It is rumored that this horror was reason behind the elimination of the Prime Elemental contest between the schools, and the setting up of the Animal Study laboratory. The older generation of mages still speak in hushed voices and in quiet corners about the terrible fates that befell Archmages Duluth of the Fire School and Archmage Polith of the Earth School, who attempted the forbidden arts of merging the Elements together in their efforts to win the contest. Rumor has it that their combined magical powers created a vortex of power that sucked the both of them into it, as well as numerous plants in the nearby vicinity. But the vortex was unstable, and fluctuated wildly, disintegrating the matter within it and combining it into a new form. The result was a horrific, mindless plant monster known as the Carnivorae.

Quickly, before anyone could catch it, it buried it’s immense bulk beneath the surface of the garden, and sprouted tentacles with which to feed its insatiable hunger. Very few survived that day. An entire generation of budding mages was almost wiped out. According to one of the few survivors who managed to use Insight on the beast, the vortex still exists within the Carnivorae, causing an eternal emptiness that it strives to fill with anything – plant, animal, human food.

It has been nearly two decades now. The spells are starting to fade as Archmage Thallis grows old and ArchPrime Elgor has been diagnosed with the Humming’s sickness. The Animal Study technicians are working night and day to find a way to prepare themselves for the battle against the Carnivorae, analysing countless numbers of plant and animal species in hopes of finding a weakness. The various Elemental Masters are feverishly training a new generation of mages to replace the many talented ones that were lost that day.

ArchPrime Elgor is expected to last for another six months at best.

After that, we can only hope and pray that we are ready.

In so doing, they hoped to train enough of the youth of the continent in the ways of warfare and develop new tactics that will overcome any further threats to their survival. While each city had its own private militia, the large majority of warriors wandered the Lands in a roving patrol, on the watch for any danger. In the years that have passed since the Great War, a system of warfare has evolved to meet the directives given to the Defence Force.

Jarrett, Lord of Vermor Castle, was given the task of administrating and training this Defence Force to its peak performance. He was helped by the natural forces of chance and the situation of the recovering continent. Mighty warriors and powerful mages had begun to draw followers around themselves, forming the nuclei of small armies. These, in turn, were drafted en masse by Lord Vermor to form the different branches of the Defence Force, and given mercenaries’ pay. They were free to wander however they liked and recruit whoever they wished, but tasked with the objective of protecting Seridia from outside attack. To develop the fighting potential of these highly-unstable groups of warriors, Lord Vermor instigated the war games that have become so popular on the continent today. Each mercenary army would recruit the best warriors and mages from around the continent before the war, and then fight for honour and glory in the field. By doing so, Lord Vermor was able to both train his soldiers, as well as avoid the costs of upkeep for a standing army.

In the years that followed, four distinct groups of fighters became evident. These are the 4 main Mercenary Armies that form the bulk of the Seridian Continental Defence Force today.

The Iron Hawks (HAWK) were first started by the veterans of the Great War. Having gained battlefield experience the hard way, a large portion of the victorious but heavily-battered army of Aluwen took a vow in the Ruins of Tirnym to oppose all works of evil from henceforth. Under the leadership of Kilmarr Craven, a former sergeant of the Baarg guild, they spent the first few years of their duties organising hit-and-run attacks on the scattered Orcish forces that plagued the Lands. It was largely due to their outstanding efforts on the field that Desert Pines was cleared of monsters during the recovery period. When they heard of the Defence Force being formed, they marched all the way from their hidden base in the Tahraji Desert to offer their services to Lord Vermor. They pride themselves in their fast, vicious attacks, sweeping down on their foes like their namesake.

The Jade Warriors (JADE), as they became known, were initially composed of the warrior tribes in the hills of Portland and the Kamara Desert. Utterly savage in battlefield fury, they almost died to a man in the battles of Portland and Desert Pines under the onslaught of the orcish and undead hordes. The wives and children of these warriors escaped into safety behind the lines of friendly troops during the War. A generation later, the children of these warrior-men, raised on tales of their heroic fathers, joined the Defence Force to render honour to their ancestors. Before every battle, they would paint their faces in the traditional war-tattoos and greenish streaks of their tribes, and that has come to be their name. They are presently led by Lok Par’Thul. Known for their rock-hard endurance, as strong as the mountains themselves, each and every Jade Warrior is trained to fight down to their dying breath, no matter how severely wounded they are.

The Lynx Hunters (LYNX) had a past as predatory as their name suggests. Originally from the Guild of Assassins, they were equally hard-hit by the siege and destruction of the Great War. Reduced to near-starvation levels in the aftermath and rebuilding, a representative from the Legion approached Lord Vermor during his call for the Defence Force, and negotiated with him. In exchange for amnesty for previous crimes committed, and the basic necessities of food and shelter, large numbers of the former criminals turned soldier and enlisted. At first despised by their fellow soldiers, they have eventually won respect for their almost legendary stealth and magnificent fighting skills. Now striving to erase misdeeds in their past, the Lynx Hunters fight for honour and justice for the people of the Lands instead. They are led by a shadowy figure that is known only as FireLynx.

The Winds of Fury (FURY) is the newest branch of the Defence Force. Initially founded by a vainglorious minor lordling known as Lord Pollix, this group of young hotheads went from battle to battle, following the exploits of the older groups. With the dismissal of Lord Pollix due to a silly accident involving swimming in the Riven Sea wearing plate armor, command has fallen to Hurin Forkbeard, who began to reorganise the Order into a sensible fighting force. Still referred to in derision as “the airheads” by the other armies, nevertheless in recent months, the Winds of Fury has developed astoundingly and has gained the grudging respect of their peers. It remains to be seen how great their fighting power truly is once Hurin Forkbeard finishes his restructuring.

These four armies spend months and years training and developing their skills and tactics, in preparation for that terrible day when the trumpets of war shall sound again on the Lands, and the invading hordes threaten our safety. They are our first and greatest line of defence. Let us hope that it is enough.

~Lyanna Lorekeeper~
Elven Historian

They had found the beginnings of a promising mineral lode in the southern caves of Morcraven Marsh, and decided to settle there for a while to explore further, hoping to find richer deposits as they dug deeper. Unfortunately, the cave system they were exploring extended far deeper than they expected – all the way to Naralik, in fact. Their constant mining and hammering echoed throughout the caves, even to the catacombs. While this level of noise was normal to Dwarves, it was distinctly unpleasant to the main inhabitant of the catacombs, the Necromancer of Naralik (for his story, see here).

Aclys traced the noise back to the dwarves, and kindly asked them to stop and move somewhere else. The Searchstone clan, being the Dwarves they were, stubbornly refused, citing a standing order from the leaders of Mynadar to search for new minerals everywhere they went. Talks broke down, and Aclys returned to the catacombs, having failed to persuade them.

One night, an albino Elf maiden by the name of Merryn Lightfeather approached the Dwarven camp and introduced herself to the Searchstone family. She asked for shelter in the midst of a storm and slowly befriended the Dwarves, overcoming the racial barriers that normally impede Elven-Dwarven relations. Unbeknownst to the Searchstones, Merryn Lightfeather was a powerful Elven sorceress who dreamed of challenging Aclys’ power. She was manipulative and cunning, a mistress of deception.

Aclys had failed to persuade the Dwarves to leave the mines alone, and although he disliked having his peace disturbed, he nevertheless was prepared to tolerate the constant ringing and booming echoes that carried down into his sleeping chambers, devoutly hoping that the Searchstones would find nothing of interest and move on. In fact, after a few weeks, the mineral deposits petered out, and the Searchstone clan WAS planning to move elsewhere.

It was then that Merryn revealed her deadly plan.

She used all her arts of persuasion to convince the Dwarves that there were uncountable riches of minerals in the Naralik Catacombs. (Well, in truth, there WERE emeralds there, but Merryn definitely exaggerated the amount and variety of precious gems when she spoke.) Playing on Dwarven suspicion, and subtly enhancing their greed, she managed to persuade them that Aclys was hoarding the minerals, and was planning to forcibly evict them from the territory in order to have it all to himself. Needless to say, they didn’t like that idea one bit.

To cut a long story short, within three days of the Morcraven Marsh caves running out, the Dwarven clan of Searchstone mounted a pre-emptive attack on the Necromancer of Naralik, aided and assisted by their supposed ally, Merryn Lightfeather, the albino Elf. Aclys was hard-pressed at first, especially with the illusory effects of the magic that Merryn was casting, but eventually he managed to overcome them, blasting them all to oblivion.

The curse of the catacombs then took effect, and one by one, the dwarves and the elf maiden rose, zombie-like creatures. Aclys, having probed the minds of the undead dwarves, found out the truth of their deception, and pitied them. He even found the capacity in his heart to be sorrowful for Merryn Lightfeather, who, after all, was merely ambitious and took the wrong path. Because of his recent battle, his powers were taxed, and he was unable to restore them to full life.

A passing ant gave him an idea. Probing the mind of the ant, and of the ant colony it belonged to, Aclys was able to transfer some of that mentality to the soulless bodies of the dwarves and the elf. He satisfied Merryn’s lust for power by making her the Queen of this strange, motley collection of half-zombie, half-ants. Having satisfied the demands of his conscience, Aclys turned them loose to fend for themselves, ordering them to scavenge for food and items to support themselves.

Somehow, when giving his orders, the limited group mind of the Ants managed to perceive Aclys as their God, and every now and then, the Ant Queen orders one of her underlings to leave offerings to their creator at the grounds of Naralik. They wander the continent now, obeying their Creator’s commands to scavenge and hunt, aided by their instincts, fighting to survive and prosper in their own way. Aclys returned to his task in the catacombs and disappeared from sight, leaving behind a few Orc guardians he had called to prevent such incidences from disturbing him again.

And so, the once-proud Dwarven clan of Searchstone met their tragic end, and the elves of the Morcraven Marshes never could find Merryn Lightfeather ever again.

Take your pick – 3 stories:

The Good

In ages past, there once lived an eccentric miser. He was possibly the richest man on the planet then, with vast amounts of gold and other precious metals hoarded away in secret places known only to himself. This was before the times of the wars that devastated the Lands and cost millions of lives and coins. His wealth was beyond all of our modern-day standards.

One day, a travelling jester appeared before this man’s house on the eve of a huge storm and managed to talk his way past the entrance. He spent the night sheltered in the miser’s house and offered his services as an entertainer in exchange. The miser agreed, being glad of some human company (being a miser naturally cost him the good opinions of most of his neighbors). He was then treated to the most wonderful sights and sounds, for the jester that he had unwillingly sheltered was the undisputed master of his craft.

The miser was so delighted as to act completely out of character and actually offered the Jester a place in his household and even some pay, if he would only consent to stay. So urgently and persistently did the miser prevail upon the Jester that eventually he decided to accept a position as the Jester of the household and spend the evenings designing entertainment for the merriment of this miser.

However, as the years passed, the Jester became more and more aware of the defects and character faults in his master – especially of his greed and avarice. He began to despise the lure of wealth that had trapped that poor man in a never-ending cycle of grasping and hoarding. However, before he voiced his displeasure, his master had passed away, leaving the Jester all of his fabulous wealth, in gratitude for making the last years of his life merry. The Jester, wary of being caught in the same trap as his master, determined to give away the money. However, he decided to give it away slowly, for he did not want to make any man stumble with too much wealth. He changed his name to Joker, to partially hide his identity, and travelled all over the lands, giving away his master’s money in the form of small items and trinkets he had bought.

When the original Joker died, he had passed on the secret locations of the hidden hoards of gold and charged his son to finish his mission. The son in turn was to pass the task down on to the firstborn male of his line, each taking the nom de plume of Joker to hide their real identities. Such was the size of the miser’s wealth that even until today, the 6th Joker is still travelling around the world, giving away items.

The Bad

There persist rumors, old as the dawn, that wherever man lives, there exists an organisation of thieves. Whether this is true or not, who knows? But alongside all of these reports comes the story of a man named Joker. Perhaps the title is hereditary. Perhaps it is a rank of some sort. Perhaps it may even be the same person – one never knows in this land of magic.

In the tales of the thieves, the man called Joker is often known as the head trainer and fence for the apprentices. Before any apprentice thief can gain his master’s badge of rank, he is first taught by Joker and other trainers to practise their crafts – pickpockets, lockpicking, basic combat and escape tactics, and the like. Unfortunately, in their haste and lack of skill, many aspiring criminals often botch their jobs, stealing items in a clumsy or detectable way. These are severely punished by the organisation, of course (one has only to see certain skeletons left to rot in quiet places like the Morcraven Marshes to understand the nature of these punishments) – but nevertheless, the stolen items have been identified and may lead to the discovery or compromise of the organisation itself.

Therefore, the man called Joker has the task of removing all traces of the evidence from the hidden warehouses and storages of the organisation. He travels around the world, setting false trails for the authorities and fencing or pawning off the stolen items to hidden merchants around the world. Occasionally, he is hard-pressed and rushed, so reveals himself to nearby travellers and pushes an item into that person’s hands before disappearing again. So far, no items have ever been traced back to the organisation – but rumors persist. Maybe they are true…maybe not. Nobody knows except the man called Joker.

t3h Entropy

I/we/me am/are/is an/a being/entity/person known/perceived/understood as name/callsign/personality Joker. Do…you…comprehend/understand/realise me? Oh dear. You 4-Dimensional people are so primitive. You haven’t even developed superluminal transmolecular quantum travel yet. Very well. I shall attempt to simplify/reduce my speech.

I am a 6th-Dimensional being from the plane of existence you know as The Array. I take on this likeness of a male human merely to interact with you all. I am simply a peaceful scout and explorer. My purpose here in no way has anything to do with seeding your world with disguised explosives/bombs/incendiaries in an attempt to neutralise the magical field forces surrounding your planet prior to an invasion attempt. That is absolutely untrue. There are NO weapons of mass destruction anywhere on this planet, especially none that look like common items given to people by me. I also did not perform the copulative act with that adult human female. Whoever told you so is lying.

I am a simple explorer, making people happy by giving unexpected presents to them. That is all.

Legend has it that there was once a great and powerful Elven warrior by the name of Elythraen Treesoar. He grew to adulthood under the tutelage of the greatest hunters and wisest elders of his kind, being from a influential family line. He paid court to and won Wyndemere Hearthkeep, the most beautiful of the maiden forest elves, as his lifemate. Sadly, even before their wedding had ended, Wyndemere had been shot through the heart by an unknown assailant. Wracked with grief and fury, Elythraen Treesoar spent the next century hunting for the elusive murderer, perfecting his tracking and combat skills so as to administer justice in a most satisfying manner.

However, his rage and bitterness had built up to the point where he had forsaken family and friends, consumed with revenge. When he finally tracked down his lover’s murderer, he tortured the poor soul for days before killing him, and razing the entire village where he found him. In his blind fury, he destroyed hundreds of the innocent of his own kind. His people cast him out into exile.

Elythraen Treesoar, the greatest and most powerful warrior of his people, was an exile. Doomed to wander for the rest of his long life, he was besieged with remorse for his actions, and burdened with the guilt of his own killings. His own satisfaction at finding his beloved’s murderer had palled long ago. One day, he bowed down under the pressure of his agonised mind and besought his forsaken goddess, Aluwen, for mercy. She, in her kindness, decided to take pity on this penitent and accepted him into her order of servants, as the martial arm of her order.

Elythraen quickly grew to find comfort and peace in his new duties, which consisted mainly of tracking down and capturing the agents of chaos and death that Mortos was using to corrupt the lands, before they could commit any crimes. Pleased with his progress, Aluwen bestowed upon him longevity even beyond that of his race, and named him her Eternal Eye of Justice. He slowly faded from public view and took to be a shadowy figure, haunting the lands and watching behind the scenes for traces of evil.

The tale of Elythraen Treesoar has long faded into antiquity now. Nobody knows for sure if he really existed or not, or whether he was just part of the mythology of the Church of Aluwen. We do not know if he is still alive, performing his duties, or long-departed. Many times, this legend has been long dismissed and nearly forgotten. And yet, every now and then, the circles of evildoers speak in fear of the Eternal Eye, and rumours fly about of his striding the lands again. Nobody knows if these rumours are true or not.

But I wouldn’t want to find out…would you?

The last picture I had of my home was of the city going up in flames.

The passage across the ocean was horrendous. We were cut adrift from any hope of safety – a thousand or so civilians aboard a hundred ships, with no home to return to and limited food supplies. Children and women used to cry themselves to sleep at night, as storms raged outside the battered hulls of our refugee ships.

When plague broke out amongst the lower decks, the captain of our ship asked me to assist in combating it. I readily assented, requiring work to keep my thoughts occupied from the gloom and despair that pervaded the ship. Quickly, I set to work, visiting the sick, creating curative potions with what limited items we had, and exhausting myself every day by expending all my healing magics until I was drained. It was a ragged, heart-breaking journey. Every day, I lost another patient. Every day, the food became lesser and lesser, and we all grew gaunt with hunger.

Desperation set in. My greatest enemy, death itself, was slowly taking away the people I cared for one by one. And I could do nothing to stop him. My greatest weapons – food, shelter, security, and hope – were all stripped away from us.

By the time we came into sight of the shores of Tirnym, I had caught the plague myself.

I remember little of what followed. Antalya, the human woman who had assisted me during the voyage, told me later that I had been feverish and delirious, often babbling about Orchan cruelty in my sleep. I could recognise no one. However, she also told me that my patients gathered around me in a show of care and support that was unprecedented.

“It was amazing,” she said. “Each and every one of them took turns to watch over you, even when they were sick themselves. They loved you, Lyanna, and wanted to repay the favour.”

It was at Tirnym that I recovered, along with the rest of those struck by the plague. The presence of our great Goddess Aluwen was sufficient to banish all death and disease from us, and we regained our strength. When the final battle came, I was far away from the frontlines, helping to care for the sick and elderly at the south port. I had had my fill of slaughter and bloodshed. However, I too was witness to the cataclysm that tore Tirnym apart and ended the war. No one in the region could miss the earth-shaking sound and the sudden stillness that ensued. But more than that, as all Elves knew, the presence of our Goddess had vanished.

For one agonising moment, I had thought Mortos victorious, and our beloved Aluwen destroyed by forces unimaginable. But that was not to be. A still, small whisper in my soul told me that our Goddess was still alive, but merely bereft of all her powers in the mighty struggle that had taken place. It would be many more years before she would regain sufficient strength to manifest physically once again.

…

As the remnants of our surviving peoples scattered across the lands to rebuild their lives and homes, I pondered my course. The home and place I had made for myself in Portland was gone. My employer had been killed in the war, and many of my clients had lost their lives. I briefly considered trying to return to my mother’s people in Tirnwood Vale, hoping that perhaps our shared sorrows might create a new future for us. But that was only a brief dream. Having lived in cosmopolitan Portland for so long, I could no longer remain in the quiet solitude of the Vale and be content.

It was Antalya, my erstwhile aide, who gave me the answer I was searching for. She approached me, telling me that she and her husband were planning to join a caravan to rebuild Corren Town, and that they could use someone of my healing talents to help take care of the minor ills and complaints along the way.

I saw then a useful occupation for me, and a purpose for my life. I could travel the lands, freely assisting the rebuilding efforts and healing the sick and the wounded along the roads. I would require no pay but the thanks and gratitude of others, as those on the ship had demonstrated. My fight with the plague on the ships had taught me that there was much I still did not know about disease, and I meant to travel the world in search of knowledge to increase my understanding of the healing arts. How many more could I have saved if I had only known what the most effective remedies were? One day, perhaps I would visit the great magic libraries of the world, and aid in the research efforts to discover new cures for the problems that afflicted all of Seridia.

But for now, my course was set. I would be an itinerant Healer, and travel the roads to aid the sick, the wounded, and the weak as they began the great task of restoring order to the Lands.

My mother, Linnix, was an Elven healer of great renown in Tirnwood Vale. She was one of the very few healers at that time who broke the traditions binding Elf to Elf, and made our magical healing powers available to all the races. She was cut off from the majority of our race because of that, but she persevered. Even when my sire died while pursuing a boar, she continued to heal everyone who came to her, irregardless of the cost. Her fame spread far and wide, as humans, dwarves, and other races came to ask for her aid.

One day, a group of strange people appeared. I did not know it at that time, being only a young elfling of less than 40 years, but they were some of the first Orchans Tirnwood Vale had seen. They were miners, some of whom had been terribly hurt during the collapse of a cave in the Crystal Caverns. They had heard of my mother, and made the long trek to Tirnwood to seek her aid, bearing their injured comrades on rough stretcher. My mother, as usual, assented, and began to heal their wounds.

I was in a little room, away from the main hall, playing with my flowers at that time. The intervening door was slightly ajar, and I used to peek through at the visitors that regularly arrived. I was always proud to know that my mother was so loved by everyone who came. Intrigued by the strange faces and manner of speech, I paid closer attention to the Orchans than usual. I caught them looking at my mother with admiration and something else, which I couldn’t fathom, in their eyes.

Finally, the last of them was completely healed. The lead Orchan thanked my mother politely, and turned to leave, only to slam the door shut against the outside. Another Orchan grabbed my mother and covered her mouth. She was not able to scream. Horrified, I watched, stunned into immobility.

My mother was an extraordinarily beautiful elf – even by our standards. I saw what the Orchans did to her.

I also saw what they did to her dead body, after they were finished.

…

At last, when they left, I gathered the remains of my beloved mother, and fled Tirnwood. I ran as fast as I could, not knowing where to turn to or where to go (for remember, we were ostracised by our kind). I don’t remember much of that hurried journey. I only knew an overpowering fear that the Orchans would come and take me too. I took numerous boats, just trying to get as far away from them as possible.

Finally, I ended up in Portland. It was night, and I quietly left the city behind me, still carrying my mother’s remains in a little bag. I buried her in the countryside, under a patch of Blue Lupines. They were her favourite flowers.

I think her spirit still lingers there. Every time I visit my mother’s unmarked grave to harvest some of the Blue Lupines, I find that I can collect more than one at a time. It is almost as if my mother was still helping me to carry on her task.

I heal others of all races freely now, just as she did. I do it in memory of my mother, Linnix – the greatest Elven Healer I know.

But never again will I have anything to do with Orchans.