DREAMS of a CLOUD
Peruse the many random ramblings of a writer-in-training as I build stories and develop my craft.
11 May 2024
A little over three hundred years ago, the region around Kadrashal used to be a verdant jungle, with a number of great cities. Unfortunately, the region is now little more than a great,, sandy desert, with a few scattered oases.
More lore for my D&D world! This isn’t necessarily super relevant to my campaign, but the region described was the focus of my previous campaign, and played into the dynamics there. And who knows? Maybe it will matter more than I think. That’s the nice thing with having information handy; it’s easier to come up with ideas if you already have options available.
The Kadrashan War
A little over three hundred years ago, the region around Kadrashal used to be a verdant jungle, with a number of great cities. Unfortunately, perhaps because of their great wealth, many of the ruling class started making deals with all manner of devils, allowing the fiends more an more free reign within the country.
This did not go unnoticed, and under the banner of the Radiant Queen, two great armies formed. One hit Kadrashal from the north, including forces from the barbarian tribes of the north, Solstrana, Duladel, Marruecos, Piege, and even a small contingent of Serni elves. The other, coming up from the south, centered around the great army of the Tailong empire and their dragonborn allies, though the hobgoblins also sent a large force of their cavalry. One of Essayna’s heralds, the lioness Sekhmet, even came down to joining the battle.
Trapped as they were, the witch-king of Kadrashal hosted a massive ritual, sacrificing hundreds of his citizens to open a hole straight to the Nine Hells, which in turn corrupted the region. Even Sekhmet herself was tainted by the infernal energy, though the significance of that would not be discovered until the war was over.
However, the portal gave Essayna enough leeway to intervene directly, and the Radiant Queen herself led the charge to purge the region of both the devils and their allies. The clash of her divine flame and the infernal corruption scoured the region until the land itself burned, and the once-lush jungle was transformed into the sandy desert it is at the present day.
The lingering effects in the population turned many into tieflings, regardless of their dealings or lack with the devils, and the majority of the following generation were born as such. Over the course of the war, combined with her corruption, Sekhmet developed a monstrous thirst for blood, and had to be sealed by Essayna to prevent the herald from turning on her allies. Many of the armies returned home, though many, including several orcish tribes, opted to settle nearby instead.
22 October 2022
My mind froze with horror, and I was whisked away to an imaginary battlefield, where elven sorcerers unleashed powerful magics on a faceless horde. It was devastating; if they’d been real people, thousands would have died within seconds. However…
Inside my head, Elsenaia grew bewildered as the setting changed. From afar, based on the video clips I’d seen of them, clips of various mushroom clouds started to play. Then the image zoomed in to blasted homes, vaporized shadows against what remained of the walls showing where people stood. Empty. Desolate. Even the ground was poisoned.
“What is this?” Elsenaia whispered.
This one is a bit heavier than most of the Elsenaia story. I’m not really sure what to say about it, other than what the POV character says below. I hope it’s not something we ever have to deal with again. I don’t know if the things I suggest happen would actually happen, but it’s not hard to imagine. And this story takes place inside the heads of these two; it’s what they imagine, and sometimes our imaginations are a lot scarier than real life.
due to my efforts to wrap up the current Hanako arc before Nanowrimo started, this is actually the last post in Elsenaia as of 11 November 2022. I’m not done yet, though.
…vanished back into my head.
I entered the library to examine the bookshelves, but I heard a cold but dignified male voice from behind me.
“You must find out what they are capable of. I doubt they have anything that can compete with our magics, but humans are cunning, and should never be underestimated.”
I looked back and found a projection of Elsenaia’s father speaking to a faceless version of her. His arms were clasped behind his back, and he faced away from her.
“Yes, Father. And once I return?”
The king turned around. “We make sure they will never be able to threaten us again. If necessary, we will eliminate them.”
My mind froze with horror, and I was whisked away to an imaginary battlefield, where elven sorcerers unleashed powerful magics on a faceless horde. It was devastating; if they’d been real people, thousands would have died within seconds. However…
Inside my head, Elsenaia grew bewildered as the setting changed. From afar, based on the video clips I’d seen of them, clips of various mushroom clouds started to play. Then the image zoomed in to blasted homes, vaporized shadows against what remained of the walls showing where people stood. Empty. Desolate. Even the ground was poisoned.
“What is this?” Elsenaia whispered. I appeared behind her and consciously shifted the image to a Japanese hospital room, where a sick girl folded origami cranes, hoping to recover after her blood had been poisoned by a flash of light roughly a decade earlier.
“It’s called a nuke, or nuclear weapon,” I whispered. “The devastation was so horrific the one time it was used, the world as a whole has an unspoken agreement not to use them. The damage it would cause the rest of the world, even opposite where it strikes, is almost unbelievable. However, you’re not from our world, are you?”
As the implication sunk in, I pictured what might happen if the elves tried to protect the portal. Would we just fly jets above them? Or perhaps troops of elves would fall to machine guns. An image of D-day popped into my head, as men stormed a beach only to get gunned down by a storm of bullets.
“Would,,, would your people really do that?” Elsenaia asked in horror. I could see her imagination as it conjured the image of her home as it vaporized.
“We did it once already,” I whispered. I remembered the war magics Elsenaia had pictured. “No matter who, people fear what they don’t understand. And fear makes people very stupid sometimes.” I grimace. “And the risks that usually prevent the use of nuclear weapons don’t apply to your country. Especially if your magics cause unexpected destruction to people in our world, the outrage of the people may demand it. Unless your magic can shatter the very planet itself, it won’t win the war outright, and the more destructive, the more it’ll kick up the hornet’s nest.”
<-Elsenaia First
Elsenaia Next->
29 September 2022
For many long moments, the king knelt there in silence. Finally, he rose and turned around, to find two figures standing amidst the pews. On his right, a veiled blonde woman wearing a toga held a ceremonial dagger. The left side of her chest was stained with blood. To his left, a bearded man in a strange black suit towered, made even taller by his top hat. In his hands he held two halves of a rusted chain.
I got the idea for this setting from two locations. The first is a post my brother showed me a while back off of Tumblr; it described Iphigenia (one of Agamemnon’s daughters who was sacrificed to the gods for victory in the era of the Illiad) as a potential goddess of war - not of victory, or glory, or combat, but the brutality and horrors of war, and the curses she’d cause anyone who made the mistake of calling on her to further their own wars.
The second is the song “Zombie” by Bad Wolves. It has similar anti-war themes, and then I got the idea… What if zombies were a way Iphigenia punished the people who sought out war? So now I have a setting where zombies are called the Children of Iphigenia, and torment the nations that start wars. And from their I came up with ways people might try to abuse that, and how Iphigenia would respond. I only have a couple bits written so far, but I do want to continue this one.
Abe Lincoln as a god of freedom was a kind of spur of the moment thing; I may change it.
King Ferris sent everyone away, leaving him alone before the altars of Iphigenia and Lincoln. He kneeled, and with the deepest anguish of soul he plead to the gods.
“Please, I don’t know what to do. The Imperials have cut off trade, and now for fear of them, no other nation will trade with us, either. They say the will only reopen their borders if we submit to them; if I allow my people to become their slaves.
“My people are starving, and the only ways out I can see are war or slavery. You have taught us the horrors of war, Lady Iphigenia, and I would not wish that on my people or theirs; but you, Lord Lincoln, have taught us the pains of slavery, and I will not submit my people to that. So please, if there is another way, open my eyes that I may see it.”
For many long moments, the king knelt there in silence. Finally, he rose and turned around, to find two figures standing amidst the pews. On his right, a veiled blonde woman wearing a toga held a ceremonial dagger. The left side of her chest was stained with blood. When she spoke, her voice reverberated through King Ferris’s soul, despite its low volume.
“I have peered into your soul, O king, and in this instance, I have found it pure. Spare the people, and my children shall not turn on yours.”
To his left, a bearded man in a strange black suit towered, made even taller by his top hat. In his hands he held two halves of a rusted chain. “I have seen the brightness of your hope, O king, and it shall guide you. Go with my blessing, and the secret roads shall open before you and yours.”
The king immediately bowed. “On behalf of my people, thank you. Thank you both.”
They both tipped their heads then vanished, once more leaving King Ferris alone in the temple. He turned his gaze westward, towards the Empire, and murmured to himself, “May the gods have mercy on your souls.”
Far away, in Paulus, the capital of the Empire, Horenza, the high priestess of Iphigenia, dreamt. In her dream, she stood alone beneath a scarlet sky amidst a field of corpses. Her stomach heaved, and she turned to run, but anywhere she went, more corpses, and that same blood-stained sky.
Horenza paused to catch her breath when something clutched at her ankle. She screamed, and found one of the corpses had grabbed one of her many gold anklets. Empty sockets looked up at her, and a voice echoed in her ears. “Are these the riches you earned selling our lives to the Empire, High Priestess Horenza?”
Horenza screamed again and tore her foot away, leaving her anklet in the corpse’s grasp. Soon, though, more and more corpses grabbed at her, taking jewelry and ripping at her fine clothes, pulling on her hair, leaving her ragged.
All the while, their voices mocked her. “She’s so fat! How much did you get to eat while we starved?”
“Her clothes are so pretty! Did she steal them from our homelands, like her people stole our freedom?”
“What good are your riches now, High Priestess?”
“Nothing to say? None of the honeyed words you gave your Senate, assuring them the goddess favored them?”
Then the voices stopped, and in front of Horenza appeared a raven-winged woman with golden hair, floating in the air. She held a bloody scythe in her hand, and where her heart should be there was a gaping hole. Her voice was quiet, but it shook Horenza to her core. “Did you really think you could lie to me, Horenza?”
She raised her scythe, and Horenza screamed.