a young ruler cries out in a field of ice and horror. an army of death lies before him, the corpses of his own warriors, taken over by vile magic to destroy those they swore to protect. the emperor holy dragon empire clenches his sword and mumbles a prayer. the dragon blood in his veins sings in response as his greatsword glows with bright light. the undead army approaches, marching over the remains of the lucky, those who stayed dead. he is not afraid of the undead. with his companions beside him, he triumphed against them countless times. yet in the first time since he was a 16 year old boy, left outside the barracks to be devoured, he found his fingers shaking with fear.
he was not afraid of the undead. but the demon army behind them was a wholly different story. he never saw so many of them.
"Norkas" he cries to the warrior at his shoulder, a woman in armor, lifting a massive shield and a flaming mace, showering holy power at the end. of all his companions, she was the closest of his companion. a paladin of Taragon, god of dragons, with power only he rivaled. few women, sadly, took up a sword this age. it was not forbidden, of course. but the houses strongly discouraged it, despite all his effort to cull this terrible practice of marrying daughters off for political power.
that the woman beside him did not care one bit for the nobility's words made her even more treasured for him. he loved her, he knew it already. when they returned from this battle, they intened to marry. for the emperor to marry one like her was outrageous. he was supposed to marry a high noble, not the daughter of a minor knight like her. The thought of their faces makes him smile even here.
now he was not sure it will ever come to pass.
a cacophony of cries from his side jerks him back to the present. a whole battalion of warriors, 3,000 of his best brothers in faith, fall to a single spell of devastating black power. a monster rises above them, black mists still rising from its blackened palms. 10 foot tall and covered with both magical and physical might, the thing roared and turned to him. its face was full of malicious wisdom, knowledge of countless black secrets. a face twisted in pain toward him, toward mankind, toward anything his empire stood for.
he suddenly knew what they were looking at. the general of dread. the scourge of his people from the most ancient legends. his army numbered a hundred thousand warriors. still not enough. "Norkas! where are the reinforcements?"
the helmet that covered his beloved face concealed her emotions, but he could sense the rage in her voice. "The houses are treacherous. I do not think they will help you". she cried to the gods as she struck another blow, taking down a dozen corpses in a flash of golden light. but the enemy kept coming. and even if she killed they killed them all, they were not the real enemy. merely a way for the demons to stoke their faith. he remembered the words of a bound demon. it made devouring taste even better.
he wanted to argue. he wanted to tell her it can't be true. that no matter how far they fell, his people would never ignore the rise of demons. would never abandon their most sacred duty.
the words died on his lips. he knew they are lies.
and he thought was done with lies, done with schemings. he marched here proudly, hoping to unite the empire by reminding them what they stood for in the first place. a fool's errands now. he had too many enemies, and they would not lend him a hand, even in this. now all that was left was to save what remained. he knew what he had to do.
he will not fail here. he refuses. he stares at the monster that makes its way through his forces. the one his ancestors wrote about in such terror. he knew this enemy was beyond him. it mattered not.
his feet hit the ground in a blur as he ran, cutting his path through the horde of the dead. he cried to Taragon, chief of the gods, to give him strength. he cried to Rela, the fickle goddess of luck and risk. she was known to cast her favor on the bold. well, he was beyond bold now.
his face was sweating under the helmet and the mask. unnatural terror rising in him, the aura of his enemy clenching his body. it was powerful, so much so that even he, the greatest paladin in centuries, could not avoid shivering.
a warm hand clenched his shoulder, mailed gauntlet not blocking the calming touch. "what are you doing?" he mumbled, not stopping his charge. she should not have followed. but he could not deny feeling relief.
his beloved gave him a kiss on the neck, where his mailed coif was raised by his head's movement. "you are not getting away from me. not so easy". he paled. he loved her. he wanted her by his side. but she needed to be safe. "this is not easy" he uttered, not finding the strength to raise his voice at her. "it is suicide". her hand moved from his shoulder to his free hand, give him it a soft squeeze. "then we die together, and come before Taragon as we were meant to be in life". she whispered at him, her quiet voice burning his fervor.
and Nilla curse him, he did not find the will to deny her. "together" he declared, raising their voice. "together she said" letting go of his hand and lifting her mace.
the general towered before him, death radiating from him in waves. the emperor knew the name of his enemy. a word of malice his ancestors long carved out of history. but he found it in the ancient archives of west end, where history was written. it is a dangerous word to say. but he did not care. it would weaken the demon. that was the most important thing.
he cried it out loud, and the world shook around him, warriors falling to the floor at the sound of the word. his enemy turned to face him. rage and pain playing on his its face. a mouth filled with sharp teeth the length of his forearm twisted into an expression of pure cruelty. "the little mortal king has come to play" he raised his fist, a ball of deathly green fire dashed ahead at them.
Norkas reacted before he could, lifting her shield, and it shattered, the holy power inside dispersing the dark fire. "he's not alone".
the dread general laughed. "oh, of course not. mortals love to bring their friends to play. I would enjoy toying with you. after, of course I will kill your..". he did not finish the sentence. holy rage burned in the emperor. the kind of which was sung of in the ballads. Taragon blessed him with might, and he would use it. he cried to the gods, all of them, as he leapt forward, cutting the demon face with a shining blade just as he cut his sentence. the thing staggered back, and the emperor seized the opportunity. he surged forward, shining like the sun, and stabbed his sword into the demon.
and the thing before him laughed."foolish emperor. even your greatest ancestor feared me. you truly thought you could win?" the demon healed, the sword disintegrating into dust as the wound closed in seconds. a fist was raised, transforming into a heavy hammer tough as steel, and sweeping aside all approaching warriors. Norkas was sent hurtling through the air, and fell to the ground unmoving. *no*. he thought. finally, fear caught up to him. he froze. the demon scooped him up in his other hand, squeezing life out of him, metaphorically and literally at once. "and so the saint's dynasty ends. in a pitiful wretch of a man who thought he could restore his ancestors glory, only to see it ends. how ironic". he lifted him up to his face. "and now I will have your blood. I will enjoy using to bring the final terror on your empire".
the final terror? realization dawned on the emperor. all this time, he played right to their hands. everything he did, all his struggles, were for naught. Norkas died. he will die. and all of creation will die with him.
a movement at the edge of his vision caught his eyes, Norkas, bleeding and broken, was pulling herself up. she would not surrender. she will fight. if she can do that, his mind told him, so can he. his sword was destroyed, but his dagger, a simple steel blade, was steel in his belt.he drew it. the demon eyes gleamed in cruel light before him, shining with power and deep magic- the magic holding together his manifestation. he called to every one of the gods.drew every ounce of power left in him, every drop of faith he could muster. he was suprised at how much there was. perhaps he shouldn't have been.
if Norkas could keep getting up, maybe his empire can to. maybe they both will survive.
but they will have to do it without him.
with one last shout, he plunged his dagger into the demon's eyes, drawing a terrible cry from his ancient enemy. his body fell apart, collapsing as its spirit was banished, the emperor fell to the floor, his own body falling apart as well. but he died smiling. it was not a complete victory. but time was bought. maybe, just maybe, enough to give his people a chance.
he never felt his body hit the floor. darkness fell over him before that. and his death shook the world
the old man lay dead on his back, hope long faded from his eyes. in his majestic tower of the west end. torn pages, and destroyed secrets, surround him, like servants accompanying their master to the grave. the paper surrounds him. filling the floor around him upon him like snowflakes landing to cover another bloody battle he transcribed, another grievance to add to the empire's growing list of sins. a wind, sent from the ocean, sweeps through the room, taking the shreds of paper. ten thousand years of chronicles swept away by a gust of wind.
A fitting metaphor for history.
Footsteps disturb the stillness of the room, the bated breath of the archives. A woman first, the fear gripping her heart. Making her footsteps light. Tears of worry swell in her eyes. tears of denial. it can't be. her footsteps are heavy, she in not the lean maiden she was. but she doesn't care, her breath hitching with worry and simple exhaustion but her magic and desperation shoving her up the stairs. and as she reached the top, the tears burst free. an amulet hangs on her chest. a futile display, a foolish proof she fears no demon. her name, in gold, radiant letters, cast with powers. Vellerise.
"Papa!" She wails, pushing out the last of the air in her lungs. She charges forward carried on the shreds of her soul, the little remaining of the pact she is still disgusted by. The one she had to make. And now in vain. The man in front of her is whole, with no wounds visible on his body. He might have been sleeping. But he stares at the ceiling with eyes that leave no room for mistakes, and her magical senses confirm what she wants to deny. She runs at him, wails rising and she can't control them. not anymore. a strong head lands on her shoulder. a small one tugs at her wide, blue sleeve. her husband and her daughter. good souls. She shakes them off. with a little tug on her magic, she teleports them away. Not far, as she would have liked. But the powers swirling around the island making anything greater dangerous.
He moves forward, her gait desperate. Now, with all innocents gone, only she remains. she, the part of Vellerise that long gave up claims of innocence. she stumbles forward through the vortex of dreadful runes surrounding the man who gave her home. half falling half kneeling beside him, she mumbles every healing, every revival spell known. but death wasn't something she can heal. Tarion, the 58th grand archmage of the dragon empire, the divine chronicler of the archives of Toriam, her beloved father, lies dead.
Her face pales as the realization dawns. the warning she was given only yesterday. Right here, in what might have been this room, she set with her father for tea. a quick break from the endless work. But the room where they sat was filled with books, not empty shelves and errant, remaining shreds of paper.
The man she sat with was very alive, laughing and sipping his tea and making remarks about her own daughter's progress in her studies. Not a despaired corpse staring at the ceiling. It's a warning, though, held.
but his daughter was just a second too late.
Her shivers in his arms as she touches takes his corpse, the sanctifying spell on her lips. She hesitates. Could he.. could she be wrong? Was she too early to declare him dead? After all, he was the grand archmage. He would not die easily.
Then power sweeps through corpse. And though she has read the accounts, she trembles. She witnessed destruction. undeath. many kinds of dark powers. This wasn't dark. nor was it light. or orderly or even chaotic. this was a nothing, a void.
An antithesis to creation itself.
Her father's face rots away within seconds, leaving only a blackened skull. But the eyeholes no longer stare blankly. Purple fire fills them, filled with power and malice and hatred. "No..." she whispers.
Her father... No, not her father, the thing in it, speaks, mouth unmoving. "Your time is up, chronicler. Your world is at its end"
Vellerise knew, then, what she felt before. "No.." She whispered again.
"Your emperor lies dead now. His blood, the blood of dragons, taken"
"No..." again was all she could bring herself to whisper. Her voice grew even weaker at the confirmation. Her face paling, her soul shivering.
"Your kind is at its end. I have come for the power hidden here. The power promised to me. Your people no longer have the ability to deny me my right. You have rotten, you have become corrupt and arrogant. And now you will be this destroyed. Give the ring to me, I will be on my way, and the rest of your flock will be spared. I have no need to continue this little detour."
Her father. A little detour. Rage burned in her soul.
This time, silence was all the response he got. A stillness, echoing across the room. And he finds it exhilarating. stillness. inexistence. Precious things. And then she smiles. A tiny, grieving smile. But a smile, nonetheless. "You made a mistake, coming here" she whispers. "We have decayed, but we have not rotten. Mankind will fall. Mortals will die. But we will rise again, just like the dawn."
He smiles at her, and his voice rises against her as his hand grips her neck. She doesn't listen to his words of triumph. she does not waste time. She can already feel the energy invading her. Vellerise doesn't fool herself. She cannot beat it. And she is done with false arrogance. Instead, she embraces her fate and whispers her last words. they might not drown his. but they ring true. "That... is why coming here was a mistake."
and then she screams, and tears, and lets out all the grief, the tears, the madness, the rot. and there is magic in the scream. raw, and unrefined, but powerful even more for that. it rips off the observatory stone from stone, and then the tower, and the island around it. innocents are gone. Innocence is gone. May it strive once more, away from this place. and as the being that took is ripped apart by her magic, another silent wish is on her lips. "may it be a thousand years before you can manifest again".
But as darkness shrouds her senses and the afterlife beckons her, she knows it is a fool's hope.
So she will just have to hope someone else can complete her work.
all over the world, people wake to a new age. the last emperor is gone. the empire that ruled since the dawn of history. the knights that drove away the hordes of demons.
they rise, across the land. not all have got the message, but all know it, in their heart. feel it in the air. from the lowliest peasant to the greatest of sorcerous lords, all know the passing of the chosen of the gods. the future, if any exists, is in their hands.
what differs is how they greet it. nobles scheme around. the annoying just ruler is gone, at long last. now, each counts down the seconds till his bottom graces the sacred throne. schemes long hidden can finally come to light. ambitions for rule can finally be unleashed. from them nobles will be no salvation.
mages peer into the distance, to the north, toward the demons. the hordes are dark, yes. but they know much. they had millenias to study the secrets of dragons. maybe it is time for new secrets. temptations for power rise in their hearts. from mages there will be no salvation
knights scour the horizon with their watchful eyes. this land is divided now, and soon war will come. a war with the demons, a war with each other. a war to leave their mark in, to become heroes sung about by generations to come. longing for glory dominate their minds. from knights there will be no salvation.
you greet the new day with a decision. you do not know where it came from. you do not know why. but you know now, that by the dead emperor and the gods in the heaven, and by the creator itself. you will save the land.
for you are:
[]
[]a son of the empire
[]a daughter of the empire
[]born to the peasants that power the empire
you were born in one of the many villages dotting Toriam. a simple place, safe and protected by the emperor laws, an excellent soil for a hero to rise from. perhaps you come from a family of farmers, perhaps artisans or innkeepers. either way, you are closer to the common people, used to hard work, and your simple upbringing makes you more resistant to the temptation of power, rule, or luxury. you might be less educated then others your age though, and city folk or nobles might see you as a boorish county person. depending on your starting land, you might also be in more danger, with no walls or armies to defend you now that the emperor fell. but this might also be an opportunity
[]a citizen of its grand cities
you are a city child, raised in one of the great cities of the empire. growing up in the centers of civilization the empire prouds itself on. you might be an urchin, fending for himself, or perhaps the scion of a scholar, laborer, or a merchant. but you have lived your life beside people of any race and ethnicity, and this gives you both a lack of prejudice and a variety of skills picked up. you are very used to crowded places, and can easily find your way in the masses. cities have excellent access to goods, and weaponry, and knowledge, are better protected and have more opportunities. but they are also more dangerous, full of powerful people, many of them aligned against you.
[]a nomad and traveller of its endless roads
you have never known life at a constant place, travelling the roads of the empire since you were a child. perhaps you were born in a caravan, perhaps a group of nomads, or maybe even a travelling circus. you saw many places and have met many sorts of people, but you never felt you belonged, which might drag you down. you know a great deal about the world and people, but its a shallow knowledge in most cases. you are able to quickly make friends and get easily used to changes. but you are now out in the open in a brewing war, and you have little sense of community, and a hard time making people follow you.
nomad
[]a servant of its keeps and castles
you grew up in a castle, keep, or citadel, defending the empire and serving as the seat of a noble. perhaps you are a servant offspring, perhaps your father is a soldier or your mother's belongs in a lord's staff. perhaps you are even a bastard. you grew up close to the nobility, and know their demeanors and their powers. you are also familiar, perhaps even close, with the army. and a keep or a citadel is one of the safest places to be those days. but your sheltered upbringing left you with little knowledge of the outside world, distant from the majority of commoners, and the closeness to nobility makes you more susceptible to temptations.
where did you come from?
[]the trade cities of the east
in the east, to the isle of Seratis and the great river of gold, lie rich trade cities, the golden veins of the empire economy. you grew up in those cities, or in their shadows
[]the academies of the south
the south might not be rich as the heart and the east, but it is a peaceful land, far from the demons, and well developed. you grew up beside its academies and libraries, its mage societies and feasting nobles who knew no war
[]the thriving metropolis of the heartlands
the pride of the empire, the cosmopolitan centers of culture and politics. hosting millions of citizens, the great cities of the empire's heart are also a buzzing hive of scheming nobles.
[]the sailor's isles of the west
the westren isles are less populated then most of the empire, closer to demons and covered by ice. they are home to fierce sailors and fiercer farmers, distant from the empire and masters of the sail and row. making their money by trade or by raid. they are also, however, the empire naval defense against the armies of darkness
[]the sprawling fields of the southeast meadows
the breadbasket of the empire, the Meadows are a rich and and fertile province, supplying most of the food for the heartlands and the east. highly populated despite being mostly rural, the Meadows are one of the most peaceful of the empire provinces.
(the sharp eyed of you might have noticed you have north, east, center and west, but not north. thats because the north belongs to the demons)
and what virtue do you have that makes you think you even have a chance to succeed?
[]blessing
the dragon gods are said to watch over the empire, and that is true even as it falls. the Saint dynasty fell, but they would not have mortalkind fall with her. and they gave you their blessing to save the world from demons. you are not a chosen one, not quite. but your divine magic and divine right might pave the path to rule. (you may learn divine magic and gain blessing without this, but they will never be as powerful and will never be nearly as easy to gain)
[] leadership
since you were a child, you were different from the others. blessed with initiative, vision, and an ability to drive others to follow. even when you were young, your friends went after you even if they would question the decision in hindsight. but you will have to use those skills for something greater than leading a group of friends now. you intend to heal an empire.
[] valor
Valor. the first virtue followers of Taragon will claim. you claim it too, but you do not do so in vain. Valor, you know, is more than simple courage. it is drive, and fervor. power and will, and the conviction to use those for a rightful goal. since your childhood you were strong of will, you never gave up before achieving your goals. no danger or pain would deter you, no warning would make you stop. but only now you can begin to claim valor. for you found your conviction
[]brilliance
anyone can lift a weapon, and being a good leader gives no assurance that your path is right. but you are blessed with a sharp mind. you easily grasp new knowledge, gauge situations, and fabricate brilliant plans. sharp mind is the most important tool one can have. and yours will do more than learn. yours will save the world.
from the Ashes is an epic high fantasy quest, following a young person who rises to the immense challenge of reviving a mighty fallen empire. it will have some plan quest elements and a lot of progression quest elements, but at its core its a grand adventure larger then life..
but this is your path to forge. it won't be an easy path. this quest is running in my own homebrew world. it has a fairly deep lore, which will be unraveled as we go, as will the mechanics of the quest. while the lore is deeply impacted by d&d esque games, it also has its own unique takes.
so welcome, and I hope you enjoy the ride! please vote and discuss, it really helps drive me forward. ask your questions if you have any. and most of all, have fun.
AN:I apologize in advance for any grammar or spelling mistake(ehm.. capital letters). English is not my native language. feel free to point out mistakes and correct me!
