Summary:
Fear is the natural state of being for the residents of the Outskirts. Fear of being unable to feed their children from fields that are never given enough time to flourish. Fear they will be left behind during the next Exodus for they were too slow, too old, too weak, to follow. Fear, that the Dagroth's doom will befall them. Some have adapted. The druids have grown forests that travel on their own, the dwarfs have built elaborate caverns too deep to be reached, there is even a band of orcs renowned for having struck a pact with the Dagroth in exchange for fresh flesh. But for the common folk, nowhere is safe in these unforgiving lands. No where, except the Floating Islands. Beyond the void, lies a land of dreams, protected by fearsome magical rulers that protect their subjects with strict laws and powerful spells. But, the horizon is darkening once more, and this time, over the usually unencumbered skies of the Floating Islands. A threat is looming, fear is coursing through the blood of all, and no one is safe.
AKA: I've been running a homebrew campaign for over a year now and here's the story of how I lost my mind.
Prologue: A Question Of Perspective And Other Prologues
The shadows shifts and rearrange themselves, edges perked and attentive, in the dark corners of the room. The soft light hanging overhead chases at its tail ends, and they weave between the legs of those gathered around the oddly shaped table. Twisting through pant legs and between leather boots, the light catches the edges of bags and adventuring packs while the shadows hide between books and grimoires. Animated voices rise above the wind and rain battering the glass panes mercilessly. It is warm inside, the presence of friends and companions keeping the chill leaking through the walls at bay. The generously poured ale probably helps as well. The adventurers gathered around the glass table, strewn with nik naks of various shapes and sizes and colours, conspire loudly, laughter ringing true. A sea of papers covers the large expanse of the surface between them, covered in particular inscriptions and unusual designs, seeming to only make sense to those seated. An atmosphere of anticipation permeates the room, the soft light dances across the features of the adventurers, illuminating wide grins and curious glances. It is late, but tiredness cannot reach them, not now.
A lit of pan flute drifts through the air, and all straighten to attention, vibrating in their chairs, turning to the hooded figure that sits at the head of the table. A moment of silence drags out, building the suspense with practiced ease.
'Welcome, adventurers.' Speaks the figure, a wicked smirk not inspiring confidence in those present. Some start to fidget, perhaps regret their involvement. But the prize is too sweet. They lean in, inquisitive. 'Be prepared, tonight, to take on a quest not light in burden. This journey will take you across unknown lands and treacherous passes, through dangerous dungeons. You will face unimaginable obstacles, monsters and challenged in your search for the end. Do not accept this lightly. It will be hard-'
'That's what she said.'
'Dude.'
'Sorry.'
The chuckles subdue and the speaker takes a breath before resuming their discourse, voice pitched low in the kind of tenor that incites excitement and concern for one's safety.
'It will be difficult,' they continue, with a deft grasp of the listeners attentiveness, 'but you alone can change the tides of history. Do you accept this quest, adventurers?' A moment of silence settles over the crowd as worried glances are shared, but quick to harden with determination. A wicked grin splits the narrator's lips.
'There exists a land by the name of Amael, far from all familiar coasts. It is a continent rife with changing landscapes and magical properties, untouched by the knowledge of our people. Legend says it is the land of the Gods, where celestial beings cohabitate with humans and beasts. It speaks of forgotten kingdoms and a weapon capable of bringing a God to its knees. It speaks of a scarred land, scorched by human grievances, and godly anger. It speaks of fear, a terrible foe that lives in the heart of Amael, brought to life by the purest of evil to terrorize the land. It is said that this evil stalks the sky, bringing night wherever it goes, plunging those who have the misfortune of crossing its path into darkness. This evil has a name, one which is whispered fearfully at high noon, when the sun is at its apex, and cried with desperation at dusk as night envelops all those who dare breathe: the Dagroth.
'No one is safe from its hunger, as it scours the Outskirts in search of new prey, before returning to its lair in the Bad Lands where it slumbers and waits. Those who have survived had to adapt, becoming nomadic travellers, pushed on by the fear of devouring that nips at their heels. Every few months the sky darkens on the horizon, and the air fills with a chill that penetrates to the bone. They must dig out their patchwork tents from shallow grounds, unearth meek provisions from dry soil, and carry what little they have for miles, until they are safe from the Dagroth's path once more. There are tails of druids who have grown traveling forests to the north, to avoid its wrath, of dwarfs who have built elaborate caverns too deep to be reached. There is word, even, or orcs and merciless souls to the south who have struck a pact with the Dagroth: their safety in exchange for fresh flesh. But for the common folk, nowhere is safe from these unforgiving lands. No where, except the Floating Isles.
'Beyond the Wystir Mountains, beyond the void, lies a land protected by fearsome magical rulers. Their subjects are protected by the power of these Queen Mages, which rivals that of the Dagroth. They have no fear, and definitely no pity for those who break the laws of these protected lands, and are cast out of the kingdom to live in the Outskirts. The Isles are a sacred place, protected by the Gods who took pity on mortals and granted them safety from the Dagroth.
'But the sky is darkening once more, this time, over the usually unencumbered skies of the Floating Isles. The Queens assure their subject they are safe from the threat looming beyond the void, but not all are convinced.
'The threat is real, and fear is coursing through the blood of a nation. No one is safe.'
A clap of thunder echoes these words and the adventurers grip their weapons and dice. The time draws nigh. Reckless abandon seeps into skin and scales, and a war cry rises among the party, guttural, raw. The scrapping of chairs drowns out the rain and as the crescendo of the viol backs the stomping of feet. The masked figure sets its elbows on the table, bringing the tips of each finger together to hide the grin behind a mask of shadows. Light dances in their eyes.
Oh, this is going to be good.
A/N
Wow, you dared? Brave soul. Welcome to my campaign, the Dagroth's Devouring. This is the first instalment, A Quest of Queens, which I think will span the first 25 or so session from our game. As of now, my party and I are are on session, I believe, 35, and we usually play weekly on Fridays. Seen as I don't write as fast as we play, I definitely won't be missing any content anytime soon... Especially since these bastards love going on tangent side quests so, they're far from finishing the actual campaign. We've been playing for almost a year now (!) and I thought it was time I finally put my literary skills to good use and write out our campaign. Because, and I am terribly biased since it's my homebrew, but this really is, just such a good fucking story. Mostly because of said bastard players. Not that I would ever tell them.
For all curious souls, we run 5e mechanics in a homebrew setting. I steal most of my monsters from the monster manual because I just can't be bothered to homebrew them (I'm in college I don't have the time). Still, I tend to sometimes just throw in some spice and setting-related alternatives to the classic monsters so don't go tearing my head off because it's not as written in the Wizards of the Coast bible. You'll also notice I took the gods from the Forgotten Realms settings because, again, I don't have the time to homebrew everything. But! I did allow my warlock to make his own patron because the Player Handbook options were a tad limited, and the backstory he came up with for his character was just so good. So look forwards to that.
If anyone has any questions about how I run the game, hit me up in the comments. To be fair, this was the first campaign I ever created and ran, so I'm not the best reference, but I have now run close to 40 sessions with this band of ruffians, so I'm not the worse either. (Also if anyone catches any inconsistencies and plot holes my players haven't noticed yet, just let me know and I will fix it without telling them. No one else needs to know.)
I'll try to infuse this narration with as much sass and spontaneity my table usually puts into their role-play. They really are a great party and I hope that shines through my writing. This is my campaign, but this is their story. I probably won't do them justice, but I'll try my best.
This story is also posted on AO3 if you prefer the format, same username, same title.
See ya next session!