DM Post: After the Schism

Maybe it was the lack of performances.  Maybe the tedious bickering he seemed to encounter at every gathering had something to do with it.  Maybe the state of the world had gotten so bad it was cracking his famous self-confidence.  Whatever the case, the writer’s block was particularly heavy that night.  He had sat for what seemed like eons, staring at the worn parchment, a quill resting lazily between his fingers.  The sweet nectar of inspiration, once a steady stream, had long since run dry.    

With a heavy sigh, he gave up on poetry and decided to lay it out exactly as it was, quietly begging Cegorach’s forgiveness as he did so.

“The Age of Order has come and gone, and now chaos reigns.

“An uneasy peace had existed among the thirty-four members of the Divine Pantheon for a thousand years when Nerodeus, the Bastard of Bane, made a grab for power with the help of a small but devoted band of followers.  Using the petals of the Black Rose of Asmodea, the servants of Nerodeus, under the guidance of the Arch-Necromancer Tigean, poisoned and domineered thousands and thousands of free people, turning them into slaves of the “One True Lord.”  The good gods of the Pantheon, knowing what a threat Nerodeus would be to peace if he were to return, reached out to their worshippers and gathered them together along with their dark counterparts in an effort to strike an accord that would keep Nerodeus at bay.  The meeting was a failure, as the forces of evil had already thrown their lot in with Nerodeus and executed an all-out attack on the High Elf paradise of Perillion, where the gathering had taken place.  Perillion did not fall but many fine clerics and paladins, including Stedwick, Champion of Helm, met their earthly end in the battle. 

“All seemed lost, but the gods had one last ace up their sleeve: a mysterious band of adventurers thrown together from all walks of life, whose names have now disappeared into history.  Together they journeyed to the Shimmering Isles, passed through the tests of the guardian – some say it is an enormous Sphynx – and vanquished Nerodeus just as he was about to rise again.  Total dominion under the “One True Lord” had been avoided, and there was cause for relief.

“Unfortunately, the heroes, whoever they were, would not be allowed to savor their victory.  Nerodeus’s grab for power and the schism that ripped through the Pantheon would have devastating effects all across the Realm.  The mindless servants of Nerodeus awoke to find themselves at odds with much of the world around them; where once they had been farmers, merchants, or even kings and queens, now they were traitors and vagabonds, a scourge that needed to be wiped out.  The servants of the Pantheon continued to fight across and even within their factions.  Their gods, meanwhile, took their own conflicts to the Higher Planes, waging war across heavens, hells, and other realms with almost reckless abandon.  They became so absorbed in the fight that they often ignored the plight of their followers entirely, leading to a dramatic rise of anti-deity sentiment and suspicion.  Familiar fault lines between races, clans, and kingdoms began to fume, breaking down old allegiances and intimate friendships alike.  Far from establishing a new dominion, Nerodeus had ushered in an age of chaos more devastating than anyone had seen in thousands of years.

“Such times tend to favor the mighty and ruthless, and these times were no exception.  With relentless in-fighting leading to a vast power vacuum in the Realm, it was the dragons, under the tenuous leadership of the Scarlet Sisters, who stepped into the breach with the unwitting help of an unusual ally.  Shocked out her stupor by a mysterious thief and a deadly encounter with a witch, Zangura, the greatest and most vicious of the Scarlet Sisters, was prepared to unleash havoc in an effort to reestablish her former grandeur when she was approached Eramelle, Queen of the High Elves and ruler of Perillion.  The Queen was aware of the plan to destroy the Black Rose of Asmodea and had provided shelter to the mysterious adventurers tasked with completing the job, but she had doubts about the endeavor and wanted alternatives.  She informed Zangura of the coming threat and pleaded with her to join the fight, but the dragon, as is the wont of her kind, was only interested in one thing: treasure.  Eramelle reluctantly agreed to secure Zangura and her sisters an impressive horde, and a deal was struck. 

“Of course, Nerodeus was stopped without Zangura’s help, but this did not slake her lust for gold and jewels.  She demanded Elven valuables in exchange for helping to sweep up the remaining forces of evil, but Eramelle refused.  Enraged, Zangura went on a murderous spree across the surrounding kingdoms, grabbing up any and all treasure she could get her claws on.  Seeing their peer flaunting her might so openly, and knowing that the paladins and clerics of the world were busy with their own issues, other dragons flocked to Zangura’s cause, including her estranged sisters.  Whether by perceived necessity or the desire to try something new, the dragons forged an alliance of sorts, abandoning their usual grudges in an effort to consolidate power.  Their efforts were successful, and with one great assault they were able to break the back of the already weak City of Perillion, scatter the High Elves, and claim the remaining treasure for themselves.  Just like that, a paradise that had been like a pearl shining in the muck of the Realm was breached, seized, and brought to ruin.

“The High Elves, beaten and humiliated, fled across the seas and banished their Queen from their presence.  Eramelle, having invited the forces of evil into her home and dealt foolishly with a dragon, was overcome with shame and vanished.  Rumor has it that Fara’sin, Queen of the Wood Elves, took pity on her old rival and offered her refuge in Seran’vine, but common sense suggests this could never happen.  Whatever the case, the proud history of the Elves is now in tatters.  Even the Drow are dismayed at the state of the world and the fate of their brethren.

“What of the other races?  Many, including this author, have referred to them as “lesser,” and to a degree they are less.  But for once, less seems desirable, because at least their lives are short, and most of those who saw the fall of the Pantheon some 150 years ago have not had to endure this wretched chaos for long.  We Elves are not so lucky.  We have seen the peaks and valleys of the realm, and this valley is deep, dark, and determined to keep us mired in shadow.

“What of the gods?  Let them fight amongst themselves.  They are no better than us: they are every bit as bitter, as vain, as vengeful, as manipulative as us, only much more powerful.  In fact, that makes them worse.

“What of the Arlecchinos?  We are a dying breed.  We used to wear our small numbers like a badge of honor, but we can no longer hide on the mountaintop of exclusivity.  It is indifference that keeps our membership thin and wounded anger that keeps our appointments sparse.  Our people have grown to hate the sight of us: the old stories of the great and glorious will not do anymore.  Ours is a more cynical time, and these stories do not speak to us.

So why do I write?  I wish I knew.  I would pray to Cegorach for an answer but I doubt he would answer.  I am the Master now, as meaningless as that is, so there is no one to report to.  I do not even know if I would have the stomach to perform this piece.  Perhaps I only write because I can.  Because I must.  Because the voices in my head leave me no peace, and this at least keeps me too occupied to listen.  Whatever the case, I do write.  I do write.”

He paused and stared down at his work, unsure whether he should be pleased to have finished something or appalled at what exactly he had produced.  He had never written anything so dark – even his tragedies had a splash of comic relief, just to keep the juices flowing.  And yet, as far as he was concerned, he had never written anything more truthful, and this was just the prologue.

Of course, a prologue precedes a complete piece, and he wondered if he had that piece in him.  Writing these few paragraphs had been akin to wringing blood out of his flesh, and there was no guarantee that the blood would be shed for a good cause.

And yet.  And yet.

“I do write,” he muttered to himself.  “I do write.”

And so he continued, with no idea why and no more energy to question.