Game Groups & Campaigns > Promiseland Rising

Interludes

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JohnLS:
The world is changing around our heroes. Many important people have not heard the heroes’ names yet, but they will soon enough. Scenes happening around the world:

8 months ago: A dragonborn man is standing in a shadowy room. Three hobgoblins sit at the table before him. “I came to thank you for the favors,” the dragonborn says, bowing deeply.
The center hobgoblin responds “Don’t mention it. When alliances shift in the coming years, just remember who helped you out.”
After the dragonborn exits, the hobgoblin to the right says “This is a reckless gamble. The imperators will be furious if they find out.”
The center hobgoblin replies “Do not worry. Soon we will all have what we want. The abominations will be dead and the imperators will be thanking us for new allies. They will not care how we made the alliance.”

Elsewhere, 2 months ago: An eladrin man climbs out of a great, smoldering pit at the edge of an amphitheatre. The crowd is small and of varied races. They are well-dressed and brim with arcane, martial and other powers. The eladrin announces “It is as we feared. We have been betrayed.” His face burns with rage, “Our false friends’ day of reckoning will soon come. They will rue the day they crossed us.”

1 month ago: Back in the shadowy room, a goblin is standing before the 3 hobgoblins. The goblin is speaking “…and there is still no sign of them attacking the target.”
The center one strokes his chin thoughtfully. “Then we will have to seek alternative means. Fortunately, we planned for this contingency. Prepare a message for the human faction and ask them for terms of exchange.”

Outside Lorsis Mort Tower: A group of Sisterhood knights nervously wait. A healer grumbles “This is wrong. They are Lianists.”
A grim-faced warlord says, “It is the duty of all prisoners in war to try and escape. We must tie up as many resources as possible in guarding us, and we cannot allow our enemies to hide behind holy symbols. Especially those who enslave the tortured souls in undeath.”
Another knight chimes in, “You had the option of staying behind and surrendering again. You came with us. Honor demands you stand by us.”
“Our captors were not Lianist, and I am standing by you. But do not doubt: this is wrong, and we will pay for our sins.” She turns to the warlord “They are offering those souls a chance at salvation. That book never said anything about creating undead.”
“Quiet, soldier,” the warlord says, “save your objections for home.”

Elsewhere: A gaudily-dressed dragonborn merchant is talking to a gnome farmer.  Ortitro stands behind the merchant. “No, this deal ensures that both of us lose out if the other renegs. You provide us with 80 bushels of mustard seed now,” the dragonborn points to a paper the farmer holds, “and that letter of credit as collateral. I pay you for all 400 bushels and you use the money to acquire the rest from your neighbors. I cannot redeem that letter of credit, but it is worth more than I am paying you. If we cooperate, we both turn a huge profit. If either of us backs out of the deal, we both lose.”
“I don’t know. He said I can only give that to him or a landed lord.”
“For credit, yes, of course. But I am not using it for that. I am only going to hold it for a day or two anyway. It has no value to me except to ensure that you do not back out.”
“Well, I guess I don’t see any harm in it.”
“Of course not, it is a pleasure doing business with you, my short friend.”
“I don’t understand why you don’t simply buy from my lord directly,” the farmer says. “It would be a bit cheaper and you could get everything right away.”
“We revere Havram where I come from. It is always best to buy direct from the farmers, so they keep more of the fruits of their labors. I cannot buy from someone who works their fields with so much slave labor. What would the priests back home say?”
“Don’t let my lord hear you talking that way…” He hands over the letter of credit, and the dragonborn gives him a heavy bag of coins as big as the gnome’s chest.

On a hillside overlooking a harbor: Several galleys rowed by zombies are leaving the harbor. Two undead warriors watch the ships leaving. “I dislike depending on the living. They cannot be trusted. I remember what I was like. I remember my friends, family and neighbors. All thieving, backstabbing rats. They have no purpose in existence and no real morals.”
“I hate the living as much as anyone with any sense does, but the living can be trusted to be selfish rats. We get what we want by appealing to their selfish, cowardly, infantile nature. By the will of the gods.”
“By the will of the gods.”

JohnLS:
15 months ago:
An ancient human woman is talking to her adult granddaughter. "I know you don't understand now, Maragaret, but someday you will. We have been complacent. Now, events in Lindor have forced the hands of the enemy. You cannot stand aside. You are my heiress, and you must do whatever is necessary."

"I do not trust him. How can we ever trust one who abuses the powers of his office like that?"

"Of course he abuses his power, darling. To have power is to abuse it."

"You sound like Belial, grandma. Not everyone acts that way."

"He has great wisdom. Trust our friend to be what he is and remember what you are. People in office who do not act that way have no reason to, or are not committed to holding on to their power."

"Hmph, I happen to believe, no, to KNOW that just rule is possible."

"You are so sweet, dear..."

The present time...
A dragonborn is hanging upside down from a tree. He has burn marks on his torso and shows clear signs of having been in battle recently. A group of goblinoids stand around him including an alchemist holding a fiery dagger. “I told you everything I know,” moans the dragonborn, “I don’t know how they are traveling back and forth.”

“I think you know much more. You will tell us more of the snake people. You will tell us or I will introduce you to our essence of pain...”

Elsewhere…
A “gnome” who is little more than a layer of skin on an undead skeleton in a dim, dingy, rotting cabin of a ship looks out his window into an underwater wilderness rubs his hands together. “It is our time again. Our fleet will rise above the waves. The living will tremble in fear. They will have to pay to keep ol’ Fendi away.”

Other undead in the room chuckle. The door bursts open and another undead runs into the room. “Sir, some… things are walking across the seabed towards us.”

“Lindorians? Sea devils? Tritons?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. They appear to be undead aberrations.”

“So, they come at last. How far away? Will my bride arrive before they do?”

“Three leagues. Our raiding party may arrive first, but…”

“Never mind, prepare to surface the fleet. We will sail to meet my bride.”

“But it is daylight! We could be killed!”

“We will not survive battle with those things, either. They will devour our souls. But they will not dare show themselves on the surface. We will take my bride to the islands. We will be safe enough for a short time.”

JohnLS:
18 months ago: A ragtag but fearsome group of gnolls, lizard men and humans gather around a great pyre and listen to a powerful-looking gnoll. "In two days time, we strike! Red Hilt shall be ours and we will feast upon the hearts of our oppressors! The Bad Seed has granted us a thousand and one fey warriors, the enemy has expended themselves in their petty squabbles. Nobody can stand against us!" Cheers rise from the crowd.

Unnoticed in the nearby brush are two elves. "What a mess. You would think that they would learn one day that they always lose."

"Until the day they win."

"That won't happen in our lifetime."

"Because we will die in the final battle before they pillage and raze Capua..."

2 months ago: A circle of centaurs, cyclops and ogres stand in a clearing. They bear the markings of tribal leaders. They are listening to a shifty-looking gnome in the center. "Well, then, all is well? Do I collect my payment?"

An elderly centaur tosses the gnome a bag of coin. "Leave us." The gnome picks up the bag and runs off.

The centaur speaks: "Grave tidings, indeed. Our paradise is in danger."

A powerful-looking ogre speaks: "We just smash, kill all Promiselanders. Problem goes away. Violence solves any problem."

The centaur shakes his head: "They will send another delegation. We need a more permanent solution. It is time we contact our benefactors. The stakes must be raised."

1 Month ago: Two nicely-dressed human women talk in a parlor. "This will be the end of all this pointless bickering a bloodshed."

"It could be, but if we accept the Pole Star help, that means we cannot fight against the Liacians anymore, does it not?"

"The Liacians are irrelevant to him. My husband can do whatever he wants when he becomes Senator-general again. The Liacians, Lindorians and everyone else will be too busy to worry about us."

"Only until the war is over."

"Honey, as long as the Liacian Empire exists, the war will never be over. It will be Tholmundy next, or Lindor or Ohai or the Great Caldera. They are not worried about us."

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