T
The Underdark Rises
Guest
Original poster
https://www.iwakuroleplay.com/threads/flimsy-thread-that-is-hope.33070/
The frost tipped peaks of the spine of the cosmos was known for it's harsh environment. A world where Drow, Gnoll, Dwarf and orc battled for supremacy over the scarce food and herds tucked away under the heartless stones. Here the dominion of man and mer had no influence, it was a free and vicious world. Vicariously the mountain slew all unfit to walk on her bosom, showing no clemency to the young, old or disabled. In that world only a single law was accepted as truth amongst the warring factions, Survival of the fittest. Steel clashed, as it's hoarse whisper sent forth a harrowing tale of blood, which like a waterfall ran down the peaks. The bodies piled, yet despite the tension the races respected each others prowess. Chalking up their hate as necessity, not foul bigotry.
But all of this changed, one day bone wings creaked as a large swarthy shadow blotted out the once crisp cerulean skies. Black smoke danced wildly in the air, only dissipated by the frigid wind. Fire had now adorned the mountain, and acid claimed the lives of many. Three Dragons were the first, flesh rotted as organs petrified and trapped within their bones dangled. These undead behemoths, bringers of death and a ravenous hunger that no blood could sedate. Were but the first to rain death on those around and on the misty peaks.
Like an endless wave of plague and woe they marched, a sea of the walking dead. Breath riddled with the decayed aroma of life no more, eyes hollow with but the shimmering glisten of the soul that once was. This mindless horde of the dead knew no rest, no pain, no fear and no hunger. They needed no supplies, no support and could turn the populace against their own. Those that lived at the southern base fell first, none spared as those who once fought the undead, now joined them. A foul lich king had risen from the frozen tundra's of the south. Where sheets of ice and frost capable of consuming flesh lingered. He recruited the necromancers of the land, using them as officers n his army as giant crystal towers brithed from foul sorcery stood high and proud.
On the undead flesh was not snow, nor ice but the ash of those consumed by dragon fire. Pine trees once proud and lush, now like torches erupted burning an orange flame. An omen of what was to come of their world. The species of the mountain ranges united, under a single banner they fought putting aside their differences. But all they could so, was slow the inevitable outcome. In an act of desperation a single representative was sent out into the world, in the hopes of forging alliances and finding the fabled artifact of the God's, the frozen sun. A magical tool that is said to grant the holder any wish they desired.
This representative of the people was an orc battle matron, one fight to survive the harshness of the realm, and one with enough intellect to stand a chance of wavering through the foolish presumptions of the world regarding the inhabitants of the peaks. Her name is Drucilla Gra'burke, daughter of the chief and heir to the throne. She ventured from the mountains, watching as fire and war swept her home, the cries of the dying echoing deep into the forest along the norther slope. Failure was not an option, and time a luxury not on her side.
This is where our story begins...In a way like many others, with a series of unforeseen events, and a little luck.
Though this is part of the Intro, it sums up the plot decent enough.
The frost tipped peaks of the spine of the cosmos was known for it's harsh environment. A world where Drow, Gnoll, Dwarf and orc battled for supremacy over the scarce food and herds tucked away under the heartless stones. Here the dominion of man and mer had no influence, it was a free and vicious world. Vicariously the mountain slew all unfit to walk on her bosom, showing no clemency to the young, old or disabled. In that world only a single law was accepted as truth amongst the warring factions, Survival of the fittest. Steel clashed, as it's hoarse whisper sent forth a harrowing tale of blood, which like a waterfall ran down the peaks. The bodies piled, yet despite the tension the races respected each others prowess. Chalking up their hate as necessity, not foul bigotry.
But all of this changed, one day bone wings creaked as a large swarthy shadow blotted out the once crisp cerulean skies. Black smoke danced wildly in the air, only dissipated by the frigid wind. Fire had now adorned the mountain, and acid claimed the lives of many. Three Dragons were the first, flesh rotted as organs petrified and trapped within their bones dangled. These undead behemoths, bringers of death and a ravenous hunger that no blood could sedate. Were but the first to rain death on those around and on the misty peaks.
Like an endless wave of plague and woe they marched, a sea of the walking dead. Breath riddled with the decayed aroma of life no more, eyes hollow with but the shimmering glisten of the soul that once was. This mindless horde of the dead knew no rest, no pain, no fear and no hunger. They needed no supplies, no support and could turn the populace against their own. Those that lived at the southern base fell first, none spared as those who once fought the undead, now joined them. A foul lich king had risen from the frozen tundra's of the south. Where sheets of ice and frost capable of consuming flesh lingered. He recruited the necromancers of the land, using them as officers n his army as giant crystal towers brithed from foul sorcery stood high and proud.
On the undead flesh was not snow, nor ice but the ash of those consumed by dragon fire. Pine trees once proud and lush, now like torches erupted burning an orange flame. An omen of what was to come of their world. The species of the mountain ranges united, under a single banner they fought putting aside their differences. But all they could so, was slow the inevitable outcome. In an act of desperation a single representative was sent out into the world, in the hopes of forging alliances and finding the fabled artifact of the God's, the frozen sun. A magical tool that is said to grant the holder any wish they desired.
This representative of the people was an orc battle matron, one fight to survive the harshness of the realm, and one with enough intellect to stand a chance of wavering through the foolish presumptions of the world regarding the inhabitants of the peaks. Her name is Drucilla Gra'burke, daughter of the chief and heir to the throne. She ventured from the mountains, watching as fire and war swept her home, the cries of the dying echoing deep into the forest along the norther slope. Failure was not an option, and time a luxury not on her side.
This is where our story begins...In a way like many others, with a series of unforeseen events, and a little luck.
Though this is part of the Intro, it sums up the plot decent enough.