A Howling Homecoming
The high mountains of the Taken Lands were in deep winter and not being subtle about it. The rocky cliffs were covered in biting cold, even before being raked by packs of ravenous winds. Living things of any intelligence had hunkered down into any shelter that the stone provided. For miles nothing could be seen moving in any direction expect the dark forms of two men. Even the dirt on the men looked tired and worn as they methodically descended the cliff. Each descended on their own rope belaying down from the higher mountains of the Mirandu and down into the highlands. Their stomachs growled loudly as their boots skittled over ice and rock. Occasionally, loose rocks flew and one would bark a warning to the other but generally they worked in silence, their movements the smooth and panther like motions of the practiced professional,. The first down might generously be called of medium build but he was smaller. Beneath a dirty cap burst white blonde hair, his ice blue eyes intensely focused on every movement past hawkish nose. He had boyish features that could hide his adult age on a good day. Today was not a good day. His skin was taunt, drawn like leather from thirst and his beard bristled out like an untidy explosion across his otherwise handsome face. He wore black leather, and gray cloak lined in fur. All across his body he had tightened straps for carrying items and packs. His provision sacks were empty not even containing a crumbs yet he dutifully trudged onward. Hidden throughout his body were blades, small throwing blades, short swords, and one long razor strapped across his back. The long sword bore intricate runes, its blade impossibly sharp, bearing the emblem of crow with a beating heart in its talons, it alone gave away the man as nobility. His name was Cal.
The other man was massive, so large he could appear to be the first man's father. He wore no hat, instead a red mane radiated out from his skull like a red sun. His skin was burned along crease lines from smiling revealing his normal jovial nature. He wore only one weapon, a huge double blade axe that looked like it was designed to split cows in half. His name was Jormund. Below them dangled a rucksack containing their other belongings, some skis, a fishing pole, a hunting bow, and an odd pot, fur. Neither man was happy as they worked the rope, less so from their desperate state than their destination. A destination that they both dreaded and would only be drawn to out of the greatest of desperation. They were headed home. As they hit the bottom of the cliff, they dared to finally look upon it.
There it was, Swordsnest, massive, formidable the last great human city. It radiated an aura of stubborn raw power but both men knew that is was as equally miserable to dwell in as it was impressive in its design. Rising hungrily from the ground shot 5 huge alien crystal spikes, each a different color, each screaming of ancient and non human design. They were called the 5 Swords and they held what was left of the old human empire's elite nobility. They crammed themselves into the alien towers liked insects even though the towers were known to cause a malady to the mind referred to as sword sickness. The sickness emerged as outbursts of madness, violence, and depression that seemed to explode in a person who was around the towers too long. The Wizened theorized that the unnatural shapes of the rooms and tunnels of the crystal swords brought about a kind of mental erosion. Others thought it might be a pathogen that filled the towers perhaps a trap left behind by their alien architects, the Crystal Spinners. What ever the cause many were stricken with the mental disease within the first month of dwelling there, most recovered, eventually. Those raised in the swords though seemed to be immune to the malady. Though this may be due to them being quite mad already. As a bulk of the young nobility had been raised in the swords they saw the sword sickness as nothing but an added layer of defense from the swelling angry multitude in the city around them.
At the feet of the spiking towers were rows of neatly arranged stone buildings that served homes for the non-noble elite. The Old Five they were called and often lovingly so. In the whole city they were the place of relative peace and cleanliness they were, neat and exact in design, at the center of each was a park and temple to one of the divine stars. These were the oldest human built sections and bore the design of careful craftmanship and even boasted internal plumbing with pipes bore deep into the mountains at their root. The old five were surrounded by high stone walls, specked with foreboding towers, these also proudly built by the hands of men.
The southern end of the core district was a massive black fortress called the Mountains Maw. This fortress was built by humans on its upper sections but ran a few hundred feet deep in alien constructed tunnels. The fortress rooted itself at the edge of an immense mountain cliff. The cliff called the Razor went down 2000 sheer feet into what appeared to be a sea of serene prarie. The city constructed on the razor was something of an engineering marvel, and it was the only reason it still stood. The defense provided by razor was what had kept the city alive. Anyone viewing the serene land of prairie and rivers below would wonder what maddness would drive hordes men into the packed, frozen mountain hellscape of Swordsnest when ample land existed below. The land below had indeed once been settled but had remained largely uninhabited for the past 100 years since the time of Turbulation. To the north of the walls of the Old Five was area of wooden homes it also walled by lower but still formidable wooden walls. There were 10 major divisions here that were collectively called the Arms. While not nearly as fine as the Old Five people genuinely felt lucky living here because the third and final section of Swordsnest was around the arms. Streaming out like mukus from the wood wall was a sea of wooden shanties, some built well, some little more than shacks. Crude gutters to carry away waste were carved in a chaotic way sometimes functioning, sometimes waiting for a near flood to carry away the foulness. Even many miles away it smelled of detritus, sewage, and disease. These were lower districts, made quickly, and halfhazardly, to house thousands of refugees that streamed from the lowlands during the Tubulation. Most of those refugees had died in the journey, more had died in the crudely set up camps, still what was left was a mass of hopeless, angry and diseased people that surrounded the wood walls of the arms. The new districts hummed with screams, yelling. It was like an endless hive of angry bees. This raging sea had many sections but was known collectively as the corpse sea.
Attempts had been made to better the lives of the inhabitants, work shops to provide jobs. Gardens to provide food. A hundred ideas, a thousand sets of plans, and yet it remained a maddened, howling tomb. The bellowing of death was constant was constant here like a mad piper, tooting his horn endlessly with abandon. This whole thing, this was what met the eyes of Cal and Jormund as they stood starving on the hills out of the city. "Welcome home Cal." Jormund said, a stitch of smirking smile appearing on his dried out lips. Cal gave a wry smirk of his own in response and then began walking. He had not walked before he stopped. "Do you see them?" A stream of people were pouring out of the Corpse Sea and crowding around the edge of the Razor. "Are they climbing down?" Jormund asked. In all their lives in the Swordsnest they had never witnessed men climb down the Razor. While Swordsnest was terrible the utter terror of the Turbulation had kept them high in mountains.
The two men wound their way through some orchards until they came Owls Head Road. These were still quiet farms lands with a bulk of population of Swordsnest denied access to travel here in fears they would destroy or steal the crops. Only those who purchased a North Gate pass could travel here. The North Gate passes were not cheap and generally only purchased by affluent merchants, caravans, or the farmers guild. While a peaceful area it was made so by patrols of Rangers and fierce local militias who were all to willing to defend their homes and farms against the howling lunatics of the Corpse Sea. The men now walked along the Old Owl Road. On either side were hip high stone hedges. Sheeps could be seen grazing on either side. Both men's eyes diligently scanned the countryside and they walked quickly. They could feel the city's eyes boring into them. It might have been paranoia but it seemed that every faction of the city was watching their footsteps. A large apple tree hung across the road covering a patch of grass in a blanket of cool shade. Both men collapsed beneath the tree. Devoured an apple or two and laid out bed rolls behind a hedge. The city was still 15 miles away and there was no way they could make it into the city before the gates were closed for nightfall. Despite their tired state they rested uneasily. Something cold curdled in their stomachs and hackled the hairs on their backs. Neither said anything. Neither wanted to call out the feeling of a lingering void less they some how give the fear substance. But with their restlessness they each spoke novels to each other. They could feel something coming.
Meet Del Dumas the Sherriff
Through the Pig Gate
Murkados - Battle with Silver Faces
Meeting with the prince
Hall with the High Priestess
Pull together the team
Dream of the Og Princess sighting of the blue star
Into the forests - Following red light
Blue Star follows
The storm, the skiing and farm huts
Skirting OngMagTo
Battle with Landless snaltrim
Rescued by the Badger Faces
Up meeting with Og Nauts
Run in with the Landless
Night escape, up a cliff and through Glacial
Glacial Palace
The Inner Road
Skeevan
The Ghost throne
Crystal Spinners ghost parade
Meeting with MiTosh
Og Princess saves through Crystl Spinner shades
The teeth and the legion of MiTosh - debate to head to ios or hewtree
The noose tightens
The Joms
Wooings of Virkander Murfang the First
Descent into Shadogora Forest
Battle with Mirttalaan
Meeting with Rulfulunmayeran Alfenote
Black Cliffs and the Farm
Ios and the Warning
The other man was massive, so large he could appear to be the first man's father. He wore no hat, instead a red mane radiated out from his skull like a red sun. His skin was burned along crease lines from smiling revealing his normal jovial nature. He wore only one weapon, a huge double blade axe that looked like it was designed to split cows in half. His name was Jormund. Below them dangled a rucksack containing their other belongings, some skis, a fishing pole, a hunting bow, and an odd pot, fur. Neither man was happy as they worked the rope, less so from their desperate state than their destination. A destination that they both dreaded and would only be drawn to out of the greatest of desperation. They were headed home. As they hit the bottom of the cliff, they dared to finally look upon it.
There it was, Swordsnest, massive, formidable the last great human city. It radiated an aura of stubborn raw power but both men knew that is was as equally miserable to dwell in as it was impressive in its design. Rising hungrily from the ground shot 5 huge alien crystal spikes, each a different color, each screaming of ancient and non human design. They were called the 5 Swords and they held what was left of the old human empire's elite nobility. They crammed themselves into the alien towers liked insects even though the towers were known to cause a malady to the mind referred to as sword sickness. The sickness emerged as outbursts of madness, violence, and depression that seemed to explode in a person who was around the towers too long. The Wizened theorized that the unnatural shapes of the rooms and tunnels of the crystal swords brought about a kind of mental erosion. Others thought it might be a pathogen that filled the towers perhaps a trap left behind by their alien architects, the Crystal Spinners. What ever the cause many were stricken with the mental disease within the first month of dwelling there, most recovered, eventually. Those raised in the swords though seemed to be immune to the malady. Though this may be due to them being quite mad already. As a bulk of the young nobility had been raised in the swords they saw the sword sickness as nothing but an added layer of defense from the swelling angry multitude in the city around them.
At the feet of the spiking towers were rows of neatly arranged stone buildings that served homes for the non-noble elite. The Old Five they were called and often lovingly so. In the whole city they were the place of relative peace and cleanliness they were, neat and exact in design, at the center of each was a park and temple to one of the divine stars. These were the oldest human built sections and bore the design of careful craftmanship and even boasted internal plumbing with pipes bore deep into the mountains at their root. The old five were surrounded by high stone walls, specked with foreboding towers, these also proudly built by the hands of men.
The southern end of the core district was a massive black fortress called the Mountains Maw. This fortress was built by humans on its upper sections but ran a few hundred feet deep in alien constructed tunnels. The fortress rooted itself at the edge of an immense mountain cliff. The cliff called the Razor went down 2000 sheer feet into what appeared to be a sea of serene prarie. The city constructed on the razor was something of an engineering marvel, and it was the only reason it still stood. The defense provided by razor was what had kept the city alive. Anyone viewing the serene land of prairie and rivers below would wonder what maddness would drive hordes men into the packed, frozen mountain hellscape of Swordsnest when ample land existed below. The land below had indeed once been settled but had remained largely uninhabited for the past 100 years since the time of Turbulation. To the north of the walls of the Old Five was area of wooden homes it also walled by lower but still formidable wooden walls. There were 10 major divisions here that were collectively called the Arms. While not nearly as fine as the Old Five people genuinely felt lucky living here because the third and final section of Swordsnest was around the arms. Streaming out like mukus from the wood wall was a sea of wooden shanties, some built well, some little more than shacks. Crude gutters to carry away waste were carved in a chaotic way sometimes functioning, sometimes waiting for a near flood to carry away the foulness. Even many miles away it smelled of detritus, sewage, and disease. These were lower districts, made quickly, and halfhazardly, to house thousands of refugees that streamed from the lowlands during the Tubulation. Most of those refugees had died in the journey, more had died in the crudely set up camps, still what was left was a mass of hopeless, angry and diseased people that surrounded the wood walls of the arms. The new districts hummed with screams, yelling. It was like an endless hive of angry bees. This raging sea had many sections but was known collectively as the corpse sea.
Attempts had been made to better the lives of the inhabitants, work shops to provide jobs. Gardens to provide food. A hundred ideas, a thousand sets of plans, and yet it remained a maddened, howling tomb. The bellowing of death was constant was constant here like a mad piper, tooting his horn endlessly with abandon. This whole thing, this was what met the eyes of Cal and Jormund as they stood starving on the hills out of the city. "Welcome home Cal." Jormund said, a stitch of smirking smile appearing on his dried out lips. Cal gave a wry smirk of his own in response and then began walking. He had not walked before he stopped. "Do you see them?" A stream of people were pouring out of the Corpse Sea and crowding around the edge of the Razor. "Are they climbing down?" Jormund asked. In all their lives in the Swordsnest they had never witnessed men climb down the Razor. While Swordsnest was terrible the utter terror of the Turbulation had kept them high in mountains.
The two men wound their way through some orchards until they came Owls Head Road. These were still quiet farms lands with a bulk of population of Swordsnest denied access to travel here in fears they would destroy or steal the crops. Only those who purchased a North Gate pass could travel here. The North Gate passes were not cheap and generally only purchased by affluent merchants, caravans, or the farmers guild. While a peaceful area it was made so by patrols of Rangers and fierce local militias who were all to willing to defend their homes and farms against the howling lunatics of the Corpse Sea. The men now walked along the Old Owl Road. On either side were hip high stone hedges. Sheeps could be seen grazing on either side. Both men's eyes diligently scanned the countryside and they walked quickly. They could feel the city's eyes boring into them. It might have been paranoia but it seemed that every faction of the city was watching their footsteps. A large apple tree hung across the road covering a patch of grass in a blanket of cool shade. Both men collapsed beneath the tree. Devoured an apple or two and laid out bed rolls behind a hedge. The city was still 15 miles away and there was no way they could make it into the city before the gates were closed for nightfall. Despite their tired state they rested uneasily. Something cold curdled in their stomachs and hackled the hairs on their backs. Neither said anything. Neither wanted to call out the feeling of a lingering void less they some how give the fear substance. But with their restlessness they each spoke novels to each other. They could feel something coming.
"If we come up along them we might make into the Corpse Sea unseen." "Hah". Jormund laughed. They both knew that they had already been seen and scouted by a hundred eyes. Different gangs and factions had spies in and out of town. Though discretion might make it so they could evade the worst of those factions. They headed south keeping a distance from the city as they trudged long cart path and past a series of farms until they came to Razor's edge. Their both men gasped. In Prarie they grew up calling the Doomed land was now a town made up of wood. Smoke could be seen billowing from hundreds of small homes there. "Well I'll be a Skeevan's Testicle." Jormund exclaimed. "Do we ask them about it?" Jormund said meaning the group of people climbing down. Cal eyed the people and their make shift ropes, desperate faces full of determination. None seemed to bear a blade but all seemed to think they had a better chance in the low lands. Cal wasn't so sure, but he also did not want to debate with them. Children milled past, listening intently to their parents as ropes were explained to them. "No, lets get our news from Murkados."
Meet Del Dumas the Sherriff
Through the Pig Gate
Murkados - Battle with Silver Faces
Meeting with the prince
Hall with the High Priestess
Pull together the team
Dream of the Og Princess sighting of the blue star
Into the forests - Following red light
Blue Star follows
The storm, the skiing and farm huts
Skirting OngMagTo
Battle with Landless snaltrim
Captured by the Landless
Meeting with Drakar Navar
Rescued by the Badger Faces
Up meeting with Og Nauts
Run in with the Landless
Night escape, up a cliff and through Glacial
Glacial Palace
The Inner Road
Skeevan
The Ghost throne
Crystal Spinners ghost parade
Meeting with MiTosh
Og Princess saves through Crystl Spinner shades
The teeth and the legion of MiTosh - debate to head to ios or hewtree
The noose tightens
The Joms
Wooings of Virkander Murfang the First
Descent into Shadogora Forest
Battle with Mirttalaan
Meeting with Rulfulunmayeran Alfenote
Black Cliffs and the Farm
Ios and the Warning
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