With "The Aberrant Witch" gone, the world of Oerth once more enters a time of peace. But for how long?
Score: 126789 | 2/7/21 |
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Containing all the most fundamental forces in the multiverse, Oerth possesses some of the most well-known magic-users ever conceived: Mordenkainen, Bigby, and Evard just to name a few. The Flaeness is awash with political intrigue, monstrous hordes, and more action than an adventurer could live in a hundred lifetimes.
After the defeat and dismissal of the Elder One known as "The Aberrant Witch", the Flanaess was left relatively unscathed. Despite her magic-eating aura, the rise and fall of the Preservers, and the appearance and disappearance of the dragon-cult known as the Veilsworn, the common man could see little changed in his everyday world. Yet no great evil is purged without a price, and no good deed goes unpunished.
In the coldest reaches of the Underdark, where drow and duergar do not walk, where the illithids do not rule, where even the beholders and abolethi do not go, a prisoner is set free. Bound since time immemorial within an ensnaring imprisonment spell lies another evil, one that once thirsted for the souls of the Flanaess. It took time, years in fact, for the beast to reach the surface. The world had changed. He could feel it. Magic had come, gone, and come again only recently, yet he had stayed the same, locked away beneath the world. What had transpired to free him? He knew not.
It did not take long for him to find that the world was still harsh, bitter, and cruel. Monsters still roamed the woodlands and hills where the prisoner tread his first steps in the light of day, he could feel it. A smile. He waited until nightfall, when he knew the monsters would grow bold, meditating on his coming plans. Before long, he found himself surrounded. The traveler stood, and eyed his unknowing prey.
Ears. Eyes. Fingernails...no, CLAWS...24 points of recognition confirmed. General mannerisms consistent with last known specimen. Family: fata. Genus: hiems. Species: mala mala noctis. Hobgoblin. It appears as though time has not changed as much as I first hypothesized.
Before the warband surrounding him, the traveler raised a hand, one finger pointing at the leader. "Hrugruk nok thu-im grehel vyahstuk. Macgt khel fhajik". I mean...no harm, but will...no prey tonight. I...words for you.
The leader is intrigued. It's been a while since he's heard his native tongue spoken by a human, and though he does not recognize all the words, the one before him has an undeniable aura of power. The words he speaks do not make complete sense, but something deep in his bones and the bones of his ancestors, resonate with them.
He gestures, and his men lower their weapons to the ground. "K'kilinel fhaj." Speak, stranger.
The traveler grins. He would smile, but he knows it would upset his carnivorous new friends. He takes a few steps forward and places his hand on the warband leader's shoulder. A glint of fire seems to pulse from his eye. ".... .. ... ...."
The power of the words seems to pulse through the undergrowth. The wind picks up, and all fall on bended knee before the one they once thought of as prey.
Within a moment, the wind dies down, the rustling leaves still, and all is almost as it once was. "Rise, my companions, and share your pain with me," the newcomer speaks kindly and gestures them near. Though his words no long are heard as Goblin, nor any tongue they know. "And once more, compatriots, in our own tongue, let's hear it."
Each responds, fist to chest: "Hail to the King!"