Fragments of Eternity, pt. I

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The Secret Forge

Who in their right minds would travel to an island awash in the Plague Sea, shrouded in ash-clouds, lit only by the fire-breathing mountains on the edge of the Great Dark of the south?
Only those resolved to follow in the Witch Lord’s footsteps, those seeking ultimate power… For beneath the charred rock and pestilent waters lies the secret sanctuary of the Old Gods, the legendary Titan Forge, ravaged by the Torment’s own furor...

Better it had sunk that day, put to rest below the writhing ocean, a memory of a fairer age. For now the island is a blistering hell drowned in growling thunder, resounding through an air that itself is a poisonous fume, despite all fury of Storm Winds.
Even so, if legends are true, this scenery is the least of a Seeker’s woes, for they say that Doom of the Old World was sealed here, and left its searing Mark, when the spiteful Dethregor let open the gates into fiery Abyss. From there, he summoned a demon horde that would bring ruin to his brothers and all their proud creations…
Thus the Secret Forge was stormed by the creatures from the Nether realms, yet vague are the words spoken of the Old Gods’ fate and their last stand.
That day however, Twin Peaks became Evil Twins, their fire never cooling, their heads ever smoldering, turning skies black and crimson as they burn bright against the Great Dark of the Nether Ocean.

And every now and then, a sailor hears them growling with the voice of an ancient Doom, and few can withstand the madness of despair it imparts on their souls.
Some say, it is the roar of the trapped fiends, raging in wanton bloodlust, yet unable to break the runed walls of the elder sanctuary. Others hear the long dead Titans, the Gods of Old, speaking with shattered voices of all that was lost in fire and shadow.

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Nashmerul, Enclave of the Fallen

Tel’Razi were the first race on Edalar ever to reach to the Stars, ever to attempt the Ascension.
Guided by two Teachers from the Upper Worlds with mighty gifts and visions, they broke away from enslavement by Underking Dethregor, whose will bound them for centuries in the darkness of Great Below.
So an Age began in which cities were built unlike any before or after, the Silent Masters creating things of magic and technology none had ever dreamed of...

Yet their Ascension was doomed by their own nature, ever so proud to have risen above their station as slaves, beholden to their own ingenuity, their newly gained perfection.

So it was that the Silent Archon, entrusted with the third Instrument of Fate, sought in secret to wring power from both of the Great Masters, to make himself a God, and his race the sole and immortal rulers of Edalar, above and below.
In a cunning scheme of deception, he set the two brother at each other’s throats, and struck a bargain with another, greater power...
The ruin came with fire from the sky, black ichor from the ground, nameless horrors from beyond.
Long was the war waged, for Tel’Razi were mighty and proud. When final downfall was upon them,
some abandoned their pride and fled, disillusioned, back to the deepest reaches of the Underworld. There, some pledged allegience to their former master Dethregor, transformed but still alive. He mocked them and hurt them, but made them his lieutenants to rule in the vast Below.
Now the knowledge they gained from the Teachers, though dearly paid for, allows them to be the masters of the Deep, despite their frail bodies and broken spirit.
Their experiments with flesh and anatomy brought forth grotesque creatures that soon drove away all other dwellers of the murky caves... 
What ancient wonders may these fallen creatures harbor in their hidden vaults? Many wish to find out, yet few ever dare to.

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Greyrock Bastion

No other fortress can boast a history as rich in blood and torment as Greyrock, nor a call as blood-curdling as has its name.

Near five centuries ago, the War of Tears raged across Ersidria. Morkei Witch Lord drove his Black Host onwards against the unwalled borders of Yr'Sieth, the First Kingdom.
Fair though they are, the elves made his Host pay with blood for every inch of their wooded land. To see an army of men joined with fiends from the Shade, invading their lands filled them with a black fury. Resolved to end the arrogant sorcerer’s march before it truly began, the elven lords met him with everything they had, and fearsome indeed was their strength that day.
Yet it was just as the Witch Lord had hoped - for he knew that his Mastery could not be matched, and the elf king fell to his wrath, same as all others who challenged Him, Morkei, the Ascending Dominarch. At last, seeing their hope failing, the elf queen took survivors back deep into shades of green, where they prepared for a different kind of war.
Victorious on the battlefield, invading troops were fast falling to the ever more painful raids and ambushes of the vengeful Yrsithians, lingering in the ancient forests.
Seeing his minions’ morale failing, Morkei was filled with dark fury - for he knew he had the Mastery, and his triumph will be complete, could they not see it?
So he performed a sinister ritual, in which, it is said, he sacrificed something he would regret until the day of his fall.
Yet the magic was strong - for it raised from the ocean’s deep a mountain of pale gray stone and shaped it into an impregnable fortress...

Thus had Morkei seal his fate, even as he gave his followers a lasting symbol of his supreme power.
Enraptured by the sight of its dark majesty, his minions were at work in the newborn fortress day and night. They began digging ever deeper recesses to house their forges and ritual chambers. Before long, the latter were filled with prisoners, whose suffering fueled the cruel magic of Morkei’s henchmen.

When Morkei’s Reign of Sorcery came to a sudden, ruinous end, allegiances shifted, and treachery flourished.
Soon came the grim host of Gallah Eresar, the Avenging prince, to cleanse away the remnants of Witch Lord’s reign. As they prepared for a costly siege though, a big black raven brought word from Delovar Innai, Morkei’s regent.
The man pleaded for his life, claiming ignorance of the bigger picture and innocence of the horrendous crimes the Black Host committed on the elven lands. And there, Eresar men saw him hoisting the white flag of surrender...
Yet the lord of Arium was wary of traps and treachery laid by his spiteful nemesis even in defeat.
So the prince agreed, but only if Delovar would first release all his prisoners and let me walk out his gates unchained and unharmed, followed by his guards, unarmed and in full surrender.
The regent’s raven brought his consent, and at dusk one heard commotion rising behind the grim walls.
Soon it was clear that the wrath of the long-tortured men and elves was too great to control, and the Bastion was overwhelmed by a murderous mob. In the riot, the erstwhile regent was slain, though not before he was tortured in ways unfit for civil description. Next to his white flag was hoisted a gruesome banner made of his flesh.

With heavy hearts, the Eresar host turned south to save what was left of the elven kingdom, and so the prince never entered the sinister fortress...
Thus to this day, the Bastion was never stormed, its majesty never truly challenged or dimmed, but only passed from one hand to another.

And so today, the master of Greyrock is baron Urdd, the late heir of the Sezar line... For centuries, his line has served faithfully to the Allkingdom and the Archduke of Orodris, making Ravenwood the most stable and lawful region of Ersidria.
But soon after the Fugue started, dark rumors of treachery and betrayal came to the Ravenwood capital...

Whatever his reasons, if Dregaine truly did turn his back on the work of his fathers, what could anyone do about it? The baron knows his stronghold is impregnable, and so do we all.

And yet... where an army fails, a man resolved and with nothing to lose may find redemption by triumph before his end. A man like you, perhaps?