current_events
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current_events [2025/02/18 15:37] titania |
current_events [2025/09/01 14:22] (current) titania |
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| + | **9/ | ||
| + | News spreads from Tharis regarding a threat to their way of life. In taverns and inns from Tabor to Azha to Shadow, the Order of Midnight stalks. But what is their target? Some say it is a rogue undead that gained sentience. Others claim an escaped experiment from Tenebrosa. Still more claim that the Tharisians are simply beginning what they started years ago—a social cleansing of renegade elven elements, as with the House Rilynath. Whatever it is, it can’t be long until their problems end up on our doorsteps. | ||
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| + | **8/ | ||
| + | The ceremony to induct the Voice was interrupted by an attack that killed most of the candidates. In the ensuing battles, the defender of the island, the dragon Vasha, was killed. The Black Tower was destroyed, and the government thrown into turmoil. It is said that the same night the mysterious tower southeast of Carmorth flashed with a golden light, but recent attacks on that settlement caused most to ignore the news. | ||
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| + | **8/ | ||
| + | Christof Miller, owner of the Rooks Rest and Councillor of Port Serith, has posted the following: “The government of Port Serith welcomes and congratulates the Voice on their upcoming growth. We look forward to a stronger government that can continue to push the darkness from our shores. In coordination with their growth, Port Serith welcomes Cecileia Rhes as a full councillor. Cecile speaks with Kyra and I’s blessing as our protector, diplomat, and equal. Adventurers have made Serakii what it is today, and we know that with Cecile' | ||
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| + | **8/ | ||
| + | Mordecai Lamoch, current sole member of the Voice, has issued a proclamation: | ||
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| + | **6/ | ||
| + | Word spreads after information is leaked from the upper reaches of Tharisian power. Reports have surfaced that Balur Black and Maenoh Black have been missing for several months—perhaps even longer. What could this mean for Tharis and the City of Monsters? | ||
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| + | **6/ | ||
| + | The Colosseum roars again—blood and glory in Shadow. The Golden Gate Gauntlet approaches, hosted by the Consortium of the Ninth Tally, financiers of war, tradition, and unseen doctrines. They invite warriors, champions, and the daring to test their worth before the veiled eyes of the city. Three contests shall decide who ascends: 1v1—skill against skill, a single step between victory and defeat. 2v2—coordination and betrayal whispered by the same breath. 3v3—when the dust rises and the blood thickens, only cohesion remains. Magic is permitted in full, and the Shadow mage’s tower has warded the Colosseum against the arcane to ensure the safety of all spectators. All weapons and armor will be provided on site, standardized and balanced for fair combat, including clothing and options for light, medium, and heavy armor. A wide selection of non-enchanted weaponry will be available for selection prior to each match. Use of any non-issued gear or enchanted equipment will result in immediate disqualification. All bouts are conducted until a single combatant—or team—remains standing. Mercy is permitted. Victory’s reward: The Golden Laurels, the mark of an undisputed champion, and inscription upon the Monolith of Champions, your name etched into eternal stone. To enter: in-character, | ||
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| + | **5/ | ||
| + | I don’t know what time it started—just that I was jolted from sleep by the sound of the first explosion. Then a second. Then a third. Each one louder than the last, shaking the walls of my home. I ran to the window and saw the skies over the warehouse district lit in red. Not lantern fire. Not any fire I’ve seen. It burned too high, too fast. And the screaming had already started. The streets filled with people. Some fled. Some tried to help. I couldn’t move. Just watched as shadows twisted through the flames—inhuman shapes, all fangs and horns and hate. Devils. Real ones. I saw the Crimson Templars arrive first, weapons drawn, shields raised. Then came the priests of Jarmila and the Kismeti. All of them ran toward the fire. The worst of it happened near the third warehouse. A pit fiend—gods help us—taller than any creature has a right to be. Wings like molten iron. A voice that made the stones shake. That’s where I saw them: Templar Kiralle and a priestess I later heard called Rella. They stood against it. Kiralle struck first—brave fool. Her blade landed true, but it wasn’t enough. The fiend cut her down in a single blow. I thought it was over. But Rella didn’t run. She became fire. I don’t mean that in a poetic way. She became it. Wings of flame erupted from her back. Her voice rang like a bell forged in the sun. And then—light. Heat. I had to turn away. When I looked again, the fiend was gone. Ash on the wind. The Kismeti had formed a barrier around her, around all of it, holding back the fire she unleashed. Without it, I think Tabor would be cinders. They carried Rella away after. She looked… broken. Burned from the inside out. They took her to the Temple of Jarmila. No word yet on whether she’ll survive. I still smell sulfur when I breathe. Still hear the screams. The town is quiet now. Too quiet. We lived, somehow. But we all know this isn’t over. Not really. We’ve seen what waits on the other side of the veil. And now, I think, it’s seen us too. -- The Tabor News | ||
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| + | **4/ | ||
| + | Amidst the chaos swallowing Torm, the Queen steps into the city—not in royal regalia, but in worn leathers and work gloves. She gives no speeches, makes no grand declarations. Instead, she digs through rubble with her own hands, aiding in the rescue of the trapped and wounded. From the outskirts to the ravaged shoreline, she moves with quiet determination, | ||
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| + | **4/ | ||
| + | Screams. Desperation. Pain. Citizens of Torm stand frozen in disbelief as a tsunami looms on the horizon. Death has come. The wave crashes, and the city is left in ruin. The port is gone, homes reduced to rubble, and the streets run red. Hundreds are confirmed dead, and many more remain missing. Torm will never be the same. In the wake of destruction, | ||
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| + | **4/ | ||
| + | Twelve souls have vanished in the past few weeks, leaving behind no trace. An official statement has been issued, now pinned to the board post of Seneca. The nights are no longer as safe as one might have hoped. Is it the undead horde, creeping ever closer? Or is it something else? Something more sinister... Blood. Gore. Entrails. The lower districts of Tharis drowned in it. Monsters tore through the streets in a mindless rampage, slaughtering each other, ripping limb from limb. Friend or foe—no distinction was made. Just pure, unrestrained violence. The street was paved in red. In the aftermath, as the Guard re-established control, an official statement was released by Lady La’Virenna: | ||
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| + | **3/ | ||
| + | Word travels fast—especially with the Extravagant Boars Headquarters so close to Shadow. A massive explosion erupted from within the saloon, consuming a good portion of the patronage in fire and ruin—the result of a failed assassination attempt on River, the owner of the establishment. Today is a day of mourning. A day of loss. The stench of brimstone still clings to the air, thick and acrid, a lingering ghost of destruction as reparations begin—a slow process, spanning days to mend what was broken. | ||
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| + | **3/ | ||
| + | Lysaran Spring Equinox Festival - Fate’s Crossing: In the wake of rising tensions and growing unease, Torm has drawn together its smaller, more private celebrations into a grand festival—a tribute to prophecy, fate, and new beginnings. This is a time of fortunes told, deals struck, and friendships forged. Visitors from all walks of life are invited to participate in the revelry, whether by seeking guidance from seers, bartering at the bustling trade stalls, or simply embracing the moment. The festival will culminate in the historical dance at the Lysara temple west of Torm, where fate’s threads are woven in steps and movement beneath the open sky. Come to watch, dance, divine, decorate, or simply enjoy the spectacle. Whether you seek truth, trade, or trouble, the festival welcomes all—though fate favors the patient. | ||
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| **2/ | **2/ | ||
| A violent scuffle erupted just east of Tharis—three members of House Black clashed against… something. But the whispers in the streets fail to capture exactly what they faced. Then, without warning, reality itself fractured. Three buildings—erased. Not destroyed, not burned, not reduced to rubble—just... gone. As if they had never existed at all. No explosion. No sound. No lingering scent of fire or decay. Nothing. And yet, the aftermath was undeniable. The once-mighty members of House Black lay scattered across the pavement like bloodied ragdolls, their bodies battered, their presence reduced to a mere afterthought in the face of something far greater. And there, amidst the devastation, | A violent scuffle erupted just east of Tharis—three members of House Black clashed against… something. But the whispers in the streets fail to capture exactly what they faced. Then, without warning, reality itself fractured. Three buildings—erased. Not destroyed, not burned, not reduced to rubble—just... gone. As if they had never existed at all. No explosion. No sound. No lingering scent of fire or decay. Nothing. And yet, the aftermath was undeniable. The once-mighty members of House Black lay scattered across the pavement like bloodied ragdolls, their bodies battered, their presence reduced to a mere afterthought in the face of something far greater. And there, amidst the devastation, | ||
current_events.txt · Last modified: 2025/09/01 14:22 by titania