Lords of RPG

Low black clouds of smoke and ash roiled overhead, filled with heat and sparks from the volcanic vents that dotted the lowlands beneath the mountains.  The top of each mountain was lit with fire and molten rock, and red and orange veins of lava flowed down their rocky sides.  On a large rocky outcropping stood Ayrvogh Sirt, dark and ominous, brooding over the scenery like a predator looking for prey.  This was the great fort of the Legion of the Burning Heart, one of the Red Jackal's infamous Ogaroth Legions.

Inside the walls of Aytvogh Sirt, male ogres, ten feet tall, muscular, and heavily armored, guarded the walls, trained for combat in the courtyards, and readied themselves for the next time their Emperor called on them to go to war.

At the end of a street that ended at a wall, there was a stone barracks smaller than the rest.  It was almost as if it was built as an afterthought.  Added into the plan at the very end, after everything necessary had already been included.   There was no flag or banner flying over its doorway.  No unit symbol painted on its door or the wall around it.  It was as non-descript as one can possibly be imagine.

It was in this forgettable little barracks that the Irregulars were housed.  An odd collection of talented individuals from across the World of Kempin.  Species was no barrier to becoming an Irregular.  A talent for getting things done, without boundaries and without fear, was what was required.  Each Ogaroth Legion had at least one such group attached to it.  If the Ogaroth troops were a hammer, the Irregulars were a knife.

Late one night, a visitor came Ayrvogh Sirt.   Based on his fine features and his ornate style of armor, he was an inselelfen like the Red Jackal himself.   His face was heavily scarred, and he wore a black eye patch with silver embroidery over his right eye.  The Ogaroth that passed him the street, stopped and bowed their heads.  For his part, the inselelfen paid them little heed as he passed.  Finally, the visitor arrived at the small barracks that seemed an afterthought, and knocked on the door.

After a shocked pause, the Irregulars welcomed them into their home.  They knew exactly who he was.  Everyone in the Empire of Bone knew exactly who he was.  The Red Jackal's loyal right hand man.  Qidoran.

"I need you to listen close to my words.  Two people know what you are about to learn.  The Emperor and I.  You are about to be brought into this closed loop.  What I tell you must remain a secret.  Buried deep in your mind, where it would be difficult to find.  What we need you to do must be done with very little attention brought to your actions.  I will not explain this further.  Suffice it to say that we are watched by powerful forces, and you've specifically been chosen, to fall beneath the notice of this enemy.  Do you understand how important this is...that the Emperor would trust you with such knowledge, and such a task?"

(Chris wrote)

Frightal-lok knew he was more of an outsider than the rest, for he should surely belong to one of the other barracks. However, he was from the Woods of Sarharen. Thinking he was to answer aloud, he blurts out, "Yes!" He was so fervent, he interrupted the most powerful man in The Empire of Bone.

(Mark Simon wrote)

“This is both a great honor and very alarming. We are not worthy of the Emperor’s or your notice and attention. For us to be chosen for a great task means dire times are upon us. Do we know how important this is? I know there is nothing more important going forward. Tell us, what would you have us do?”, the rumbling bass that was Vom Durom’s voice replied from the back of the Irregulars’ barracks.

(Game Master Wrote)

Qidoran nodded.  "When I speak next with the Jackal, I will note your enthusiasm and willingness to perform this task.  I specifically chose your group, and I believe I was right to do so."

"Everything I say moving forward, must stay within this group.  An iron-clad oath of secrecy upon all of you.  To break such an oath would be punished with death.  That is the magnitude of this situation, and the need for absolute discretion."

Quidoran looked to each character, making eye contact with each before continuing. " Some 50 years ago, our Emperor served as a patron and benefactor to an arcanist seeking to breach the barriers between the planes.  To part the silver mists that border each reality, and jump from one world to the next.  This man's name was Fortisen.  Fortisen Moek."

"Fortisen was not the first, and certainly not the last to seek such power.  But, his research was promising, and he was one of scores of magical researchers that the Emperor supported and encouraged.  Fortisen had a mountain laboratory, and a large number of assistants and employees.  A small town was established in a mountain pass to support this facility, and maintain the families of the men and women who worked tirelessly in this research."

"Fortisen called both the town and his facility by one name.  Poryadok.  Not that it matters now, for the research, the workers, the town… all of it had to be purged from the earth.  Killed, broken, buried.  So that time itself would forget the place, and that which happened there."

"But, Doeth has a sense of humor, and that which we bury, often surfaces.  You are charged with going to what remains of Poryadok, and bringing back to your Emperor that for which he has a dire need."

"Fortisen opened his gate right into a plane of pure and unforgiving Order.  A plane of cold clockwork, and soul-crushing conformity.  The denizens of that place sought to make an orderly example of Kempin.  To reshape our world in their likeness.  It would have been the death of Choice.  Creativity.  Inspiration.  Love.  Hate.  And everything that makes life worth living."

"When the contagion of Order began to spread, the Jackal forced it back from whence it came.  He blocked the gate.  Ended Fortisen.  Ended the experiments.  Ended Poryadok.  And buried it all. You'll need to find a way in.  It should be unoccupied, except for possibly strange opportunists and creatures seeking shelter.  Make your way to the lab… to the gate… and cross into the Plane of Order… Mechanus. "

Quidoran paused, seemingly to allow the Irregulars to take it all in.  With his one eye, he seemed to judge each of them, and their worth.  Could they accomplish this task?  Had he been right in choosing them? Would they balk at the insanity of the quest?

(Chris wrote)

The ogre scratches his head and pulls his pants up and says, "When we go to Mech...an...us, will there be fud? I mean do we need to prepare for the basics? I have scarce healing potions and salves. We could use more of the basics before we go on our first quest. I believe you when you say you picked us for a reason. We will not let you down. Your secrets are safe with me. Too much Order is a bad thing. We could do with less order."

(The Game Master wrote)

Qidoran smiled a grim smile.  "Yes, Frightal-Lok.  You'll want to be fully supplied.  As you would for any mission away of any length.  The journey to Poryadok is not a long one.  In the Devil's Range, perhaps five days from here.  But, how long it will take you to find a way to the gate...and then how long you might spend in this Plane of Order, it is hard to say.  I would guess their food would not be what you would consider food.  It is an alien place to living beings...and sustenance as we think of it.  Your quartermaster will supply you."

"Mechanus is a place of cold crisp beauty.  All perfectly measured, calculated, and designed to serve their concept of all encompassing Order.  I don't mean the law and order of a frontier town in the Great Barrens.  I don't mean the ritual and order of the High Church of Doeth.  I don't even mean the peace and order that your Emperor gifts upon his people.  This Order, the Order of Mechanus would rather see you dead than rowdy.  Rather see you still and cold in the ground, than allow you the choice of what you'll eat for lunch.  Would rather replace the meat in your head for gears and cogs, so that everything can follow a pre-ordained program, or plan."

"The Jackal would never ask you to go there, if it was not for something critical.  For two decades now, Ogaroth engineers and workers have been building a great machine deep in the bowels of the World of Kempin.  This machine will serve a great purpose...and set things right in our world.  But, as great as the machine is.  As exacting the standards of its construction.  As unfathomable the power of it potential output.  The machine is nothing but gears, and cogs, and bellows.  It does not live.  And for it to serve its purpose,  we must bring it to life.  We must give it that immaterial essence that gives consciousness and being...we must give the machine a machine's soul.  And the only place to get one of those...is Mechanus."

Vom Durom took advantage in Qidoran's pause, and asked in a deep thrumming voice, "How do we get them to give us one?  These people...or things...in Mechanus.  Why would they give us a machine's soul?  Are we to buy it?  Are we to steal it?  Do we have something to trade for it?"

Qidoran shook his head.  "I don't know.  Most of our knowledge about Mechanus is either theoretical or based on our devastating contact with them 50 years ago at Poryadok.  Your advantage, is that these creatures of Order are very predictable.  They operate on clear rules, in an efficient manner, to a plan or program.  They are very direct...one would say very obvious.  Use what you have.  Use who you are.  Access the living chaos within you, and lie, cheat, steal, flatter, beg, manipulate,..kill if you have to, but convince them to let you leave with a machine's soul."

"The Vidioci tell us that the item you seek is contained in a globe that both protects and sustains its power.  It is spark of life.  Alien to what we see as life, but life all the same.  And the Emperor's machine requires this soul.

"Let me say this again.  An enemy greater than you can imagine is moving against us.  Watching us.  Monitoring our every move.  If not for this, the Jackal and I would storm Mechanus ourselves and take the soul.  But, it would tip our hand.  It would doom us all.  And that is why you must go.  It is why everything you are doing must remain a secret.  It is why, once you have the machine soul, you will come back to Ayrovogh Sirt, like you would after any other mission.  You will hide the soul, and I will come for it."

Qidoran sighed, and rubbed his pale face with his hand.  "I know this is outside of what you are normally assigned.  It is outside what any of us are normally assigned.  But, what your Emperor asks of you, can be accomplished.  Otherwise he wouldn't bother.  He is not wasteful, and he would not carelessly spend your lives on an impossible task.  That I know.  Can I answer any of your questions?"

(Mark Simon wrote)

Vom Durom spoke up, "We will do as we've been asked and we will succeed, but I am worried. Worried that our efforts will unleash the  devastation that was contained 50 years ago...we must proceed with much caution."  Vomm states in a concerned tone as he ponders all they've been told."

(The Game Master wrote)

Quidoran seemed to appreciate Vom Durom's attention to detail.  "A good point.  But, the gate is the one thing you won't need to worry about.  The Jackal is not wasteful.  He blocked the gate in a way that will allow you to travel through it to Mechanus, and then come back.  But the denizens of Mechanus will be kept where they belong.  When you get the machine soul, and make it back through the gate to Kempin...you will be safe from the forces of pure Order.  There is plenty to worry about and plan for in this mission.  But, I assure you the gate is not one of those things.  It is handled." 

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(DM NOTE:  I am done with this story.  But, you may ask Qidoran questions by posting comments to this blog post.  I'll answer questions through Saturday at Midnight.  Anything posted after that, I'm just not going to be able to get to.)