Prologue:

Candlelight dances over the sheafs of parchment scattered across the mahogany desk like so many fallen leaves. Words crowd the pages in a forest of blotted ink, the product of an uneasy night and a troubled mind. An old man sits slouched at the desk, ornate white robes draped over his frail yet staturely form like fallen snow.

For a long time the man sits still, barely breathing, weary fingers at the bridge of his nose. Finally the old man stirs, reaches a hand forward, and the pen of his Most Holy Jurisdictor, Grand Inquisitor Eclesius IV dips into the inkwell once more.

A hundred separate incidents the pen scratches across the dry sheaf of parchment when added together, form an indelible omen. We can no longer ignore the signs of our times. Villages on the cusp of the winterteeth mountains disappear overnight, and the following week farmsteads bring news of terrifying swarms of white goblins. A trade convoy bound for New Athens is discovered hundreds of miles off course, no trace of the crew and decks stained red with blood. Even my empaths on the southern continent tell me that sightings of ghost cities in the trackless waste south of Skraelgut have tripled in recent weeks. And the dreams...

Eclesius IV pauses for a minute, smoothing back his mane of white hair. The wind howls outside the Grand Inquisitors chambers, pristine night on the slopes of mt. Diadem hundreds of degrees below habitable temperatures. The Adept Vatican was kept safe and warm through a network of spells engineered by the school of Thunder. Spells to stave off the cold, spells to grow food in magical greenhouses, spells to guide incoming Sky Sails home, spells that kept the harp in the back of the gilded chamber strumming peaceful melodies. At the Adept Vatican, magic was life.

if the dreams are to be believed this is happening across the three moons. Hunting parties disappearing in the Darkmoon Sea, a detachment of Council Scouts mercilessly slaughtered, their artifact stolen. The records are clear that the temple gate on Atlas was destroyed by the five Scions, sealing the Twisted Ones inside forever, and yet I cannot escape the feeling that after five centuries, that faceless evil is upon us again.

I have dispatched an emmisary to Calliope to investiage the disappearance of the council detachment, if all goes well he will return with the artifact, and I will have a better understanding of the time remaining in the Plan. Every day the dreams grow darker... and worse, they have begun to speak to me during my waking life. Thoughts, glimpses of things that do not exist...

Eclesius IV becomes aware that the harp has stopped. Turning to the back of the chamber, he sees a presence in the corner of the room. The Dark Man.

"What do you want" Eclesius asks wearily "have you come to torment me again."

The Dark Man does not reply immediately, hand resting on the mute strings of the harp as he gazes out the window into the boreal night. Eventually, he draws a deep breath and speaks, his voice like a distant thundering waterfall "the Scions walk the three moons once more"

Eclesius grows stiff, face turning pale "The Scions? Impossible! The Scions have been gone for over five centuries!"

The Dark Man hisses at Eclesius' outrage, motioning for him to be silent "The Scions' spirits live on, and they are searching for new homes. Already the Mana Filters of Enoch and Urun have been taken. The Sword of Gabriel has gone missing while you sit here in your chambers aloof and comfortable. This situation is unacceptable."

"I have dispatched an emissary and a team of highly capable mercenaries to deal with the problem" Eclesius responds dryly "the school of Light is accustomed to dealing with problems such as these."

"You old fool" the Dark Man spits. With the speed of thought, he is at the Grand Inquisitor's side, hands clutching the old man's robes "I have watched for two millenia while you humans stumble blithly toward the edge of extinction. I will not let you ruin the Plan because of your overconfidence!"

"...I have empaths on Calliope, they will advise me when the mission is complete." Eclesius offers, although there is uncertainty growing in his voice.

"Your empaths are already dead, old fool" the Dark Man sneers "as are your team of mercenaries."

"What? Impossible..."

"If the Sword of Gabriel falls into the enemy's hands..." The Dark Man closes his eyes, and hums a few lines of verse:

The blood of ancients seals thy fate;
The Sword of Angels restless waits
a Grail to cup the Nephil's eye.
In EDEN thy salvation lies

"I know of the Earthfall prophesy" Eclesius snaps "I do not need a shade to school me on the history of the three moons. Leave now, or I shall summon the guard."

"The guard?" the Dark Man leers "and what if the guard have suffered the same fate that is slowly overtaking the three moons? Do you have ANY IDEA old man how short your time is?"

Eclesius stops, regarding the shrouded visage of the Dark Man silently. As the candle on the mahogany desk burns lower, the howling of the arctic wind seems to carry a chorus of anguished voices. Darkness presses in at the corners of the room, darkness hiding twisted jaws, snapped bones and empty sockets.

The Dark Man lifts the frail body of His Most Holy Eclesius IV to his feet, black fingers clutching at the white and gold robes that cost enough to feed a starving village for a month. "You have had your chance to right this wrong, Eclesius" the Dark Man intones as the spectres begin to crawl brokenly across the gilded floor of the chamber in a slowly creeping carpet of decay "and now your enemies are all around you."

"No" Eclesius IV whispers in terror "this isn't real, this can't be real! This is a dream! Be gone in the name of light!"

The Dark Man only laughs "Real? Most Holy Inquisitor, you have not seen but a hundredth of what is real."

No one heard Eclesius IV's screams that night. They were lost on the icy wind of the slopes of mount Diadem, carried away over the uncaring peaks of the Angel mountain range.

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One hundred thousand miles away, through the gently glowing trail of the Moonswath, the shepherd moon Calliope spun through the eternal, diamond studded night of space, locked in an eternal dance with her two brothers.

Together, Calliope, Odysseus and Hercules formed a triumverate of shepherd moons, following the same orbit around the world-ship Atlas. Interstellar dust and debris, caught in their wake, formed a ghostly trail of stardust known as the Moonswath that could sometimes be seen on cold, clear nights.

On the jungle moon Calliope there was a tall mesa called Greystone rising out of the kilometer-thick jungle, and on the southern edge of greystone in the town of Wilderedge, a festival was taking place. Atlas had already set, and the Moonswath was making a rare appearance on the northern horizon.

The music is winding down, lulling villagers, artisans, hunters alike to return to their taverns and homes to rest up for another day of revelry. Couples walk along the pathways overlooking the cliffs of Greystone, listening to the sounds of the jungle far below and feeling the electric breeze carried up from the Darkmoon Sea whisper to them.

Suddenly, the music falters altogether, and a silence grows over Wilderedge. There is a red glow growing over the jungle, but far too early to be the dawn, and in the wrong place. Couples, hunters, artisans and villagers turn south and watch silently as the light grows, viscous fire arcing lazily into the pre-dawn air hundreds of miles away. For the moment the festival is forgotten. They are witnessing something far greater. A hundred miles to the south, past the mammoth jungle of the Darkmoon Sea, a new mountain is being born.

Earthfall II - The Sword and the Grail

Chapter I: A Banquet of Demons

The first thought that goes through your character's head is that coming to the Orguk Festival on Calliope may have been a mistake. Oh, he had good reason to go there in the first place; perhaps it was to search for a lost friend, to find a crew of ready sailors, to plot revenge on a long-time enemy, or to search for something stolen. However, the purpose seemed to grow less and less important on the fourth or fifth night of revelry.

One thing is for certain, your character enjoyed one too many luxuries last night, the pounding headache tells him that much. There's no telling in where your character possibly could have ended up or how he got there, but it was probably that comely tavern-wench's fault.

Sitting up groggily, the world cruelly grinds into focus. Slightly disappointed to find they are waking up alone, your character takes a look around. Certainly seems like an odd decorating scheme for a Wilderedge tavern in festival season... very new wave. The walls are rough-hewn out of granite stone and spartanly furnished with a shoddily made wooden desk, drawer, and stone sleeping pallet which your character currently occupies. Very monastic. The "door" is a rough linen curtain split down the middle to allow access.

Your character finds that they are also wearing nothing but their drawers, and their regular clothing and equipment is nowhere in sight. A memory from last night surfaces, unbidden... you were walking outside... enjoying the festival.... when something happened. A volcano! Hundreds of miles away from the look of it but still a little close for comfort... perhaps its time to leave town? And there was something else.... a strong pair of arms grabbing you from behind, the feeling of being yanked violently backward, *KFAZSH* of falling through space and time....

It's been a very strange night.

On the table is a slowly burning candle with a number of notches carved into it. About a third of the way down the candle is a notch with a number painted next to it: "8"

(OOG: so this is a little different beginning than most rpgs. You ALL find yourselves in the same boat, each in your own little identical room. Spend some time to interact with your surroundings... post in third person, present tense. If your character opens the drawer he will find a rough-woven linen robe with a note:

Your presence is humbly requested at dinner, eight O 'clock sharp. Follow the hallway to the landing, down the stairs, and through the double doors on your right. Be punctual, and don't try exploring... I will know.
-Sirach.

If your character leaves the room they will find themselves in a long stone hallway with about a dozen (more or less) identical rooms on either side, and a large window at one end. That's your limit of exploration for now. Walk around, meet up with each other, be in character, try to figure out what the heck is going on.

...Have fun.

-SFD)

OOG: Forgot to mention... there is also a crude metal washbasin and linen towel on the floor in each of your rooms. The water is still hot.

Stone... I see stone. Why am I seeing stone?

Muzzy a bit from the last night, it took the man a second to remember what happened. Unfortunately it soon came back, right along with a splitting headache.

I remember there was the glow, a volcano being born in the distance. Then I was jumped... then a flash...

Where in the frozen hells am I?

The man sat up in his bed, only then realizing that his clothes and staff have been taken. Swearing, he feels to see if his ring was still there. Finding it not, he swears again. Calming himself, he turns to take in his surroundings. Raising himself from the pallet, he staggers for a moment as the blood rushes into his head. Shaking his head to clear his vision, and then groaning slightly from the resulting pain of the headache, he checks the candle.

Eh.. why is there an eight marked?

Grumbling under his breath, he goes to the desk and opens the drawer. Blinking when he finds the note, he skims it over then places it back on top of the desk.

"Humbly requested," he says. Humbly requested with brute force. I wonder what would happen if I didn't do as he "humbly requested." Ah well... for now I'm just going to sit and think. And why does that name sound familiar...

Eyeing the door, he decides to leave it shut for now.

The smith tosses, his limbs wet with sweat as he writhes on the bed. His calloused fingers rhythmically grip the mattress under him, and his mouth opens and closes, releasing strangled cries. With a gasp, he raises one hand before his face, eyes snapping open as he prepares to ward off a blow.

Only to note the rough stone walls and the . . .

Whoever made such things should be ashamed of themselves. Look at the lines. Sloppy work, badly jointed and unevenly finished. Apprentice work at the very best, and any master who let an apprentice get away with stone-cracked work like that doesn't deserve the title.

Turning his gaze away from the furniture, the smith arose, wiping the stinging sweat from his eyes as he attempts to take in the surroundings. This was definitely not the jungle. What's more, it was also not the corrupted city he and the mad hermit had explored.

Thoughts of the hermit turned his mind to GQ. The metal skull was nowhere to be found, and . . .

"Where is my armor? And my pack? You rust pocked thieves! You even took the shield!"

His tone is low and disgusted. He does not shout, uncertain of who else might be nearby. A systematic search turns up the robe, as well as the note. A quick reading puts him back on the bed, seated this time as his thoughts mull over the circumstances he now finds himself in.

So the channeler won. The hermit must have been done in by his weave, or damaged enough that he was helpless to prevent this.

Standing, Ossac used the steaming water to clean his body, grateful for that much luxury. It was during times such as these that he missed Forge. There was always hot water back home, and his house . . .

But enough of such thoughts. He was never returning there, and such maudlin whining, even in his own head, was useless. Dressing in the robe, the smith stepped from the room, his eyes drawn to the other curtained rooms.

So I am not alone. Most likely.

The tall man wakes up. He is groggy, from the festivities of last night. Grumbling he looks around for his clothes.
Whats happened? I don't sleep without knowing it. Something is wrong...

He finds the note and the robe in the drawer. He smirks as he reads it.
Humbely requested! Sounds rich. Must be. Only rich kidnap people and give them dinner?

Getting dressed he notices the 8 painted onto the candle. He checks his note again.
When the candle reaches that mark it will be 8' O clock. Should have about an hour before it melts to the mark.

Now with a robe covering his pale skin, the man takes a peek outside his "door" to see if anyone else is there. Seeing nobody the man goes over to the window to get a sense of his surroundings.

As the tall man exits his own curtained doorway, Ossac steps back, noting that the other man had missed his own exit. He watches the other man move towards the window, observing the robe with a slight smile.

Seems to be the uniform here.

Deciding to chance the meeting, Ossac walked towards the other man, stopping with enough room to give himself room to run if the other man proved to be crazy.

Which, noting my past companions is quite likely.

"So. Come here often?"

Turning around slightly startled the tall pale man looks at this person.
Not a gaurd. Good. Probably kidnaped like me.

Relaxing a bit, he replies,
"No. You kidnaped and robbed too?"

The long hallway is lit by a series of flickering torches set into the walls that cast quivering pools of orange light.

At one end of the hallway is a large window. The window looks like it was hewn out of the rock in four strokes by a drunken giant. It affords a view into abyssal night. A dark, apocalyptic landscape stretches into the distance, dotted by hundreds of flickering campfires. The sky is a black void... no hint of stars or moon.

The rooms and hallway appear to be part of some kind of castle, if the view out the window is to be believed. The window is several stories up, and its a long drop to the rocky ground. Numerous smaller windows and arrow slits dot the face of the castle, at odd and seemingly random intervals.

The slight young monk comes awake with a start, the pounding in his temples reminding him of some of the meditation exercises he had trouble with as a youngster,but had long since mastered.

Wasting little time with internal monologue, Lung meditates in attempt to calm the pounding in his head as he tries to remember what happened in his last aware moments.

hmm, a fire mountain, and someone grabbed me. I wonder where I am

Getting up and exploring the room, Lung puts the robe on, feeling comfort in its basic simplicity, and reads the note.

Very well dinner when the candle burns to the eight

Hearing noises outside his door, Lung gently opens it and peers into the shadowed corridor, seeing if their is anyone/thing familiar.

Well I left the temple to get new experiences, and this definitey counts as one

He enters the hallway, looking for some sign to indicate which direction he should travel,then returns to his room to clean up and get ready for what should prove to be a most interesting experience.

Ossac, distracted by the sight of the man exiting, then returning to his room is silent for a time. He looks back at the man, and nods.

"It seems we aren't alone here."

The smith indicated the curtain through which the man had appeared. He continues, answering the pale man's question.

"Yes. Where were you taken from?"

Kidnapped? Well, I suppose so. However, it was during a battle. Don't they have another name for that? I suppose I should just agree and find out what he knows.

The young man wakes with a start. He rubs his chest, remembering an old wound. He imediately notices something is amiss. His index finger is empty and the dagger is nowhere to be found.

Where am I? Is this a test?

He attempts to get off the bed and falls on his face.

I guess i know what i did last night...

He starts to search the room for anything that might give some information as to where he is.
He finds the letter and after a few minutes of trying to decipher it through a drunken haze, turns it rightside up.

8 eh? I guess its a start.

He dresses himself in the robe.

I better get myself ready for whatever may happen...

The young man attempts to draw from the hot water.

Gaf pauses for a momment, as if to structure his response to Ossac's question.
"I was outside a building at a festival. A valcano started to erupt, and people paniced. Someone grabbed me and thats all I remember."

He says,
"We should introduce ourselves. I'm Gaf," while extending a hand, as if to shake hands with it.

"Wilderedge? You were there for the festival?"

Ossac offers his own hand, his grip is firm, he doesn't try for any strength tests. Hi palm is heavily calloused.

"My name is Ossac."

"Yes. I was at the Orguk festival. "

Gaf notices Ossac's callouses when he shakes hands and the firm grip. Gaf quietly files this away in his mind.

"I didn't see you at the festival. Where were you?," asks Gaf.