Hosting a D&D game soon 
Wrote up a back story setting for my campaign.
Any opinions?
Some decades ago, a group of brave prospectors set out to search a region of the Brokespear Peaks to see if the supposedly barren looking range could yield any metals of worth. Expecting to perhaps find copper, maybe tin or even iron, the small band were astonished to discover that only a few feet beneath the surface rock was perhaps one of the richest veins of Mithril in all Faerun.
Soon after, a small settlement was founded at the mouth of Splinterfang canyon. Miners and prospectors alike came to make their fortune, stake out claims and carve their name into the mountain and it's strangely abundant treasures. Unfortunately, with names like Brokespear and Splinterfang, one would rightly assume an Orcish presence. In fact, these lands were indeed orc lands and the prospectors had trespassed. Fortunately for the human host, the orcish raiders were few and far between. The Brokespear was home to many tribes and none of them knew how to get along.
Three years in to the prospect, the settlement was going strong. Each year, a kings ransom in fine ore was meticulously drawn from the earth. Soon, Dwarves came, seeking to take their share of the bounty. Then came Gnomes, even halflings. From the peaks, a few half-orcs descended. In spite of their lineage, they were accepted as the strong workers they were. It was during this time, a strange discovery was made. Deep within the mountains, a small band stumbled across a seemingly natural passage way, leading deeper into the mountains. Following it for many days, they discovered what could only be described as a true mystery.
Buried deep under the countless thousands of tons of rocks, a strange, pristine set of ruins lay untouched by whatever calamity set it so deep into the earth. Those who found it were originally unsure as to it's origins. The Dwarves claimed it to be Dwarven, as the immaculate craftsmanship of the stonework suggested. Scholars and mages who had come to study it recognized something long forgotten and powerful. Elven high magic was rich in the air. Emissaries from the woods came to claim it as their own. The humans who had discovered it, pronounced ownership by right of discovery.
Deep within the ruin, strange treasures were found. Gems of immense value, bars of gold, urns of strong, ancient yet still useful oils, parchments of fantastical theories and spellcraft. Yet most magnificent of all, was the was the machine. None of the scholars could theorize it's purpose. None could activate it. All they could do was speculate.
At the time of the ruins unearthing a change came to the Brokespear mountains. Where once the soil was barren, fresh foliage came to life. Where the trees were once spindly and weak, the pines grew tall and vibrant. An increase in animal life and bird life was noted. The climate grew fairer, as did the people of the settlement. The Dwarves grew larger and healthier. The Elves from the woodlands grew fairer and sharper. The humans who worked the mines grew stronger. Illness seemed to flee the lands and the settlement truly began to prosper.
Drawn by tales, some true, some far fetched, more and more folk began flocking to the settlement. Soon, the settlement became a village. Then the village became a town. The town became a city and the city was strong. In what should have taken many decades, a city sprang up with all the vibrancy and vigor of the newly flourishing lands. Dwarven smiths and builders came to work the stone, building strong walls, mighty palaces and seemingly impenetrable architecture. A palace was constructed at the behest and rather generous payment of the benefactor of the first prospect. A human lord named Ancathus.
And so, the city of Ancathar was born.
The city was peaceful for many years. Temples were constructed, a military created. Even those whom were poor in gold were rich in good health and food was plentiful. A bustling multi-cultural hub was created. Elves, Dwarves, Halflings, Humans, Gnomes, all shared common stone and wealth. Even more exotic creatures started calling the city home. Travelers from Sigil, the line of fiends, a handful of Tiefling came to ply their wares.
However, as good as the mountains were to the new arrivals, that goodness was not theirs alone. Time and new bounty had been good to all the residents of the mountain and this was to see the start of the first war of Brokespear. Incredibly strong, massively hardy and unusually intelligent, an orc rose above the normal rank and file of the tribes of Brokespear. Proclaiming himself as Warlord of the peak, Rho'kagg the Flayer united the orcs under his banner and drove his host to war against the trespassers.
Numbering in the tens of thousands, the horde descended on the city of Ancathar and drove it's host to the ground. In spite of the cities formidable defenses, the formidable magical protection from it's own enclave of wizards and the united forces of all of the goodly races, the city fell to the unwavering iron of the band beneath Rho'kagg.
Though, in perhaps the most bizarre turn of events, the war was not the end of the city. Overwhelmed and outnumbered, the citizens prepared to make a final stand against the horde as it flowed through the shattered walls like a tide of grey skin and black chain. Yet at the head of the elemental force rode Rho'kagg himself. Mighty and fearsome in a suit of spiked black plate, wielding an ax reputed to have killed more people than the plague, he approached with his banner held aloft. Seeking diplomacy.
Terms were as such:
"The Orcish people, long owners of the Brokespear peaks come to claim what is rightfully theirs. By rights, we own what is above and below the mountain. By might, we take back what is ours."
"Rho'kagg the Flayer is a generous ruler and decrees that the invaders city of Ancathar may stand, so long as it remains open to his people. A tithe of forty percent of Ancathar's wealth shall be provided to the united clans of Rho'kagg the flayer. A portion of Ancathar's grounds will be set aside for Orcish settlement."
"No Elf, human, dwarf or other citizen shall raise a hand to the Orcish host, at penalty of death and in turn, no Orc shall do the same. These are the terms of Rho'kagg the flayer. They will be met, or Ancathar will be wiped from the map and it's people from history."
Reluctant to accept, though in an impossible position, the council of Ancathar was forced to accept. Soon, the shining city became something else. Not all agreed to the terms of Rho'kagg and all too soon, tension was ripe in the city. A group of vigilantes calling themselves the "Grey Masks" had taken to killing Orcs on city grounds. A sect of Tormtar paladins, The Order of the Valiant Heart had fought nearly to extinction to purge the orcish threat. Though they too had to abide the rules. Soon, things such as crime, rape, murder and theft crept back into the city.
A paradise lost, Ancathar now looms on the edge of civil war.
Wrote up a back story setting for my campaign.
Any opinions?
Some decades ago, a group of brave prospectors set out to search a region of the Brokespear Peaks to see if the supposedly barren looking range could yield any metals of worth. Expecting to perhaps find copper, maybe tin or even iron, the small band were astonished to discover that only a few feet beneath the surface rock was perhaps one of the richest veins of Mithril in all Faerun.
Soon after, a small settlement was founded at the mouth of Splinterfang canyon. Miners and prospectors alike came to make their fortune, stake out claims and carve their name into the mountain and it's strangely abundant treasures. Unfortunately, with names like Brokespear and Splinterfang, one would rightly assume an Orcish presence. In fact, these lands were indeed orc lands and the prospectors had trespassed. Fortunately for the human host, the orcish raiders were few and far between. The Brokespear was home to many tribes and none of them knew how to get along.
Three years in to the prospect, the settlement was going strong. Each year, a kings ransom in fine ore was meticulously drawn from the earth. Soon, Dwarves came, seeking to take their share of the bounty. Then came Gnomes, even halflings. From the peaks, a few half-orcs descended. In spite of their lineage, they were accepted as the strong workers they were. It was during this time, a strange discovery was made. Deep within the mountains, a small band stumbled across a seemingly natural passage way, leading deeper into the mountains. Following it for many days, they discovered what could only be described as a true mystery.
Buried deep under the countless thousands of tons of rocks, a strange, pristine set of ruins lay untouched by whatever calamity set it so deep into the earth. Those who found it were originally unsure as to it's origins. The Dwarves claimed it to be Dwarven, as the immaculate craftsmanship of the stonework suggested. Scholars and mages who had come to study it recognized something long forgotten and powerful. Elven high magic was rich in the air. Emissaries from the woods came to claim it as their own. The humans who had discovered it, pronounced ownership by right of discovery.
Deep within the ruin, strange treasures were found. Gems of immense value, bars of gold, urns of strong, ancient yet still useful oils, parchments of fantastical theories and spellcraft. Yet most magnificent of all, was the was the machine. None of the scholars could theorize it's purpose. None could activate it. All they could do was speculate.
At the time of the ruins unearthing a change came to the Brokespear mountains. Where once the soil was barren, fresh foliage came to life. Where the trees were once spindly and weak, the pines grew tall and vibrant. An increase in animal life and bird life was noted. The climate grew fairer, as did the people of the settlement. The Dwarves grew larger and healthier. The Elves from the woodlands grew fairer and sharper. The humans who worked the mines grew stronger. Illness seemed to flee the lands and the settlement truly began to prosper.
Drawn by tales, some true, some far fetched, more and more folk began flocking to the settlement. Soon, the settlement became a village. Then the village became a town. The town became a city and the city was strong. In what should have taken many decades, a city sprang up with all the vibrancy and vigor of the newly flourishing lands. Dwarven smiths and builders came to work the stone, building strong walls, mighty palaces and seemingly impenetrable architecture. A palace was constructed at the behest and rather generous payment of the benefactor of the first prospect. A human lord named Ancathus.
And so, the city of Ancathar was born.
The city was peaceful for many years. Temples were constructed, a military created. Even those whom were poor in gold were rich in good health and food was plentiful. A bustling multi-cultural hub was created. Elves, Dwarves, Halflings, Humans, Gnomes, all shared common stone and wealth. Even more exotic creatures started calling the city home. Travelers from Sigil, the line of fiends, a handful of Tiefling came to ply their wares.
However, as good as the mountains were to the new arrivals, that goodness was not theirs alone. Time and new bounty had been good to all the residents of the mountain and this was to see the start of the first war of Brokespear. Incredibly strong, massively hardy and unusually intelligent, an orc rose above the normal rank and file of the tribes of Brokespear. Proclaiming himself as Warlord of the peak, Rho'kagg the Flayer united the orcs under his banner and drove his host to war against the trespassers.
Numbering in the tens of thousands, the horde descended on the city of Ancathar and drove it's host to the ground. In spite of the cities formidable defenses, the formidable magical protection from it's own enclave of wizards and the united forces of all of the goodly races, the city fell to the unwavering iron of the band beneath Rho'kagg.
Though, in perhaps the most bizarre turn of events, the war was not the end of the city. Overwhelmed and outnumbered, the citizens prepared to make a final stand against the horde as it flowed through the shattered walls like a tide of grey skin and black chain. Yet at the head of the elemental force rode Rho'kagg himself. Mighty and fearsome in a suit of spiked black plate, wielding an ax reputed to have killed more people than the plague, he approached with his banner held aloft. Seeking diplomacy.
Terms were as such:
"The Orcish people, long owners of the Brokespear peaks come to claim what is rightfully theirs. By rights, we own what is above and below the mountain. By might, we take back what is ours."
"Rho'kagg the Flayer is a generous ruler and decrees that the invaders city of Ancathar may stand, so long as it remains open to his people. A tithe of forty percent of Ancathar's wealth shall be provided to the united clans of Rho'kagg the flayer. A portion of Ancathar's grounds will be set aside for Orcish settlement."
"No Elf, human, dwarf or other citizen shall raise a hand to the Orcish host, at penalty of death and in turn, no Orc shall do the same. These are the terms of Rho'kagg the flayer. They will be met, or Ancathar will be wiped from the map and it's people from history."
Reluctant to accept, though in an impossible position, the council of Ancathar was forced to accept. Soon, the shining city became something else. Not all agreed to the terms of Rho'kagg and all too soon, tension was ripe in the city. A group of vigilantes calling themselves the "Grey Masks" had taken to killing Orcs on city grounds. A sect of Tormtar paladins, The Order of the Valiant Heart had fought nearly to extinction to purge the orcish threat. Though they too had to abide the rules. Soon, things such as crime, rape, murder and theft crept back into the city.
A paradise lost, Ancathar now looms on the edge of civil war.
lockeblade:
Very nice mate. Wish I had a regular schedule so I could join in.