A Note on Characters

It appears the PC party tentatively consists of the following: Deva Avenger (striker), ???? Sorcerer (striker), and Gnoll ???? (hopefully not another striker). Matt expressed interest in making some sort of defender, but he'll probably do something completely different knowing his ADHD.

The only problem with three strikers is that there really isn't a lot of cohesion. Unlike a defender (say fighter or swordmage) strikers cannot soak damage, control the shape of the battle, or rapidly heal allies. Other than that, there is no problem with it. Overall, a balanced party with defenders, leaders, controllers, and strikers are the most effective. I realize that none of you had communication with one another; there was no way to plan who would be what.

So that brings me to the next point. Just because hours have been spent in developing characterization does not mean that you can't make changes to your character. (I.e. it would be very easy to change avenger to cleric, sorcerer to wizard, ranger to warden, etc.)

Now, don't feel obligated to change. I only wish to inform of the situation.

Keep in mind Ben and Matt (possibly Daniel, maybe Richard) still have to decide on characters. Maybe they'll tip the scales.

I've posted some races that I thought might work for Sessanos. CHA is the most important stat, but really anything that helps CHA or DEX could work; the slobbiest is a race that boosts both. Maximizing stat bonuses to match a class is not mandatory of course, but it does help your character excel.

Sessanos, or "6"

The following is the backstory for Brandon's character.

As written by the player

These are the only legible entries in the journal of Cranex D'Criza, Olucran scientist employed by Vector. It is the only precious item a man known as "Six" possesses.

Day 1 - At last I have arrived in the Nation of Vector. I believe I am called here to work on developing further steam technologies for the Empire. Their need of Olucran science is no longer a secret no matter what appearance they may try to make. My only hope is to make enough coin to open my own facility.

Day 4 - I now believe that the project I have been called to work on may be something more serious than I had previously predicted. I was briefed today on what is to be called henceforth "Psychotherapy", a development from my Olucran counterparts, a craft far more advanced than anything I have ever seen. It appears we are to revive souls from dead tissue in order to harness some sort of power from them--all this for the might of Vector of course. Although I am excited to be working with new technologies I am also hesitant to get involved in anything so secretive as to maybe cost me my life.

Day 7 - Tremendous! Today I was given my own laboratory deep within this metal stronghold. I must admit it does my soul good to be deep underground once more, however I cannot say I've grown accustomed to this new life. I have studied further into what it is the Empire is requesting of me. Through the psycho magics of the Olucran Syndicate Biomancers, we are to act as God and recreate many copies of a former life, henceforward codenamed "clones". These copies are to be extensively trained by myself and other elite scientists in order to tap into the potentials of the original life-form. It seems science and religion will be separate no longer!

Day 14 - Specimens 1-6 are growing rapidly as anticipated. Predictions are that they will age until reaching the same age that the original tissue was at the time of its. . . eradication. So far, they act as children. 1 is growing a personality rapidly and is responding well to the psycotherapy. 2-5 seem to be progressing at a steady rate. 6 has been shunned by the group. Reason unknown.

Day 27 - Progression continues at rapid rate. Now as maturing youths, each specimen continues to act in a similar to the way described in my previous review. 1 shows great reception to the psychotherapy and has developed powers that Vector already intends to replicate in new weapons of war. 2-5 seem to be growing ill and are exhibiting less-than-expected results. 6 continues to isolate himself in his room after therapy sessions. He cries. I have taken to reading to him before sleep hours. I only hope it offers him some solace.

Day 36 - Specimens 2-5 were found dead today in their pods. So far no reasoning has been found as to why this occurred. The Empire's head scientist told me that the program may be getting canceled. If that is the case I fear what may happen to 1 and 6, the Empire isn't known for ethical resolutions to problems.

Day 42 - There are more and more guards around the lab these days. I fear the worst, that I am to be terminated along with my program. It becomes more obvious to me by the day that my only option is escape. I shall take 6 far away from the touch of the Empire to the land of Elenion. There he will be just as strange as any other foreigner and go unnoticed. His magic has developed but its source is unknown. 1 has become supremely powerful, but he will no longer speak to me. I wonder what those mind mages have been burning into his brain?

Day 46 - I must escape tonight. I received a letter from a former colleague that I am to be terminated by firing squad at dawn. I have bribed my greedy keepers to escort me and 6 out of the town unseen. That letter also held a strange piece of information regarding the psychotherapy experiment. Apparently the tissue used to create the six specimens was from divine origin. That would certainly explain 1's amazing abilities, and would shed light onto why we don't understand 6's powers completely. I must find out more about the source of this tissue.

Day 51 - 6 and I have escaped and are well on our way to Elenion; however we are being tracked by a company of men from Vector. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes--the man riding at their front is specimen 1.

**The following is in a different handwriting**

Day Unknown - Cranex, the only man I've known as a father, is dead. He was slain by my "brother"; the soldiers called him Antarius. I must find the answers to these questions. Who am I? Why can't I remember any of the sessions of psychotherapy? I flee now to Elenion to find my father's contacts there, if any, in hopes that they may shed light on my origin. Once I have grown in power, I swear on my father’s grave that Antarius will pay for what he's done.

(Six, the dark child. Tattoo of the number 6 on his right hand.)

Jensis

The following is a very detailed, and very long description of Keegan's character.

As written by the player. . .

The Last War, more than a 100 years ago. . . Nations sent their kin against the shields and swords of their enemies to no avail. Each side growing desperate in their goals of victory over the other, not showing signs of weakness or submission. They scrape the bottom of the barrel for every last resource, even the lives of men. Despair is sensed by everyone and everything. A grey tint in the sky--the plague of death felt by all. As the elders tell to others their tales of greener and brighter times, they are soon forgotten to the purgatory paths of war laid before them. The Age of War.

Some say it a myth. Unshaven peasants covered in mud tell it to others over cheap mead. The night the sky fell. Some whisper the Gods themselves weeped over what they had watched below. It is told as a clear cold night in the Fall. The stars shinned bright in the sky as the horizon bore distant smoke from burnt villages and remnants of war. The high moon lit the landscape below. The soldiers awaited the next siege still clad in blood encrusted armor, their breath condensing on the cold night air. An all too common silence was upon the different Kingdoms.

That same silence upon the ever proud Kingdom of Scorlanthe as it barely stands as a symbol of courage against the enemy, Vector. Within the kingdom's walls, a native boy lay awake in his bed of hay thinking about his brothers and father at war. Gazing up at the stars through a window, he wondered about his family. A sudden glimmer in the sky caught his attention. It was as a star brighter than all the others, dancing in there as it seemed almost winking at the unknown boy. Unsure if he had just imagine the sparkle whilst in a half dreaming slumber, he shook his head in disbelief. Now focusing on the object, squinting to reaffirm the actuality of his sight, the boy was surprised to realize that he was not dreaming. In his excitement, he got out of bed and stood on top of a wooden crate near by, just tall enough to stick his head out of the window. Watching the star, it occurred to him that the sparkle was getting brighter and brighter. Standing stretched upon his toes, he could see that it was in fact no star at all. His heart started to race.

"Look!" screamed an armor-clad soldier as he pointed at the now apparent, fiery object in the sky. Other soldiers awoke and scrambled about thinking that it was another attack on their Kingdom. It only took moments before many had gathered together, all gazing and pointing up. Their memorization caused them to ignore their captain as he came late to see what the commotion was about. He soon saw what had brought the dead of night alive.

"No," he thought to himself, "a catapult from that distance? . . . It cannot be."

"Men! Get ready!" screamed the captain as he hastened back to his tent to arm himself for the unknown. Every solider of his platoon now ran about, gathering themselves and their belongings. Flinging open the flap of his tent, a loud screech drew his attention from behind. The sky lit up as if noon day in a flash as a deafening boom shattered the landscape. The captain and every soldier ran to the edge of the wall to witness a fiery explosion, casting a cloud of dust into the air, all of which about 5 miles in the distance. Several seconds later, a shock wave woke the rest of the kingdom. Peasants opened their wooden shutters to see if it was another enemy; they were surprised to see no army at their gate. The Kingdom came alive with conversation and torches, everyone wondering what had fallen out of the sky.

It was only a matter of time before the captain received orders to go investigate the meteor.

"Men! We leave in 10 minutes!" he yelled as he suited himself with heavy Scorlanthian armor. The platoon of 40 men left the city's gate eastward toward the billow of smoke in the distance. Lighted by the pale moon light they marched on, whispering to one another about what horrors or wonders lay before them. As they marched closer, some tripped over debris of earth and rock upheaved by the blast, and their eyes adjusted to the smoldering burnt hole in the ground. As the army's march slowed to a cautious walk, the only thing that filled the air was a cracking noise like that normally heard over a campfire and a smell of burnt wood and earth. Each soldier's heart started beating from excitement or fear as they hiked the top of the crater. One by one upon reaching the crest of the mound, they stopped to look down the hole. Their countenances soon changed to confusion. The captain pushed aside the others as he reached the top to see what had silenced his army.

A man?

A pale looking male was laying at the center of the crater, not rock or a beast, but a person. A deva, an almost-nude individual laid there with no apparent injury, unconscious but breathing.

Everyone there second guessed the sight before them. There was no more whispering, just silence as each soldier looked up to their leader for his reaction and synopsis of the situation.

"Be on your most careful guard" warned the captain as he motioned his men to start the descent into the crater. Each following after the other, some sliding down a few feet just before catching themselves.

Closer and deeper the armored men descended into the crackling earth until the Deva lay but a few yards from their feet. As they wondered what they were to do with him, the motionless Deva sprang to its feet in an instant, before they could eve, react with drawn swords. It floated inches above the ground before them, erect and dignified, floating just inches above the ground, peering at each one with hollow grey eyes. The Deva was just under 7 feet tall had a dull grey aura eminating about him as he rotated around, looking. Wings suddenly materialized from a different plane from his back, ethereal wings, insubstantial and transparent. Oddly, only one of the wings appeared to be full size while the other only protruded only a foot or two as if it had been ripped off. The gimp wing was rotten, crumbling as ethereal feathers fell to the ground and faded away like a flower sapped of life that was losing its petals. The wings seemed more symbolic than anything as they would not be able to grant his unnatural levitation.

The soldiers tried backing away slowly only to bump into those ranks behind them. The captain, still standing at the crest of the crater echoed through his helm, yelling to the creature.

"You there! Surrender and identify yourself!" Catching his attention, the angel jutted his expressionless face towards the captain and glared a with piercing grey eyes, as if he were searching. The pause of silence continued as the angel floated on. Each soldier slowly unsheathed their blades uncertain of the creature's intentions. They gave each other worried looks. "Submitted to the will of Scorlanthe, or die. . ."

The tension was at it's pinnacle as each soldier gripped their weapons tighter. The angelic thing did not seem to care; his focus remained on the soul of the captain.

"Scorlanthians, take him down!" shouted the captain, his helmet echoing the battle cry. He unsheathed him weapon as he ran down towards the grey figure. The soldiers gave their all too common battle cry and each charged towards the center with pointed swords. The deva maintained his stare forward until the last possible moment.

The first blade came speeding towards his throat. The angel, as fast as he had stood to his feet, vanished then reappeared in a different spot. The soldier's strike fell into the chest of his fellow comrade. The unarmed Deva used the own soldier's weapon to kill another attacker. Dodging steel from every direction, he continued to redirect attacks to unattended targets, moving faster than the trained soldiers could follow. After a few moments, a pile of armored men started filling up the crater creating mud with their blood. Each time a blade was swung, it lodged into another victims body as the creature vanished and reappeared in an instant.

Soon only a few men remained, 5 soldiers including the captain. Keeping their distance, they waded in their dead comrades floating in the pool of blood. The angel, covered in blood, stopped and retuned to his erected, dignified stance, staring again at the captain with those same grey eyes.

"I am known to some as Jensis," he calmly explained to the survivors in a deep booming voice.


Jensis, the Deva Avenger. Armed with his fullblade, he now resides with the crumbles of men in Scorlanthe. His former celestial glory has been worn to dull grey. Only a god could have cut off his other wing. Why was he cast down here to Rasa? Jensis doesn't seem to remember, but he needs to find some answers soon.

Olucra Syndicate

"Deep within the heart of the bizarre dungeon, I was commanded to kneel before the demented audience. An alien, nightmare parody of a royal court, blue lights made of glass lined the floor and roof casting a sickly pallor to all within the chamber. A speaker finally stepped from the shadows. This was Cyvorak, the Arch Biomancer, a visage of a creature whose dark skin and horns were covered in glowing turquoise tattoos and tubes.

'It is but in the 11th hour that I finally request a forum with thee, Master Cenobite. No other would hear my clarion call; yours are the final ears to hear my warning sound.'

'While men sit in their long halls and talk of war and conquest,' the shadowed person croaked, 'we seek solutions to conflict at a biological level. The life that you have sought so long to destroy, we seek to perfect. Our new world will be devoid of war, struggle, or affliction. We shall usher in a new unity under the black sun. In the shadow of Olucra, all of Rasa shall embrace assimilation. . .'"



It is the vile league that twists reality. It is the voice that whispers forbidden secrets. It is the corrupter of kingdoms. It is a nation of Biomancers, assassins, and aberrations. Their deepest roots are grounded in the Far Realm, the space beyond the planes. Though Olucra has many mouthpieces, the real governor is madness and irrationality.



They seek to make every living thing "better" than it already is. Their Biomancy leaves victims with twisted tube enhancements. Unlike bloodforging, biomancy beautifies instead of scars, perfects instead deforms, and illuminates instead of dampens. However, these terms are relative to the practitioners of it. In reality, the augmentations are just as bizarre.



They employ the hidden and slimy things--mind flayers, beholders, foulspawn. While Olucra claims to be the ultimate nation of enlightenment, in reality, their minds have all been damaged due to the incompatibility of Far Realm augmentations.



Olucra knew of the irresistibility of their forbidden knowledge. They often auctioned secrets to the highest bidder during the Last War. Noble men made difficult ethical decisions, whether it was wise to make deals with the dark syndicate under veil of moonlight. These decisions cost them. As Olucra double-dealt to enemy and ally alike, their power magnified and they turned into a threat of their own right. Since the treaty, the six nations decided to exile the syndicate. Without political legitimacy, it returned to the cracks of the earth.



Vector denies that the Olucra ever existed, and would furthermore discredit any claim that the source of their Steam Science stems from darker realms.



But it is the truth, and I seek to show it to the world. That's right, you, the reader of my journal have been informed. Yet now, there is nothing that you can do. I shall show Rasa a force that surpasses any army of steam, blood, rot, star, or rune. My wrath shall come swiftly, there are none who can contend. . .

Realm of Elenion

"I remembered the haze well, that dark fog that obscured the sun. I had spent enjoyable seasons here many years ago with those that I counted as family. It seemed to have grown even darker during my time away.
When I arrived back to the Silverrim road, I expected a grand welcome from my kin. Instead, I found a void sea of eternal darkness. Tears streamed down my face as I crumpled to the earth. I frightened me, but understood then that there was only one nation left to hear my call. . ."




It is the twilit north filled with mystics and esoteric magic. It is the stronghold of eladrin, genasi, and others who hold kinship with the elements. It is the fey-kissed, moonlit countryside that is slowly being devoured. Most of the good creatures that fled from Morgwold found comfort here, but now they have grown sleepy and gloomy from the perpetual dusk that has cursed the land.

While others have focused on scientific advancement, Elenion has stayed native to more arcane roots. Concentrating their blessing of intelligence on raw arcana, they have perfected the art of Rune Magic. Subsequently, Elenion warriors employ powerful runic weapons. Eidolon rune-golems serve eladrin courts. Moon archways subtly illuminate the surrounding forests.



A terrifying darkness has spawned here that grows ever thicker in the land. Dubbed "the Void", it continues to disintegrate the landscape, inch by inch, encroaching on cities and wilderness. As one stares into the blankness, nothing but black haze can be discerned. Word has spread to foreign lands of the Void and attempts have been made to determination the cause. Vector keeps word of it secret and spends fortunes on its study. Elenions know the truth, that this is done utterly in vain. . .



The extraction of elemental power from the multiverse, the source of Vector's technology, is the source of the Void. A great imbalance of matter is the result. However it's happening, the planet is literally being folded inside-out, or so the Elenions claim.



As consequence of the ravaging nothingness, the land is no longer stable. Great palaces and towns are gone. Evil is finding it easier to take up residence.

Sylvan mages are finding it increasingly more difficult to channel elemental power. As the world sucks up resource, there is only void.



Aita, or wind.
Duero, or earth.
Salamo, or fire.
Neela, or water.

The Four Elements will soon be gone.

Primidia Holy City

"The Golden City was as a trove of light in the middle of a blinding desert. The townsfolk kept to their business, mostly ignoring my attempts at asking them for directions to the Great Observatory. When I finally found the place, I was halted by stoic sphinxes that stood as guards. They towered above me, their sentences were jumbled as if everything they spoke was a question."



It is the ancient world renovated by astral technology. It is the blurred line between the mortal realm and the afterlife. It is the time of the pharaoh met with the ambition of astronomy. In the midst of the scorching sands, the city shines as a bastion of refuge. Those who are permitted to enter within the walls of the Holy City witness floating towers and magnificent pyramids. Those who speak with the citizens notice their deep religious convictions. Those who tarry long enough are met with the presence of "gods" who walk among them.

Unlike Scorlanthe, the Primidian pharaohs had been overthrown long before the Treaty of Thronehold. At some point, stern and majestic sphinxes had taken over the government. The great "Prime" sphinxes are in control, that is, the elders of the race who assert their dominion over the land. There is no doubt that the residing common sphinxes are the favored species; the serf human class is even commanded to worship the elders.



The enlightened spend most of their time here analyzing the stars. Primidians are obsessed with astronomy and religion--such a marriage between the two has led to the developments of "Stargates" that allow planar creatures to enter this realm. Consequently, many religions have been established in the city. The Elder Sphinxes encourage the following of any religion as it self-serves their purposes of furthering space analyzation. They like it when the church summons angelic messengers as it furthers their development of astral technology--the science that enables levitation and teleportation. The sphinxes are anxious to discuss astral theories with visiting immortals.



When weaponized, astral technology takes the form of radiant energy which is often expelled from the staves of zealous Priests. These are men or women so dedicated to serving the Sphinx Hegemony that they are endowed with special astral augmentations. They are easy to spot as they don headdresses that resemble a corresponding animal-headed deity from the ancient times.

The High Priests wear the headdress of Ra, a falcon, and they are the highest rank a mortal can achieve. Others don the mask of Anubis, the jackal, or Ammit, the alligator. When going into battle, they will wear the headdress of Sekhmet, the lion, which is their ancient god of destruction.



While generally peaceful natured, the Sphinx Hegemony still requires great sacrifice at the cost of its people. The Holy City is beautiful, but such astral majesty often comes at the price of lives. The sphinxes are neutral to any infernal or abyssal entities that might wander through an unattended Stargate. To them, evil intruders are just more experts with different perspectives on astral technology.

Scorlanthe Kingdom

"Rabbles of men had hollowed out caves and made homes of old watch towers. Scorlanthe, his majesty's former glory, was reduced to crumbling pillars and hollow castles. There was no more honor here; no more splendor, no more glory. It depressed my soul that the Great Kingdom no longer had a king."



It is the fallen realm, decimated by the Steam of Vector and the Iron of Grothkor. It is the high country where dwarves claim home and dragonborn perch upon their towers. It is the bleak mountains where men are scattered into tribes, leaderless, and devoid of any faith that some day they could be reunited. Contrary to Elenion and Primidia, Scorlanthe was actually forced into the Treay of Thronehold by submission. After their cities fell, Scorlanthe had no choice but to make a disarmament pact. Once loyal men now run scattered throughout the land as barbarians; they choose exile rather than domination.



There is hardly a shining citadel or white tower left in the snowy peaks of Scorlanthe, but those structures left in tact usually house hundreds of refugees. The mountains still host dwarven keeps and the cliffs still might have monasteries. Vector raiding parties have learned not to venture too far into them, for in the advances of knowledge and science that has enlightened the world over, dwarves have become masters of explosives and forging adamantite.

Most warriors of Scorlanthe are now mercenaries for other nations. There are no jobs or professions left there. Though some might now be captains of a Grothkor squabble of Bloodforged mutants, very few opt to work for the Vector Empire. Their seeds of hatred towards them run deep.



The extreme despair that haunts the land is more than just emotionally gripping. For whatever reason, those that become too saddened here turn to stone. It is an eerie sight to walk the plains between statues of the melancholic that have been stricken with such a bizarre curse.
Many of the most primal creatures run rampant here. Powerful divine warding magic waned away as soon as the kingdom fell. Travelers must now watch out for manticore, wyverns, dragons, demons, and worse.

Morgwold Forest

"The gnarled, oozing forest contained horrors I never imagined. It started out as a spinning headache whenever I'd look at each rune-inscribed rock. By the time I reached the lady's court, my mind had succumbed to madness. I could barely tell at that point if the rotten dead were really walking towards me."



It is the great wild shrouded in danger and mystery. It is the ancient forest that induces despair and madness upon outsiders who tarry too long within. It is the woodland kingdom of territorial beasts, fey, and undead. While many elves, halflings and other standard sylvan races call the place home, much of the great forest has been consumed by darkness. Instead of bearing sweet fruit, the trees of Morgwold wrap their vines around the buried dead and give them life anew. The fairies that flutter carry poisonous stingers. The seemingly normal animals are often ridden with terrible "Rotborn" deformities, that is, their normal hides are covered in moss, slime, and decay. The juxtaposition of vibrant life-forms consumed in ominous death is one of Morgwold's most daunting paradoxes.



The deeper recesses contain crumbling shrines from pre-history, monolithic runestones, rivers of poison, and conclaves of embryonic sacs filled with pseudonatural trolls. Most rational creatures have long since abandoned these terrible parts. The bravest sylvan rangers consider it a rite of passage to hunt in Deeper Morgwold; forever praised are the few heroic elves who bring back a Dracolich skull or Plaguewurm hide.



Although hostile and desolate, Morgwold is actually home to a grim nation of sorts. If studied long enough, one notices that the fungus covered skeletons that roam haplessly are actually on patrol. There lives a beautiful lady in the heart of the woods. She is naive, yet stern and unpredictable, much like nature itself. She is known by many names, the Queen of Frogs, the Faery Matron, or the Bramble Witch. To any person so resilient and resolute as to successfully gain an audience in her thicket court, she would merely introduce herself by her proper name Morthissa. The Bramble Witch employs legions of the slimey and compost-filled undead. She is the source of the Rotborn, the many trolls, fey, and shamblers marked with decaying matter. No one knows what she truly guards, but suffice it that one could spend a lifetime scouring the forest maze to no avail.



The ominous runes are just another one of Morgwold's mysteries. Some say that they are the source of Morthissa's influence, and others wager that they were here long before she arrived. Venturers claim that these stones "whisper" to them in passing, and what they tell seems to be too alien for normal minds to accept without being damaged. Missing people are often found days later huddled against these stones babbling to themselves. Those that are not careful are driven to madness, but perhaps it is a choicer fate to being found by the shambling dead or engulfed by a huge green worm.

Some believe that as Rasa is sucked of its elemental energies, the greatest horrors of the Planes are permitted to bleat through. The more rational inhabitants of Morgwold view man's industrialization as a threat to the very future of the planet. The leaves stir with whispers that it is time to act accordingly.

Grothkor Legion

"The first part of the horde that I saw was their banners rising from behind the hill--a black gauntlet on dirty cloth. I next noticed their rusted armor caked in blood and worse. They were orcs, but deformed--spikes attached to stumps, iron plates nailed directly into the skin. . ."



It is the horde of orc and goblin kind. It is the scarred, twisted, ugly badlands where vengeful evil gathers their army. It is chaos, misery, fortification, and domination. Dotted throughout the countryside are their Bloodforges--heinous places of torture and grisly augmentations. The Legion's recruits are well accustomed to chains, gears, cranks and winches. At some point, most soldiers will have been on a slab getting amputated. When their screaming stops, they marvel at their new grafted weapon or armor.



Although they honor the Treaty of Thronehold, Grothkor desires all to submit to their will. Contained within their unholy writ known as the "Ire of Blood" is the doctrine that orcs are the rightful leaders of the world. Settlers who venture too close to Grothkor territory often end up as scrap parts for their filthy Bloodforges. The strongest often join the ranks as a slave or pit-fighter.



Who will you find in Grothkor?
King Balthazor the Glutton, a big fat orc that's too obese to move on his own. Since his legs have long withered away, he often rides attached to the lower half of a dire boar's body.
Orcs of varieties are never in short supply.
Goblins serve as lab lackies and spies.
Ogres and giants are too stupid and sporadic for massive organization. They best serve as enforcers of sheer brutality.
Skeksis are a race of vulture-like flying degenerates. They often divebomb enemies with their nasty polearms.



Nomadic men have also found a place in Grothkor. Their superior intellect makes them great captains to the dull orc armies.

Empire of Vector

"I woke up and saw a giant city with steam and flying ships. The soldiers here bore a crimson banner. Insurgents were executed in the middle of the streets. Others seemed to be rotting in mucky cages. What is this infernal place?"



It is the forefront of mankind's ambition. It is the steampunk home of the common people. It is the strict, disciplined empire where scattered humans, dwarves, gnomes, and others have gathered to survive. Bound elemental creatures power airships, rail transport, and high-speed ocean vessels. Consequential to the many engines, pistons, smoke-stacks, and pipes, this massive metropolis is polluted with grime, scorches, and oil. One can get lost gazing at every tall building and each fuzzing light.

Red banners with a bold black "V" dot the landscape. Armored shock troopers often bear loud firearms or mercury swords infused with elemental crystals. The military is highly regimented; their armed forces boast an army, navy, and air force. All answer to the will of the emporer, yet he allocates most power down to dozens of officials. Their Steam Science has revealed many formidable weapons. It is said that Vector could potentially conquer the rest of Rasa, yet alas, the century of financial ruin has left practical war technology sparse and morale low.


Since the Treaty of Thronehold, Vector acted as the kingdom of man as it does contain the highest concentration of humans. Once rich with magic knowledge in centuries past, their pursuit for better war strategy and better soldiers has overshadowed the study of arcana. Religions have also descended down in priority--the emperor insists now on loyalty to the state above all else.


Men dress with goggles, women with Victorian dresses. Homes are strewn with kerosene lamps, absinthe, brass lattice windows, brass furnaces, cloth lamps, and record players with big horns. Much of city's power and technology is drawn from Rasa itself. Needless to say, Vector has made many enemies with nature as it sucks the planet evermore dry of its "life energy".


The cities food and supplies grow thinner by the day. Poverty has brought pestilence and anger. It's only a matter of time before this clockwork bomb explodes its wrath upon another nation.

Preface

In the pursuit to dominate the other, the civilizations of the world stumbled upon secrets of advanced craft.  This enlightenment invoked hostility and suspicion between peoples.  With each additional truth, more blood was shed.

Men sought innovation, expansion, and hierarchy.  Orc-kind demanded submission by all others.  Even the higher races, eladrin, dragonborn, deva, could not resist their lust for the newfound sciences; in the name of “progression”, they led their own campaigns of conquest.  At the pinnacle of hostility, the death toll became so daunting that the leaders of the world would eventually become forced to some kind of resolution.

The Last War, the events that plunged the world of Rasa into cataclysmic war more than one hundred years ago, ended with the signing of the Treaty of Thronehold and the establishment of six recognized nations.  Each of them was granted respective power—Vector, Morgwold, Scorlanthe, Grothkor, Primidia, and Elenion—as it was decreed that bloodshed should stop lest all of Rasa perish.  This created a conditional peace in the land that was held together by delicate threads pulled tight from struggle for power.  There was one nation, however, that sought nothing but to rupture the fragile balance. 

 

Olucra, the dark syndicate, stewed in violent bitterness, for they would have been a seventh nation had they been welcomed to take part in the treaty.  Confining them to the murky and hidden cracks of the land, the Six Nations marked them as a common enemy, refusing them audience out of fear that they would only offer further perversion to an already scarred existence.  It would have appeared that the Olucra dwindled into extinction if it weren’t for the corruption that began to infiltrate every corner of the land. Abominable secrets were whispered into eager ears. Technology became twisted with alien and incompatible influences; the nations cultivated paranoia that the other would gain the upper hand.  Some now ravage the planet for every last resource to fortify their armies.  Others have drawn the line and now seek to defend the world.  The strings of tension are pulled their tightest.

Welcome to the World of Rasa

I can't wait for until the 14th to the 19th when I'll be down.  I just want to say that you will not be disappointed in the few gaming sessions that we will do during those days and for the remainder of the summer.

If you couldn't already tell, I'm going all out on this.  Hell, I've made a blog to give you day-to-day updates on everything and what you need to know to ensure maximum fun times.