The Campaign Builder's Guild

Note: This is the setting thread. Please direct all comments to the corresponding discussion thread. (http://www.thecbg.org/e107_plugins/forum/forum_viewtopic.php?26164)


[ic]I am like an artist, and my blade is like my brush, tracing a beautiful image in arterial red. I scarcely feel the protest of my burning muscles, my overworked body. I am, I realise, enjoying myself. The Malmur fall back, and I stop swinging my sword. As the furious motion comes to an abrupt halt, I stagger, and then catch myself. The sun is nearly setting, for the third time since this battle started.

Here, in this pass between cyclopean mountains, in this border fort built on the ruins of a Uéllae village, I am most likely going to die. There are far too many Malmur, and they are far too ferocious. When I was a child, in Mahathé, they were almost legendary. They dwelt half a continent away, and their bloodthirsty skill at arms was known only through stories.

Now I can see it in the horrific sights around me, smell it in the carrion stench of the dead, taste it in the blood that fills my mouth. Wait, there is blood in my mouth? I must have bitten my tongue. Odd that I didn't notice until now. It is almost fully severed. As I stand in shocked realisation, the Malmur rally for another attack. I glance around me. Only three others remain beside me, guarding this shattered gateway. I can hear fighting raging elsewhere nearby.

As my attention returns to the charging Malmur, I struggle to lift my sword. I open my mouth to shout my defiance, and the blood cascades down my chin and onto my chest. I realise, as I cleave the first warrior to reach me from shoulder to hip, that it will cause my breastplate to rust if it isn't cleaned away soon.[/ic]

Welcome to Reth Jaleract, a continent where the Human species has recently arrived, and is carving a place for itself, wading as it does in blood; the blood of both its own and of the elder races of Reth Jalaract, the peoples whose territory they are encroaching on.

Themes:
Change, the contrasting savagery and nobility of human nature, religion as a tool for both good and evil, et cetera.

Genre:
Low-magic, mid-to-high-fantasy, sword and sorcery influenced.

Tone:
Dark, gritty, unpleasant, but with a few rare rays of hope.

Conflicts:
Abundant, in many forms; political, religious, military, some even cultural or philosophical. This is a land undergoing a great upheaval.

Rules:
The setting is written with Iron Heroes d20 in mind, but can be used with any system that can be adapted to it.

[ic]I weep for Tanalere, my lost love,
For marble spires rearing above,
For tree-lined streets, my feet did tread,
For the verdant parks, with their flowerbeds,
For shimmering fountains in the plazas,
For the golden statues of our forefathers,
For the palace of the royal court,
For brothel visits, always too short.

I sit here and weep for this,
Listening to the rain's hiss,
In this city of "New Tanalere."
There is little of beauty here.

Half a world away, ruins lie,
Of Old Tanalere, where my mother died.
My memories ever westwards gaze,
For that city under golden heat-haze,
Longing to be there once again.
I need more wine, to ease the pain.[/ic]
[spoiler=New Tanalere]~placeholder~[/spoiler]
[spoiler=The Faelen Borders][ic]The uneasy peace that has lasted here nearly two years is a peace in name alone. True, there are no more grand advances, no more sieges, epic battles, atrocious slaughters or glorious victories. But soldiers still die, on both sides, in brutal, petty skirmishes between border patrols and spiteful little raids into enemy territory.

The traders who come from the capitol, so-called New Tanalere, they don't understand. They see our grim faces, our use-worn weapons, the dull look left in our eyes after too much fear and adrenaline, and they say to one another, "These border-guards, do they not know the war is over? We are at peace with the Faelen now!"

To Crosis with them! They do not know that we still bleed and die, they do not know of the sacrifices we make constantly to keep these lands secure for this new Tanalese nation.

Perhaps the only people, other than the tough border folk who dwell here along with us, who truly understand are our enemies, the Faelen. That is, if they are indeed people. Their appearance, surely, is more bestial than anything.

Either way, they are foes worthy of both respect and fear. Even unarmed, their teeth and claws could maim a man with ease, and their silent speed through the forest has resulted in many a bloody ambush.

Just last week, I and my comrades were victim to such an attack. A mist clung in the shadows between the trees that day, and visibility was poor. We should have expected trouble, as the weather made it far too easy for the enemy to use stealth. It had been quiet, though, just recently, and we were off our guard. We trudged on, through the woods, swathed in cloaks against the damp, each lost in their own thoughts.

Then the forest came alive with javelins and leonine warcries. Half our number died in the first few seconds, unable to even draw their weapons due to the suddenness of the assault. I wrenched my blade from its scabbard, hunkered down against a tree for cover against the throwing-spears, and then leapt from my hiding-spot as the enemy drew near, to hack through a thick mane of fur, into the throat beneath. Blood fountained from the wound as my sword bit deep. We fought a running battle nearly the entire way back to the garrison, and in the end only five of us made it alive.

I cannot help but admire the Faelen, really. Their prodigious strength, their skill at arms, their maniac bravery. Even their animalistic forms have a kind of savage beauty to them. Perhaps, one day, when there is peace, and by that I mean true peace, I will live among them, learn their ways.

Bah, to wish for true peace! I may as well dream some child's fantasy, a handsome prince stealing me from this place to make me his bride. Foolishness!

Besides, the Faelen are pagans, they revere their ancestors, not the Duelist Gods; Ammet and Crosis. Learn their ways? What was I thinking? The only thing I will learn from them is the path to the underworld, when one of them finally gets through my guard.

Perhaps that will not be such a bad thing, though. An end to this ceaseless violence in these chilly, rain-doused forests. No, I will be strong, and I will survive. Only two more years until my tour of duty ends. Then I can retire in the relative safety of the capitol, and live quietly on my military pension. But will I truly be able to enjoy that, after my experiences here in the borderlands? Maybe not...[/ic]

Roughly half of the Human population of the Faelen Borders is made up of Tanalese soldiers, and the majority of those who aren't officially army personel own weapons and are more than familiar with their use.

Most live in small, tight-knit communities clustered around military garrisons and other defensive positions, although some larger extended families with a good stock of weapons prefer individual farmsteads away from these village-forts.

The people are hardy, clannish, determined and, on the whole, suspicious of strangers. They spend most of their days hard at work, clearing back the forest to reach the rich soil, and farming the plots of land they have cleared. If it weren't for the continued danger posed by the Faelen, this edge of the Tanalese territory would swiftly have been deforested and would provide a wealth of crops.

The religion, as with most Tanalese, is predominantly Duelist, although there are a scattering of other faiths. There is no official governmental body for the region, but the military commanders often assume the role of de-facto governor for the area their troops patrol.

Traders come relatively often from deeper in the Tanalese lands, and some even cross the border, with an escort, to trade with the Faelen. Some, however, do not return. They primarily trade for the timber provided as the woods are cleared, as the rich soil which the forest thrives on has yet to be exploited past the point of simply feeding those who farm it.

There are no Uéllae ruins in this part of Reth Jaleract, as it was Faelen territory, not Uéllae, before the Humans came. There are, however, some Kheb remains, hidden away, unexplored, in the deep forest, overgrown with dense foliage and eroded by rain and the passage of time.

The war the Tanalese fought to obtain this land was long and hard. Although it has not truly ended, it has died down over the past few years, as the Humans have gained all the territory they need at present, and the Faelen, for the moment, at least, lack the military strength for a serious counterattack.

The largest settlement in the area is a city by name only, being the size of a large town. Its name is Samerure. The streets are little more than muddy pathways between the ramshackle buildings, which are mostly of wood, but some also built with stone or thatch.

Two buildings dominate, rising above the single-story shacks and cotteges around them; the keep, and the Duelist cathedral. These two buildings, and the two men who preside over them, effectively rule Samerure.

General Tashiim oversees the Tanalese army's operations throughout the Faelen Borders, and holds military power in the town, centred around the keep. He is a tall, stony-featured man with greying hair and a long chin. His personality is abrasive and abrupt, all niceties worn away through years of warfare.

Mandrite Kalassen exerts a supposedly spiritual control over the populace, as much as demanding donations to the church, and holding a kind of bizzare, ecclesiastical court in the sumptuous cathedral. He is of average height, with slightly boyish features, and is fond of the sound of his own voice, which he often employs to give long, tedious sermons on the virtues of giving to the clergy.

Life in Samerure is not pleasant, as gangs of armed priests wander the town, enforcing donations, but it is safer than elsewhere on the Faelen Borders, due to the large military presence.[/spoiler]
[spoiler=The Coastlands]~placeholder~[/spoiler]


[spoiler=Placeholder Story][ic]"Commander, lookouts report three warships aproaching from the northeast. They are flying Tanalese colours, and also Duelist symbols."

I looked up from my meal as the sergeant spoke, and I must admit I felt shock at his words. From what little I knew, the Duelist church held a great deal of political power with the Tanalese, but I had not thought it enough that they might instigate a war.

On the other hand, a crusade against the Mounteskite "heresy" had been brewing for nearly a decade in Mahathé. Perhaps now they felt settled enough here in Reth Jaleract to actually begin it. No matter, these three ships alone should be manageable. I sprang to my feet, knocking the table and spilling a little of my soup.

"Well, sergeant, what are you waiting for? Tell the Thoughtknife and the Mounteskier's Wisdom to make ready, and alert the ballista crews along the seafront. How long until they come within range?"

"Perhaps a quarter of an hour, sir." The soldier replied before dashing out to execute my commands.

I stepped after him into the rich afternoon sunlight, closing the door behind me and absent-mindedly pulling a wayward frond of the seemingly-omnipresent scarletvine away from the window beside it.

As I hurried down to the docks, I felt the recently closed sores on my back reopen painfully. Yesterday had been this month's Flagellation, and I, along with every other citizen of the Vermilion Islands, had bared myself and trembled, nude, in the chill that lurked before dawn even in these balmy climes, prostrated for the holy men's whips.

The two warships were already prepared to sail as I reached them. After a brief word with Captain Phessiro, I embarked on the Mounteskier's Wisdom, and we set sail to intercept the Tanalese. As we neared the ships, a hail of arrows flocked out from them, but even before they reached us, the ballistas on the shoreline opened fire.

The sky was rent with projectiles as we closed, men screaming on all five ships as they were hit, sailcloth being torn and wood splintered. I drew my blade, and moved towards the rail as we drew close to the lead vessel, ready to board them, and turn them away from our holy paradise, away from these islands who sheltered the beauty of the Mounteskite faith.[/ic][/spoiler]


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[spoiler=Torlánie][ic]Thirty-two years we have dwelt here. Thirty-two years since the Mahathelur was slain, and sacrificed reincarnation that the energies of Her soul might sweep up the Human peoples and take them from Mahathé. Thirty-two years since the Devilwars. Thirty-two years since my birthplace was razed to the ground. Thirty-two years since Shessender died, and still every night I dream of him, long for him.

My masterpiece is nearly complete now. With the end of its terrible construction, I am sure will come the end of my life. Torlánie XXVIII, the self-proclaimed God whom I both loathe and serve, will no doubt execute me to prevent my skills ever creating another architectural wonder such as this. The temple to his magnificence. The temple which a hundred thousand have died to build, overworked and underfed, slaving beneath my gaze.

Torlánie, how I hate you, you bastard.

Perhaps, when the time comes, I will find a way to escape. Although, where I might flee to, I have no idea. Now, in these dull grey hours of dawn, I feel more alone than ever. I have no friends, no family. Just my work. I love my work, though I hate myself for it. It has been the death of many, and it is a tribute to the supposed greatness of a despot I revile, and yet as I gaze from my window at the enormity of it, I cannot help but feel pride. Even in Mahathé, there were few edifices greater.

Maybe I will flee. Some might be content to have lived to the age of fifty-four, but I still feel I have something to achieve. Something wonderful, to erase the stain on my soul that my current work will leave. Which leads me back to the question of where to go. New Alruyev, perhaps, or the Vermilion Islands, where the Mounteskites have settled. I will decide nearer the time. There are still two or three months before the temple is finished. Unless, of course, Torlánie decides to be rid of me before then.

I must go now, dear reader. Work calls. [/ic][/spoiler]
[spoiler=Akheft]~placeholder~[/spoiler]
[spoiler=Hassangra]~placeholder~[/spoiler]



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