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Norannar - Mor'Gan's Tale
- Thread starter Tumakhunter
- Start date
Tumakhunter
First Post
Most of the Gun rules I took from Deadlands d20.
As for other tech, a lot of it has yet to be seen by the PCs, as they've been in the wild and uncivilized areas, but there are flying ships (magically powered) and zeppelins, among other things. They just can't reach the South due to the powerful, random storms that frequently rage across the Gulf of Sorrows. Legacy from the Great War of Ascension and all that...
As for other tech, a lot of it has yet to be seen by the PCs, as they've been in the wild and uncivilized areas, but there are flying ships (magically powered) and zeppelins, among other things. They just can't reach the South due to the powerful, random storms that frequently rage across the Gulf of Sorrows. Legacy from the Great War of Ascension and all that...
Tumakhunter
First Post
I'll get updated soon, I promise!! (Now where were those notes....?)
Tumakhunter
First Post
The next morning, what few of us remained began the trek north along the rail lines. We walked for what seemed like days across the plains as the hot sun beat down upon us. It wasn't until late in the afternoon that we heard a faint roaring sound from up ahead.
Realizing that a train was headed our way, we decided that it needed to be warned of the threat to the south. Balin suggested a barricade to stop the train so we might board it and get it turned around. There was enough detritus, and Balin cast an illusion of some sort to make it seem bigger. The train slowed to a stop in front of us.
Unsurprisingly, those on board thought us to be bandits of some type. We swiftly boarded, and, after some small amount of persuasion from Mor'Gan, as well as a spell from their sorceror, we managed to convince the man who made the train work that it should go back to where it came from. Of course, this was a very difficult endeavour, as the train could not actually turn at this part of the track, but had to move in reverse until such time as a loop presented itself.
During our initial discussion with the driver, Feldon went into the passenger area to alert the folk there to what was happening. From behind him stepped a young mek (human) woman, who placed the end of her gun against the back of his head. Feldon calmly talked to her for a moment, presumably trying to convince her that we were not bandits. He appeared to succeed, as she sheathed her weapon soon after.
Tarion had no little difficulty with boarding, as well, given the great owl and the mountain cat that always accompany him. We ended up putting them in the cargo area.
Slowly the train began to move. We had a long trip ahead of us, so I sat down and began to look at the different people. It amazed me how much things have changed since my time. Of course, I elicited more than a few stares, especially from the duer onboard, but surprisingly, no one seemed to wish to approach me. Using the little bit of Trade that Tarion had been teaching me, I asked the young woman who had held her gun to Feldon what her name was. She looked quite surprised, but told me her name was Alexa.
Fortunately for me, Alexa spoke Nautrek fairly well. She explained to me that it was very rare for one of my station to speak with one of such common birth as herself.
I explained to her where and when I had come from, which she was quite fascinated to learn of. She questioned me for hours about what life was like during the Great War, and I in turn asked about the world today. It interests me to hear about how some of the Shapers have now ascended to godhood, and the effects that has had on the world. She also told me about the recent troubles that Morrakin were rumoured to be in.
In the many centuries since the Great Magewar, a lingering threat has occasionally plagued the northlands: the threat of the Undead. Led by a powerful Lich named Acestius, forces of undead monstrosities would periodically sweep north, destroying everything in it's path. The Undead forces were seemingly impervious to the great magical storms that blocked passage to the ancient southlands.
The minions of Belzur did not rest after the Great War. Four centuries later, a sorceror now called Acestius discovered Belzur’s works and used them to develop necromantic magics. Acestius became a disciple of the Mage-god Belzur, renowned for his torturous studies on living creatures. He animated an army of skeletons and zombies, but he was eventually caught and imprisoned within a tomb. His loyal followers, known as Barmarnarn, continued to pass on his teachings despite their master’s apparent defeat. Acestius’s spirit has not lain quietly in his tomb, either. It escaped after six hundred years of imprisonment.
The undead were most fiercely fought by my own clan, the Dalzaks of Morrakin, who would organize the surface peoples living south of the Mountains into militias and armies intended to drive off these monstrosities. This laid the precedent for Morrakin to claim territories outside the Granitehome Mountains, and the Empire expanded itself.
150 years ago, a mighty band of heroes, Vultheim Druskeden, Caladan ur Silverwing, and seven others journeyed south, braving the mighty Magic Storms that still blocked access to the ancient Southlands. Nearly slain crossing the Barrier, they survived due to the leadership of one woman calling herself only "the Sentinel." Reaching an ancient city deep in the heart of the Desert of Sin, these heroes found the lair of Acestius.
A mighty battle ensued, with hordes of undead swarming the group, until finally, in one huge climatic battle between the Sentinel and Acestius, the two were destroyed in a cataclysmic swath of holy flame. Druskeden and Caladan were the only two survivors to return to Morrakin and the north. Druskeden took the throne, establishing a new dynasty as Druskeden I.
When Druskeden returned from the south, he was changed. A shadow seemed to have fallen over his eyes, and his behaviour went from erratic to completely insane over the next century. He was crowned Emperor and began a long reign of abuse and exploitation
Druskeden’s corruption spread chaos through the empire. As his madness increased, so did the strife and warfare among the clans. Druskeden viewed duergar workers as his property, and he drove them ruthlessly. He ordered gigantic construction projects, culminating with the Emperor's Spire, a monstrous tower that jutted out of the mountainside. Known as the Tyrant's Peak to the workers, this became Druskeden's centre of power and was guarded by his most loyal troops.
Druskeden ruled for exactly one-hundred years. As the rights of the workers and then the soldiers faded away, it became clear that all the duergar of Morrakin were nothing but slaves to Druskeden. Finally, the people rose up their hammers and defied the Tyrant. Most of the army, long underpaid and abusively disciplined, joined them. Only the tyrant's personal guard remained loyal, and they defended the Emperor's Spire fanatically. After a number of costly assaults, the rebels retreated. Druskeden rejoiced, sure he had crushed their spirit. Unknown to him, however, engineers were hard at work underneath the Spire. The next morning Druskeden woke up to the sound of explosions. Tyrant's Peak was rocked at its very foundations, and came crashing down, killing Druskeden and every one of his loyalists.
The triumphant rebels set about rebuilding their shattered land. With the Emperor and all his relatives dead, it was decided that the very idea of Emperorship should remain entombed under the ruins of the Tyrant's Peak. The rebels decided to organize a new government that would recognize the rights of the Duer. The clan kings formed a King's Council to run the government, one that would elect from within itself a leader every 30 years. As precedent, they pointed back to the original council that had elected the first Emperor. It was time, they decided, for the clans to control their own fate. Thus was born the Republic of Morrakin.
After hearing this lesson on the history of my people, I was both greatly saddened, and highly impressed that one of mek blood would know so much. Balin sat nearby and scowled, while I decided that I needed to meet with my Clan King.
Realizing that a train was headed our way, we decided that it needed to be warned of the threat to the south. Balin suggested a barricade to stop the train so we might board it and get it turned around. There was enough detritus, and Balin cast an illusion of some sort to make it seem bigger. The train slowed to a stop in front of us.
Unsurprisingly, those on board thought us to be bandits of some type. We swiftly boarded, and, after some small amount of persuasion from Mor'Gan, as well as a spell from their sorceror, we managed to convince the man who made the train work that it should go back to where it came from. Of course, this was a very difficult endeavour, as the train could not actually turn at this part of the track, but had to move in reverse until such time as a loop presented itself.
During our initial discussion with the driver, Feldon went into the passenger area to alert the folk there to what was happening. From behind him stepped a young mek (human) woman, who placed the end of her gun against the back of his head. Feldon calmly talked to her for a moment, presumably trying to convince her that we were not bandits. He appeared to succeed, as she sheathed her weapon soon after.
Tarion had no little difficulty with boarding, as well, given the great owl and the mountain cat that always accompany him. We ended up putting them in the cargo area.
Slowly the train began to move. We had a long trip ahead of us, so I sat down and began to look at the different people. It amazed me how much things have changed since my time. Of course, I elicited more than a few stares, especially from the duer onboard, but surprisingly, no one seemed to wish to approach me. Using the little bit of Trade that Tarion had been teaching me, I asked the young woman who had held her gun to Feldon what her name was. She looked quite surprised, but told me her name was Alexa.
Fortunately for me, Alexa spoke Nautrek fairly well. She explained to me that it was very rare for one of my station to speak with one of such common birth as herself.
I explained to her where and when I had come from, which she was quite fascinated to learn of. She questioned me for hours about what life was like during the Great War, and I in turn asked about the world today. It interests me to hear about how some of the Shapers have now ascended to godhood, and the effects that has had on the world. She also told me about the recent troubles that Morrakin were rumoured to be in.
In the many centuries since the Great Magewar, a lingering threat has occasionally plagued the northlands: the threat of the Undead. Led by a powerful Lich named Acestius, forces of undead monstrosities would periodically sweep north, destroying everything in it's path. The Undead forces were seemingly impervious to the great magical storms that blocked passage to the ancient southlands.
The minions of Belzur did not rest after the Great War. Four centuries later, a sorceror now called Acestius discovered Belzur’s works and used them to develop necromantic magics. Acestius became a disciple of the Mage-god Belzur, renowned for his torturous studies on living creatures. He animated an army of skeletons and zombies, but he was eventually caught and imprisoned within a tomb. His loyal followers, known as Barmarnarn, continued to pass on his teachings despite their master’s apparent defeat. Acestius’s spirit has not lain quietly in his tomb, either. It escaped after six hundred years of imprisonment.
The undead were most fiercely fought by my own clan, the Dalzaks of Morrakin, who would organize the surface peoples living south of the Mountains into militias and armies intended to drive off these monstrosities. This laid the precedent for Morrakin to claim territories outside the Granitehome Mountains, and the Empire expanded itself.
150 years ago, a mighty band of heroes, Vultheim Druskeden, Caladan ur Silverwing, and seven others journeyed south, braving the mighty Magic Storms that still blocked access to the ancient Southlands. Nearly slain crossing the Barrier, they survived due to the leadership of one woman calling herself only "the Sentinel." Reaching an ancient city deep in the heart of the Desert of Sin, these heroes found the lair of Acestius.
A mighty battle ensued, with hordes of undead swarming the group, until finally, in one huge climatic battle between the Sentinel and Acestius, the two were destroyed in a cataclysmic swath of holy flame. Druskeden and Caladan were the only two survivors to return to Morrakin and the north. Druskeden took the throne, establishing a new dynasty as Druskeden I.
When Druskeden returned from the south, he was changed. A shadow seemed to have fallen over his eyes, and his behaviour went from erratic to completely insane over the next century. He was crowned Emperor and began a long reign of abuse and exploitation
Druskeden’s corruption spread chaos through the empire. As his madness increased, so did the strife and warfare among the clans. Druskeden viewed duergar workers as his property, and he drove them ruthlessly. He ordered gigantic construction projects, culminating with the Emperor's Spire, a monstrous tower that jutted out of the mountainside. Known as the Tyrant's Peak to the workers, this became Druskeden's centre of power and was guarded by his most loyal troops.
Druskeden ruled for exactly one-hundred years. As the rights of the workers and then the soldiers faded away, it became clear that all the duergar of Morrakin were nothing but slaves to Druskeden. Finally, the people rose up their hammers and defied the Tyrant. Most of the army, long underpaid and abusively disciplined, joined them. Only the tyrant's personal guard remained loyal, and they defended the Emperor's Spire fanatically. After a number of costly assaults, the rebels retreated. Druskeden rejoiced, sure he had crushed their spirit. Unknown to him, however, engineers were hard at work underneath the Spire. The next morning Druskeden woke up to the sound of explosions. Tyrant's Peak was rocked at its very foundations, and came crashing down, killing Druskeden and every one of his loyalists.
The triumphant rebels set about rebuilding their shattered land. With the Emperor and all his relatives dead, it was decided that the very idea of Emperorship should remain entombed under the ruins of the Tyrant's Peak. The rebels decided to organize a new government that would recognize the rights of the Duer. The clan kings formed a King's Council to run the government, one that would elect from within itself a leader every 30 years. As precedent, they pointed back to the original council that had elected the first Emperor. It was time, they decided, for the clans to control their own fate. Thus was born the Republic of Morrakin.
After hearing this lesson on the history of my people, I was both greatly saddened, and highly impressed that one of mek blood would know so much. Balin sat nearby and scowled, while I decided that I needed to meet with my Clan King.
Last edited:
Tumakhunter
First Post
At last - Remere!
It took a lot longer than I had expected, but eventually we made it to Remere. By this time, I had learnt a fair bit of Trade, a pidgin tongue used internationally.
The train's brakes screamed as we pulled into the station just inside city limits. I still find it odd that a city of this size, and in such a land, would not be walled. Alexa explained that it is because there are no real enemies to defend against out here, but the threat of the Tumak is too great, and I think them fools for not having the best defenses they are able.
As the passengers began leaving the train, Mikkah, the train's wizard, bade my companions and I to hold back: there were people waiting to speak with us. So Mor'Gan, Balin, and I waited with Mikkah, though Feldon had already left the train with Tarion and the chim. We didn't have long to wait - as soon as the other passengers had left, three duerfolk dressed in fine black clothes and ankle length coats (similar to Mor'Gan's "duster") boarded the train and walked toward us.
"Good afternoon, noble folk. My name is Dalzak Naruun Durgush of the Deathunters, and these are my companions Dalzak Garenil Arritak and Dalzak Yoritak Fertulth. If you would kindly accompany us, we have some questions we would like to ask you."
"What exactly would the nature of these questions be, noble Deathunter," asked Mor'Gan with a quiet edge to his voice.
"We have heard report of your encounters in the south, and would know more," responded Durgush. "It is in both our interests that we speak further of this matter in a more private location."
"As you will, then, sir."
"Hey, wha? Yer just goin' with 'em? Are you outta yer freakin' mind, Mor'Gan? These are the freakin' Deathunters fer Ground's sake! Ya can't trust 'em," whispered Balin as we followed these Duer-in Black off the train and toward a nearby building.
"Calm down, Half pint. I know what I'm doing," Mor'Gan responded in the same whisper.
Once inside the building, one of the Deathunters locked the door, while the other went to the back and opened another door I hadn't previously seen. Durgush ushered us inside.
"Let's begin with this outrageous tale of raiders in Tolk, shall we? I've read the report Mikkah sent, but it only tells so much. He wasn't there. You, on the other hand, were. So if you don't mind indulging us, sirs, with your tale?"
"Of course," replied Mor'Gan. "It all began when the train we were on pulled over the last hill before Tolk..."
(Next - Mor'Gan's Story)
It took a lot longer than I had expected, but eventually we made it to Remere. By this time, I had learnt a fair bit of Trade, a pidgin tongue used internationally.
The train's brakes screamed as we pulled into the station just inside city limits. I still find it odd that a city of this size, and in such a land, would not be walled. Alexa explained that it is because there are no real enemies to defend against out here, but the threat of the Tumak is too great, and I think them fools for not having the best defenses they are able.
As the passengers began leaving the train, Mikkah, the train's wizard, bade my companions and I to hold back: there were people waiting to speak with us. So Mor'Gan, Balin, and I waited with Mikkah, though Feldon had already left the train with Tarion and the chim. We didn't have long to wait - as soon as the other passengers had left, three duerfolk dressed in fine black clothes and ankle length coats (similar to Mor'Gan's "duster") boarded the train and walked toward us.
"Good afternoon, noble folk. My name is Dalzak Naruun Durgush of the Deathunters, and these are my companions Dalzak Garenil Arritak and Dalzak Yoritak Fertulth. If you would kindly accompany us, we have some questions we would like to ask you."
"What exactly would the nature of these questions be, noble Deathunter," asked Mor'Gan with a quiet edge to his voice.
"We have heard report of your encounters in the south, and would know more," responded Durgush. "It is in both our interests that we speak further of this matter in a more private location."
"As you will, then, sir."
"Hey, wha? Yer just goin' with 'em? Are you outta yer freakin' mind, Mor'Gan? These are the freakin' Deathunters fer Ground's sake! Ya can't trust 'em," whispered Balin as we followed these Duer-in Black off the train and toward a nearby building.
"Calm down, Half pint. I know what I'm doing," Mor'Gan responded in the same whisper.
Once inside the building, one of the Deathunters locked the door, while the other went to the back and opened another door I hadn't previously seen. Durgush ushered us inside.
"Let's begin with this outrageous tale of raiders in Tolk, shall we? I've read the report Mikkah sent, but it only tells so much. He wasn't there. You, on the other hand, were. So if you don't mind indulging us, sirs, with your tale?"
"Of course," replied Mor'Gan. "It all began when the train we were on pulled over the last hill before Tolk..."
(Next - Mor'Gan's Story)
Tumakhunter
First Post
Mor'Gan's Tale
"What the... What happened here," asked Balin in an awed whisper as the train neared the town, echoing the thoughts of everyone on the train.
I looked at the devastation with a grim sense of forboding twisting a knot deep in the pit of my stomach. Nothing you could have told me could have prepared me for the absolute carnage that the town had become. As the train pulled into the station, we could see the bodies of the townsfolk strewn about on the streets where they had been slain. Just outside the town we had passed the bodies and, in some cases, disembodied heads, of the town's Sherriff and Deputies, all placed high on pikes.
This was a warning.
I was the first to step off the train, followed first by Balin, then Feldon, Tarion, his mountain cat Nymeria, and lastly Victor Hertzog, our supposed benefactor. None of the other passengers wanted to leave the train, and in fact planned to stay only long enough to resupply before heading back north.
Feldon walked around in a shocked daze, looking at the horror that had been wrought here. Tarion and Nymeria began to scout around searching for survivors, and Victor looked on with a mixed look of disgust and indifference.
"Hey, do any of the rest of you see anything wrong with this picture," Feldon called from down the street.
I ran over to where he was standing, trying to determine what he was looking at. "If you mean that every man, woman and child in this godsforsaken town has been slaughtered by who knows what and their bodies left out as a warning, what do you think?"
"That's just it," Feldon responded. "Not every man, woman, and child has been killed. In fact, if you look, there are no children anywhere."
"He's right, you know. Nymeria and I just did a quick circuit of the town, and every corpse is an adult, at least fifteen years old."
"Any indication of who or what might have done this," I asked the others, who had all gathered nearby. No one had an answer. "Right, then. First order of business is to find the bastards who did this, and feed them their toenails. Anyone wants out, I suggest you go now, before that train gets too far away."
"Well, I'll be staying. It's a shame what happened to these people, but I still have my research to conduct. Feldon and I will stay with you for as long as it is convenient to me. Feldon?" Victor looked around almost disdainfully at the silver haired scout.
"Yeah, I'm in," Feldon replied sheepishly, with a look around at the rest of us.
"Definitely. We can't let an atrocity like this go unanswered. And these bodies are fresh, too, not more than a couple of days old. Oh, there's some hurtin' to be had." Balin looked grimmer than I'd ever seen as he gazed at the carnage. Tarion merely nodded his assent.
Slowly we began to walk through the town, searching, this time, for signs of the attackers - bodies, weapons, anything out of the ordinary. The only things we found were the bodies of the townsfolk. Eventually we came to the ferry across the Parcadan River. Word was, there was a mine there that many of the local folk worked at. Perhaps we'd find some clues there, or maybe even survivors.
The boat was still on this side. Perhaps a good sign, perhaps not. The train's whistle blew in the background as it began it's return trip north. We all debated about who actuall knew anything about boating, until Victor pointed the guide rope attached to the underside of the ferry. Without further ado, we climbed aboard and began to pole our way across.
"What the... What happened here," asked Balin in an awed whisper as the train neared the town, echoing the thoughts of everyone on the train.
I looked at the devastation with a grim sense of forboding twisting a knot deep in the pit of my stomach. Nothing you could have told me could have prepared me for the absolute carnage that the town had become. As the train pulled into the station, we could see the bodies of the townsfolk strewn about on the streets where they had been slain. Just outside the town we had passed the bodies and, in some cases, disembodied heads, of the town's Sherriff and Deputies, all placed high on pikes.
This was a warning.
I was the first to step off the train, followed first by Balin, then Feldon, Tarion, his mountain cat Nymeria, and lastly Victor Hertzog, our supposed benefactor. None of the other passengers wanted to leave the train, and in fact planned to stay only long enough to resupply before heading back north.
Feldon walked around in a shocked daze, looking at the horror that had been wrought here. Tarion and Nymeria began to scout around searching for survivors, and Victor looked on with a mixed look of disgust and indifference.
"Hey, do any of the rest of you see anything wrong with this picture," Feldon called from down the street.
I ran over to where he was standing, trying to determine what he was looking at. "If you mean that every man, woman and child in this godsforsaken town has been slaughtered by who knows what and their bodies left out as a warning, what do you think?"
"That's just it," Feldon responded. "Not every man, woman, and child has been killed. In fact, if you look, there are no children anywhere."
"He's right, you know. Nymeria and I just did a quick circuit of the town, and every corpse is an adult, at least fifteen years old."
"Any indication of who or what might have done this," I asked the others, who had all gathered nearby. No one had an answer. "Right, then. First order of business is to find the bastards who did this, and feed them their toenails. Anyone wants out, I suggest you go now, before that train gets too far away."
"Well, I'll be staying. It's a shame what happened to these people, but I still have my research to conduct. Feldon and I will stay with you for as long as it is convenient to me. Feldon?" Victor looked around almost disdainfully at the silver haired scout.
"Yeah, I'm in," Feldon replied sheepishly, with a look around at the rest of us.
"Definitely. We can't let an atrocity like this go unanswered. And these bodies are fresh, too, not more than a couple of days old. Oh, there's some hurtin' to be had." Balin looked grimmer than I'd ever seen as he gazed at the carnage. Tarion merely nodded his assent.
Slowly we began to walk through the town, searching, this time, for signs of the attackers - bodies, weapons, anything out of the ordinary. The only things we found were the bodies of the townsfolk. Eventually we came to the ferry across the Parcadan River. Word was, there was a mine there that many of the local folk worked at. Perhaps we'd find some clues there, or maybe even survivors.
The boat was still on this side. Perhaps a good sign, perhaps not. The train's whistle blew in the background as it began it's return trip north. We all debated about who actuall knew anything about boating, until Victor pointed the guide rope attached to the underside of the ferry. Without further ado, we climbed aboard and began to pole our way across.
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