Meiyuuhi

The Fading Light of V'landriel

PMed you. And the species are listed under each nation in the Encyclopedia, generally. But for a quick answer, pretty much anything you can think of in a stereotypical fantasy setting is here: humans, dwarves, elves (several varieties), orcs, as well as a few more fantastical unique ones we've created, for example Valkyrians (half-bird half-humans) and Vaspen (wolf humanoids).

The Fading Light of V'landriel

The above post is the new RP I'm excited to debut as soon as I can in either the Casual or Advanced RP sections, I haven't decided yet. Please drop a post here or DM me if you're interested in participating, have any suggestions or comments, or just want to know more!

Sincerely to all who read this,
Meiyuuhi

The Fading Light of V'landriel

A long time ago, a golden age prevailed in the world of V’landriel. Adventurers traveled across the realms, and from them arose great heroes. Mighty and ancient races clashed on the battlefield, elves and dwarves, humans and orcs, halflings and ogres alike. Brotherhoods were forged, and many quests for the destiny of kings and peoples were undertaken. All who lived in this time knew it was an age of glory. Honour was found in arms and service as knights, in wizardry and mastery of powerful magicks, in communion with nature and spirits. Many names reside still in the books of lore of the great and mighty.

When a golden age such as that passes, when its luster begins to fade, how does the world move on? What, indeed, is the bravery of heroes worth in an age where it is set against the swift, cold, and merciless delivery of mechanized death?



Greetings and welcome to the world of V’landriel, your stereotypical generic high fantasy setting… taken seven hundred years in the future, taken to a grim, dark mockery of what it once resembled. Most of the known world is ruled by the Imperial Yllendyr Sovereignty, a jingoist, nationalist dark elf empire which has enslaved millions of individuals belonging to other, “inferior” races, with the remaining parts embattled in futile resistance. Is it possible to rekindle the dying light of a world descending inevitably into dystopia?

This RP will function as a dual/hybrid system of both nation and group/individual RP. I, as the controller of the Imperium, will essentially function as the canvas on which most of the RP takes place, and guide the RP’s major events and plotline. There will be a number of other people, already involved in the RP, also controlling regions or nations of the RP, and those people will be the effective GMs and arbiters of lore in those areas. Finally you, the new reader, are invited to join and enrich this world as either an individual or an organization anywhere within it, in consultation with the person managing that area. Feel free to let me know where you’re interested in.

So far, this RP has a work-in-progress comprehensive lore resource, the Encyclopedia of the World of V’landriel, which will be updated and filled to completion before the RP’s official start date. Take a look at the public copy here to get acquainted with the world:

Note: This document is a little intimidating, but it has an outline, please make sure you open it under the View tab. That makes navigating it considerably easier as you can instantly click to move to any particular nation of interest. I'm the only person who has to read all of it, if you're RPing, you probably only have to know about your particular region!

The Encyclopedia

Character Sign-Up Sheet:

Name:
Age:
Gender, if applicable:
Species:
Appearance (Height, build, facial structure, etc.):
Titles, if any:
Background:
Personality:
Likes/Dislikes:
Strengths (including magical ability, if any):
Weaknesses:
Special Equipment/Tools/Clothing:

Organization Sign-Up Sheet:

Name:
Type of Entity (religious group, revolutionary movement, corporation, etc.):
Leader/Leaders:
Purpose/Goal:
Assets:
Members:
Background:

Note for Magic: This RP uses a slightly unique magic system essentially based around elemental magic.
Mages of each type can only manipulate the physical world in that element. There is also a fifth element of mage. Mind mages are able to access other creatures’ minds, and perform feats such as telepathy and vision through and control of animals and low-intelligence sentient beings such as goblins, etc. Each species will have an alignment towards one of the five elements, and that will be specified under each species or national data. The alignment means most individuals of that species that can use magic will be able to use that type of magic, but not all. Mages are a small proportion of the population, perhaps 1/1000 for most races and 1/250 for most elves (but elves have a higher proportion of mages with limited or little abilities). Finally, magic should not be extremely overpowered, as technology has more or less usurped its role in this universe.

Rules:

1. Obvious stuff. No godmodding, no powerplaying (beyond a healthy interest in your character/organization's welfare), generally follow the spirit of the RP and be courteous to your fellow RPers.
2. Time. So time in this RP will pass at a fixed rate of one month per two IRL weeks, unless agreed upon to skip forward to the next month. This means the first two weeks are February, the third and fourth weeks are March, and so on. During the two-week intervals, however, you should be free to explore the events of that month on whatever pace you deem fit. You could talk about what happens on the 2nd and what happens on the 31st all in the same post. You are free to do as many flashbacks as you like as well to previous months. As long as it's consistent with your neighbors and people you're interacting with. The time is set that way to allow you freedom of creativity while still having a fixed passage that’s easy to understand. If you miss posts during a month, you’ll just have to catch up by posting about events during that month, but don’t expect people to change past events or posts to accomodate you.
3. Posting rate. Please follow the general rule of allowing two or three people to post before you before you post again for a second time. If you want to do dialogue back-and-forth, try to consult with the player and post the whole conversation as a co-op post.
4. Deal with the prospect of separatism, revolution, and the repressive government seriously. Your organization/individual should *not* simply be able to overthrow Imperial control in a single or a few posts or totally evade any sort of difficulty with them, there should be a duration of time that it takes to be able to overcome that kind of resistance.

---

If you've read this far, I greatly appreciate it and hope you'll sign up for this RP and help to build a very unique fantasy world along with our already dedicated group!

Major credit to Voltus_Ventus and Willy Vereb for ideas that went into the making of this RP.

There is a Discord for this RP, if you are interested, PM me or drop a message in the OOC and I'll PM you one. We conduct a great deal of our discussion there.

The Fading Light of V'landriel [Ended, Reboot in Progress]

My sincere apologies for the necro, but it serves a purpose. If you weren't pinged and are reading this out of curiousity, sorry, this RP as it stands here has been closed for a year, but skip to the bottom section if you're interested.
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@Ahr Xanten@Sigma@Aptrgangr@Skepic@Roby6Com@Cyclone@Grijs@Serpentine88@Willy Vereb@Spindle

I'm writing this post as a notification to you all that:

My current intentions are to revive this RP as a somewhat more character and organization-focused RP, operating in the same world, in which I'll be effectively running most of the national-level aspects of the world.
If you're interested in getting involved in this process at all, feel free to shoot me a PM and I'll get back to you with more details and see if we can fit you in.
Many aspects of the old world as it stood in this RP will be reused (since it's not much of a world otherwise). If you wrote stuff for the RP and don't want me using it for anything related to this, just let me know that in a PM and I'll change around names, details and whatever else.

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If you're seeing this RP for the first time because of the post, this effectively serves as an interest check. Hi, I'm Mei, and I'm planning on reviving this concept with a new twist which will be somewhat of a hybrid between NRPing and more normal RP. If you're interested in it, shoot me a PM. This will be my last post related to this in the NRP section.

Muv-Luv Alternative: Legacy of Palaiologos

I'll be starting work on the USSR nation sheet soon.

Legacy of Palaiologos (Muv-Luv NRP)

Likewise. I'd be interested in playing the USSR or another Eastern European nation.

Ashes of the Old World (A Dieselpunk Nation Roleplay)

*quietly peeks in*

Aaron speaks the truth.

*slips back out*

The Fading Light of V'landriel [Ended, Reboot in Progress]

February 23rd, 4901 YDC (Yllendyr Dynastic Calendar)
The Vermillion Citadel, Ylleria, The Crownlands

Emperor Ecruir was preparing his speech, leaning over his desk with an old-fashioned quill pen. Most had switched to fountain pens for ease of use, but Ecruir found the older style much more pleasant. When he was writing down the last words, there came a knock on the door.

"Come in!"

"Your Imperial Highness, sir." One of the palace servants entered the room. "I have for you news of a foreign dignitary who has arrived at the Citadel, requesting to meet you.

Ecruir looked puzzled. "A foreign dignitary? There are no foreign countries, only states of the Imperium."

"With all due respect, Your Imperial Highness, this envoy claims to be a representative from the Celestial Empire of Amrea, a nation far across the seas nearby to our colony."

"Oh yes, of course, I recall this in one of my father's interminable lectures about the strange distant barbarians we found there. And something about a second moon. Do send him in, I'll receive him here."

_________________

The walls of the Vermilion Citadel were but one of the many things in this strange eastern land that lent a great sense of discomfort to Xen Huo-ming as he stood in the foyer, as instructed by one of the
palace's many servants. The sights he saw at the head of the Empire's flagship as it rolled into the Yllendyr port, the rocking of the train carriage Imperial officials had loaded him and the others into. It all rubbed him the wrong way, but perhaps that was simply due to the alien nature of the Far East, compared to the familiar comforts of the Empire.

He shifted to the right as he caught a glimpse of one of the palace servants approaching him, waiting expectantly for his reply.

"Sir, his Imperial Highness shall receive you now."

"Very well, thank you for relaying my request for an audience to the Emperor." Xen smiled and offered a little nod to the servant, before turning around to signal to the two others accompanying him.

"Come, Min, Mae-da. The most excellent Emperor of the Yllendyr Imperium shall receive us now. Ensure that proper respect is paid, in the same way one would before the Gwangyeong Empress."

The three were admitted into the office room of the Emperor. The room was furnished in the sleek and refined style that was most common amongst elves, and a portrait of the 75th Emperor Naerzo still hung on the wall. A small red lamp illuminated the unusually ornate desk, which had flower patterns carved in wood. He moved around to the side of the desk, extending his hand in a gesture of welcome to these strange beings.

Xen was slightly puzzled by the size of the Emperor's "throne room", as he thought it was, before realizing that perhaps it was most likely the Emperor's quarters or office. It left him rather unsure of how to respond, given that conventionally, one was meant to pay their respects through the kowtow at the throne. In spite of that, the three of them kowtowed before Ecruir, prostrating themselves before him before rising.

Ecruir recognized the bow as a sign of respect, as the Kitagawans used similar gestures when greeting him or their own Emperor. The fox-like creatures resembled something of a cross between an elf and a Vaspen, which was very confusing in terms of racial hierarchy. For now, the Emperor supposed he would reserve judgement. Their deep bowing, at least, showed they had some level of civilization about them and understood how to give proper respect. When they had risen, Ecruir tipped his head slightly down in response. "Greetings and welcome to the Vermillion Citadel, and the Imperium as a whole. I would be pleased to know your names and your purpose."

"It is an honor to be in your presence, your Imperial Highness. I am Xen Huo-ming, envoy of the Celestial Empress to your court. Accompanying me are Min Ru'sa and Mae-da, members of the Gwangyeong Empress' diplomatic expedition to your great Imperium. I come bearing a letter from the Empress of Amrea herself, meant for your Highness' esteemed eyes only."

Ecruir nodded. He would try to remember the envoy's name, but the other two had names far too hard to bother to pronounce or remember for his taste. "I appreciate it, and will read it promptly." He took the letter from Xen's outstretched hand, and pulled a letter opener from his desk drawer to separate the wax seal from the paper.

As his eyes traveled the paper, they slightly widened in surprise. He briefly raised his eyes to the envoy and two escorts, looking them over, then continued reading. Ecruir certainly appreciated the sentiments contained within, but he was unsure whether or not his definition of enlightened races could include these strange beings as of yet. That being considered, though, Ecruir was highly interested in allies, especially ones with such evidently similar mindsets.

He looked up again at Xen. "Envoy Huo-ming, this letter directs me to refer to you for further inquiries. So I must ask: does the Gwangyeong Empress have a concrete proposal in mind, or is this simply an offer of friendship and solidarity?"

Xen simply smiled before addressing the Emperor once again. "Your Imperial Highness, the words written by the Empress are no mere gestures of solidarity. Her Imperial Majesty wishes to sign a full alliance with the Imperium. The proposal is as thus: The Empire of Amrea will support your Imperium in civilizing the savage tribes found throughout your territories and in exchange, we wish to request your aid in a similar manner in the West. As a further gesture, the Empress in consultation with the Hong of Cantha, wishes to also invite Yllendyr merchants to dock and trade freely within the borders of the Empire, thus ending the restriction placed on your traders to conduct all their business at the Port of Cantha."

He stops to take a breath before continuing.

"Second-to-last, the Empire will with your consent also dispatch a battalion of Imperial Mages to your colony south of Amrean territory to safeguard it against the threat of wild strigoi. Lastly, en-route to the Vermillion Citadel, brief mentions of a war by the commonfolk caught my ear. The Empress has given me full authority as the representative of the Celestial Empire to the Yllendyr Imperium to act as I see fit in terms of diplomacy and as a result, I would like to offer the services of the Imperial Mages I had brought with me to aid your Imperial Highness in his fight. They are led by the two you see before you."

The Emperor smiled gratefully. "Yes, indeed we have a case of a rebellious province or two. Such are the dangers of governing resentful and barbarous peoples, as your Empress would no doubt agree." He thought for a few seconds, then continued. "I am obliged to agree wholeheartedly with these sentiments, and I would be happy to forge an alliance. We are both surrounded by bloodthirsty enemies, quite literally in the case of the continent on which you dwell... much to my disgust... so it would be quite remiss of me to allow an opportunity such as this to pass the Yllendyr by. I will pass along the results of this agreement to the Crown Colony of Yllendyr, so that we might both prosper from the fruits of commerce. I also greatly appreciate the offer of assistance. Skilled mages are always valued in armies, and will hopefully allow the Yllendyr to come to know your people better.

Secondly, it is the custom of the Yllendyr to establish a permanent embassy between nations, so that there might be an easy way for governments to contact one another. I invite your people to establish one in the Embassy Quarter of Ylleria, where representatives of all of the Imperium's subject states reside. As a recognition of your empire's much higher status, I intend to offer you a significantly larger area and as much of a budget as you might require to complete it. I only request in exchange that the Imperium might also establish an embassy in your capital. I hope that such an arrangement can make intergovernmental discussions much easier, since there is no need for a long ocean voyage."

Huo-ming nods in agreement. "Indeed, we are grateful for your Imperial Highness' generosity. Rest assured that arrangements can easily be made for the Imperium's embassy to be established in the capital of C'hung-jin. At the same time, I shall consult with Yllendyr architects here to design an embassy building for myself to take up residence."

"Very good. Express also to the Gwangyeong Empress that I may see fit to visit your realm of Amrea when my duties do not require me here. From the sound of her letter, she sounds like an inspiring lady and a pleasure to meet. Thank you as well for your service in traveling such a long way."

"It will be done, your Imperial Highness. Thank you for receiving me and my delegation with such open arms." Xen smiles one final time before deeply bowing and departing the room, Ru'sa and Mae-da in tow.

---

Later that day, the Amrean envoy was invited to the official first public address of the 76th Emperor, Ecruir Vyalviur. He stood at the left side as Ecruir emerged onto the balcony of the Vermillion Citadel just over Lunaris Square, clad in a vermillion jacket and royal vestments to match. The winter sun glared brightly enough to bring some warmth in the cold to what had to be a hundred thousand onlookers, Yllendyr citizens and subjects alike, massed before the Citadel. He waved his hand and his scepter in greeting, smiling broadly, as his green eyes flashed with reflection from the sun. The assembled masses cheered, louder than any sound Ecruir thought a mass of beings was capable of creating, at the first sight of their Emperor. A microphone sat on the railing, transmitting the speech as a radio broadcast across the Fifteen Dominions. The time had come for Ecruir to face his destiny, for a billion lives hung in the balance.

February 22nd, 4901 YDC (Yllendyr Dynastic Calendar)
Off the Coast of Lundbergh, Imperial Dominion of Avalia

“Admiral, the commander in charge of that battlegroup has been thrown into the brig as requested.” The officer looking out the front windows of the 75th Emperor Naerzo, a dreadnought commissioned as the first of its kind, nodded regretfully. Admiral Navoss had been in command of the Southern Fleet for twenty years, and never had she imagined such a disgrace. She had warned all officers to be on high alert, and the captain of a torpedo boat had not only failed to relay the order, he had fallen asleep in his office, only to be woken by the tumult of his ship being taken over and jumping overboard. That wouldn’t save him now, regardless of the fact that no one had anticipated an aerial raid was possible. He was going to have the man, regardless of his noble parents, court marshaled and executed as soon as possible to put the fear of Elune in the other officers.

“Good. This is just the excuse I needed to whip the incompetent officers into shape. I only wish it hadn’t cost the 48th Empress Nobara. She was a beauty. And the two more ships we had to send to repairs, I hope they make it.” The aide who brought her the news nodded uncomfortably, but remained in place.

“Is there something else?” Navoss turned to the aide. He trembled a little. “Come now, speak up, I won’t bite, unlike a Valkyrian.”

“Orders from Imperial High Command, ma’am. I’m told they come directly from Emperor Ecruir. I believe the exact words were…” The aide trailed off with words that were only decipherable by Navoss’s command of lip reading.

Navoss’s eyes widened briefly, but then her face tightened with resolve. “I understand.”

She turned to speak out into the radio, looking for one last time at the unblemished city of Lundbergh, just at the very edge of most guns’ range as they pulled away from its coasts with the two intact legions they had rescued.

“All officers, load the Yllendyr fire shells. Fire upon my mark.” All around her, the clanking of metal and the shouting of voices commenced, continuing unabated for the next few minutes until she finally began counting down. “3...2...1...mark.” The air filled with smoke and fire as ninety-six ships unleashed their payloads upon the city. If the performance of the Northern Fleet was marked as the Imperium’s defiance, this was the true measure of the Imperium’s fury.

The shells, descending down upon the city, would spray forth their payloads all around them as they fell, finally igniting them in a small explosion on impact. Yllendyr fire, the long-kept secret of the Imperium and key to many of their naval victories, was considered by many irrelevant to modern naval warfare after wooden ships and even ironclads had fallen out of favour. At least, until an engineer had discovered a new artillery shell design. These shells would have been virtually useless against well-armoured ships, but civilian targets or infantry forces had no such protection.

The relentless pounding of the guns was nearly deafening, as the city before Navoss seemed to turn brilliantly yellow-orange. It was a very beautiful spectacle… beautiful and terrible. She could not hear the sound of screaming, but in her heart she knew it was there. A fire which dousing with water would only exacerbate, from which even if citizens hid inside their homes they would still be suffocated by the fumes. This was a warning. A sign that the Imperium was prepared for total war. If they were going to lose, then this would continue. They would take the revolutionaries with them.

Such was expressed in the brief command that the Emperor Ecruir uttered in response to the news of the raid against his navy. Three simple words, which carried entire pages of meaning: “burn them all.”

February 23rd, 4901 YDC (Yllendyr Dynastic Calendar)
The Vermillion Citadel, Ylleria, The Crownlands

Ecruir raised his scepter for silence, and after a few moments of residual cheering and applause, the crowd quieted down.

“Loyal subjects of the Imperium!” A cheer rose again in response. “I come to speak to you today in what may be our darkest hour in a thousand years. Just as our ancestors unified a millennium ago to face the invasions of barbarian humans who sought to drive us from our homeland, so we must unify to face the barbarians at the gates.”

“My traitorous and rebellious brother, whom would give up all that our father has achieved to rule over the shadow of what remains in the names of 'liberalism' and 'popular sovereignty,' is only half the problem. As you now know, Avalia is in outright rebellion against the Imperium... rather, I should say, the thieves, savages, and murderous opportunists who have seized control of the country are."

The crowd intensely booed in response, as Ecruir soaked up all of their enthusiasm before continuing.

“Time and time again, we have learned this is the way of the barbarian. Humans, Valkyrians, Vaspen, it makes no difference. For their own petty differences, for their misguided new “ideals,” they slaughter each other and us. We have done our best to bring civilization to the Dominions, and still, more than half a century later, they return swiftly to their savage ways at the slightest sign of weakness. In Avalia, the foul revolutionaries have imprisoned and executed their nobility without mercy. Saboteurs and terrorists in Vaspen and Kitagawa are sowing mayhem throughout the countryside. Sadly, even some of the fine legions stationed there filled with troops from these nations have murdered their officers and begun mass banditry and pillaging.”

“Let this be a lesson to the entire Imperium: barbarism is still alive and well, and must be beat out of the world lest we all face the same fate. For sixty years, the Yllendyr have served unfailingly as the guardians and protectors of civilization on this world. We have brought many fruits of industry and technology to these peoples, from radio to the internal combustion engine to electric lighting. The last sixty years have been an era of peace and prosperity for all the nations of the world, shattered and stomped on by the naivete of fanatical, ungrateful revolutionaries.”

“I warn all those who think of siding with the side of savagery: there is nothing for you there. Those who light the fires of revolution do so with the consequences of not only lighting themselves but the entire world into a whirlwind of death and destruction. Millions will die, at your hands and ours as we struggle to restore order over the world. There are only two destinations at the end of that road: you will either be resubjugated much the worse for wear, or you will be the free and independent monarchs, presidents and prime ministers of nothing but ashes and dust.”

“This I swear to you now. I will not falter from the task of preserving this world against the anarchic death and destruction that the spirit of revolution yearns for!” The crowd intensely cheered, even more emphatically than the first time.

Ecruir gestured for a human girl, off on the opposite side from the Amrean delegation, to come forth. The girl, who looked to be about twenty years of age, nervously strode forward in a simple but beautiful gown. “I introduce to you Princess Kirsten of Avalia, the cousin of the deceased King Holfgar, who was studying at the Magitechnical University of Ylleria when the rebellion broke out. The girl looked almost about to faint as she shook the Emperor’s hand, and then went up to the microphone.

Kirsten, at an encouraging nod from the 76th Emperor, finally spoke up. “His Imperial Highness asked me to come here today to tell you all my story. The truth is… everyone in my family is dead, or I have no idea where they are. My mother, my father, my kid sister…” Kirsten could hold her tears back no longer, and they raced down her face as the crowd looked on in shock. “… she was just four years old!” Kirsten yelled, and fell to her knees. Ecruir knelt next to her, and helped bring her back to her feet. When she had composed herself, she leaned forward to speak once more. “If any of you revolutionaries can hear this, I ask you: why have you done this? To murder, to betray the trust of everyone, to ruthlessly imprison and execute anyone associated with the nobility? Is there no one innocent in your eyes? My mother, she was a kind woman… my father was against the idea of me studying abroad, but my mother smiled and paid out of her own pocket for the journey and tuition. I got a letter saying he yelled at her for the entire next day...” She smiled tearfully at the memory. “It’s only thanks to her that I’m here now, that I can still speak out on her behalf. And so I wanted to do just that. And I thank Emperor Ecruir for providing me the opportunity. If anyone is moved by my words, I simply ask you to please help. This war will tear apart many more families than just mine if it is allowed to continue.” At the cheers, she waved and backed slightly away from the railing.

Ecruir gestured for the others who stood at sides to come forth. A motley assembly indeed: of a harried dark elf from Ot-Skodat, a goblin for some mysterious reason following closely behind, a haughty-looking high elf bearing the colours of Vaurgemyr, a well-dressed envoy from Velendaal, and of course the envoy of the Celestial Empire.

“I have gathered all those noble loyalists who have immediately declared for the true Imperium here to discuss the battle plans for the operation to crush this rebellion in its infancy, as well as an envoy from the glorious Celestial Empire of Amrea, a comrade-in-arms and ally from across the sea in our civilizing mission. Our objective is clear: the restoration of the Imperium not just as it was, but in a new and powerful way. With the support of all those in favour of civilization, in favour of preserving tradition, in favour of order and peace in the world, I know in my heart we will not fail. We have no need of popular sovereignty, for we are already sovereign!" Ecruir put his hand to his chest theatrically. “I appeal to the other loyal dominions: help us preserve the peaceful order of this world. The Emperor will remember his friends in this time of need.”

“With all of your support, the Imperium will not only survive as it did a thousand years ago, but we will build an empire which will prosper for a thousand more!” Ecruir cast his scepter forward towards the crowd.

“To victory for the Imperium!” the Emperor cried. A chorus of thousands responded in kind. The words, “Victory for the Imperium!” resounded across the city, from the mouths of dark elves, from the mouths of humans, from the mouths of Valkyrians and ogres, from the mouths of the myriad other species that inhabited the city. For this was no simple struggle for liberation; those who sought to rebel also had to contend against their own kind, those who had sworn loyalty to the Yllendyr cause, those who had come to benefit from their rule, and those who were content with the status quo.

“So it begins,” the 76th Emperor quietly remarked. The man who promised to cast the power of a firestorm upon those who defied him turned from the balcony and strode inside, the others following in his wake.

The Fading Light of V'landriel [Ended, Reboot in Progress]

February 7th, 4901 YDC (Yllendyr Dynastic Calendar)
Altairis, Yllendyr Crownlands

“Start from the beginning.” Had’zrad leaned back in his chair, his fingers pressed together in exactly the way one does when trying to seem interested in a religious ceremony when they’re really thinking about their new girlfriend.

“We…. were part of the exploration guild. It was our first expedition into the sewers under Altairis. We had no Idea what we were getting into, we swear.” Phalthuun was shaking, buried beneath a blanket roughly the consistency of the average mammoth hide, only it probably smelled a lot better. Phalthuun, however, cared not for how the blanket smelled, for the presence of the armed guards beside him who had arrested him for climbing nearly naked out of a manhole hours earlier brought him a degree of comfort unbeknownst to the average Imperium rabble. Phalthuun was lucky to be alive.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” decreed Had’zrad, who began to scribble some notes onto a piece of paper that only probably had anything to do with the ravings of the mentally scarred explorer, “I’ve heard the goblins down there are utterly savage monsters. It was probably foolhardy to expect anything could be gained from trying to comprehend them. No sane man seeks to understand madness.”

-Seven weeks earlier-

Oreila was utterly extatic. It had only been three days since her grant ran through and she was able to assemble her first expeditionary team. Despite the warnings and concern of her colleagues, the only thing Oreila could think at the very moment she displaced the manhole cover was what fantastical wonderland of sub-elven cretins she was about to elevate into civilization.

Her guard captain, Phalthuun Adszraadh, was the first to descend the long ladder into the sewers beneath the bustling market district of the city of Altairis. The echoing sound of his confirmation that the main access line seemed clear of hostile parties was the dinner bell for the six others in the crew besides Oreila to begin their descent into the labyrinth of waste tunnels wherein it was understood that a great many goblins dwelt. Of the party, only one, the cartographer, had any sense of where they would be going.

“Four crosslines down is where we found the first excavation.”

The cartographer’s directions were gibberish to Oreila, who was an anthropologist, not a civil engineer. Therefore, it only made sense to trust their guide, and true to his word, after a short walk down a fetid pipe with a flowing cesspit of putrid sewage slowly dribbling along mere inches from their feet on the walkway, they found a hole. The hole itself seemed crudely mined, with a great many jagged edges and with few support beams. The two guardsmen whose names weren’t Phalthuun, and whose ranks weren’t captain were ordered to assist in clearing the great many cave-ins that dotted the snaking tunnel. The path itself ran for what felt like at least a mile until it opened into a sizable cavern which, by conventional geology, probably shouldn’t be possible.
The cavern’s geography was the least notable feature of the area, however, as standing roughly in the middle of the clearing was a small, childlike simian figure.

The most perplexing thing about this creature was that no matter how many times they called to it, it would only momentarily notice them. Immediately afterwards, it woud get distracted by the dripping of water, the presence of some rat or insect, or simply its gaze would gradually drift upwards until it was entranced by the very presence of a ceiling above its head. Every time it would see the explorers again, it would be just as surprised as it was the very first time it saw them. Never in roughly a one-minute period did it approach them, until Oreila brought out the candy bar.

The producing of the small chocolate treat seemed to get the creature’s attention in a new and profound way. Its crooked and hilariously long nose oscillated rapidly as the thing wobbled its way over to Oreila in a childlike manner. It stopped once its nose was only a few inches from the candy bar, which respectively was pierced on the end of a short spear that only seconds before had been carried by one of the guards whose names were not Phalthuun and… you get it.

“Hey little monster! Do you want a sweetie?” Oreila’s voice was such that any elven child would’ve immediately seen through her half-assed attempt at masking her prejudice.

“Dazza fud?” Belched the creature.

“Oh my! You possess the affinity for language! Do you have a name?” Oreila’s suddenly honest curiosity was equaled by those others, who crammed their heads of various sizes and baldnesses beside each other in exactly the way canned sardines might take a selfie. This more facilitated everyone’s discomfort than an actually genuine improvement on their ability to see the creature. Out of raw fear of the unknown, nobody really cared that much.

“Dazza fud? Iz a eet?” Elaborated the creature, growing increasingly curious but still seemingly cautious enough of the elves so as not to do anything too brash.

“Yes, you can eat…” Oreila was cut off by the near instantaneous chomping of the creature onto the chocolate bar exactly a quarter of a picosecond after the word ‘yes’ was pronounced. The force of the creature’s bite significantly deformed the spearhead. The creature didn’t even chew it, simply swallowed it, licked its lips, and then immediately turned to walk away.

Oreila insisted that the party follow the creature as it began travelling along another snaking tunnel that led out of the cavern. All the while the rest of the party was trailing many meters (and maybe a few yards) behind the diminutive goblinoid, Oreila was enthusiastically interrogating it. Over the course of about 20 minutes, she was able to deduce that it was some form of small goblin called a “grem”, its name was “Igglesplunt”, and it thought the candy bar tasted worse than a hat, but better than “soup”, which she came to understand was their word for anything they found in the sewer water.

Around the time the epiphany about the meaning of soup graced Oreila’s mind, they entered another cavern that was aglow with activity. A virtual horde of grems were awork toiling, constructing some form of statue which resembled an elf, but insofar as someone who had only ever heard descriptions of elves could possibly construct an effigy of such a being. The visage of the statue, which was composed of a great many pieces of trash, sections of dirt, what looked to be actual mortar, farming equipment, and a few grems accidentally nailed into place both flattered and appalled the party. It was only shortly after discussing exactly how blasphemous this statue was when the second guard whose name wasn’t Phalthuun (here forward to be referred to as guard #2) noticed that Igglesplunt had disappeared into the mass of gremlins who were constructing the elf statue.

The ramifications of this were that the party began to attempt communicating with the sea of seemingly oblivious grems, whose attention was completely fixated on basically everything but the elven explorers. This annoyed Phalthuun, as never before in his life had anyone or anything dared not to notice how important he looked. Upon expressing this to the cartographer, however, he came to care a bit less because after realigning his concept of the grems to be more or less equivalent to insects, a certain acceptance of their ignorance was achieved.

Around the time the party began getting seriously frustrated with their inability to draw the attention of any of the grems, a new form of creature approached them. It looked like a grem, but was about five feet tall, seemingly skin-and-bones, covered in acne, and had a nose roughly the length and shape of a pistol. Even the least empathetic of all uncivilized beings could comprehend from a mere glance at this creature that its very existence was depressing and it was, in every way, miserable.

“Wow. You’re so pretty. Can I look at you? Is that okay? I’ll gouge my eyes out if it isn’t.” The creature’s voice was a whimper that would overshadow a kicked puppy.

“Oh, well I do suppose you could avert your gaze a bit, but moreover please inform me on what manner of creature you are? You are more articulate than those things I take are called ‘grems’! Are you a goblin? What is your name?”

Oreila’s machine-gun-esque questionnaire momentarily frazzled the creature who, after covering its eyes most completely (though occasionally peeking through its fingers to make sure it wasn’t actually talking to a wall), began to compose itself and provide adequate responses. From this exchange, which lasted around 10 minutes, the party managed to uncover a great many truths about the nature of goblin kind. Firstly, the small, illiterate creatures currently assembling the statue in the present cavern were in fact called ‘gremlins’, the creature they were speaking to was a ‘hobgoblin’ named ‘Seventy-seven-spoons-and-one-rusty-fork’, and there was one other sub race of goblinoids referred to as ‘bugbears’, which seemed to be the leaders. One such bugbear individual, whose name apparently was ‘She-who-mispronounces-the-word-chemistry’, acts as the queen of sorts of this particular goblin tribe. ‘Spoons’, as the shy hobgoblin came to be called, agreed to offer them an audience with the bugbear, who the elves demanded simply be referred to as ‘the one in charge’.

Spoons led them through yet many more tunnels, all comparable in a great many ways to that first crumbling passage which was their proverbial rabbit hole. It became readily apparent that goblin architecture had no real rules, consistency, and for all intents and purposes probably shouldn’t work. Over the course of the hours it took to get to the throne room, the party witnessed a great many instances of such architecture failing miraculously, and in most cases resulting in the deaths of a great many gremlins. What seemed to Oreila to be completely bizarre, however, was the fact that any gremlin who witnessed another’s death (or any form of violence or tragedy for that matter) would break out in utterly hideous and contagious laughter.

Other revelations were that the only reason the gremlins were working on the statue was that it happened to be Tuesday, and that on all other days the gremlins simply mulled about causing mayhem for their own entertainment. Spoons couldn’t explain exactly why the gremlins found violence to be so hilarious, and expressed grief over their senseless deaths in an almost paternal manner. Occasionally, gremlins would approach Spoons, referring to him as ‘Mizta Hob’ and asking him to assist them in a great many simple activities such as buttoning a shirt that clearly didn’t fit them, holding a hammer the right way, and most often of all: wanting to know if it was still Tuesday.

Anyhow, the aforementioned throne room was eventually reached. The exact appearance of the throne room is irrelevant because the presence of the absurdly huge goblin in the center of it atop a structure only vaguely resembling a chair of any kind, much less a throne, was more significant than any of the room’s other qualities. This enormous goblin, who was obviously the leader previously referred to as ‘She-who-did-something-Oreila-didn’t-really-care-about’ grew immediately angrier than she seemed initially, as evidenced by the rapidly increasing pace at which she was flailing hapless gremlins about in an effort to paint the ceiling with their brain matter.

Her voice was like a normal voice except really loud: “God-finder! How day ya find God and friens on a Tuesday! Thas da mose-most not really holy of day!”

“I am most sorry my mistress. Shall I feed my entrails to the gremlins in an effort to make up for my sins?”

“Uh… wuts a end rail? Do I gots wunna doze?”

“It shall be done, my lady.” Said Spoons, rapidly exiting the room in a backwards pace whilst simultaneously bowing and weeping violently.

“Okay, sure, God-finder… have fun witcha end rails.” Once Spoons had finished exiting the room in a most dramatic fashion, the bugbear spoke again, much to the continued bewilderment of Oreila and the others. “Ennyway, hi God. Thanks fer goin outta my dreems. Hope ya got all my letters I rotecha on da seelin so youz and ya frenz could see em.”

A moment of quiet puzzlement and contemplation passed, then Oreila spoke: “Er… I…. might not have gotten all the letters? Can… you show them to me so…. I can be sure?” Oreila was utterly confused and at this point, horrified at the seemingly mad, seven-foot-tall wall of muscle and drool which was immediately in her presence and referring to her as ‘God’. A quick survey of the others confirmed her suspicions that they were similarly terrified. Even Phalthuun, who carried a rifle of exquisite make, gave her a glance which could mean only have one possible interpretation: “I have absolutely no intention of using this stupid fucking pea-shooter. It’d only make her angry.”

“Oh, sure, no prollum, God! Come on, I’ll show ya the letter room!”

The party followed the bugbear in exactly the same way people who aren’t scared of enormous monsters with god complexes don’t. The journey took about two and a half seconds because evidently, the letter room was directly adjacent to the throne room. The room was more or less a room, save for the fact that the ceiling was adorned with a great many carved boards, bits of paper stained with shit, various clothes that might’ve been white at some point (as evidenced by the fact that they’re currently still actually white, if a bit muddy), and all of which were covered in writings and drawings of various degrees of legibility.

A common theme across the texts was the idea that the bugbear was eagerly waiting the arrival of a tiny godlike creature which will usher in a world in which it is Wednesday forever, or possibly Tuesday forever, either is really okay. It must be emphasized exactly how truthfully okay this was: the bugbear seemed to really only care that the decree of which day it will always be will end the incessant questioning by the gremlins of whether or not Tuesday is over yet. Perhaps most disturbing, however, were the various depictions of the goblins, as well as the godlike figure, eating the other figures depicted as similar to the godlike figure, though all were shown to be naked and with embarrassingly small genitalia.

“I was start to wory that you couldn’t see the letters up in Godland, even though I put em on the seelin for ya ta see em better. Cuz yaknow, Godland is up high and all.”

“Oh, yes, excellent. Uh… I need to… talk with my friends. About whether it should be Tuesday or not. Over there. With you not over there… so if you could just go sit in the other room and keep playing with the gremlins we’ll have a good answer in just a minute!”

“Oh, I knew you’d say that. You seddit in muh dreem! Look… uh… yeah rite dere! I drew it fur ya with a pensel that stick-guy found!” The bugbear then pointed at a mural which depicted the god figure saying a bunch of words that don’t make any sense, followed by the goblins tearing the other god-like figures into small pieces, in most instances using forks and occasionally a wheelbarrow. Before the party had any time to react, the bugbear grabbed Oreila with one hand and lifted her off of the ground, cheering, roaring, and demanding that the other goblins: “Come getchur God-friend dinner!”

In the ensuing chaos, the cartographer was summarily divided into at least fourteen pieces over the course of about three hours, as it was understandably difficult to cut an elf apart using only a wheelbarrow. Guard #2 was killed instantly. Everyone else who wasn’t named specifically died a similarly gruesome death. Phalthuun, however, successfully fled the moment the melee began.

With the help of his ‘stupid fucking pea shooter’, he was able to carve a bloody path through the seemingly endless waves of gremlin warriors who, despite their childlike demeanor, were about as effective in combat as actual children. The roars of the bugbear echoing behind him, eclipsed only slightly by the alternatingly horrified and outraged screams of Oreila, Phalthuun wandered a great many tunnels of an increasingly abandoned state, until such a point that he could no longer hear the aforementioned roars and screams. This brought the captain no comfort, however, as his favorite shirt was now ruined, the only other competent colleagues of his on this expedition were either captured to be worshipped as God figures or summarily killed for the purpose of devouring.

That said, he never really liked guard #2, and that very thought kept him sane for the seven weeks it took him to find the nearest man hole cover. During this period, he managed to survive by eating three of his own fingers, his left ear, five bullets, an unknown and possibly unknowable quantity of sewer rats, three gallons of raw sewage (but not particularly stinky sewage), and whatever water he could collect from licking condensation off of the ceiling.

-Present Day-

Following Phalthuun’s vague directions, the rescue squad were able to locate the goblin colony Phalthuun and Oreila had made contact with. Surprisingly, the goblins were nowhere near as hostile as the nearly insane captain had made them out to be. A few minutes of exploring led them to a rather anatomically accurate statue of a very beautiful elven woman around which a great many goblins of one shape and size (simian and small) were bowing and possibly praying. While they were in the process of confirming that last part, a gangly creature approached them, addressed itself as ‘You-won’t-believe-this-but-its-actually-a-whole-outhouse-I-found-in-the-water-just-over-there’ and told them that: “God said you’d come. Unfortunately, she doesn’t not grant audiences on Wednesdays, as Wednesdays are the holiest of days for us goblins.” The squad captain attempted to inform the creature that it was in fact Tuesday, to which it responded: “No it isn’t. It’s never Tuesday. Not anymore,” and walked away sobbing and muttering to itself about how it doesn’t have a birthday any more.

This failed to prevent the rescue squad from continuing to explore the goblin colony, all the while being vigilant of the veritable ocean of small goblin creatures who seemed to be doing absolutely nothing important at all. Eventually, they heard a voice that was far too eloquent and well mannered to belong to a goblin. Following the voice, they came to a chamber wherein an elven woman, presumably Oreila, was wearing only a tattered Yllendyr Imperium flag as a scarf. She was talking to a rather monstrously large creature about how exited she was that tomorrow was Wednesday, which apparently meant she would finally get a day off of work. The large creature seemed to agree completely, and quickly segued into a philosophical debate about whether or not shirts should be considered an endangered species. The elf argued that they should, but that continued conservation efforts might eventually allow them to continue breeding to a point at which their population will become self-sustaining.

Upon returning to the surface, the squad captain rather quickly thanked her men for their heroic efforts in preserving the safety of the Imperium, entered her office momentarily to write a report on the results of the rescue operation, and minutes later, entered her boss’s office with an envelope containing said report. The boss thanked her for the report, and sent her on her way. It took a while for the boss to get to the report which, to his surprise, was simply a single sheet of paper with the words “she’s gone”, written in plain print with black ink.

The Fading Light of V'landriel [Ended, Reboot in Progress]

Good job you guys, A+ effort out there.