hobbygamers ~ View topic - Dark Secrets of the Godfall War (Campaign Secrets)

4E is here, new elements of the system must be explained away or tweaked to fit, and some of the tweaks I've been imagining are quite interesting.

This thread is intended to store elements of the setting's secret history, and is intended primarily for DM use and flavor design of the world.

PLAYER PLAYTESTERS ARE STRONGLY RECOMMENDED NOT TO READ THROUGH THIS THREAD.

DM playtesters and worldbuilders are another thing entirely.

*****************************************************

The Primordial War
(Note: The term Primordial may require change)

The civilized races only recall the time of the divine Imperium, when the gods ruled over their mortal herds as immortal masters. What mortals do not recall are the dark times at the beginning of Creation. For the wars between the gods and the wars between Immortal and Mortal were not the only conflicts to shape the fate of Creation.

Out of the roiling chaos at the dawn of time rose the Primordials, the eldest of beings. Creatures of titanic power, it was the Primordials who first began to shape the wild clouds of energy and proto-matter that would give birth to Creation. The world was born not to the gods, but to their elder brethren.

Still, the Primordials were creatures of chaos and wild magic, concerned with potential, flow, and flux. Every act of creation was also an act of destruction. Worlds were born and died in an instant at the whims of the elder elemental tyrants. The shards of these creations were scattered, but not totally destroyed. Out of these shards of creation were born the gods.

The elder elemental lords paid little heed to the nascent godlings as the Primordials went about the business of continuously shaping and warping reality. The godlings sought to preserve themselves from the wrath of those that had inadvertently created them, and so hid amid the roiling storms of flux and creation. They saw what the Primordials had created, and within Creation, they saw vast potential for order, power, and dominion.

Banding together, the godlings made war upon the Primordial lords. Fashioning servants and exarchs from the raw stuff of Creation, the godlings overthrew the Primordials and bound them beyond time and space. Out of this act of insurrection and Patricide was born the divine Imperium, the iron-fisted dominion of the gods over their Eternal hosts and Mortal herds. For the Eternals were the champions of the divine, and the Mortals, worshippers, sources of power and energy through which the godlings had won the Primordial war.

But the godlings did not wish others to speak of the time before the gods, lest they be cast as lesser beings. The Eternals were ordered to silence, and in the end, the frail memories of the mortals forgot all traces of the time before the gods, save in the most obscure tales.

The Primordials were chained, subdued and slain. But they were not destroyed. They wait still for the time when they might be free. And now, the divine powers that once held them fast begin to slip and weaken.

In the depths of Creation, and in the cold voids of the Far Realms, the Primordials test their bonds. Unless something is done, it will only be a matter of time before they awaken and rise once more in their amoral, titanic majesty.

Coming Soon: The Shame of the Mandrakor

The Shame of the Mandrakor

Campaign note: The Mandrakori are being ported to D&D 4 as a signifcant faction, if not the race name of the entire Dragonborn race

The Mandrakor as a race played a critical role in the Godfall War, but they will not speak of the circumstances of their entry into the Godfall War; or the reasons for the antagonism between the tiefling and Mandrakor; nor the undying emnity that the true dragons hold for the Mandrakor, the mortal children of the Emperor Wyrm.

The Emperor Wyrm was the epitome of honor, glory, pride, and justice. A mighty god of battle and discipline, the Emperor Wyrm was one of the most powerful forces in the many wars between the gods. A force for good and decency, the Emperor Wyrm held many of the other gods, especially the enslavers, in great contempt. The mightiest of the Emperor Wyrm's exarchs were the great dragons, the firstborn of the dragon god. The Mandrakori, known in modern times as the dragonborn, were the Wyrm's second-born, mortal children who bore in their souls a reflection of the Emperor Wyrm's own divine spark. Where the other gods kept their mortal servants as chattel or slaves, the Mandrakori were treated as warriors. Expendable and replaceable, perhaps, but servant-soldiers of the Wyrm, treated with respect and honor.

When the Liberators began their revolt, the Emperor Wyrm took no sides in the conflict, and would not explain himself to his exarchs and trusted servants. Many among the dragons and Mandrakori wondered and debated. The Mandrakori saw the plight of the other mortal races and knew that the Wyrm seethed at the great injustices perpetrated by the other gods. The dragons, however, knew the bonds of brotherhood, loyalty, and honor that bound the Emperor Wyrm to the other gods.

The Liberators sought the aid of the Emperor Wyrm and his children, for they knew the Wyrm's reputation as a stern, but just being. If a god and his servants could be brought to their side, then it would be a mighty coup for the Liberator cause.

The Mandrakori sought audience with the Emperor Wyrm and presented him with the Liberator offer, while the dragons watched in silence. The Emperor Wyrm responded to the Mandrakori with a cryptic reply: "What do you hold most dear? Justice, or honor? My heart cries for justice, while my soul steels itself for honor. Though I grieve for the sufferings of the mortal races, I cannot turn against my bretheren. Honor demands that I stand with the gods. What then does justice demand of you, my children?"

The lords of the Mandrakori pondered the question. As one, they turned against their progenitor, and as the dragon exarchs looked on in shock, the Mandrakori slew the Emperor Wyrm. The dragons and Mandrakori turned on each other, and almost en masse, the dragonborn defected to the cause of the Liberators.

This act of patricide has tainted the history and the racial psychology of the dragonborn since then. Creatures of honor, integrity, and discipline, they nevertheless live with the stain of ancient treachery. Their elders, the dragon exarchs bear an eternal hate for the traitors that slew the Emperor Wyrm, and many of the Redeemers bear a special hatred for the Mandrakori, whose warrior ranks served the core of the Liberator forces.

A mystery still surrounds the final death of the Emperor Wyrm however. When the Mandrakori slew the Emperor Wyrm, the mightiest of war gods offered no resistance to his children. In the seat of his power, protected by the most potent of wards, the Emperor Wyrm should have been untouchable, and yet the lords of the Mandrakor slew the Wyrm without any impediment. The dragon god offered no resistance, and merely waited, meek as a lamb, as his children approached. The dragon god made no outcry of pain or suffering as he died.

A final note is worth mentioning concerning the fall of the Emperor Wyrm and the Shame of the Mandrakori: Though the Liberators approached the Mandrakori, they did not supply them with Godslayer weapons or the secrets of their creation. The Emperor Wyrm was slain with mortal steel and sinew. How then was this possible?

To Follow: Tieflings

The Sundering of Elf and Eladrin

CRACKLEPOOPISM: The nameless god/ess/s/es of nature, hereby referred to as LOLLIPOP

The elves and eladrin of Creation were once a single people, the servants of the (LOLLIPOP). The powers and magics of this proto-elf race were in large part fueled by the energies of (LOLLIPOP). These proto-elves for the large part stayed out of the Godfall War, until the furious armies of the Liberators and Loyalists caught up in the tides of war and battlelust assaulted the strongholds of (LOLLIPOP's) power. Each side feared that the powers of (LOLLIPOP) would be turned against them, and each denial and expression of neutrality further fed their paranoia and bloodlust. Liberator and Loyalist assaulted (LOLLIPOP), and the land itself turned against the aggressors. Razor-thorned creepers, mazes of vines, hordes of beasts and the crafty mages and warriors of the proto-elves met the armies of the Liberators and Loyalists.

In the end, the valiant defense would not be enough. The armies of the Liberators and Loyalists penetrated (LOLLIPOP's) defenses. Each side feared that (LOLLIPOP) would side with the other, and so, threw their forces ever onward to slay (LOLLIPOP). The god was slain, and the magical backlash of this act is considered one of the most destructive of the after-effects of the Godfall War.

Even as the divine one fell, some of his chosen servants sought to preserve a fraction of (LOLLIPOP's) power. With a powerful ritual, they twisted the fabric of reality to allow them to survive in a parallel universe (creating the feywild) and become the eladrin. Even so, their power and the beauty of the feywild is a mere fraction of the paradise that the proto-elves once dwelt in.

Other proto-elves, many among them woodsmen and warriors, were fighting in the wilderness surrounding (LOLLIPOP's) stronghold when the ritual was completed. They were not caught up in the creation of the feywild, and in so doing, lost a great degree of their fey powers. These would be the ancestors of the elven nations, and they would adapt to become hardy and wise woodsfolk.

**WIP: Sundering the Drow and Elves**
**Tiefling histories on hold**

Will try to comment soon. Need sleep...

I've toyed with the idea of having the drow on relatively indiferent terms with the elves. I've always thought of the elf-drow animosity as kind of forced.

http://uphgc.s4.bizhat.com/viewtopic.php?p=10311#10311

I've just setup a parallel discussion thread for this thread. Comments, discussion, ideas, go there. Let's try to keep this one for semi-formal proposals to the setting.

*Last edited by Revan on Wed Jun 18, 2008 8:38 pm; edited 1 time in total*

The Birth of Shadow

EDIT: This idea has been scrapped, but has been left here as reference in case it can be reworked or reused.

The Shadowfell is another of the parallel worlds born of the Godfall War. Its birth is intertwined with the fates of the gods of Life and Death.

The gods were not a unified force at the start of the war. The Liberator Rebellion struck some domains hard, especially those held by gods of tyranny, pain, and suffering. But not so for the realms of the lords of Life and Death. For the Young King and the Lord of Skulls were still engrossed with their eternal battle. Life and Death contended against each other in their struggle for dominion.

The Young King and the Lord of Skulls were in a sense, never truly great players in the wars between the gods. They did not join the wars of the other gods, join their alliances and conflicts. Life and Death both knew that in the end, only their battle mattered. The Young King, proud, vibrant, ever sought to expand his power, which waxed with each newborn mortal servant to the other gods. His counterpart, the grim Lord of Skulls, drew his power from Death, and his power too grew with each death in the endless conflicts of the other gods.

Their conflict, once eternally balanced between the two powers had shifted. As the populations of the mortal herds of the gods began to peak, the Young King's powers soared to greater heights. The armies of the Lord of Skulls were slowly being pushed back into their domains. In his masterstroke, the Young King approached the other gods and offered his healing radiance and his divine power to bolster their servants, creating well-nigh immortal soldiers to put down the Liberator Rebellion. In return, the other gods turned their forces against the Lord of Skulls.

This was anathema to the Lord of Skulls. To bestow the gift of immortality to mere mortals was an abomination, and the arrogance of the other gods in pitting themselves against Death Incarnate deserved punishment. Hubris required a poetically appropriate reward.

The Lord of Skulls sent emissaries to the Liberator cause, and deigned to grant them an audience. The Liberators met with the Lord of Skulls. Hidden among the delegates were Godslayer weapons, artifacts that had not seen use since the Fall of the Primordials. The Lord of Skulls knew this and smiled. The death god plotted with the Liberators, and when the plan was complete, he rose, and said: "Do what must be done."

The Liberators turned the Godslayers upon the Lord of Skulls and destroyed him. Throughout, the death god was smiling. He knew that his revenge against the other gods was complete. And Death would have its dominion over men, and gods.

The Young King had never planned to destroy the Lord of Skulls. He had planned to chain, to bind, much as the gods had done to the Primordials. But not destroy. Never destroy. For Death and Life were inextricably linked. Neither could exist without the other. For Death Incarnate to fall, so too would Life Incarnate. In the midst of the battlefield, the Young King fell, and so to did all that he gave his blessings to. The immortal super-soldiers that he created all withered to dust.

Out of the fall of Life and Death was born the Shadowfell. Shadow stood in between life and death, a dark reflection of life, and a land on the borders of the unknowns of oblivion and the Far Realms.

Some say that the Lord of Skulls had his last laugh with the birth of the Shadowfell. For in dying, the Lord of Skulls had ensured that nothing, not even a god, would be immune to the power of death. But out of the Shadowfell was also born a power that grew from beyond death. The first known undead were born from the dark energies permeating the Shadowfell. Some even speak of a grim lord that sits in the middle of the shadowed lands. A grim lord who presides over an undying court. The Lord of Skulls died. But that does not mean that he does not live on.

(Comments on the discussion thread, please. This one is a bit rough, and I still have to tie it in to the Sundering of the Feywild storyline as well.)

Uriah, Man Betrayed
(in some texts, it translates as Betrayer Man)

"And on the 7th day the gods rested, for man was the epitome of mortality. They need not try more. Thus man's destiny was etched."

...And so it was agreed upon by the gods that worship would give them the power that they lost after the epoch of war that they endured. To that end, five among them began the arduous task.

Most divine entities started with the basic mold; two feet, two legs, one head, a torso. Then, in their arrogance, each imbued his or her or its own mold with his or her own or its own essence. So it was that the dwarves looked like the dwarf god, and LeShay looked like the LeShay god, and Halflings looked like the halfling god. These mortal first-born were loved by their respective deities. And they, in turn, loved their creator.

But the gods were not satisfied. LeShay, graceful and wise as they are, could not learn to appreciate that which was unappreciable. The dwarves, sturdy and constant as stone, found it difficult to grasp the fluidity of the arcane. Confused at this, they approached Destiny, the only primordial they were able to chain to their will.

Destiny, for its part, stated the obvious: If you can make mortals so great on your own, imagine the mortal you can make together.

In each day one god made one mortal race. After the creation of dwarves, halflings, LeShay, Mandrakor, and Sarrukh, they decided to pool their divinity to create together.

Thus, on the sixth day the gods created man, and they saw that it was good. the gods named the first man Uriah.

Uriah was good, indeed. For while he was neither as strong as a Mandrakor nor as sturdy as a dwarf nor as crafty as a halfling nor as graceful as a LeShay nor as insidious as a Sarrukh, he had the capacity to outdo any of his elder mortals in the endeavors that they were supposed to specialize in. And most of all, he had the capacity to love, and thus worship, all the five creator gods simultaneously. He even worshipped the gods that took no part in the creation of mortals. Thus the gods fought among themselves for his worship.

In the end, the gods stopped bickering and agreed on an uncommon kindness; Destiny, of all the primordials, was allied to them from the beginning. And while it was chained like the rest of his kin, it was unique in that it was chained by their will. So the gods agreed that while they will all share in man's worship, they will give man's ownership to Destiny itself. They presented man to the primordial, and like the gods with their firstborn, it imbued man with it's essence.

But unlike the previous mortals, man did not take the shape of Destiny. Rather, Destiny was unshackled as it transfigured. And the reverse, Destiny taking the shape of man, occurred.

1)From then on, Destiny the Primordial was no more, for she now calls herself Woman. Man and his descendants were now the Children of Destiny.

2)From then on, Destiny the Primordial was no more, for it now referred to itself as El'uweh, god of Destiny. Man and his descendants were now the Children of Destiny.

To be continued...

Notes.
*If it reminds you of the bible, it was intentional. It may creep some out, though. And Uriah is the perfect name for what happens in part2. I think it's okay to use his name, thus I didn't resort to CRACKLEPOOP-ism.
*I have two endings to part1. Which one do you like? The first one is strong in that it gives us the notion of divine-mortal mating. But the 2nd one is strong in that it establishes Destiny changing from Primordial to god. Which is important as I have to kill off Destiny in part2. Laughing

Proposed revision to Uriah p1

...And so the gods did band together, and united, they scored their greatest victory over the Primordials, striking down the Primordial known as Destiny, binding and chaining it unto their will. And so did Destiny reveal its secrets to the gods; secrets that it had concealed even from the other Primordials; secrets that would lay the seeds for the doom of the Primordials, the doom of the gods, . But Destiny was wise, and did not tell all of its secrets.

...And so did the gods create mortals, beings imbued with the divine spark and yet subject to the terror of death, that the mortal races might be beholden to the gods and worship them, and with their faith, strengthen the gods in their long struggle against the Primordials of Mother Night and Father Chaos...

...And so were they created, the fickle Eldariel (proto-elves), the stout-hearted dwarves (Campaign specific name here?), the honour-bound Mandrakori (dragonborn), the crafty (halflings), and the regal Baalim (tieflings). (Edit Note: Do we need the Sarrukh? I don't think so, but discuss it in the discussion thread)...

...But the gods were not satisfied. The gods saw the potential of mortality, and sought more, a mortal vessel that might serve all the gods, not merely their creators. Destiny, for its part, deigned to share its wisdom to the gods: If you can make mortals so great on your own, imagine what you can make together. So did the godlings pool their power and knowledge together to create Mortal Man. And so too did they allow Destiny to share its spark with mankind.

...They would become the Children of Destiny. Even as their patron goddess, humanity would be chained. But, even as their goddess, humanity would free itself from its shackles and become the doom of the gods...

***
Notes:
-keeps most of the story, changes the timeline a bit, removes the Sarrukh in favor of the Baalim/tieflings.
-I'm leaving most of the Uriah plotlining to you, but I do want to talk about this character. Uriah, from what I can see, kills Destiny, and sparks off the Godfall War, with the aid of the Liberators? I like what can be done with him.
-I'm making Destiny more insidious here, using mortal man as a weapon against the gods, and inadvertently succumbing to the weapon that she created.

*Last edited by Revan on Tue Jul 22, 2008 8:44 pm; edited 1 time in total*

The Fall of the Iron-Handed God (Triptych)

EDIT 22/07/08: expanded the text on the last battle.

Part 1 (Taken from the official histories of the Baalim of House Lasirlan) The Rise of the Baalim, the Covenant, and the Fall of the Iron-Handed

...And so did sluttish Destiny whore herself unto the other gods, sharing her "wisdom" in exchange for her life. But the Iron-Handed was wary of her plans, for he knew of her nature. Destiny after all, was still of the ancient Primordial Lords, and though she was perhaps the weakest of their ancient foes, she was perhaps the most subtle. The Iron-Handed had no need for Destiny's tricks. The Iron-Handed had the strength to create his own destiny. And so, when the gods began to create their first mortal servants, the Iron-Handed was not among them. For what need did the greatest of gods need for mere mortal servitors? The Iron-Handed was a god of mastery, and of strength, and unlike its weaker brethren, it had no need of such imperfect servants...

...But then the Iron-Handed beheld the last of the mortal creations, humanity. They were strong of body, stout of heart, keen of intellect and possessed of indomitable will. In them was the potential to shape their own fate, to create their own path to greatness. In them, the Iron-Handed saw their power to create their own destiny. At last, the Iron-Handed had found servants worthy of his own majesty. And so the Iron-Handed God became not only a lord of strength and power, but he also took up the mantles of lordship and dominion.

But the Iron-Handed saw that though humanity had potential, still its potential was unfulfilled, unrealized. It was as if they were incomplete. And so did the Iron-Handed gather the mightiest, wisest, swiftest and strongest of its servants together, and did shape and guide them. It taught them the doctrines of power, and gave them the will to dominion. The foolish turned back. The weak perished. And in the end, only the strongest, the fittest, the most loyal, remained. And so were born the Houses of the Baalim, the Lordly Ones. And they swore Covenant with the Iron-Handed. They would serve it, and in return, power, wealth, and glory were their due...

...The Baalim were truly champions of the divine Imperium. They were mighty warlords, leading the armies of their godly masters, archmagi bending the laws of reality in service of their liege, and warlocks ruling over pacts with mighty beings and ancient exarchs, channeling their power for the will of the divine. But not all were content in the protective aegis of the divine. There were many among the mortal herds who grew jealous of the majesty of the Baalim. In secret, they whispered slanders and blasphemies, and together with malcontents among the Eternal Host, they turned against their divine masters. So began the Godfall War...

The Baalim were beset on all sides, but even then, they stood tall with mighty works and unsurpassed heroism... First among the champions of the divine was the Emperor of the Baalim, Abaddon, the Angel of the Abyss. Mightiest of the Iron-Handed God's mortal servants, the Destroying Angel seared the ranks of the traitors with hellfire and brimstone, but though thousands fell to his unquenchable flames, thousands more rose up against their rightful gods and creators...

...At last, the day of the final battle came, and the traitors drew forth their armies before the Shadowed Mount. Mighty were the deeds of the Baalim in that last day, and uncounted are the stories of their valor in the defence of the gods. But still the traitors marched on, filled with black zeal and an unquenchable font of madness and betrayal. Then the gates of the Shadowed Mount were opened, and the Iron-Handed God itself took the field, leading its loyal children to battle against the traitors.

It seemed as if the tide of the battle might itself turn, for never before had the Iron-Handed God itself joined the field against the traitor legions. Never before had the Liberators witnessed the power of the greatest of the elder gods. But the Liberators still marched on, and though the Iron Handed and his champions unleashed wave after wave of destruction, still the manic waves of the Liberators surged onwards.

The Iron-Handed God knew that he could destroy all that stood before him, but in doing so, he knew that the great spell would destroy all of his chosen people, perhaps even scour the world itself of all life. And so the Iron-Handed ordered his children away, scattering the Houses of the Baalim to the winds to ensure their survival, and accompanied only by his champion, Abaddon, the Destroying Angel, the Iron-Handed stood against the mightiest of the Liberator champions: traitor dragons, fallen angels, foul dragonspawn and upstart mortals. The Liberators lost their greatest champions that day, but the in the end, the Iron-Handed Lord was mortally wounded, his armored skin pierced and shattered with a dozen Godslayer weapons. The Master of the Lordly Ones whispered into the ears of his champion the secrets of the titanic magic that ended the Godfall war. It is said that the Destroying Angel wept tears of blood and fire as he sang the Song of Destruction and forever changed the world.

Weep, weep, scions of House Lasirlan, heirs of the Destroying Angel. Weep for the past, weep for the future, but dry your tears, for though the Iron-Handed God fell in battle, still his children live on. Rise up, sons and daughters of Abaddon, take up the sword, bring forth the arcane spell, and speak the mighty names of the divine. Harken, you traitors who bear the name of Liberators, for though the Iron-Handed fell, still his children remain, and they will Redeem this world, one stone, one soul at a time. And when we awaken him from his dead slumber, we shall be rewarded, for the Covenant is not forgotten.

The Fall of the Iron-Handed God

Part 2: Records from the Godfall War recovered from the last battle and stored in the archives of fallen Tarkonis.

Of course I don't trust him, Koroth. Who can ever really trust a traitor? Then again, we of all people should know. We are traitors, every single one of us, Koroth. We betrayed the Emperor Wyrm, and our fealty is forever tainted, dragon or mandrakor alike.

But he gave us the pass. He plays a dangerous game, giving us this information. He showed us the weakest point, the chink in the scales. And now we have what we've sought for years. Our one shot, a single last battle. Liberator forces under the the Khazan, the Mandrakor, and the Children of Destiny have a foothold and now advance on the last strongpoint of the divine. The Shadowed Mount itself. So what if a traitor opened the gates for us? Aren't we all traitors as well, Koroth?

He knows which way the winds blow. The old days are over. Mortality will be free of divine tyranny. Never again will we bow to uncaring destroyer gods, to petulant children drunk on their own power. He knows that he cannot exist in the new order. He needs to secure his place.

I'm tired, Koroth. I'm tired of this war. I'm tired of everything we've had to do. Every one of our victories has come at incredible cost. In life, in knowledge, in honor. I've done things that I would never have considered before the war, slaughtered Baalim women and children in their beds, put the wounded and helpless to the sword, and razed the land to bare rock. The dream is slipping away from us with every new atrocity, Kor.

I want to rest. I want peace. I want this war to end. And if all it takes for this war to end is for me to embrace him as a battle brother, then it is a price that I pay gladly. After all what shame do we suffer in calling him ally? Is that shame greater than having been among those who have drawn cold steel against their loving creator? I think not.

The Fall of the Iron-Handed God
EDIT: 28 July 2008: FINISHED AT LAST!
Part 3

"Your Majesty, the battle fares poorly, units are being pushed back from the front lines-"

Emperor Abaddon of the Baalim motioned the courier to silence. He considered his options. Things were falling apart all across the lines as the Liberators threw their full force against the Loyalist lines with reckless abandon. All across the base of the Shadowed Mount, the last remnants of Loyalist forces stood their ground. The skies above the battlefield mirrored the chaos below as flights of airships exchanged fire with squadrons of griffons and other beasts. The once perfect formations of the angelic choirs had dissolved into a fratricidal melee. The Liberator forces were advancing too far and too fast, despite the assembled power of the remaining Loyalists and the divine fury of the gods themselves. Not now, not this way, not yet!

"My lord, the Master...the Iron Handed continues to rain destruction upon the foe, and has already slain the great wyrm Horadrus, but its position is cutoff! Already, the godslayers circle for the kill!"

You will not die by their hands, Dread Liege. Abaddon stood up to his full height, resplendent in his sculpted dragonhide cuirass, the gilt trim dimly reflecting the flickering corpselight of the Daystar.

"Summon my honor guard and the other lords of the Baalim to my side. We will strike back. For the glory of the Iron Lord!"

The courier teleported away to summon the other lords of the Baalim. From his command post, Abaddon could see a lone figure on a hilltop across the battlefield, observing the battle below them. Uriah, you poor, demented fool. Abaddon felt a mix of pity and contempt for the First Human. You stupid, love-besotted fool. Did you think killing her would solve all your problems? I wonder if at the last moments, Destiny herself could appreciate the irony of her own weapon turning on her? Abaddon clenched his teeth. I will not repeat your mistakes, old friend. I come prepared for this day. I am Abaddon, Emperor of the Baalim, King of Kings and Lord of Lords. I am the Destroying Angel, and I alone craft my own destiny. Today, I will snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. In the distance, he saw the Iron-Handed God slowly withdraw into a fighting retreat, falling back into it's mountaintop sanctum, the font of all its power. Neither I nor the Iron-Handed God will fall to a Liberator's blade today. I've worked too hard to let that happen. Abaddon left Uriah to his musings. He had a war to fight.

***

The last of the Blood Guards had assembled at the Hall of Titans, the dread god's audience hall, its cyclopean architecture soaring to heights that would dizzy even the mightiest of gods. In the far end of the hall, the remnants of the White Raven Guard had formed in a defensive line at the Hall of the Titans' gigantic gates, no mean feat, as the doorway was wide enough for a Great Wyrm to fly through with wings at full spread. The lords of the great Houses assembled around him, and for a moment, Abaddon let his attention wander, gazing up at the impossibly tall heights of the Hall, the pillars entwined in gilt-leaf serpents, the the titanic marble sculptures extolling the glories of the Baalim and their immortal master. And all this could be lost. All that we have been promised: power, wealth, glory, and dominion without end. All that we have been promised, all that I have earned, all this could be lost if I fail in what I must do today.

"Well, Abaddon, what would you have of us...dread lord?" Briana Darkhope idly toyed with her envenomed longsword as she addressed the Emperor, the blade dripping caustic toxins on the carpet. "We could just as easily be spending each precious moment exhorting our troops to greater heights of futility, but no. You summoned us to your side, dread lord, so you may as well tell us your plan. At least I assume you have one. You always do, don't you, husband?"

The emperor studied the assembled lords before him. A number gave off a palpable sense of thrill, a pounding exhiliration at the joys of the battle before them, but many more were far more grim. The Lordly Ones were not stupid. They could see the odds stacked against them. He needed to offer them a plan that might actually work.

"All units are to withdraw to the Palace grounds. The traitors have the field, and it would be folly to dispute that." A murmur of desperation began among the ranks of the commanders. "But if anything, this may be our best chance ever at ending this war here and now. We will withdraw and let the enemy pour into the palace itself. This is our home, our ground, and here we will cut the enemy to pieces. Perhaps tonight, my dear friends and enemies, my energetically ambitious equals, perhaps now you can put all your knowledge of this palace's warrens, tunnels, secret passages, murder holes and other less savory knowledge that we are all not supposed to know, in order to cut the enemy into pieces. We will not face them in line of battle. We will scatter, like slivers of glassteel, we will slip past their strongpoints and warbands. We shall flow through them and strike at them as the barbarians enter in their disorganized rabble." That got their attention.

"But first, the enemy must be held in place while our forces withdraw. Memnon of House Tydeus, take command of the White Ravens. You are to hold the Gates of Splendor open until our forces complete their withdrawal. Stand your ground and let none pass."

Young Memnon swept back his fair hair and slammed his fist to his breastplate in salute. "We will hold them though the mountain itself fall upon us, my lord!"

Fool. You're simply too damned stupid to realize that I'm sending you to your death. The Liberators will have your head on a pike before the day is out. The young warrior strapped his helm on and bellowed orders to his honor guards. I can only hope that the silly little boy will take a whole steaming pile of the damned traitors to hell with him.

Abaddon gave out orders to the other lords, scattering their formations, north, south, east, and west, allowing no solid line for the Liberators to strike at. And scattered to the four winds, none can interfere.

"And is this really the divine will of the Dread Majesty, Abaddon?" The sinuous voice of Bloody-Handed Mithras interrupted him. The angel had once been the dread god's favorite, and even now, Mithras towered over the many Baalim in attendance. "I would perhaps be of better use to the Dread Majesty if were to join his cadre of swordsworn angels, rather than engaging the enemy like some lowly footsoldier."

"Much as I hate to admit it, Mithras, you are the most powerful of the Dread Majesty's servants, save only for myself. Therefore your power is needed here. The enemy brings Godslayer weapons to bear. Hunt down these abominations and destroy them."

"Perhaps I do not make myself clear, little Baalim-"

"Are you questioning, my authority, Mithras? Do you remember that the Iron-Handed set me over you and all his angels? That I speak with his voice?"

The other Baalim had cleared a space around the mortal and the eternal. All eyes were fixed on the two rivals. Briana casually sank the tip of her sword into the floor, where it stood, a slight quiver in the blade betraying her anticipation.

The blank features of the angel nodded. "Your will be done...dread lord." Mithras took flight and and soared headlong with its angels to do battle against the Liberators. The remaining Baalim breathed a sigh of relief and scattered to their warbands.

"You should have destroyed that one a long time ago, husband. Now what would you have of my House Darkhope and your Lasirlan forces?"

"Ah, Briana, my darling little Darkhope. Of you, my queen, I must ask the most difficult thing of all. When the battle begins, take the core of your Darkhope forces and my Lasirlan guards, and hide. Do not engage. Flee into the mountain's heart. Take refuge in the Forge-god's vaults. Dead as he is, I'm sure he won't mind."

Briana frowned. "Run? Turn tail when you need every able-bodied warrior the most? Am I interpreting this to mean that the indomitable Abaddon, Angel of the Abyss is expecting to lose? I-" Then she began to chuckle. "Oh no. I know you too well, my husband. You never lose. You're up to something, aren't you? And you intend to keep your Lasirlan and my Darkhope forces ready when the time comes to-"

Abaddon brought a finger to her lips, his grin matching hers. "I intend to end this war today, my queen. And win or lose, I intend to have someone continue the imperial line, Briana. Whether I live or die, House Darkhope and House Lasirlan will live on."

***

Abaddon and the Blood Guard fought their way up the slopes of the Shadowed Mountain. At the gardens of (LOLLIPOP) they cut their way through Liberator skirmishers and berserk beasts and venomous plants. At the Fane of the Daystar, the sepulchral silence was broken by the clash of steel on steel and the lamentations of the last of the Daystar's worshippers were joined by the moans of the dead and dying. Scarcely a third of the Blood Guard remained as they fought through the Healing Hall, where the blind, mad servants of the dead Healer blindly carried out their last orders. The Baalim and the Mandrakori had as much to fear from the scalpels and bone saws of the centipede-like Redactors, their arms bristling with tools that gave life and death, than from each others blades.

The Blood Guard had been whittled to a handful by the time that they had attained the summit of the mountain. That handful will have to be enough. And it was. Abaddon entered the Dread Majesty's sanctum alone, stepping past the smoldering corpses of Liberator champions and the last of his Blood Guards.

The pinnacle of the Shadowed Mount was a study in carnage. Sprawled on the steps leading to the top was the corpse of a silver dragon, its scales splattered with angelic ichor and its own draconic blood. The shattered bodies of mortals lay scattered around the smoldering remains of the Swordsworn, the Iron-Handed God's own bodyguards, who had fallen to the last man. The summit itself still rang with the clash of cold iron as the Iron-Handed God fought with the last of the Liberator champions. Though its godplate armor was rent in a dozen places, still the Dread Majesty hammered at its foes. But it was weakened, visibly weakened. Abaddon could see where the great claws of the wyrm Horadrus had scarred the immortal's godplate, and he was sure that divine ichor mingled with mortal blood on the mountaintop.

With a great roar that echoed in the mountaintop, the Dread Majesty threw back the kherubim Kalariel and his dragonborn lieutenant, Koroth Stormcrowned. The angel leaped back weakly, the eldritch light of its wings flickering like a candle guttering in the wind. The dragonborn was not quite as graceful, the god's backhanded blow sending him flying. The Stormcrowned landed with a sickening crunch, sprawled among the fallen bodies of his brethren. Abaddon was somewhat surprised that the Mandrakor still had the energy to try to stand up, though by the way the warrior was clutching his side, he was obviously too hurt to fight.

The Iron-Handed God drew itself up to its full height, and for a moment, Abaddon could almost forget the wounds and scars on the Dread Majesty's godplate, caught up as he was in the majestic splendor of his liege-lord.

And now this battle is finished, pathetic little rebels. Join me, Abaddon, and together we shall put down this insolent rebellion. The Iron-Handed God motioned the Baalim to stand by its side, reveling in the opportunity to show its mastery over its foes and its servants. The angel was bleeding astral ether into the air itself. It wouldn't be able to put up a fight. The dragonborn of course, would not be a problem at all.

Abaddon brought out his blade. Though the Iron-Handed God had taught him well of the infernal paths of the warlock, Abaddon still believed in certain traditions. Things like this needed to be handled with a personal touch. Besides, this was a special blade. Abaddon raised the short blade up in the air for a moment, admiring his worksmanship as the blade twinkled with reflected sunlight and its own arcane energies. The Baalim could feel the eyes of the dragonborn boring into his, Koroth Stormcrowned knowing with sickening certainty that there was nothing that he could do to stop the him. Abaddon lowered the blade, and in one deft motion, spun around and sank the blade up to the hilt in the unsuspecting god's chest.

Abaddon was a warlock and scholar, as well as emperor. He had studied the craftsmanship of the renegade Vondoc Martel, and the star-forged Godslayers of Kalariel and the Liberators. He had even beheld the sword of Uriah, Chosen of Destiny, as it drank of the golden ichor of Destiny herself. To all of these he added his own knowledge of the dark arts and the hellforged techniques of the Baalim to create a blade that had never before been seen in the light of Creation, and would never again be equaled by mortal hands. It was a blade worthy of killing a god.

Into the little knife Abaddon poured all his rage, frustration, envy, and hate. You promised us power, you promised us wealth, and instead you gave us a mere pittance of your majesty. You turned us into slaves and battlethralls and led us to defeat after defeat, Dread Majesty, and we deserved better. I deserve better. And now I will take from you what should have been mine by right. The glowing embers that served as the Dread Majesty's eyes flared, then flickered, as it sank to its knees, before finally guttering out as the titanic godplated form crashed to the ground.

***

Koroth Stormcrowned winced in pain as his broken ribs stabbed into his side. The dragonborn tried and failed to drag himself into a sitting position as he saw the Iron-Handed God fall.Somehow, I expected the death of a god to be...louder. For a moment, no one moved, not the fallen god, the weary angel, the injured dragonborn, nor the Baalim emperor. I didn't think he'd actually do it. A Baalim that kept its word. Will wonders never cease?

Kalariel turned to Abaddon. "You have done the free peoples of creation an immeasurable service, Abaddon of the Baalim. You have freed them from-" The Baalim motioned the kherubim to silence as he approached. Koroth tried to shout at the angel when he noticed that the Baalim still carried his blade, the little knife radiant with divine energies. All that he could manage was a faint croaking that sent fingers of pain into his chest.

"They're dead. They're all dead. Every last one of them. The Healer rots in the field, and the strutting, self-important Daystar's fires have been quenched. The Emperor Wyrm was slain by your own hand. Today I have drunk of the blood of gods, angel. Do you think I care about what happens to lesser mortals?" Abaddon rammed his knife into the angel's chest, and Kalariel could only gasp as the blade drank of his astral lifesblood.

Abaddon stood there, atop the bloodied summit of the Shadowed Mount, his Godslayer blade glowing as if it were new-forged. The Emperor of the Baalim raised his blade high and roared. Koroth heard a tearing, and he saw the emperor's skin rip open as enormous black wings, dark as night, erupted from his back. In the haze of pain, Koroth could not tell if the wings were feathered black like a crow's, or dark and leathery as a bat's, or perhaps even made out of woven strands of night itself.

I am Abaddon, Angel of the Abyss, King of Kings and Lord of Lords, and today, I take what is mine by right.

The Baalim wept tears of blood and fire as he rose into the heavens and sang the song that ended the world.

***

Koroth could hear two voices talking. The dragonborn sat up, wondering why he was still alive. In the midst of the bloodrock platform atop the mountain, Abaddon and the First Human stood before each other.

"It is fitting that you should be here when the old world ends and the new one begins, Uriah. You killed Destiny, old friend, and allowed me to break the chains of mine."

Abaddon noticed that the dragonborn had awakened and gave him a sardonic smile. "Ah, the Mandrakor returns to the land of the living at last! I was surprised to see that you had survived, Koroth Stormcrowned. Tell me, young Liberator, are you satisfied with how I fulfilled my end of the bargain? Come, stand, dragonborn, and behold the world that we have given birth."

Together, Mandrakor, human, and Baalim contemplated the desolation before them.

Well, finally effing done with the Fall of the Iron-Handed God.

The One Above All

The sky burns high and fierce in the skies. Blight and famine cover the harsh soil like some invisible fog. Clouds gather; a storm is forming. The rain is acrid, and strangely dry. The land weeps. The people forget, but the land remembers.

Svjorthan remembers.
----------------------------
In the beginning, there was Ystat, the One Above All. All mortal beings were her children, called the Ak'Nistat. They were a proud people, and their civilization was paradise. The world thrived and prospered in the beauty of creation as crafted by the Primordials; it was Ystat, however, who gave birth to intelligent life, such that this beauty could be appreciated more fully.

Among even these perfect beings certain few stood out. Spo-ngalar was gruff and somewhat harsh, yet none could match his strength; Ithlune and Ithwene were twins of unparalleled grace, and all the animals and other creatures of nature loved them; Thrummond was a stout yet hardy fellow who loved to study the caverns deep in the earth. There are many others to speak of, though the memory of more than a few has been lost forever.

The beings such as these would become the old gods. When it came time for the godlings to rebel, Ystat was the last to be bound; indeed, many were doubtful as to whether or not to go through with it, to seal away the Mother of All, who had always treated the world and all her children with nothing but kindness. Many were doubtful, but none spoke in her defense. It was that, perhaps, more than anything that drove her to act as she did. With a small bow, a sad smile, and a few parting words, she cast herself into the sky, into the Far Realms, and from there willed her own prison into existence, seal after unbreakable seal, layer after impregnable layer. There she lay in half-slumber, keeping one eye open to watch upon the world.

At least she knew her children, and her children's children, continued to prosper. She could feel the changes taking place in the universe. Mighty Spo-ngalar birthed the orcs, Ithlune the eladrin, Ithwene the elves, Thrummond the dwarves, and so on. These gods, together, created humans; a far cry from the Ak'Nistat, to be sure, but quite close in quite a few ways. Ystat gazed upon these things in her slumber, and was glad. It seemed her children no longer needed her. With that, her lone, open eye closed, and she fell into a deep sleep.

Not long after the Godfall War began. Ystat could not see, or hear, but the One Mother knew, and felt, that her children, those she birthed and raised herself, were dying all around her. Ystat knew this with no tangible proof, but knew with the absolute certainty of a mother looking after her children. For each god that died Ystat shed tears.

For each tear Ystat shed, a godstone was formed.
-------------------------
Ystat slumbers still deep within the Far Realms. Ystat hopes beyond hope that her feelings are but feelings, and that her nightmares are but nightmares. It will not take much to wake Ystat from her slumber, though one can only say what will happen when she does...

____________________________________________________

A number of things
1.) All mortals were once part of one ancient, perfect race.
I know it's a stretch, but I think it's workable. I figure it's not so bizarre that we can't work it in, and Bonethrall is our own campaign setting anyway, so might as well give it a unique twist or some such.

2.) Ystat is the mother of that one perfect race.
Think about it. A mother leaves her children alone for a few minutes, then comes back and sees they're trying to plug forks into electric sockets. That's what this is, essentially. Think of the anger and sadness and disappointment in that moment, and raise that to the nth power, where n is very very large indeed. It's a pretty basic concept, but in the setting it's sufficiently grimdark, no?

Her tears as godstones are a simplification of a rather complex quantum physics-esque idea. Basically, as she feels each godling essence winking out, she "traps" the energy into its crystalline form, wherever it ended up. Now this works wherever any particular godstone is found; we merely say, well, that god's essence just happened to be there when Ystat realized that god had died. Or, if we wish to generalize, we could say they all crowded to the Heart of the World (i.e. in its core), thus godstones are unearthed. Alternatively, if godstones come FROM SPACE!!! then we just say, bloody right Ystat cried godstones into existence, and it took that long for her tears to reach the world.

The name, by the by, comes from her title--the One Above All. Tagalizing, we could get, roughly, Ang Isa sa Taas ng Lahat. With some compression, Istat. Finally, Ystat, just because. Very Happy

While we're on the subject, I took some liberties with names, if you'll notice. Let me do a quick recap:

Svjorthan: The name of the plane we're using. No particular meaning, but sounds sufficiently grimdark and/or GAR. Heck, we need to call the world something, anyway, so i'm just pitching this and hoping it sticks XD
Spo-ngalar: aka SPONG!!! Very Happy

Creator of Orcs, and possibly goblinoids
Ithlune: Creator of Eladrin
Ithwene: Creator of Elves
Thrummond: Creator of Dwarves

I'm of the opinion that, for discussion purposes at least, the old gods (and several other things besides) should really have names. Titles are well and good for mortals and all, but think of the really ancient beings. Think of some angel softly murmuring the name of a dead god he remembers, with PCs not understanding one bit of it. A minor detail, maybe, but I feel it adds a little something to the setting (even if it's just from a worldbuilding standpoint).

Anyway, I realize the ideas are rough, but please do give feedback on it. If it's at all viable for integration into the setting then I'd like very much to work on making that happen.

*WHIP CRACK!*

Come on guys post your opinions! I want to share my views but you guys know the implication of B_B's proposal better than I am!

Yes, sir, Xtian sir!

Well, I must say, an overgod concept (as this one seems to be) is overdone. It is overdone, however, because it is effective. So I'm not against that. I like how she sort of turns out like a Tharizdun-Ao hybrid. Chained but motherly.

Although, I'd prefer it if she were primordial, and not divine. you won't find godstones of her, and consequently no divine attuned characters (clerics et al). There could be the occasional cult, though. But they should be anything but common.

Concern:

I already have a posited theory that the godstones are crystallized quintessence, basically solidified god-ness, or divine spark. The gods drew in portions of the Astral Sea towards them, turning liquid into "crystal". It is this hypothesis that causes the Astral Sea to be "dry", which is why the Far Realm is closer now than it was before.

This also explains the godstone shards (holy symbols): When a creature dies, he normally travels to the Shadowfell, then onto the Astral Dominion of his deity. But since the deity is gone, they instead are drawn to the godstone, where they are summarily "trapped" by the surrounding Astral stuff and turn into shards.

My theory is interesting if you consider that you destroy a shard when you Raise Dead. by crushing the shard, you unconsciously consume what remains of a dead entity's soul, destroying it forever.

The challenge is basically to marry the two concepts, make your concept and my concept fit together like lego pieces.

Wait, Astral sea? Correct me if I am wrong but I though we are using original cosmology?

We're using 4e cosmology, modified to suit the setting as far as I can tell. The 4e Manual of the Planes is out already if you want more info; it's actually pretty well written IMO.