TacoMann
Just a sweet transvestite
@TacoMann What is this RP? Dark.
Introduction
Chapter 1: The World of Valenor, and the City of Mensus
A world of odd pattern, noted by some cartographers as religious sign, the prime material plane of Valenor bears two oceans, Perfectly circular, and perched opposite each-other on the globe. The twin seas of Daimos and Caisan. At the north bank of each, a mountain range, dense with foliage and life. A total of three great cities, and countless villages, sit scattered throughout the two vast expanses of lush forest. Each every bit as important to our tale as a singular zooplankton is to your diet. North of Daimos's forest and mountains, is an isolated lake, large enough some would call a sea in its own right, surrounded by lush, snowy pine-forests. Further north, is an increasingly sparse polar tundra, eventually coming back around to Caisan's own northern range, which borders naught but more tundra, as the foliage fades.
South of both Daimos and Caisan, sits two (although some would insist it is singular) Vast, desert expanses, each bearing many upon many lush oases, dotting the map as stars do the sky. The deserts known as Jai and Ael (or Vaesi, depending on your religion of choice), merge as barren tundra, inhabited by countless predators, entirely carnivorous in nature. No plant life grows in the antarctic tundra.
East, and West, are where the two great seas differ. Merging the West end of Daimos and the East end of Caisan, is three regions, a small tropical belt, and two separated lush plains. All segregated by intricate, detailed, spiraling patterns of mountains, said to be the bones of a dead god (Or the face of a sleeping giant. Again, up to your religion of choice.) But none of these regions, nor the cities that cross them, are so important, as the East end of Daimos. Two lush rain forests bordering sheer cliff, stand beneath the great, shining city of Mensus. A gorgeous, isolated city, accessible only through the harrowing underpaths of the Ceiragila mountains, the ravenous, unsteady, densely populated sea of Daimos, or the great caravan trail which leads up from Caisan's west coast. Bordering the mountain range which elevates great Mensus, is a series of prairies, higher and higher in elevation, leading down to Caisan's coast, bearing many a great trade port and many a warrior faction.
Yet Mensus itself, the prophets say, has never known war. From anywhere Daimos's edge meets the horizon, it's spiraling towers can be seen. Legends speak so little, yet so greatly of the city. Of an open republic, where the king is champion of the people, in a great vast senate, which works to provide power to both those who can seize it with cunning, and those who can earn it with repute and honesty. Of an enlightened metropolis, filled with great cathedrals and grand chambers of whichever gods would pique the most interest to the listeners. Of Spire upon Spire of magical study and bardic college and watch tower and astronomy guild. Of a great, vast arena, where only the greatest do combat. Of a a throne, where one can speak straight to the heavens.
Countless prophets and wise men claim to have come from Mensus. Many you all know have made the journey. None that you know have returned...
Chapter 2: The Legends of a World: Fallen
Each prime has its legends. Each world has its heroes, working to stop madness, degradation, destruction, and corruption, from consuming their world. The tales of a heroic Dark Elf ranger who works to redeem his kind, and an all-powerful wizard in red, sharing a world. A drunk who stumbled his way to godhood. These are stories that have spread across countless primes. But to Valenor, survive the vestiges of a world whose heroes failed. A prime of lost name, known only as a collection of locations. Of stories of heroism. A fair young queen of great potential, guarded against countless evils by a noble, undefeatable knight. An illusionist in black, and his master and colleagues tracking down and studying the occult. A divine paladin who guards a great daemon, sealed within a stone of pure onyx. A young half-dragon who sets out to protect his village. A city of gorgeous blue steel that houses a conclave of wise elves. A dwarven kingdom in the mountains that holds back the hordes of underdwellers, and acts as the first line of defense against the cruelest beasts below. Countless stories of romance, adventure, and honorable, just heroes, facing underhanded, cruel beasts, and surviving through strength and virtue. All passed by mouth and by lost text to the prime of Valenor. Countless tales without a finite end of many a hero.
All of these tales share a single ending.
One which continues now.
This world has fallen.
They have failed.
It is broken.
It has lost.
It's over.
To them.
....
......
........Their tales are over.....
.....So why are you here?
Volume I: Beyond the Gates of Mensus
The Cobalt Graveyard
The tangled mess now known as the Cobalt Graveyard stretches before you. Twelve thousand years before your entrance into this plane, fifteen immortal foundlings where raised in a village once known as Turehem. As they aged and grew, it became, to their eyes, rapidly apparent, they where not of the same race as their families and friends. In a land of humans, fifteen elves had been born. The long curves of their ears, and their slight frames, would give this away to any who viewed them in their prime. But none of their families saw their prime. As they each turned the age of forty, they where viewed with open scorn, still looking younger than those their adoptive siblings called children. The village, primitive as it was, assumed witchcraft. Assumed them fae beasts switched with true children. They where driven from their home in the forest village. One died of their injuries. One died of starvation on the trek. Two died to predators. At last, eleven came to rest in a barren quarry. A caravan of Dwarves had set here to mine in their early youth, before turning on eachother in greed. Salvaging from the ruined caravan, they found preserved food. Water. Enough to last a week. As desperation grew, the Elven youths made discoveries amongst themselves. Gifts, focusing them in different paths to aid one another. As they scavenged from the barren expanse they had come to call home, they found a strange resonance within the blue ore which dotted the valley. Combining their newfound powers, they made sturdy shelter, in the form of a hollow pillar of shining blue. Harvested by druidic magics, purified through alchemy and arcana, and shaped through nerve, mind, and muscle. The great pillar stood, seventeen feet in height, a single narrow entrance they could each slide through. Reeds woven into bedding for each of the survivors. As they worked the ore together, not only did they forge shelter, and comfort. But they forged a bond. An unspoken pact between the eleven that this was to be their new home. This barred waste, sparse with life and material, would suffice them.
They lived a simple life, there. And with the bonds between them, their numbers began to grow. At first, through the pleasures of life and companionship. But in time, through word of the immortals' shared prosperity. As the first pillar grew crowded, another was erected aside it, the youth who would live in it being taught the process of the first's creation. Another was made. Wider, shorter, to house the growth of fresh crops as the need for food grew greater. Another marking the same. Imported and summoned plants placed inside, condensation from them collecting in the roofs of the pillars. Prosperity began to follow the self-sufficiency. Further growth came with the prosperity. In seven hundred years, and three generations. The elves of the valley had grown from eleven hopeless youths, to a shining community of 172 people. In seven thousand years. The Cobalt Grove, as it came to be known, was a great, spiraling maze, labyrinthine in structure and etiquette, but accommodating. Wealthy. Warm. Trusting. Their texts honored the humans who raised their founders, even if they where cast out. They where a peaceful people. Attacks where quelled quickly, simply by the for-so-long impenetrable defense of the metal hulls they inhabited. Trade was common, and they often provided aid to fledgling communities. Becoming revered in some isolated tribes. The elves of the Cobalt Grove where a people to be admired, leaded by a council of the five remaining foundlings, from the village of Turehem, until its fall.
It was a shining beacon of hope. Of love. Of beauty, art, and solidarity.
Now stands the Cobalt Graveyard. A twisted wasteland of flesh and metal. The maze of pillars a grim shadow of the monument to prosperity it once was. The greatest pillars collapsed and ruined. Torn open and desecrated. Countless other pillars and structures destroyed in their fallen wake. Voices echo from deep within the compounds. Survivors? Beasts? The occaisional strum of a lyre crosses the landscape. The legends that reached your prime spoke of a graveyard of blue metal. Some spoke of great sages, bold heroes, and daring crusades of compassion and love by the immortal elders of the city. Others spoke of a place where love itself was fed upon....
Discovery 1:
-Feral, emaciated elves, so wild and pale and wanton as to be little better than armed ghouls, sprint back and forth across the shadows of this god forsaken place. A wild shriek as they charge their marks, like a beast startling prey. Most of them bear no sense of self preservation it would seem. Only of hunger.
Discovery 2:
-A tablet has been found, marked against the tree in the center of the village. Dwelling within the tree, is a sane, surviving elder. The gnarled elf's age is almost unquantifiable, but he seems rather cordial, and friendly. The tablet itself bears a poem of sorts, and the signatures of the founders.
Our First True Tree
Planted by the elders, to celebrate the birth of the first child.
The fruit of this tree shall be shared to all who wish to join our land.
Around this tree, a garden of our hopes and love shall grow.
With the growth of this tree, so too, shall we grow.
As a community. As a people. And as a Family.
No longer shall we be survivors, clinging to life desperately out of our spires.
We shall be a family. Accepting all in need with open arms.
We are not the women and men of blue metal.
We are the family of The Cobalt Grove.
And as long as this grove lives lush, there shall be hope.
-Lysandir Tyrsif, The Eldest, The First Sower
-Meyalla Ceilfenne, The First Harvester
-Victoire Naizen, The First Shaper
-Lysandra Odnyr, The First Hunter
-Aerii Lonalli, The First Brewer
-Lyanna Wylfreyyr, The First Author
-Iirella Lonalli, The First Soothsayer
-Naelai Ceilfenne, The First Healer
-Lochanall Tyrsif, The First Seer
-Amell Naithanal, The First Gardener
-Asyrai Skyfair, The First Mother, and First Guardian.
Discovery 3:
A second tablet found clutched in the grip of a long dead elf, only assumable to be "Arrasyd". The fate of "Taelan" is unknown. With this world, death seems likely.
My Darling Arrasyd,
The lost children are numerous, and I fear I may not return from my journey to the Crystalline Palace in time. It is said that the Maiden of the Shards can work miracles, but even so, I must beg you, my love. Please. Do not become lost. No matter how it pains us both, we must hold our honor. We must stay true. Survival is not as important as family, and I would sooner waste to ash, than risk you seeing me as the beast so many of the children have become. If I do not return, know this: I love you. I've loved you since our first shaping together. All I do from now on, I do with you in heart and in mind. I dreamed so much of my life that perhaps one day we could be married before the first tree. That we could grow to Eldhood together in a small pillar by it, after travelling the lands outside the wastes. If I do not return by the decade's end, and you still live, please, flee the grove. Flee to the woodlands. Flee to mountains. Do not linger here.
With much love, and a heavy heart,
Taelan
I hold you with me in my heart, no matter how far I travel, or how long.
- Fallen Ones?
-?
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