Xodara's Domain - Lore

[Snek]

The dark chamber smells musty and ancient, and you can hardly see, but in the middle of the room stands a pedestal, upon which rests a book seemingly as ancient as the walls around you. The cover is unreadable, but you can see that it is printed with plenty of magical runes and symbols.


You flip to the inside cover. The book is evidently titled, "Xodara's Lexicon". Underneath the title is a dark, monstrous shape you can only assume is a crude illustration of the vile nightmare lord Xodara.


The next page is a table of contents. The section titles are written with an elegant, yet harsh, handwriting, no doubt that of Xodara himself, who evidently wrote this book.


Section 1 - My Domain and the Lands Beyond


Section 2 - Creatures, Monsters, and Living Things of All Sorts


Section 3 - Cities, Towns, and Villages


Section 4 - Past Events of Various Historical Importance


Section 5 - Magic, Mysteries, and Ancient Artifacts of Dubious Origin


You aren't quite sure where to start, and decide to flip to a random page and read through as your level of interest dictates. Heaving half of the gargantuan tome's weight aside, you blow the dust off the page and begin reading.

 

[Heartsteal]

A passage in the second section of the tome, regarding the mortals of Xodara's realm, written by a, "Wynden" reads:


Humans: Frustratingly populous, and while not so strong as the Kobolds, nor vicious as those Gnolls that Xodara commands, startlingly hardy. Humans are varied as the trades they pick up, with different tongues, skins, and talents. They are the most vocal of those in opposition to the Dark Lord by far.


Humans come in varying sizes, though tend not to stretch far beyond six feet when matured, nor below five.


While not terribly long lived, most humans still live a handful of decades longer than Gnolls do, and for a similar length to many Kobolds.


An illustration beneath this passage details a male, and female human. It seems obvious that they were sketched after a pair of corpses, the throat of the male seems to be fairly blank, as though it had been slashed, but the artist took pains to hide that. The female has a strangely uneven ribcage, as though it had been stoved in.


Sylvans: Long living, and infuriatingly talented with the use of magic, Sylvan Alfs could pose a true threat to the Dark Lord if they could find the time to quit their bickering. In all their desire for 'fairness' and 'equality', Sylvans seem to find no time to form any organized attempt to truly oppose the Master's will. Most of Xodara's host are stronger than Alfs physically, but are often too clumsy to make use of it against such dancing foes. They seem to mostly remain near the same size as humans, but grow knife-like ears, and remain almost entirely of fair skin and hair.


Below the passage on Sylvans, there is a drawing of a male and female, though the differences are mostly minor. With long, pointed ears, they appear to have little difference from humans, though their limbs mostly seemed thinner, and their eyes were noticeably larger. These also seem to be only drawn of cadavers, the fingers of both male and female at slightly odd angles, as though drawn without reference. The male's left eye is simply shaded over, and the female's right ear is at an odd angle compared to the left, her head slightly misshapen.


Gnolls: An unpredictable lot, though maybe having so short a life will do that to a pup. The smaller, quivering ones have accepted Xodara's mighty rule, but those larger of their kind that fashion themselves 'honourable' have denied him, and spit upon offers of their enthrallment. While the clans have turned upon the Dark Master, the tribes have come to his aid. They might be smaller, and weaker, but Tribal Gnolls are generally more clever, and far more dextrous. I wouldn't trust such, but that would be why we hold the whip.


Gnolls of the clans often grow so high as seven feet, though rarely beyond. The shortest are rarely below six.


Tribal Gnolls on the other hand, remain mostly between five and six.


There are several depictions below the passage on Gnolls, depicting their many subspecies, though some only have one specimen for each. The Gnolls seem to vary from jackal and hyena-like, to wolf-like at the far end. There's a noticeable hunch to all of their backs, and most are quite muscularly developed. Throughout the sketches, mostly at the right end with the larger specimens, the drawings seem to be working around mortal injuries, much like they'd done with the Humans and Sylvans.


Fae: The fairest, and cleverest of the Great Master's legions, the Fae are just as great, if not even more so, in the use of magic as any Sylvan one could name. Sprouting fleshy leaflings, the Fae's milky skin makes them appear as though walking birch to some, though it couldn't be further from the truth. The quickest of wit, and of hand, the Fae fill Masterful Xodara's need among the forces he commands.


The smallest of those Mortal races, and the longest lived, Fae are often no more than five feet in height, though rarely beneath four.


Quite similar in appearance to Sylvans, Fae seem to be even more slight of build, and with skin of a texture with plaster, at least on paper. Flakes, leaflings, and other fractal shapes seemed to grow out of the Faes' skin, giving them an almost plantlike appearance. Both male and female appear quite similar at a glance, very slender of build, large eyes, and long, pointed ears make up their significant features. Comparatively, Fae's hands are somewhat large next to other races, despite their physique.


Both sketches seemed to be done after living subjects, without any particular oddities in their anatomy.


Kobolds: Only so clever as a boulder, and about as implacable as one, Kobolds seem to be even better for flattening any living creature beneath them. Towering over even those pesky Gnolls, Kobolds are lumbering behemoths of scale and muscle. So long as meat is plentiful, their allies needn't fear them, and they prove themselves to be the greatest of Mighty Xodara's shock troops. Rarely is a Kobold beneath eight fight high sighted, and on occasion, rumours go around of their reaching even ten feet at the shoulder. Fortunately, with their jaws jutting straight out from between those shoulders, we needn't even forge gorgets for them.


Most alike the Gnolls, the Kobold specimen depicted appears much similar to some prehistoric reptile that's drawn itself onto its hindquarters. Thickly built of corded muscle, a Kobold's entire body is armoured in scales from head to toe, though their belly is of a different texture, likely thinner scale. Sprouting from their pelvis, the Kobold drawn has an armoured tail that's long enough to drag a couple of feet along the ground behind them. While it is obviously mobile, it also appears to be clumsy, and would not be much useable for anything but balance, and powerful thrashing movements, likely meant for swimming originally.


The specimen for the sketch was obviously deceased, and while many of their scars were drawn in, it's apparent that the left arm had been removed at some point, and stitched back on for the drawing. What ultimately felled the beast, guessing from the image, would have been a gaping wound in the side of the neck, coupled with a large blow to the ribs, as both areas are freehanded, and details are quite different from those on the opposing sides.

 

[Riddle78]

The following entries are collected texts from across the world,penned by various authors. Their accounts are often contradictory to established sources,but like all things magickal,the truth is inseparable from myth and fiction.

~Keening~

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Keening is,functionally,a spike. What is known about this artifact is that it measures approximately one cubit long,and the "blade" is composed of a single large,uncut crystal,apparently of a translucent sea-green in colour. It is edgeless,but the point it comes to is impossibly fine. The crystal is reputed to be utterly indestructible,and equally impossible to safely touch. It is unknown where this crystal now lies,if it exists at all.


The powers attributed to this object vary wildly. Some accounts say that Keening slays all it touches,others say that it's a soul battery,and more still proclaim that Keening is actually the fragment of a long dead god. However,amongst all of the conflicting reports of the thing's properties,one constant stands out; Whenever it moves,it makes a sound akin to a piercing scream; Likely the thing's namesake.

-Finriel Soth,Imperial Archivist (2E108,27 First Harvest)

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~Sunder~
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This hammer is a wondrous thing.


I strike my anvil with it,and the anvil remains undamaged. But,if I attempt to shape steel with it,the steel simply shatters. Completed hauberks and blades are also sundered by this tool. So simple,so unassuming. This hammer,I call it Sunder. A simple enough name,more of a descriptor,really. For whatever arms or armour it strikes,is sundered,without fail. It looks... Utterly ordinary. A half cubit handle,and the head's about that length,too. The striking head's surface is about the size of my fist,and the rear of the head is rounded off,like a peen.


It's made of iron,to my best guess; It's a dull grey. The handle is also made of iron,and is unwrapped. I've rectified this; A naked hammer is uncomfortable to use.


The Devil of it all... Sunder's so light. It has almost no heft. What ancient magicks surge through this thing? I will keep it safe; No doubt the Emperor's dogs would misuse it,should they appropriate it.

-Unknown,recovered journal (Dated 2E119,13 First Snow)

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~Wraithmail~

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In His name,Grand Templar Soviticus reports. I have personally led a detachment of His Grace's faithful servants to a vile hole in the ground,teeming with Evil. The Sinners,calling themselves Diabolists,were conducting rituals,poaching the Emperor's game and abducting Imperial subjects for their unholy rituals. The purpose of these rituals escapes me,and I care not; They are Evil,and must be undone,stopped,and shattered,for they profane His Grace's Creation.


But this particular piece of Evil...


It was worn by the Sinner's leader,who deserves no name. It is mail,composed of flesh,sinew,and bone. It's a macabre raiment of pure,festering Evil. What's worse,it is so Godless,it confounded all of our attempts to pierce or damage it,let alone destroy it. So far removed from His Grace's Creation it is,that His Grace Himself seems to be at a loss as to how to deal with it...


This is deeply unsettling.


What's more,it allowed the Sinner who wore it to fade from sight,and slip through our weapons,as if they were a disembodied soul,almost as if the Sinner assumed aspects of the fictional undead. Some of the more gullible of the faithful have taken to calling it "Wraithmail". Though I abhor the name,it has stuck,and it is an apt descriptor. It shall be kept in the vaults,where none can touch the foul thing. There,it shall await until the end of Creation.

-Soviticus Raime,Grand Templar (2E156,30 Sun's Reign)

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~An-Earbsa~


BETTER SAFE THAN SORRY


BETTER SAFE THAN SORRY


BETTER SAFE THAN SORRY



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These words were scratched into the back of this odd tower shield. They were scratched in so obsessively,that they consume the entire back surface,so densely that it seems like a single,impossibly long word. The tower shield's a great rectangle of polished,blued steel plating a stout ironwood core. Curiously,the shield bears no escutcheon,almost as if the one who forged it was paranoid about being traced. The shield itself is covered in old bloodstains,yet astonishingly,free of rust or rot.


The man who was wielding the shield wore full plate armour. He was muttering cravenly under his breath,obviously insane,and was drenched,head to toe,in blood,both old and fresh. As he was unarmed,besides the shield,it must be assumed that he slew his victims with the shield. The punishment for his crimes would have been death,anyways; It took an entire regiment of guardsmen to slay him,and the way he was resisting,capture wasn't possible.


It truly is a woeful day,when a knight of the Royal Eminence goes mad.

-Bodhan Dace,Guard Captain (2E157, 12 First Sow)

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~Philosopher~

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This crossbow is astonishing. It's beautiful; Forged of no less than six distinct metals! Gold and silver! Copper and tin! Iron and lead! And some strange,silvery liquid surges through ornamental grooves carved into the weapon,whenever it's fired. Curious. The crossbow is achingly beautiful to behold; It's such a shame it didn't have a matching windlass! Maybe the brutes I hired to search that ruin took it... No. They wouldn't have. They would obviously realize that it was part of the weapon.


No,there's no matching windlass.


It's such a shame,then,that I must sully the weapon with an ugly steel windlass. But,the crossbow seems to be magickal. It seems to change by bolts to what I want them to be. Once,I loaded a broadhead bolt,but realized,too late,I needed a bodkin bolt. When I retrieved it,the bolt was indeed bodkin headed. But,as I hold it... I feel slow. Sluggish. And... My eyes feel so... Heavy. Once,I even passed out on my private range. The servants had to carry me to my quarters.


My peers must never know. They will doubtlessly try to take advantage of my acquisition. No... This shall be my trump.

-Ogden Curio,Nobleman (2E161,1 Sun's Rest)

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~Verdict~

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Sight is flawed.


I live with the land. Not on it,as the diseased Empire does. No. Nature and I have an understanding. A relationship. Life is a cycle. In order to take,one must first give. I give Nature my life,my entire being,so that I may take the food I need to survive. My bow,too,understands this; I give it my sight,my ability to see what is what,so that I may strike from afar. The second I draw the string,all I see is the world's colour. Anyone else would proclaim themselves blind,unable to hit anything.


I am proof of their ignorance.


Sight is a lie. In order to hit the target,you must know this,and rely,instead,on your instinct. Your breath. And your ears. I do,and I never miss. I look at my bow,and know that my eyes lie to me. My eyes tell me that the bow is made of immaculate,polished bones,perhaps tusks,seemingly fused together. The grip,according to my eyes,is wrapped in leather.


But that is fiction.


What I see,when I draw my arrow,is a blue spirit. And that is what the bow truly is; A spirit. Any who say otherwise...


Is truly blind.

-Unknown,recovered journal (Dated 2E170,21 First Harvest)

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~Threadspinner~

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My people! I stand before you today with joyous news! For the two hundred years,I have ruled as your Emperor! It is no secret that I am immortal; It is why we are the Eternal Empire. Under my endless grace,we have prospered! And now! I wish to extend to you the gift that I was born with! Immortality! Endless life! Sanctuary from Death! Behold,my foil! Of silver and brass it is made! A pommel of opal is holds! With this tool,you all shall become immortal,through me!


Fear not death,for my foil cannot take life! Only bond it! For those pricked by it will forevermore be one with the wielder! Fates entwined! Those who seek glory to the end of Creation,step forward! Embrace your Emperor and life neverending! For we! Are! ETERNAL!

-Gwynevere Solana,Emperor of the Eternal Empire (2E201,1 Sun's Reign)
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~Vitalaem~
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The Eternal Empire is dead.


The Emperor marched her armies on our city one month ago. We were under siege for a year. Her forces needed no rest,no food or drink. They simply... Ignored any assault leveled against them. They were truly eternal. Death was a stranger to them. So confident were they in their immortality,that they wore no armour,only finery. Their thrice-cursed Emperor wore the most fine of the lot; Her silken trousers and shirt a vibrant purple,her cloak bloodred.


All seemed lost. So absolute our defeat seemed,the kingdom's criminals came forth in a desperate defence of their home. One such defender... She wielded a most strange bow.


The Eternal Emperor stepped forth to proclaim her victory,on the final day. I remember the day well. The sky was clear,the sun shone down upon the battlefield,scouring away all secrets. The Emperor spoke of her Empires superiority,and how it will outlast even Creation itself. Such blasphemies never go unpunished,as they say. For it was then that this criminal,this poacher,took to the battlements.


There was something about her eyes. Looking into them,there were no whites,no coloured ring. Only the blackness of the center.


The poacher drew an arrow,and fired. Witnesses proclaim that the arrow never erred from its path. It wasn't dragged to the ground,as arrows should have been. The arrow struck the Eternal Emperor's hat,and dragged it off of her head. As soon as the pompous thing left her head,she fell over,dead to the world. Seeing their Eternal Emperor fall,her armies followed suit,seemingly out of desperation.


We know better,now. That hat... It's magickal. A little piece of divinity. She was Eternal,because she wore that hat. But,why did she die when it was removed? Maybe she had to pay her debt. Maybe,those who don it,not matter for how long,are doomed to die.


We may never know for certain. The hat was lost,along with the strange poacher,the next dawn.


A new dawn... Yes... A new dawn for our people...

-Cypress Soth,Senior Archivist (3E1,25 First Harvest)

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