Current events
From Jaggedthrone
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The temple lay in ruins, cast down by some mechanical giant. He sneered and threatened; he blustered and roared. And finally, he bargained. He promised the temple--and all in it--for a mask of blue stone, stolen from his face by faerie hands and taken far beyond this world. Boldness was called for, but we are bold. | The temple lay in ruins, cast down by some mechanical giant. He sneered and threatened; he blustered and roared. And finally, he bargained. He promised the temple--and all in it--for a mask of blue stone, stolen from his face by faerie hands and taken far beyond this world. Boldness was called for, but we are bold. | ||
| - | The faerie lands are beauty and barbarism. Perfection that | + | The faerie lands are beauty and barbarism. Perfection that pains the eye flirts with lumbering beastmen that stink of dirt. Our cunning formulated the plan; our heroism set it into motion; our boldness saw it through. The mask was ours--won fairly in honorable combat. Brandishing our prize, we left those ephemeral lands and returned to the temple. |
Current revision as of 04:34, 15 February 2008
Following our victory over the fae, refugees flocked to Sand-Covers-Jade, eager to worship the gods newly born. None would blame them: we are magnificent. But the crowd that surrounded our home was soon threatened by an invading army, headed by a rival divinity. Jerach Frostblood demanded five conditions: all unacceptable, but many (fortunately) unenforceable.
- Sand-Covers-Jade would instate a new leader as satrap.
- The city would erect a new temple dedicated to the Dragon-Blooded.
- The townspeople would send 300 men every five years to Chiaroscuro, where they would be trained in the ways of war.
- Each year, 100 townspeople would be taken from the town as slaves.
- The Wild Hunt would once more scour the taint of Anathema from the city and countryside.
We gods were torn. We could not fight an army--or could we?--and we would not condemn our city to the sword. We are not yet so far removed from the mortals we were, and those mortal concerns that once vexed us. We bowed before Frostblood, and agreed to consider the offer--and immediately met to plot how best to decline. Lesser men might call deceit what great men recognize as cunning. We are cunning.
The council was interrupted by the arrival of a young prophet. Sun-baked and sand-blind, he asked the help of heroes to save his town and temple--to save the innocents that yet survived. No hero could refuse, and we are heroic.
The temple lay in ruins, cast down by some mechanical giant. He sneered and threatened; he blustered and roared. And finally, he bargained. He promised the temple--and all in it--for a mask of blue stone, stolen from his face by faerie hands and taken far beyond this world. Boldness was called for, but we are bold.
The faerie lands are beauty and barbarism. Perfection that pains the eye flirts with lumbering beastmen that stink of dirt. Our cunning formulated the plan; our heroism set it into motion; our boldness saw it through. The mask was ours--won fairly in honorable combat. Brandishing our prize, we left those ephemeral lands and returned to the temple.
