Somnastra
Good
Unearthly, soundless tremors seem to reverberate across the land. There is no shaking, no fissures opening in the earth, and mountains of fire remain in their slumber. Yet there is unease. Wind passing through the trees gives apprehensive sighs, while waves beat their frustrations on the shore. Even the songbirds sound disconsolate. Air hangs oppressively close in once-cozy chambers and a listlessness emanates from ... everywhere. There is nothing specific that is wrong and yet....
Something is amiss.
Culmination: June 13th
The wind blows near constantly now, rustling the leaves in the trees and howling over rooftops. Crop growth rates seem accelerated, which, far from being a boon, causes stalks to droop to the ground where their fruits sprout even before they can be harvested. The seas are choppy, and ships on long voyages are not yet returned. Armor tarnishes, horses throw their shoes, and money seems to get eaten by pockets and wallets. It has become apparent that something occurs beyond mortal ken. Do the gods free themselves of some ancient arcane restrictions imposed by the now-absent Immortal Kings? Are they battling with each other for control of their demesnes? Is something giving them power, or perhaps taking their power? There is a sense of urgency - of desperation, perhaps implied by the incessant wind - that no longer abates.
Crouching to pick up her headscarf from the bramble it had gotten caught in, a young, unremarkable girl glanced furtively towards the wall visible in the distance. It held back the now dead corruption, and her anxiety made it seem to shrink dangerously low. She wondered if the clouds hid newly grown tendrils. What lay beyond terrified her. Port Silver, now a bastion of savagery and brutality, was no longer the glimmering beacon of the Northern Kingdoms. With a whimper and a hunch of the shoulders, she shuffled quickly inside the simple farmhouse, grabbing at the door as the wind nearly took it out of her hands. Inside she can hear arguing. Mama and Pa no longer tried to hid their discord from their children. Mama, devoted to the Pantheon, knew with certainty that the land had been cursed. She had become obsessed with appeasing this divine or that one, and wanted the whole family to take a pilgrimage immediately and petition for deliverance by paying their respects. She had already given her youngest daughter to serve the Sisterhood of Shalherana as a scullery maid in some unknown place, and prayed hourly that this sacrifice would be seen with favor. In contrast Pa was increasingly moody about the state of his crops. At first he had been elated to see their land blossom early, anticipating an extra harvest. But when the first fruits were ready, he had not even finished a full day with his scythe before he could see the untouched rows growing heavy and overripe. He would never complete the harvest in time to save even a quarter of it. His family might not have enough food to eat and sell at market in the fall, if they even had enough to eat in the first place. The girl's brothers were becoming aggressive with each other, the oldest terrorizing the younger two, and the girl usually tried to find an out-of-the-way corner to hide in, lest a blow or five find her, accidentally or otherwise. She wished they would all just be quiet. She wished it would ever be quiet. The wind was growing louder every day, and she could hardly sleep at night for the howling. It sounded like screaming sometimes. As she climbed to her place behind a dwindling sack of grain, her chin quivered. Were they ever going to know peace again, or would they all starve first?
Far away, striding hurriedly over cobblestones strewn with waste and detritus, a tall merchant held his hat on his head as a strong wind twisted between the buildings and raced past him. His frown deepend. Perhaps his ship would be in the harbor today. He hoped. He worried. He knew he should have taken the cog instead of the overland route this year, but it had seemed like an opportunity for his son to demonstrate his suitability as captain of the vessel, and begin working to take over a few of the trade routes. What if Jax had not smiled on the voyage? What if his offerings at the shrine were not enough? He would not only lose this season's bounty, but his only remaining son. Praying under his breath as his pace quickened, he turned onto the avenue leading out to the docks. His eyes frantically scanned the sparse masts. None of the rigging was familiar. No ships waited in the harbor to be tugged into a slip. The merchant's steps slowed, and then stopped. As his knees hit the stone, he wept hot tears.
All across Altera, families give in to their deepest anxieties, some turning to each other in vicious argument, others collapsing in hopelessness and despair. Perhaps it's the constant noise, or the way the sea and harvest seem to work against those who depend on each for their trade. But all across Altera, prayers are lifted to the gods, in silence and in loud, weeping tones. Any relief brought by such beseeching is temporary and empty. In a trickle, then a flood, people begin pilgrimages to the central shrines, to petition to the gods as directly as they are able.
Date: 13 June 2015
Time: 1600 EST (2000 GMT/2100 BST)
Location: Cathedral at the Crossroads
This hook is outside the schema which Mich published previously, and it is necessary in order to make the transition (and the consequences of the changes within the staff team) make sense.
Player events are highly encouraged.
Something is amiss.
Culmination: June 13th
The wind blows near constantly now, rustling the leaves in the trees and howling over rooftops. Crop growth rates seem accelerated, which, far from being a boon, causes stalks to droop to the ground where their fruits sprout even before they can be harvested. The seas are choppy, and ships on long voyages are not yet returned. Armor tarnishes, horses throw their shoes, and money seems to get eaten by pockets and wallets. It has become apparent that something occurs beyond mortal ken. Do the gods free themselves of some ancient arcane restrictions imposed by the now-absent Immortal Kings? Are they battling with each other for control of their demesnes? Is something giving them power, or perhaps taking their power? There is a sense of urgency - of desperation, perhaps implied by the incessant wind - that no longer abates.
Crouching to pick up her headscarf from the bramble it had gotten caught in, a young, unremarkable girl glanced furtively towards the wall visible in the distance. It held back the now dead corruption, and her anxiety made it seem to shrink dangerously low. She wondered if the clouds hid newly grown tendrils. What lay beyond terrified her. Port Silver, now a bastion of savagery and brutality, was no longer the glimmering beacon of the Northern Kingdoms. With a whimper and a hunch of the shoulders, she shuffled quickly inside the simple farmhouse, grabbing at the door as the wind nearly took it out of her hands. Inside she can hear arguing. Mama and Pa no longer tried to hid their discord from their children. Mama, devoted to the Pantheon, knew with certainty that the land had been cursed. She had become obsessed with appeasing this divine or that one, and wanted the whole family to take a pilgrimage immediately and petition for deliverance by paying their respects. She had already given her youngest daughter to serve the Sisterhood of Shalherana as a scullery maid in some unknown place, and prayed hourly that this sacrifice would be seen with favor. In contrast Pa was increasingly moody about the state of his crops. At first he had been elated to see their land blossom early, anticipating an extra harvest. But when the first fruits were ready, he had not even finished a full day with his scythe before he could see the untouched rows growing heavy and overripe. He would never complete the harvest in time to save even a quarter of it. His family might not have enough food to eat and sell at market in the fall, if they even had enough to eat in the first place. The girl's brothers were becoming aggressive with each other, the oldest terrorizing the younger two, and the girl usually tried to find an out-of-the-way corner to hide in, lest a blow or five find her, accidentally or otherwise. She wished they would all just be quiet. She wished it would ever be quiet. The wind was growing louder every day, and she could hardly sleep at night for the howling. It sounded like screaming sometimes. As she climbed to her place behind a dwindling sack of grain, her chin quivered. Were they ever going to know peace again, or would they all starve first?
Far away, striding hurriedly over cobblestones strewn with waste and detritus, a tall merchant held his hat on his head as a strong wind twisted between the buildings and raced past him. His frown deepend. Perhaps his ship would be in the harbor today. He hoped. He worried. He knew he should have taken the cog instead of the overland route this year, but it had seemed like an opportunity for his son to demonstrate his suitability as captain of the vessel, and begin working to take over a few of the trade routes. What if Jax had not smiled on the voyage? What if his offerings at the shrine were not enough? He would not only lose this season's bounty, but his only remaining son. Praying under his breath as his pace quickened, he turned onto the avenue leading out to the docks. His eyes frantically scanned the sparse masts. None of the rigging was familiar. No ships waited in the harbor to be tugged into a slip. The merchant's steps slowed, and then stopped. As his knees hit the stone, he wept hot tears.
All across Altera, families give in to their deepest anxieties, some turning to each other in vicious argument, others collapsing in hopelessness and despair. Perhaps it's the constant noise, or the way the sea and harvest seem to work against those who depend on each for their trade. But all across Altera, prayers are lifted to the gods, in silence and in loud, weeping tones. Any relief brought by such beseeching is temporary and empty. In a trickle, then a flood, people begin pilgrimages to the central shrines, to petition to the gods as directly as they are able.
Date: 13 June 2015
Time: 1600 EST (2000 GMT/2100 BST)
Location: Cathedral at the Crossroads
This hook is outside the schema which Mich published previously, and it is necessary in order to make the transition (and the consequences of the changes within the staff team) make sense.
Player events are highly encouraged.
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