Invaria

Landing on Edjimin
Not without notice.

Millicent glanced between the bags of baked sunflower seeds in each of her hands, sizing them up, trying to figure which was more deserved of her 2 silver pieces.

“What do you think, Hober,” she said, turning towards the sun parched dust where her sun had just been.

“Hober?” The Orc sniffed the air, quick after the scent of her child, while gathering wind for a bellow. Large for his age, leathery skin bright green, Hober should have been to spot among the weaker species around them. But this was the market. And Millicent wasted no time, becoming concerned.

“Hober!” She let all the wind out of her in a shout, causing a nearby elf, otherwise engrossed in the careful sampling of a cheese boutique, to cough large yellow chunks across the stand. A family of Bullywugs shuffled closer together, keeping an uneasy eye out. Millicent didn’t care; She wanted her son back, and she wanted him now.

She pushed away from the stand, forgetting about the sunflower seeds in each hand, and stepped into the river of people funneling in and out of the square. The tiefling manager of the shop tried to follow the angry bobbing of her head above the surging crowd, but couldn’t stray too far from the shop and instead retired back into the shade of his tent, curses heavy on every breath.

Hober was nowhere to be seen, and as the ebb of the populous continued to tug at the lengths of her skirt, a certain pattern started to emerge. The crowd was not just proving difficult to navigate, it was actually pushing against her. Millicent looked behind her, towards the docks, and saw that something seemed to be happening. A large mass had gathered at the end of the street, and they all seemed to be gazing upward, at something in the distance. Among them, a single, globular mass of a young Orc caught her eye.

“Hober!” she called out again, charging in a direct line from her son. Thick as the crowd was, few were able to successfully move from her way, and her path left a wake of moaning and complaining people of the smallish category.

“There you are,” she cried, the full grasp of her fingers clenching themselves around her son’s neck and hauling him onto the backs of his heels. “You could have been kidnapped.”

“Mom!” He said, clawing for oxygen, “who would have kidnapped me?”

“Anyone. Pliables.”

“They couldn’t lift me, Mom,” said Hober, breaking free and then planting his feet into the cracked stone pavement. I’m too big.

“Then they’d kill you outright.”

The toothy smile which had been sitting on Hober’s face since he broke free began to narrow.

“You think Pliables would just kill me?”

“Why don’t you stay around and find out,” said Millicent, forcing a short laugh, and turned away.

Hober hesitated for a moment, wondering whether it was worth it to gamble with a mother’s instincts.

“Wait,” he called after her, “don’t you want to see them arrive?”

Millicent glanced back towards the docs, towards the docks of Canad, towards the empty masts and spars, idling before a barren sea.

“Nonsense,” Millicent said, making a quick grab again for her boy. “No one’s sailed across in months.” But even as she said this, for the second time, Millicent became aware of a certain difference in the crowd. They were all whispering, all pointing up.

Millicent dropped her hand from Hober’s shoulder and looked up into the sky. There it was, only a speck, now, but clear. And coming their way.

“Is it a bird?” She asked of her son.

“No,” said Hober, “I think it’s a passenger dragon.”

“No,” said a third voice.

Millicent looked over at the small human standing behind her. It was possible that he wasn’t small, actually, but as she towered over them unanimously, it was a little hard to tell. Hober looked on with a little less discretion, a little more visibly shocked. It was rare that a Human would volunteer themselves into conversation with an Orc, much less at this proximity. But this man was calm, and unconcerned.

He head was shaven clean, though a shadow of hair seemed to be growing in all around, and he wore the image of the Split Flag, bright upon his robed chest. From the bedazzled collar and hems, flecked with gold and silver, it was apparent that this was a man of wealth, but the skin around his face clung tight to his features, and bore a sickly, somewhat, green tint. Millicent was certainly no stranger to green skin, but this did not look like it was of the natural sort.

“No,” he repeated, ignoring the gaping mouth of the younger orc, “it’s a Hippogriff.”

He squinted into the sun, and then, unsatisfied with his vision, pulled a small looking glass to his eye. Under his pinched features, a slow smile began to pull up the corners of his mouth.

“And you know what?” The Man said, collapsing the looking glass sharply and thrusting it into a pocket, “I dare say I recognize it.”

The Man’s eyes traveled down, across Millicent, onto her son.

“You, Lad.”

Hober did not have time to shut his mouth before realizing he was being spoken to, and therefore decided to leave it open so as to appear just casually slack-jawed.

“How would you like to make a couple hundred gold?”

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Prologue
A Story of Creation

I want to describe to you the beginning, but I have no seen it with my own eyes. I could not even describe to you the middle. Even that is beyond my vision. But I can take you back.
It was a time before the earth had split, spilling its glittering belly into the sea. The northern peaks had yet to freeze, and deserts had not yet cracked with age. It was a time before the amber crystals had risen from the ground, to long after each other across endless oceans. A time before names.
Even so, the boy found his friend, calling to her across the endless lake shore. She lifted her head to acknowledge the boy’s arrival, and the two of them met amidst the gentle lapping waves. The boy wasted no time in embrace, and instead dove into the water at her feet, the water splashing up into her surprised face.
A moment later, the boy appeared with a brightly colored fish, which sprouted wings when he released it into the air. They played like this for some time, the boy always just out of reach of his friend, toes only touching the surf.
When the sky became dark, and the girl became tired, the boy went and sat with her in the sand. They did not speak, but made shapes in the sand. All the shapes that the woman made, the boy would bring to life. She begged him to make his own creatures come to life in the sand, but the boy refused.
Finally, the boy stood, and approached the still waters. Under the gaze of the moon, he stared at his own reflection, until the boy under the surface lifted himself out of the water and named him.
“Hello Sirint, I have come,” said the boy’s reflection, still dripping with water.
And because the boy was now named, he did the same to his reflection, his other half.
“Hello Edji,” said Sirint, and his equal ceased to be a part of him.
Now that he had aged twice, Sirint was twice as tired, and he shuffled through the sand towards the girl, who had watched with nothing more than curiosity. Edji, watching, stepped up onto the surface of the tides.
For the first time, Sirint reached out and held the girl’s hand. Slow, so as not to disturb the sand creatures sleeping around them, he lifted her to the tops of her toes.
“I must go now,” said Sirint, looking her in the eye, “and be god.”
“And what will I become?” The girl cried out to no one. And though she waited for a response, she knew that she had reached the end of her childhood. She would become women. She would become mother of all.

But though he left of his own volition, Sirint never forgave Edji for having pulled him from the earth. And, after a while, their differences grew further. Sirint was content to let the people of earth run wild, to be, in his terms, free. He challenged them with fire and ice, jungle and desert, and the unpredictability of whim. Edji contested, claiming that order would pave the way to a better world. He melted Sirint’s ice, flattened mountains into plains, and carved boundaries for the people out of smooth limestone. This Sirint undid with a wag of a finger, and, again, the cycle would start over.
In the end, it became too much for the people of earth to endure, and, convinced that they would never see eye to eye, Sirint and Edji split the land between them. But as wise and as powerful as they thought they were, they were still young, and had yet to learn the consequences of such actions. As the land shivered and trembled under the oppressive force of the two gods, so did their celestial plane, until, finally, both worlds cracked in two, never to see each other again.
Sirint and Edji, born from the same body, had condemned themselves to die alone.
Sirint, when his powerful body finally gave way, birthed two gods. These were Lua, Goddess of the Moon, and Siskil, God of the Stars.
Edji, when his own body had expired, cracked open his chest and expelled the young forms of Sisha and Turnus, the Goddess of the Son and the God of Death.
Though now blessed with companionship, like their parents, these were gods destined to die. Even Turnus was no use in prolonging his stay. He was the first to go, clawing desperately to life as his body split in two, revealing the new gods, Rydus and Parnesh, the gods of Hunger and Lust.
The rest gave way easily, Siskil to Kilabesh and Sikyl, Sisha to Nala and Lexis, and finally, Lua to Uri and Alara.
It is said that these gods, too, will die. Each one giving their life to two others. But for now, when we pray, it is they who receive them. When we die, it is the beautiful visage of Alara who holds us as we pass.

“But then why do you only pray to Uri, Alara, Kilabesh and Sikyl?” Said Mia, taking off her fathers crown and putting it on her head, where it clashed alongside bright orange locks.
“Because we live in Sirintia, and are governed by his descendents,” said the King, shifting Mia onto his other knee and lifting his asleep one into the air.
“But the quarrel was only between Sirint and Edji. Why aren’t their children friendly? I’m friendly with all my cousins.”
“Well, first of all, according the the keepers at the Amber Gates, their worlds are still divided.”
“But why don’t they push them back together and work things out?”
“Because, Mia, often the most powerful people are the most stubborn.”
“You’re not stubborn, Daddy.”
The King slammed his mug down on the table, splashing hot wine across the polished wood.
“I’m not, am I?”
“No,” cried the girl, her smile surprised by her father’s outburst.
“Yes I am! And if you’re not in bed in five minutes, I’ll show you just how stubborn I am!”
“That doesn’t make sense!” Mia yelled, but leapt from his lap anyway, unwilling to put her tenuous convictions to the test.
“Go on!” The King yelled from his throne, as a long orange stream of hair disappeared through an arch way.
She was young, and he relished the thought. Soon, she would grow. She would learn.

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Welcome to your Adventure Log!
A blog for your campaign

Every campaign gets an Adventure Log, a blog for your adventures!

While the wiki is great for organizing your campaign world, it’s not the best way to chronicle your adventures. For that purpose, you need a blog!

The Adventure Log will allow you to chronologically order the happenings of your campaign. It serves as the record of what has passed. After each gaming session, come to the Adventure Log and write up what happened. In time, it will grow into a great story!

Best of all, each Adventure Log post is also a wiki page! You can link back and forth with your wiki, characters, and so forth as you wish.

One final tip: Before you jump in and try to write up the entire history for your campaign, take a deep breath. Rather than spending days writing and getting exhausted, I would suggest writing a quick “Story So Far” with only a summary. Then, get back to gaming! Grow your Adventure Log over time, rather than all at once.

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