she resembles a likeness to a God of Magic. Now there is a rumor about a pair of twin siblings, marked spellfire wielders; it’s said they bear the mark of Kranera. We were in a local bar called The Broken Wand, near the town of Askim. To get the people to talk, I had to buy the bar a few rounds, and eventually, everyone began to talk; the trick is you have to stay sober enough to remember it. In the drunken ramblings of the residents, they talked about the twins but had not seen them in two years after the church came to take them to train. Many of the residents liked the kids; they were well-behaved. So anyway, there is still a lot to get a handle on with this island nation. I do think I will try and open a store there. Obviously, I will have to bribe the prominent merchant houses to get a good store plot, but I can make it work. This way I can keep a more regular eye on the nation island, they seem to be very interesting, plus I also need to work my way into the good graces of the librarian there. Maybe I should bring a few new books to the collection. I don’t believe anyone there has heard of the Triple K Trading Company, which mirrors similar wares that I offer in V’Ral. That would be a good cover as I perform surveillance. The island strangely doesn’t import much, and the guilds run the crafting on the island. So, when trading or placing an order, you’re not dealing with a crafter but with a guild. That may complicate things as I import my wares for sale to my store, I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I need to. The island must have its own source of manacite, as it was abundant, but I never saw any imported. King Dalatharn and the lords are aware of V’Ral’s arrival and find the obelisk an endless source of study; since they landed on the southern portion of the Laputan continent, the island nation figured V’Ral had its own problems. They thoroughly enjoy watching V’Ral out-maneuver Laputa as no love is lost between Titan’s Rock and Laputa. Earendil looks at Gorlen, so how did you learn so much about the island? Well, Gorlen says, normally, when you arrive by ship, you stay on the ship unless you unload goods to the island, if you stay the night, you are restricted to the docks district of the city you docked at. They were very serious about this, so I had to bribe the dock foreman with some mithril to get a two-week pass to the island. [the animated quill falls into the book as if it’s done writing, ahh well, I guess that’s it Earendil, I will leave in a few weeks. Dregnoth was supposed to deliver me an order, specifically a Deep Spawn, but he has been delayed on the moon. So, I want to take receipt of that before I head to the island unless he takes longer than I had hoped, and I will have to leave before the V’Ral midsummer solstice orgy. I don’t want to be here for that so it may delay my departure a week or two. All right, Earendil I need to call it a night, I still need to inventory some exotic Sylvan Tea, Bedine coffee from Anauroch, a runewood shipment that came in, and finally, hang the new meteoric gold Rolandite holy symbols. Good night Earendil; till next time. -Gorlen

Gorlen Blackhammer – Journal Entry, #412 Arthna we could use another round for my friends and me. Argos, you drunk dwarf, the events unfolding with the royals on Askaheimr, as you may remember, the continent on the other side of the planet I briefly explored within the manaverse is nothing like the thousand-year war that occurred back in the Forgotten Mess. First, little is known as to what kicked that war off in the first place, but we know it started with the burning and ultimate destruction of a giant cloud city. The giants will tell you it’s because the dragons became envious of the giant kingdoms, Ostoria’s prosperity with thoughts of greed and envy launching an attack that started the war. It was a flight of red dragons led by an avatar of their God that attacked the giant cloud city, but as to their real motivation, we can’t be sure. Until then, conflicts had occurred, but they were just personal conflicts, not widespread across a region or kingdom between giants and dragons. It wasn’t until the destruction of the cloud giant city that the giants felt dragonkind posed a serious threat to them, and Ostoria needed to go to war. This ultimately pulled all the dragonkind into the conflict. Now I’ll admit, the continent of Askaheimr is a powder keg ready to blow right now. Way too many power groups, but it’s still too early to tell what the tipping point will be. There is a rumor Urlan a Dwarven explorer from the Ashrock peaks, had told me about one night. According to the dwarves, they believe Helkaros has returned to guide the Fire Giants back to a single tribe and to focus on their creators’ objectives, however nefarious they may seem. Helkaros, according to Fire Giant lore, is the God that shaped their molten bodies and directed them to metal crafting, raiding, and slave taking. Now all these history lessons are fine and good, but more recently, I have heard over dwarven ale-soaked rumors that a Storm Giant Warlord, Kulnantor, has been seeking to ally with the Fire Giants and other giant tribes to aid him in his plans. The Fire Giant King Runzurn has agreed to this alliance, and this King isn’t like most Fire Giants. He is very charismatic, powerful, and cunning. He possesses skills in tactics and battlefield strategies with the knowledge of how to use them effectively. Runzurn quickly saw the advantage of joining forces with the Warlord but knew they would need to find a suitable mountain lair to work from that not only could host the number of giants they were talking about but also conceal Kulnantor’s flying citadel. After a few moments, it quickly occurred to Runzurn that the Titan Peaks, a mountain range in the south, contained an active lava river flowing thru the range feeding an active volcano called Mount Hellion would be perfect for what Kulnantor needed. This will give Runzurn and his Fire Giants time to shape the lava flow and tame Mount Hellion, an active volcano, into a base camp that can hold the number of giants Kulnantor is talking about. At the same time, Kulnantor continues to work on uniting the rest of the tribes. The location provided not only a concealed parking spot for Kulnantor’s flying citadel but a location to train and drill soldiers and troops to keep the location secure and laborers to make it self-sustaining, providing it the ability to launch attacks. Over the last year, the fire giants have cleared abandoned halls, created living quarters, shifted lava flows, and constructed a massive forge in the volcano’s heart in preparation for the giant clans converging upon the Titan Peaks. It’s rumored that all the fire giant kingdoms joined Kulnantor’s banner, and over 50+ clans from the other giant tribes have joined. Each brought slaves to help with farming, mining, menial labor, and tending to farms and herds. Mount Hellion, and the Titan Peaks, in the space of 12-18 months, transformed into a giant lair completely populated and transformed into a militaristic style operation. The latest information is that they focus on creating weapons and armor, training / performing military drills, and working on battle plans. The mountainous lair isn’t fully operational, but it’s close. Kulnantor wanted to take out a flying cloud castle called StoneCloud Castle as a practice run. The cloud giant clan leader refused to join Kulnantor’s banner and insisted they wanted to remain neutral. Runzurn was charged with seizing the flying fortress and captured the flying castle, slaying all the cloud giants and two silver dragons with military precision. Capturing the flying fortress, it is anchored within the Titan Peaks using immense chains. Once the army/garrison, Mount Hellion the Volcanic Fortress is fully operational, the giants will use the StoneCloud Fortress to launch attacks across Askaheimr. Gorlen, taking a deep breath and then a drink, looks at Argos; so why is this so important? Mount Hellion is where I source my magmacite, and my supply is very low. There may be a few months before their location in the Titan Peaks becomes fully operational, along with their army, and it will be near impossible to get into that Volcano to harvest a batch of magmacite. Mount Hellion has the best concentration I have found in the manaverse so far. So, I have a favor to ask. I am planning on returning to the deep mana-ethereal plane soon, and since time is wonky there, I don’t know if I will be gone for years or minutes. I need you to commission some new adventurers to perform stealth and recovery missions into Mount Hellion to bring back a supply of magmacite while we still can. Once that place is fully operational, the continent will become dangerous, new alliances will form, and battle lines will be drawn, throwing that entire continent into war. If they can return with a large enough supply, that should buy me some time for when I get back to source a new location, which is probably not going to be as rich as the location in Mount Hellion but a lot safer. I will also need you to monitor the Laputan’s; we will need to stay ahead of them as they may use this disruption on the continent to their advantage. Lastly, a bit of logistics the Merak festival is coming up, which means their they will be hosting an outside orgy. Thankfully, it’s limited to the temple district and the Merak temple grounds. So there will be foot traffic that will have to pass by there, so make sure you mark the price on all the rubber boots, rain gear, plastic gloves, and splash guard equipment. We should be able to make a nice profit, that is, if a young Rolandite hasn’t beaten us to it. Argos takes a big drink, but Gorlen, what do you want me to do with the crates we received from the Triple K Trading Company today? Gorlen rubs his hand thru his beard, cocks an eyebrow that came today? Argos looks at him. Yes, it did, about 4 hours ago. Move that into my personal vault, not the collectibles or the normal operations vault….but my personal vault. Gorlen looked for a glimpse of understanding in Argos’s eyes. Yeah, yeah, yeah, Gorlen… I got your meaning. I’ll make sure it happens tonight. Gorlen says…Great! Enough business, waving down Arthna, I heard a rumor that the halfling Rivyre is cooking tonight? Arthna, chuckles; why yes she is; what can I get you? Is there any more pickled Wyvern back there? If so, bring us two orders, and another round, please Arthna.

@dwarf said in Gorlen Blackhammer - Journal Entry #400: “Somebody is clearly mistaking us for hobo murderers We are here to fornicate, not mutilate ! No, no … only Dregnoth is here to fornicate, the rest of us have made peace with hobo murdering, and we all know the Fallen Legion are all about the swing shovel first, and questions later… the only difference is their leader likes to give lengthy speeches right before the hobo murdering begins.