Post by abbysdad on Apr 22, 2011 12:46:34 GMT -5
The five elder races created by the Everfather to guard His fortress are no longer alone in the world. The armies of the Serpent and the War Against the Giant have altered the natural order. New races, tragically devolved mockeries of the greatness they were born into, now walk the face of the earth. The twisted ones have been influenced by powers more terrible than horrors the Scoria use to forge their Golems or the sickening techniques employed by the pariah chirurgeons of the Vermen in the dark catacombs of the Citadel. They are the Trolls, the Goblins, the Ogres and the Snakemen.
The trolls are perhaps the worst of the twisted races. They are the corrupted children of enslaved Giants used to fight in the Duende’s never ending battle for dominance against the Goblins. Any captured giant can be used to breed trolls. The dark elves of Gobelyn simply bind the giant’s limbs and let the roots of an Uji Leech Tree graft themselves onto a giant’s abdomen. Translucent leech eggs will soon start to grow and hang off the tree’s body as the hideous hybrid child grows within. A leech tree’s progeny normally mature within hours into mindless servants whose only motivation is to seek out more food for the tree. Such creatures are usually weakened, feeble doppelgangers of whatever fell prey to the tree. But the power in a Giant’s blood is such that all trolls have free will when they finally emerge, fully grown, after weeks of gestation in the egg.
These sadistic monsters are also different from other tree born doppelgangers because they have distinct motivations that drive them away from the leech tree. Trolls seek revenge for their very existence. They enjoy meting out cruelty to other creatures as a way to release the bitterness and hate in their twisted souls. Trolls enjoy preying on the weak, especially children, since these wicked mules will never reproduce on their own. All Gobelyn creatures desire to escape the darkness of the Poison Realm to explore the pleasures of the greater world, and Trolls are no exception. They are happy to sell their services to any who can tolerate their presence. Troll mercenaries are infamous for their fearlessness in combat, though many say that comes as much from their stupidity as their physical prowess. The truth of the matter is that trolls don’t really care if they live or die, just as long as they can make sure someone else is suffering. Trolls retain their giant parent’s ability to wear armor. Troll armor is usually comprised of the cast off pieces from their victims, mixed with the molted carapaces of Gobelyn insects. Troll weapons are cruelly barbed and poisoned devices, the better to ensure that their enemies suffer before they die.
The true masters of the poison lands of Gobelyn are the lost dwarves that accepted the Duende’s bargain so many years ago. These ones, the Goblins, have lost some of the traits that make dwarves formidable warriors but have gained the black magic of their nightmare home. A typical Goblin is a pale skinned creature that is short in stature like a dwarf but without a dwarf’s thickly muscled form. They are hairless creatures, with moonlike eyes that can see in the deepest darkness. A lone Goblin is a dangerous opponent in combat, fighting with wild unpredictable strikes and a multitude of poisoned weapons. Goblins prefer the role of assassin where their whip quick reflexes can slide a knife into an enemy before they realize they’ve been cut. Goblin armor is typically intricate chain mail made from the oily iron ores found in the shallow mines that ring their cities. The chainmail is worked to have a maddening enchantment upon it so that neither arrows nor eyes can find a missing link. Powerful Goblin lords will embellish their chain mail with the enchanted bones of their enemies. Goblin mages do not wear armor, just like human magi, but instead use leather cloaks and tunics to provide a minimum of protection from battle while they work their enchantments on the battlefield.
The Goblin tribe of the Crimson Citadel is distinct from their cousins in the Poison Realm. They have been in the service of the Master’s army for so long that the bright light of day no longer hurts them. All Citadel Goblin prefer to wear long coats and tunics that appear similar to the ones worn by Goblin mages. The warriors among them have steel plates and studs sewn into the garments that have been worked to be as light as feathers. This means that when a Goblin enforcer in the Citadel approaches a suspect, the hapless citizen never knows whether dark energies will suck the life from their body, or if they will meet a quick death at the end of a poisoned blade.
The Ogres are the most tragic of all the races that have fallen from the grace of the Everfather’s path. When the painful stalemate at the end of the War Against the Giants came to pass, and it became clear that the Giants as a race would die, desperate measures were called on. The Giants had neither the ability to police their bitterly won lands nor to populate it with enough of their people to compete with the growth of the younger races. Those giants with the ability to see the celestial plane beyond the void called out to the same hungry spirits who had offered their power to the first human mages. These Giants went beyond Man’s offers of service and offered themselves whole as a vessel for demons in the living world.
It’s said that the Crystal King wept tears of blood when the first Ogre came to be. The proud monarch of the giants knew then that the Everfather’s doom had come to pass; that in being granted the dominion of the Serpent they would never be able to keep it. Ogres are brutish, hulking creatures that are smaller than Giants, but are still very large creatures compared to elves, dwarves and men. Their lumpen forms bulge and shift, as if something inside them is constantly trying to break free. Though what manner of monster could break through their steel hard skin is thankfully a mystery. Ogres are driven by their mission to corrupt all the remaining Giants in the world. The Ogres truly believe that their way is the path to reclaiming the lost glories of the Giant race. They seek out partnerships with the lesser races during their wanderings to discover the location of the secret Giant cities whose have people turned away from their divinely granted kingship.
Ogres rely on the magic powers granted them by their symbiotic relationship with the demon spirit dwelling within them. They forsake the gift of armor given by the Everfather and wear carelessly crafted jerkins made of skins and scavenged clothing. They wield clubs and spears although the power in their stinking bodies is capable of doing great harm with just their fists. An ogre typically carries a pouch of offerings and secret ingredients that they use to channel energies from the outer planes into the world. Ogres enjoy working with the lesser races as hired muscle or mages. They delight in psychically torturing the weak willed members of a party until they commit horrible acts all on their own. But any Ogre also enjoys expressing their demonic nature and reveling in the suffering of living creatures. An Ogre’s appearance is perhaps the best advantage they have. It is simply too much to believe that anything that looks so brutish could be so cunning. Those warriors that survive an encounter with an Ogre never make the mistake of underestimating them as enemies ever again.
The Snakemen represent the worst blasphemy against the Everfather’s plan for the world and its races. Snakemen come from the union of serpent-kind with a human supplicant. Not all humans are granted worked armor, nor are they capable of channeling the forces necessary to enter into a pact with a spirit from the outer planes. Those men who still hunger for power turn to the outlawed practice of ‘Dracomancy.’ It is a mistake to believe the lies these despicable cultists spread. The mad dragons of the mountains cannot grant anyone a taste of their powers. Instead, the foolish person who enters into the rituals of Dracomancy invites a disembodied servant of the Serpent into their body. Over time, the human body begins to change and take on reptilian features. As the changes advance the cultist will begin to notice that days slip when they can’t remember what they did, as if they were sleeping and someone else lived their life for them. This is the ultimate price a fool pays for inviting a Serpent spirit in, because soon the Serpent will take over their body completely. The more exposure to the magical forces released during the rites, the faster the body is corrupted until the once human torso lengthens and the legs are shed. The resulting Snakeman is human no longer, the disembodied Serpent magus having wholly replaced the foolish human who once begged for power. Yet there are those who still seek out the Serpent Cults and want to enter into such arrangements. Better to have tasted the power they crave and perhaps have some shred of themselves live on in a reborn monster than to die a weakling’s death. In the current darkness, the authorities are having a difficult time rooting out Dracomancy cults in the Citadel. It is these secret worshippers of the ancient enemy that the remaining rulers of the Crimson Citadel fear more than any other threat since the light of the kingdom has died.
The trolls are perhaps the worst of the twisted races. They are the corrupted children of enslaved Giants used to fight in the Duende’s never ending battle for dominance against the Goblins. Any captured giant can be used to breed trolls. The dark elves of Gobelyn simply bind the giant’s limbs and let the roots of an Uji Leech Tree graft themselves onto a giant’s abdomen. Translucent leech eggs will soon start to grow and hang off the tree’s body as the hideous hybrid child grows within. A leech tree’s progeny normally mature within hours into mindless servants whose only motivation is to seek out more food for the tree. Such creatures are usually weakened, feeble doppelgangers of whatever fell prey to the tree. But the power in a Giant’s blood is such that all trolls have free will when they finally emerge, fully grown, after weeks of gestation in the egg.
These sadistic monsters are also different from other tree born doppelgangers because they have distinct motivations that drive them away from the leech tree. Trolls seek revenge for their very existence. They enjoy meting out cruelty to other creatures as a way to release the bitterness and hate in their twisted souls. Trolls enjoy preying on the weak, especially children, since these wicked mules will never reproduce on their own. All Gobelyn creatures desire to escape the darkness of the Poison Realm to explore the pleasures of the greater world, and Trolls are no exception. They are happy to sell their services to any who can tolerate their presence. Troll mercenaries are infamous for their fearlessness in combat, though many say that comes as much from their stupidity as their physical prowess. The truth of the matter is that trolls don’t really care if they live or die, just as long as they can make sure someone else is suffering. Trolls retain their giant parent’s ability to wear armor. Troll armor is usually comprised of the cast off pieces from their victims, mixed with the molted carapaces of Gobelyn insects. Troll weapons are cruelly barbed and poisoned devices, the better to ensure that their enemies suffer before they die.
The true masters of the poison lands of Gobelyn are the lost dwarves that accepted the Duende’s bargain so many years ago. These ones, the Goblins, have lost some of the traits that make dwarves formidable warriors but have gained the black magic of their nightmare home. A typical Goblin is a pale skinned creature that is short in stature like a dwarf but without a dwarf’s thickly muscled form. They are hairless creatures, with moonlike eyes that can see in the deepest darkness. A lone Goblin is a dangerous opponent in combat, fighting with wild unpredictable strikes and a multitude of poisoned weapons. Goblins prefer the role of assassin where their whip quick reflexes can slide a knife into an enemy before they realize they’ve been cut. Goblin armor is typically intricate chain mail made from the oily iron ores found in the shallow mines that ring their cities. The chainmail is worked to have a maddening enchantment upon it so that neither arrows nor eyes can find a missing link. Powerful Goblin lords will embellish their chain mail with the enchanted bones of their enemies. Goblin mages do not wear armor, just like human magi, but instead use leather cloaks and tunics to provide a minimum of protection from battle while they work their enchantments on the battlefield.
The Goblin tribe of the Crimson Citadel is distinct from their cousins in the Poison Realm. They have been in the service of the Master’s army for so long that the bright light of day no longer hurts them. All Citadel Goblin prefer to wear long coats and tunics that appear similar to the ones worn by Goblin mages. The warriors among them have steel plates and studs sewn into the garments that have been worked to be as light as feathers. This means that when a Goblin enforcer in the Citadel approaches a suspect, the hapless citizen never knows whether dark energies will suck the life from their body, or if they will meet a quick death at the end of a poisoned blade.
The Ogres are the most tragic of all the races that have fallen from the grace of the Everfather’s path. When the painful stalemate at the end of the War Against the Giants came to pass, and it became clear that the Giants as a race would die, desperate measures were called on. The Giants had neither the ability to police their bitterly won lands nor to populate it with enough of their people to compete with the growth of the younger races. Those giants with the ability to see the celestial plane beyond the void called out to the same hungry spirits who had offered their power to the first human mages. These Giants went beyond Man’s offers of service and offered themselves whole as a vessel for demons in the living world.
It’s said that the Crystal King wept tears of blood when the first Ogre came to be. The proud monarch of the giants knew then that the Everfather’s doom had come to pass; that in being granted the dominion of the Serpent they would never be able to keep it. Ogres are brutish, hulking creatures that are smaller than Giants, but are still very large creatures compared to elves, dwarves and men. Their lumpen forms bulge and shift, as if something inside them is constantly trying to break free. Though what manner of monster could break through their steel hard skin is thankfully a mystery. Ogres are driven by their mission to corrupt all the remaining Giants in the world. The Ogres truly believe that their way is the path to reclaiming the lost glories of the Giant race. They seek out partnerships with the lesser races during their wanderings to discover the location of the secret Giant cities whose have people turned away from their divinely granted kingship.
Ogres rely on the magic powers granted them by their symbiotic relationship with the demon spirit dwelling within them. They forsake the gift of armor given by the Everfather and wear carelessly crafted jerkins made of skins and scavenged clothing. They wield clubs and spears although the power in their stinking bodies is capable of doing great harm with just their fists. An ogre typically carries a pouch of offerings and secret ingredients that they use to channel energies from the outer planes into the world. Ogres enjoy working with the lesser races as hired muscle or mages. They delight in psychically torturing the weak willed members of a party until they commit horrible acts all on their own. But any Ogre also enjoys expressing their demonic nature and reveling in the suffering of living creatures. An Ogre’s appearance is perhaps the best advantage they have. It is simply too much to believe that anything that looks so brutish could be so cunning. Those warriors that survive an encounter with an Ogre never make the mistake of underestimating them as enemies ever again.
The Snakemen represent the worst blasphemy against the Everfather’s plan for the world and its races. Snakemen come from the union of serpent-kind with a human supplicant. Not all humans are granted worked armor, nor are they capable of channeling the forces necessary to enter into a pact with a spirit from the outer planes. Those men who still hunger for power turn to the outlawed practice of ‘Dracomancy.’ It is a mistake to believe the lies these despicable cultists spread. The mad dragons of the mountains cannot grant anyone a taste of their powers. Instead, the foolish person who enters into the rituals of Dracomancy invites a disembodied servant of the Serpent into their body. Over time, the human body begins to change and take on reptilian features. As the changes advance the cultist will begin to notice that days slip when they can’t remember what they did, as if they were sleeping and someone else lived their life for them. This is the ultimate price a fool pays for inviting a Serpent spirit in, because soon the Serpent will take over their body completely. The more exposure to the magical forces released during the rites, the faster the body is corrupted until the once human torso lengthens and the legs are shed. The resulting Snakeman is human no longer, the disembodied Serpent magus having wholly replaced the foolish human who once begged for power. Yet there are those who still seek out the Serpent Cults and want to enter into such arrangements. Better to have tasted the power they crave and perhaps have some shred of themselves live on in a reborn monster than to die a weakling’s death. In the current darkness, the authorities are having a difficult time rooting out Dracomancy cults in the Citadel. It is these secret worshippers of the ancient enemy that the remaining rulers of the Crimson Citadel fear more than any other threat since the light of the kingdom has died.
