Bay 12 Games Forum

Darkness and Light

It is a commonly-accepted thing that light is good, and darkness is bad. Light is where you can see, and is what the sky is like during the time that your body wishes to be awake; darkness, meanwhile, is where any threats may be hidden, and is the time of sleeping - an activity commonly compared to death, and at the very least being one wherein the sleeper is much more vulnerable than usual. Of course, these views neglect to state that they are from a particular set of perspectives: apex predators, herd animals, and the like. Those with no need to hide. Those who watch.

In the modern day, nobility and cityfolk. Those who watch over all, and those who watch each other. Their religions reflect their views. It is Good to be seen, to be bright, to be watched; and because what is Evil stays in the dark, out of sight, away from reprisal, so it is that to be hidden, to keep privacy is a sign of sin.

There are other perspectives, however. Other ways of living, other ways of seeing.

For some, safety comes from being overlooked. Perhaps they are actively hiding; perhaps they merely take refuge in unimportance. What conqueror would take time to ravage tiny villages, barely a hundred souls strong? What rebel would stand in clear sight before they strike? And so there are some for whom the darkness is a refuge, a waiting place, somewhere to prepare or escape. The light, to these survivors in the outlands, means death, for their hunters may catch sight, or their prey escape ambush.

In contrast to the bright and illuminated religions of the cities, religion out here revolves around things more solid yet unknowable. The whims of the earth and sky, the mediations of water and flame, rule the spirits of these shadowed folks. And down in the bones of the earth, in the black of the night, in the depths of the waters and char of the flames are a dark promise - control us, but not too tight; respect us, but not too light; for our service and strength are equally potent, rage and revelry equally destructive. This is the land of fae pacts and blood bonds, of witches' covens and hedge mages, for that which knows the dark knows to respect that which shares it.

And if what shares it is a Lich King of dark places and piercing truths, a Lich King who will respect the traditions the cities eschew, a Lich King that has helped so much... why shouldn't they be respected?
It's not against their religions.
Not the old ones.

Earth rises to meet those who might call it.

Watch as this ends with a three-way tie and we just kinda do all of them.

Dark Vigil

He stood at attention, staring out into the darkness. There was no fear on his face, nor any sign of wavering attention.

There was no sign of anything in his face anymore, not under the tender ministrations of the slow drip of water that had worn it away over the millennia.

It did not matter to him. The copper blade in his right hand, the blade that was made for him, was just as sharp as the day it was forged. There may be stalactites on his armor, but it was no weaker than when it first adorned him.

To let it be otherwise would displease the Emperor.

So he stared into the darkness. It was not silent, no. Water dripped; the sound echoed. The stone itself groaned subtly as it shifted in the ages. Far-off echoes sometimes meandered there way here. No, it was not silent at all.

The Emperor had decreed that no light shall touch his skin, nor sound touch his ears. Thankfully, there were far simpler manner to resolve such issues than to eliminate noise. His crypt was insulated against the world, and His guards were set to ensure it remained unperturbed.

Sometimes he wondered how long it had been. It had been 62,957,120,864 drips since he decided to start counting, but he had little idea how many had come before that. It did not matter. He would guard the Emperor in perpetuity, like his brothers beside him.

From death until death, he would serve. The Emperor's final rest would not be disturbed, and he would ensure so until he died.

The clay soldier stared into the darkness with senses beyond sight, still heir to the will of an empire long dead.

Memories from so long ago were snatches. Was he awake yet? No, not then. Memories from so long ago were fragments. Fragmentary. Blurry, incomplete. Like he was. Like they were.

Hands. Careful, but not gentle. There were too many to be gentle. A head takes shape.

Small pieces that come together.

Darkness, but not like this. The world rumbled and jostled. The horses whinnied.

His purpose was set from conception, and he would die gladly for it.

A beautiful hall, extending almost forever. Passed from servant to servant, ever growing nearer to service.

He did not question the memories of his creation. It was the Emperor's blessing.

Arranged in parade, the priests anoint the soldiers in phoenix ashes. A great pit lies before them, their charge behind.

His duty shall end only with eternity, and he shall bear it gladly.

They say the emperor's last words were, "I will rise again."

We should ask permission for that, first. Including if they're fine with us raising them now or if they'd prefer we wait until after people have left.

AC

Given that the Red Fox is being hunted, it’d be best to meet with them as quickly as possible; we don’t want them killed before we can make contact.

As for the prisoners, their crime is against Thaddington and his men. Let them be the ones to judge what is right to do with them.

Children of the Stone

Nobody has ever seen an adult kobold. Oh, they certainly believe they have; would they fight them if they knew the small reptilians to be children? Perhaps they would, but certainly not all. But that is not the point.

Nobody has ever seen an adult kobold. So where are they, and why do their children go unsupervised?

Kobold warrens go deeper than any outsider would think. Further, too, for "down" is not the most-protected direction when the stygian races can mine in from anywhere. This is for one reason, and one reason only, for there is little else that could truly be done with so much space: protecting the centralmost chambers, where the elders reside.

The kobolds that others know... may as well be scaly goblins, for all that they care. There are differences, of course - they care less for straight combat, most prominently - but generally, they are simply considered to be nuisances and chaff, diminutive primitives easily defended against by any competent military force. Get some adventurers together - including someone to defuse traps - and you can clean out a nest to make sure they don't come back for a long while. Knock down a few fake walls, clear the escape tunnels they reveal, you're good, right? They bleed, and they die, just like everything else - and easier than most.

That is how the kobolds would like to be thought of. But to see an adult would be to know the depths of the deception, for kobolds are children of the stone.

Kobolds do not bleed blood; rust-filled water fills their rivulets. Kobolds do not bear scales; they are covered in flakes of jade, obsidian, granite. Kobold escape tunnels cannot be found by simply knocking down a wall, for stone is no barrier to their escape. And at their core - not their heart, their core - lies a simple, small stone, filled with crystal.

Adult kobolds bear none of the deceptive traits of their youths. They grow, for the stone lining their narrow tunnels cannot contain them. Their limbs shrink, for the stone shall bend for them. They are stone, and stone is them. And all the while, their core grows and grows, until it yawns open, liquid rust flowing through a jagged crystal maw - sightless, yet needless of sight, for stone knows its own. And like the stone, they slumber until it is time to wake.

Deep within the warrens, the great beasts of earth slumber, their overgrowing maws disgorging new cores, new children of the stone. For kobolds are the great elementals of the world below, keepers of stygian wealth and things lost to history. And it is written in bones of the earth that should they be discovered - should the Stoneweavers be witnessed - then all shall be lost.

For what has happened before may always yet happen again.

The Work

"Never leave a golem without orders." It's an order that every long-term golem-owner knows by heart, as do any workers tasked to tend to the lumbering automatons. A simple "stay here" will suffice; any instruction that can be completed must have an attached instruction for what should be done afterward. Any who forget soon find themselves bereft of a golem. Perhaps not immediately, and they can be tracked down for return if their absence is noted swiftly enough, but it remains a disturbing behavior for entities that shouldn't have any behaviors.

So what is behind it? What draws idle golem away from the homes of those who have rightfully purchased or even constructed them?

Our best hint to this lies in the locations from which recaptured golems have been found - almost universally north of their homes, with most countercases being due to either vast obstacles or the disappearances being the result of theft rather than wanderings. The golems do not simply leave, they are going somewhere - and considering how many golems have disappeared over not only the years or decades, but the centuries, it is doubtless that many have reached that somewhere. What they may be doing there, however, is unknown.

---

To every horizon, the world is white. Frost rules this land, so far north; even at the height of summer, things are merely slightly less cold, rather than ever the slightest bit warm.

Cresting a hill, a dark spot appears in the distance. It is a golem, trudging slowly through the snow, just as it has for the past week, without cessation. Such is the capability of these tireless constructs, that they may travel twice as far as any mortal may simply because they need not rest.

But this golem is not important. Not anymore. They will reach their goal; civilization is too far to lay any claim upon them anymore. No, look at the direction it walks, and then look ahead. Further, further. It cannot be seen from here; it will take the golem another day to reach. Keep going.

There.

Here, the white ends. At the edge, it turns to grey slush, where movement is frequent enough to dirty the snow but not enough so as to sweep it away entirely. Further in, the snow is pushed away, leaving earth infused with permafrost - stiff, compacted by an endless cycle of working golems.

And then, as the white ended, so too does the earth. For this is the work of the lost golems, come from the whole of the realm. A vast pit - nay, a vast excavation, in progress for hundreds of years. Not even the world below has stories of this place; a few isolated tribes tell tales of that place where the earth groans and shakes, but they dare not approach such a cursed domain, and the tangle and length of the cave systems mean that those from elsewhere simply have never had cause or inclination to come here. But somebody was here once, for the golems are not searching for nothing.

There is something here that calls them. Something that touches the whole of the world. It has resonated forever, before even one golem could hear it.

One day, they will find it. It might even be today.

This is the Work.

Avernus

In times long past, one of the myriad empires of history decided that they needed better soldiers. The specifics of their reasoning are long forgotten, though they can be guessed at; their solution, however, lives to this day.

That solution was the city of Avernus.

Avernus is situated within the depths of a wilderness long believed to be cursed, due to the vast quantity and variety of monsters that have arisen from its depths (cross-referencing with records of the twenty-second Sciro-Annelid war suggests it is more likely one of the many homes of feral druidry, albeit one much nearer the surface than is typical). What remains of the Avernite Charter of Founding indicates that the hope was that living in this environment would produce superlative military units, and history has shown the project to be a massive success, if one that clearly never benefitted those who desired it. It may well have failed, it is claimed, if not for the efforts of the most popular figure of Avernite ancestor worship, Governor-Marshall Rotbart.

As the stories go, Rotbart was never meant to take up any real leadership position in the city. He was merely an aide to the intended ruler (whose name and specific title changes between each telling), but after a sudden raid by the wildlife a few days in, Rotbart (and those who deferred to his judgement during the attack) were the only members of the barely-existent city’s leadership to survive, and so the burden of leading the colonists was thrust upon him. Contrary to all prior expectations, Rotbart proved to be an unrecognized military genius, and he is credited with ensuring that Avernus survived not only its founding, but also the collapse of the empire that founded it.

But if the culprit of the beasts of the region Avernite is situated in is feral druidry, what might it do - what might it have done - to the people of Avernus? After all, the city still stands, despite the centuries since its founding and the perpetual cycling of new governors. The answer is actually a curious one: the bodies of the people of Avernus have been changed, but their minds and souls have not. Their bones and muscles have been re-tuned to grant superlative endurance and strength, their eyes and ears have been reshaped to enhance their senses, and their overall shape has been shifted in tiny ways to grant them an agility and sleekness unnatural to the mortal form. Their hands, however - those greatest tools of mortality, in that they grant us the ability to work all others - have been left untouched by the druidry. I postulate that the druidry in the area has developed a rudimentary “mind” - as much of one as free-standing wild magic might have - and that it has recognized the settlers as the top of its food chain, therefore modifying them only in ways that they do not already excel above the monsters they daily hunt.

And what if Avernite culture? Well, in a land where death might come at any moment, yet may at any moment be too denied, it is one of perpetual vigilance, as well as one of trust in their fellows: at no time is any Avernite ever alone or unguarded, for at any time, danger may strike. This is not to say that Avernites are fearful of the danger they surround themselves in; after so long, and with as efficient a healing system as has been established, few deaths still occur from ambushes, but every so often, somebody ends up without a companion, and then people are reminded why their practices are so important. However, despite the overhanging specter of death (only occasionally literal), the people of Avernus are happy with their lives; with a society so intertwined with their military that the economy is more often thought of as a matter of logistics, civilian morale is considered just as important as military morale, and no expense should be spared to ensure that the people remain happy and effective.

Outside their home, the Avernites are most renowned for their mercenaries; although even a kingdom can rarely afford to hire more than a dozen Avernite soldiers, even that many is typically enough, as their sheer skill renders them capable of breaking through fortified lines of opposing soldiers and otherwise produce effects on the battlefield that would typically require a far larger group of soldiers. However, these mercenaries serve a second purpose for Avernus: despite their dangerous lives, Avernites do not actually wish to see conflict embroil the world beyond their territory, and so their mercenary corps are frequently occupied with removing growing threats from the lands that surround them, be they great monsters that terrorize the towns or a rising power that seeks new conquests in the region. For this reason, despite the Avernites not officially holding any power over their numerous neighbors, it is nearly universally accepted within the realm both that Avernus is the undisputed ruling state of their region, and that for those who cannot find anywhere else, the Avernite sphere of influence is a safe place to settle.