Clandestine Crusade Prologue: Against All Odds (RPG)

Avatar image for warrior_king
Warrior_King

104

Forum Posts

0

Wiki Points

0

Followers

Reviews: 0

User Lists: 0

These are our forests.

For generations, our fathers have walked the old roads. They told their sons to beware the noises at night. But never before had it been anything like this.

In Lower Morrogoth, the heart of the Dread Wastes, there stood the Were-moors. Swampland as far as the eye could see, gripped by both the bitter cold of the Frigid South and the temperate climate of the raging ocean. We migrated to higher ground, but not too high as to invite the wrath of the native hill-giants. We were humble in this environment, crippled by sickness and death on all sides. But we survived, always looking into the night with a steely gaze. The humans of the Were-moors became known as Darkmanes, for the vast majority of them were born with colorless eyes and black hair. They were a grim folk, haunted by the legends of their forefathers.

"Don't go out at night," or "Don't answer the door unless you're expecting company," were common warnings.

But nothing could prepare them for what happened ten years ago. Just months before Sergei Karnov went mad with power, the entire population of the villages in the Were-moors disappeared. None could say for certain where they went, and the shadows in the swamps have been multiplying ever since.

---

Ten large, clawed fingers maneuvered across the surface of the old book, their size and vicious appearance giving no clue to the finesse with which they combed through the pages. Two eyes, glowing a fierce crimson, observed the lettering, recognizing it as Common, and started reading. This was Reginald Stathorn, former Grand Warlock of King Jonathan Blacksight, and his mission here, in the hollowed-out libraries of Mithranos seemed to lead only to another dead end. The city had been quiet all day. Only now did the grey skies outside start to drizzle out the characteristic sprinkle that always drenched the depressing landscape.

Stathorn crinkled his muzzle, catching a whiff of ghoul in the area. He shoved the books collected on the table in front of him into his cloak and started to run. His arms swayed wide from right to left, giving him more momentum to work with given his equally strong stride. He leaped to a lamp post, and from there to the rooftops. Thirty more buildings separated him from the edge of the once-bustling metropolis. With each step towards the end, he could not help but look around. He was passing the downtown district, which would be exploding with lights and sounds in celebration of the Midsummer Festival. Now, the tattered remnants of old shops stared back up at him. Shambling undead grunted in a bleak unison, oblivious to anything outside of fresh victims to attack.

Stathorn did not specifically fear the ghouls. Ever since being transformed into a beast of the night, the undead did not seem to want to eat him, possibly thinking his flesh would be 'tainted' or something. The same phenomenon occurred with all Wolfen, and their immunity to the Desecrated plague could be all but assured. However, with the Overlord more active than ever, no-one could be too careful. Sergei would never tolerate a revolution in his backyard, and that was precisely what the Wolfen were planning on doing.

The Winter War offered so many opportunities for retribution and Sergei seemed intent on taking his armies all the way to Xiong Mao. Even with their immunity to the Desecrated plague, the Wolfen could still die. Fighting the endless hordes of Za'klax'is purely for revenge was folly. They had to find a home, and Mithranos was the perfect place - for it used to be theirs.

The Wolfen plague did not spread as far south as it could have. Infighting and civil war kept the infected Darkmanes from trying to reason with their uninfected brethren. Soon, Sergei unleashed his master plan and turned his entire country into mindless undead slaves, including most of Mithranos. Now, the entire city sits idle, a monument to the Overlord's tyranny.

Stathorn's recovery of the maps to the sewers would be the first step in retaking Mithranos - and securing a future for the Wolfen race.