Out-of-Game (General Information) => Event Teasers! => Topic started by: derekjones on November 06, 2017, 08:42:57 pm

Title: November 2017 Plot Release
Post by: derekjones on November 06, 2017, 08:42:57 pm
The day is long and your mind is weary as you find a quiet place to relax for a few moments. You blink your eyes and find yourself viewing a vast desert of red sand. The vision of a far away land imposes itself in your mind. Movement from a sand traveler catches your attention.

In the chill early morning night air of the Red Desert, a small male Sarr of Isharan (Lynx) origin pulls his woolen cloak even tighter to keep out the breeze. He tugs at the lead of his pony as they traverse the dull red dunes of eastern ancestral home of his people. His large feline eyes can easily see the marking sticking out of the sands ahead of him. The top fifteen feet of the sand worn obelisk stood stark against the deep red of the desert sand. The marker had once been adorned with bright painted colors and symbols of power. Only faint discolorations even hint at the previous importance of the marker, the power of those symbols have long since faded along with the paint.

Once the Isharan reaches the marker he tugs on his pony's lead to stop the beast from advancing further. The Isharan then removes the keffiyeh from his face and spits upon the ground as he reaches into the bundle of supplies that the pony is carrying. The Isharan pulls a leather water skin from its cool storage place beneath the blankets that cover his supplies. Refreshing water dribbles down his chin as he takes smooth pulls from the leather skin.

Nearby, a dust devil swirls and dances as it kicks up free desert flora. The Isharan does not notice the disturbance of a small dune several yards behind him. The brown pony whinnies nervously and pulls at the lead in the Isharan's hand when it notices the sand of the small dune growing into the shape of a scantily clad woman.

The Isharan lowers his water skin and turns toward the disturbance behind him. The woman's skin is well tanned and still slightly covered in patches of the desert sand that refuses to fall away.

"Greetings, Lady Adira." Says the Isharan as he performs a deep bow.

The pony, now sensing real danger, pulls hard at the lead of its halter. The Isharan turns back to the pony and attempts to soothe the animal using assuring sounds and gentle touching.

"His Highness is eager to have your report, Isharan. Were you able to actually be useful for once?" Replies Lady Adira. Disdain for the Isharan can be clearly heard in her tone.

"Yes, My Lady. I have traveled to the West and performed as His Highness has bid. I have answers to his questions and more!" Beams the Isharan.

"Well then, speak Isharan. Prove to me your value, and if I find you satisfying I may bless you with the presence of His Highness." Says Lady Adira.

"My Lady, I have found that there is almost no presence of His Highness' grand works of magic. I have used the diving magic that you have instructed me on and have found few places of power that even resonate the smallest bit of His Highness' power. I have rendered a map of the locations where I had some success. The most powerful of the locations is near a town of adventurers, called Varos.

The land, My Lady, has undergone a recent struggle bearing the hallmarks of a temporal shifting. It was during these shifts that I was able to detect the strongest remnants of His Highness' power. I made haste to investigate the shifts in time. As you know, My Lady, such shifts can be temporary and I feared that I might lose the opportunity to discover more about what has transpired here.

His Highness should know that the enemy is still present in land. They have been vastly depleted in power and number, but they still persist here nonetheless. In fact, several of them have taken on students in order to preserve their knowledge, though I have only heard of a few instances where the student is properly trained and prepared for His Highness' return.

So far, I have only uncovered four practitioners of the old ways. They are poorly trained and now lack a master to properly instruct them. They will certainly only pose a minor inconvenience for His Highness." The Isharan proclaims.

Lady Adria regards the Isharan carefully. "What are the names of the practitioners?"

"My Lady, I hesitate to speak their names out loud. They are powerful beings in these lands..." Whines the Isharan.

"Your fear is misplaced if you refuse my question." Admonishes Lady Adira.

"My Lady, the names are Selesthiel Sith Vernaril, Erren D'Tangiers, Beloc Kas'Duum, and Talmoc Umaris. The master is the enemy named Felistrahn, but that one is lost and beyond my ability to divine a location." The Isharan lowers his head at his failure to find the last master of the practitioners before continuing.

The forests of the Moth'Hadar and the Siol Lear that His Highness has requested that I research were lost during His Highness' last communication in the Terran Valley. The Moth'Hadar were driven mad and corrupted by Selesthiel, but not before they were able to aid the Dark Folk in destroying the Siol Lear and cursing their beloved Gaia and Selene.  The Moth'Hadar became known as the Selesthiel forest in honor of the 'Hero', Selesthiel and the Siol Lear is now known as the Old Southwood. Presumably because the people that had claimed to remove the original curse had failed to do so and wanted to hide that fact by removing all ties to the Siol Lear. Both of the forests were affected by the recent temporal flux which bridged the time between the fall of the forests and the forests as they are known today. The people of the Terran Valley are confused and easily manipulated regarding the forests and His Highness' last communication. It seems as if the last communication from His Highness is misinterpreted as some sort of war for spirits. His Highness will be very pleased, yes?" Asks the Isharan.

"His Highness will, no doubt, be pleased to learn that the adventurers of Varos have essentially ignored the plight of Azmodeus and of the graveyards that he protects. I have already put into place a replacement for the Lord of Death in the case that His Highness decides to put an end to the meddling of Erren D'Tangiers.

I have been unable to discover what happened to The Spell, though my resources have been talking about there being a replacement.  I have not been able to confirm any kind of replacement for The Spell even though I have confirmed that someone has claimed ownership of the Tower of Storms. I would like to reassure His Highness that just because someone has claimed the Tower of Storms it does not mean that they are prepared to assume the role of The Spell." Says the Isharan.

"Yes, you idiot. His Highness is very aware of that. Is that all?" Asks Lady Adira.

"No, My Lady. You see, some of the corrupted Moth'Hadarians have returned from exile and have been in an ongoing conflict with the people of the Terren Valley for several decades now. The Valley has also recently been invaded by a very young Dark Folk that has taken an interest in the Siol Lear. A few of the adventurers in the town of Varos have decided to try their hand at Mantles of Power. This has drawn the ire of the planar beings, as you can imagine.

His Highness, and the others have largely gone unnoticed." Says the Isharan.

Lady Adira suddenly cocks her head to the side as if straining to listen to a faint sound in a vast sandstorm. "Shush!" She commands. The Isharan falls silent immediately.

Slowly the sands of the Red Desert change colors from the blood red that gives the desert its name to a ghoulish glowing green color. In seconds, both the Isharan and the sand sorceress are surrounded by miles of the glowing sand.

The sand sorceress slowly turns her face in your direction. She blinks slowly and when her eyes open, they glow with a sickly yellow hue. "Issh attak wit zeran!" whispers Lady Adira. Suddenly your vision turns dark.

It takes you several hours to wash the gritty green sand from your eyes. The color of the sand is almost as disturbing as how it ended up clouding your sight. As you wipe away the glowing grit, your thoughts keep returning to the scene that you have witnessed.