Farcaster
Thursday 07-17-2008, 04:16 PM
I am starting up a new 4th edition D&D game on alternating Saturday's at 10am - 4pm. One of my players is probably going to have to drop out because of a scheduling conflict, so we have one or two spots open to bring in new players. The campaign is set in Forgotten Realms just before the disasterous events that brought the Realms to it's knees with the Spellplauge in 1385. I must stress though that this game is far, far from canon, and will be diverting drastically from the events to be described in the new campaign setting.
If you're interested, I've written up a short introduction below...
The Binder stretched his arm to his side and allowed his fingers to brush lightly across the bindings of the many books he passed as he strolled past column after column of ancient texts, many long forgotten in the mortal realms. To the east and to the west, the Great Library stretched endlessly before him. And though there were countless tomes lining the unending shelves of his great realm, he could instantly recall without question the title and nature of every book he passed – save one. It was by chance that his fingers played across a leather-bound volume he did not remember.
The Lord of Knowledge paused in his leisurely stroll to consider the strangeness of such a seeming impossibility. He withdrew the mysterious manuscript from its place amongst the more familiar tomes and with a thought created a comfortable place to sit and examine such a rare gift.
The soft, brown leather binding of the book was weathered at its edges. Otherwise it was nondescript, without title or hint at what gem might be hidden within. He unlatched the cover and opened it with as much care as he could muster in his eager state. The first page lay tantalizingly blank, but yielded hints to its origins nonetheless. The vellum page showed little sign of aging or decay, and the softer, rounded binding that had become popular in recent years suggested the book had been pinned within the past few decades. Moreover, the text had been well maintained and kept within a suitable environment.
The Binder flipped to the next page and began reading.
"It is said that Tymora and Beshaba wager for dominion over each and every soul born into the world. Lady Luck flips her silver coin, and the Maid of Misfortune calls heads or tails. If Beshaba guesses wrong, then Tymora showers the happy soul with good luck for the rest of his life. It is also said that the Maid of Misfortune rarely looses such contests.
Only one man in all of history escaped their cruel game – Cyric of Zhentil Keep."
At that, the Binder knew instantly the true nature of the treacherous book he held in his hands. The simple leather façade faded away to reveal something far more sinister. The book was bound with thick, blackened leather embossed with grinning skulls and sunbursts and was illuminated with gruesome scenes of torture and mayhem. The vellum pages were crafted from the flayed skins of hundreds of scribes – some whom were his faithful – those who had tried and failed to make previous iterations of this horrid text.
Knowing his peril, Oghma sought immediately to rid himself of this cursed tome. But, try as he might, he could not tear his eyes from its wretched pages and was forced to read on.
"In the squalor of Zhentil Keep's slums, the man-who-would-be-a-god took on the shell of mortality for the first time. His mother, a beautiful bard with a mind as quick as Oghma's had foreseen her child's greatness in a dream. She hid the infant Cyric from his father in the back alleys of that grim city, for the man was a leader of the Zhentilar and an agent of the Black Network, faithful to the god Bane. The God of Strife, too, had foreseen Cyric's potential mightiness. Fearing the only mortal unbound by Fate, he sent his agents throughout the city to slay the child."
The Binder of all Knowledge desperately fought to free his mind from the spell that had come over him, compelling him to keep reading. Still unable to quit, he concentrated all of his divine attention to this one task, drawing in his many avatars from across the Realms and vast Planes.
For many hours as he battled with his own will, the prayers of his faithful were left unanswered, and scribes from across the lands put down their quills in frustration for words that would not come. At long last, Oghma gently closed the sacred tome and ran his hand across the dark cover, caressing it as a lover might caress his beloved, before replacing it into the folds of his robe…
If you're interested, I've written up a short introduction below...
The Binder stretched his arm to his side and allowed his fingers to brush lightly across the bindings of the many books he passed as he strolled past column after column of ancient texts, many long forgotten in the mortal realms. To the east and to the west, the Great Library stretched endlessly before him. And though there were countless tomes lining the unending shelves of his great realm, he could instantly recall without question the title and nature of every book he passed – save one. It was by chance that his fingers played across a leather-bound volume he did not remember.
The Lord of Knowledge paused in his leisurely stroll to consider the strangeness of such a seeming impossibility. He withdrew the mysterious manuscript from its place amongst the more familiar tomes and with a thought created a comfortable place to sit and examine such a rare gift.
The soft, brown leather binding of the book was weathered at its edges. Otherwise it was nondescript, without title or hint at what gem might be hidden within. He unlatched the cover and opened it with as much care as he could muster in his eager state. The first page lay tantalizingly blank, but yielded hints to its origins nonetheless. The vellum page showed little sign of aging or decay, and the softer, rounded binding that had become popular in recent years suggested the book had been pinned within the past few decades. Moreover, the text had been well maintained and kept within a suitable environment.
The Binder flipped to the next page and began reading.
"It is said that Tymora and Beshaba wager for dominion over each and every soul born into the world. Lady Luck flips her silver coin, and the Maid of Misfortune calls heads or tails. If Beshaba guesses wrong, then Tymora showers the happy soul with good luck for the rest of his life. It is also said that the Maid of Misfortune rarely looses such contests.
Only one man in all of history escaped their cruel game – Cyric of Zhentil Keep."
At that, the Binder knew instantly the true nature of the treacherous book he held in his hands. The simple leather façade faded away to reveal something far more sinister. The book was bound with thick, blackened leather embossed with grinning skulls and sunbursts and was illuminated with gruesome scenes of torture and mayhem. The vellum pages were crafted from the flayed skins of hundreds of scribes – some whom were his faithful – those who had tried and failed to make previous iterations of this horrid text.
Knowing his peril, Oghma sought immediately to rid himself of this cursed tome. But, try as he might, he could not tear his eyes from its wretched pages and was forced to read on.
"In the squalor of Zhentil Keep's slums, the man-who-would-be-a-god took on the shell of mortality for the first time. His mother, a beautiful bard with a mind as quick as Oghma's had foreseen her child's greatness in a dream. She hid the infant Cyric from his father in the back alleys of that grim city, for the man was a leader of the Zhentilar and an agent of the Black Network, faithful to the god Bane. The God of Strife, too, had foreseen Cyric's potential mightiness. Fearing the only mortal unbound by Fate, he sent his agents throughout the city to slay the child."
The Binder of all Knowledge desperately fought to free his mind from the spell that had come over him, compelling him to keep reading. Still unable to quit, he concentrated all of his divine attention to this one task, drawing in his many avatars from across the Realms and vast Planes.
For many hours as he battled with his own will, the prayers of his faithful were left unanswered, and scribes from across the lands put down their quills in frustration for words that would not come. At long last, Oghma gently closed the sacred tome and ran his hand across the dark cover, caressing it as a lover might caress his beloved, before replacing it into the folds of his robe…