Chains of Destiny: Inquisition

Prologue: Reborn

         In the city of towers that rules them all in the pitch of night without the moons. A lone figure moves silently and swiftly. The city Guards are like many you hear of, not exactly aware of everything around them, in this district governed by dwarves, and they never have had the best eyesight.

         Subtle signs of a woman, she moves from shadow to shadow like she’s gliding, or flying. Many of the torches need to be changed, the central fire in the district that is generally roaring, now a pile a very hot coals, but subtle light.
She whispers something under her breath and tosses a small pouch into the coals. It immediately starts to smolder. She moves to spy her concoction roast. It starts billowing smoke, several guards from the main district tower leave their post to investigate.
Exactly what is needed, she thinks to herself.

         The door just happens to be locked, of course. She moves around the thorny bushes to the side of the frontward door. One of the only two windows just happens to be slightly ajar. A few cuts from the unforgiving devils club does not stop a mother from her sacred one. It was promised.

         It’s just past Silentnight, where without the aid of an open flame or torch, you wouldn’t be able to see past your hand. Darkness here is true darkness, where closing your eyes is a comfort. Man has evolved greatly inside its towns and cities, but the wilds in and around can be nightmarish. This was the greatest city, it is known as the city of a thousand towers. Tonight, you could hear the wings of a bat if you listened close enough. The guards start moving back around to their posts, she lifts herself up, gingerly able to get ahold of a bookshelf on the inside of the window, and her small petite body slithers inside with grace, although her long legs take a bit more effort to get through. A guard hears the window shut, ever so slightly, just as he gets into his previous position. He taps the haft of his spear and his partner is on his heels immediately. As they round the edge of the entranceway to the tower, nothing. They shrug to themselves and chalk it off as to it being the wind.

         Inside there are many books, bronze figures, some of Rams, two catch her eye just to the top of the bookshelf that she was able to hold onto to climb into the tower. It’s of Neath and Iirth, twin dwarves forever inside a colosseum, fighting to the death. In dwarven histories it is said that if either of them was to win, it would mark the end of the world. The figures can be found all over dwarven ruins and undercities alike. They can be found in many varying forms, from the one she looks at, Neath holding a sword and Iirth a Warhammer. Locked forever in battles grip as a general reminder to all dwarves that battle always awaits and does not wait for the prepared.

You may always strive for peace, but prepare for war, she thinks

         The inside of the first floor does not resemble anything close to that of brick and stone mortared together as much of the outside does. She runs her can along the wall where a type of flag, or perhaps simply a drape that is Golden bronze with a pair of Rams horns in the middle. The horns are front facing, but without a skull, trying to curl to a point, bleached white with shades of grey.

         The loan desk stood slightly small, unmanned, with two chairs on the other side. Beyond them a staircase that spiraled up leading to the many floors that each of these beacons of power and diplomacy had. She quickly started up the stairs, the object of her desire so close and within reach.
The dwarves are the lords of stone and a few crops other than cave mushrooms that always seemed to have their economies booming. Jewels and diamonds, rubies and emeralds sure, but the common folk could never afford such things in great number, or very small for that matter. Horned lemons, dragons’ fruit, and bitter star were in an emerald fruit bowl of sorts, these fruits gave them an above ground economy that was always in need and desire. Other than the dwarves you see in the Collectives capital, the Island of Wynrial Holm, was a giant farming community of Dawnborn dwarves. They as a people learned to depend upon themselves to sustain, constant expectations to deliver from the races of men, elves and many others was not in the nature of dwarves.
         And of course, there was never a short supply of marble, obsidian, granite and other types of building materials. All of which they have expertly crafted and stored for many moons. An argument could be made that they were the most advanced of all the races of men and even the elves from time to time.
         Another thing that caught her attention was the three histories of the dwarves, 3 volumes that depicted their evolution from cave dwellers, the fleeing, and the searching of their new home. They say there is a 4th being constructed, planning to document the change from bloodlines to the educated select and voted for rulers, dawnstrider and stonecarved alike.

She is an above average height for a female woman, standing near 6 feet, so the stairs she makes quick work of, and while she is silent like the midnight wind, she nearly crashes into the dwarven priest she had been meaning to find. Other than their ruler, and the governing council, it is said he holds the most power, especially above ground and could be considered the dawnstrider true leader.

The Dwarves are more complex than we give them credit for, she thinks.

         As she quickly makes work to outmaneuver the slower dwarf, that truth be told, he is way over dressed. But that is how the religious like to do it, bring together the greatest contrast of colors to make oneself apparent the most too many to be able to convince them that they have the truth in this chaotic pit of unknowns. And with all those colors and the words, they have the known.

         The dwarven priest Vasmoik can’t believe whom he is looking at, he has had clear accounts of her death. Prophecies born to truth this can’t be. She is simply looking at the dwarf with a slight smile and almost, batty with her eyelashes.

         Vasmoik was the High Priest of the Dwarves, as it is a lifetime appointment. There have only been a handful since the great escape, a time when millions died in very short order in a world of chaos, demons, dragons, fire, floods, warfare and famine.

Zedena, Dwarven Goddess and protector of the Oceans swallowed and ate the beast whole just before destroying the last of us. Vasmoik thought.

         He takes a firm stance mocking the batty did you miss me eyelashes and proceeds to walk upstairs to the holding rooms. Each step deliberately slightly slow, he brushes up on the outer side of the tower stairs and while he speaks tosses his red glove outside the window. Speaking to just distract.

“Well, besides the fact that you should not even be here, I think I know exactly what you are looking after. How you knew it came into our possession, I hope to never know.” He stops just ahead of her near one of the simple slit windows and sucks in an unsteady deep breath. It’s likely that he will not see the dawn.

The women put her hand on his right shoulder giving a slight grip, not a hard grip, but one to give a slight massage as if to convey she did not intend him any harm. The subtle brakes in his voice portraying a dry mouth.

“I am not who you think I am, and to this day will not understand what could possibly bring her to try and eradicate the world. I worry in my dreams that it was just a simple matter of enjoying war and battle. Or the worst possibility is that she simply just wants to watch it all burn.”
They continue the long walk up, perhaps about another ten stories

Vasmoik broke the silence again, “So, how did you know we have it?”
Right at the end of his sentence, the women states with a quirk of a smile, “It’s not about how I knew who, or what, or is, here.” She stated, right hand in the air next to her ear, putting an emphasis on each of the last words, in a tic tock fashion, “It is that you had the correct one with a high potential of being able to pull this off.” Although the Dwarven race was considered inside of a boom, with their economy and technology advancing very quickly, they always had the problem with their population. Less population meant less guards, less guards meant ease of subterfuge. Now the underpire was a different matter, you couldn’t sneak a worm inside without them knowing.
The Dawnborn numbered about one in five of their total population. And honestly not always popular but had a great understanding of the need, more than a want.

As they entered the more secure parts of the tower, and you can’t think of these as everyday simple towers, they’re all massive in size, one leave could house an entire family for two or three generations. Multiple levels with multiple rooms.

She got an eerie chicken skin type of feeling creep up her very real spine.

He did his best to hide the fact that he was watching her every move, trying to figure out the cloth that she wore was not easy, it shifted and shimmered in a way that was almost water like, but as black as the darkest night. It did not fit like a normal dress, long cuts in just weird spots that showed her near bleach white skin, shoulders, knee and parts of her calf. Her shoulders were unnaturally a little higher and almost formed a point, the black silken dress created a V shape ending just above her belly button.

She could seduce the gods, he thought.

         Her hair was jet black, lips the color of a darkened blood, eyes like a hawk yet so dark you had a hard time making out her pupils. Just a hint of pale pink touched her cheeks. The eyebrows had the slightest of angles, giving her a type of serious look at a natural resting position. The darkness around her was accented with a gold trim that was very selective of where it was located. The seam of her very long cuffs of the sleeve, around her hood,

          “This is it.” Vasmoik stated, pulling out the final key, making that casual tinging sound as the many keys clanged together. An infant started to weep on the other side of the door.

The key cracked the silent hall with the door unlocking. The babes whimpering grew.

Morgana slipped past the priest to the babe, whooshing and comforting, embracing the babe to her breasts and patting its back. “Shush, shush, shush darling, you’re going to be okay” she said in a tone so low that the priest could barely heard her. And continued, “Your mother’s sacrifice provides you with the gift. A gift only a few have had the opportunity to attain. A gift you will cherish, hate, love and despise.


Cling, cling, clack, clack, metal on stone faintly heard in the distance, Morgana’s eyesight and hearing were enhanced tenfold because of what she was. Or rather, what she had become

         “It’s a shame Vasmoik. A real shame to think you could set a trap for me.” She looks him up and down. Deciding if he could potentially be a good meal and ever so slightly licks her lips.

         His jaw dropped open in shock “It is not like that at all, I simply wanted to protect myself from the possibility that you were or are your sister.”

She lets out a loud sigh, "Your water god killed her a very long time ago, why this world would still think she's around is beyond be. The Wralok is said to have swallowed her whole."

Vasmoik started to protest and Morgana cut him off before he could whisper a word, "She may have been the worst evil the world has seen, but she was still my only sister. I have had to turn this world inside out trying to have children, with this babe I'll finally be able to do that, gods be good."

He looked at her sternly, he did not appreciate mocking his beliefs and stood his ground. "Whatever it is you think or believe in, don't mock me. There is only one god that matters, and she is as you say the only reason life still persists of and in this Realm."

She had firsthand knowledge of the gods, she was said to be half a god herself and that's where her gifts are from. "Debate about the gods is pointless, she was not born of the dwarves, she was born of man adopted by the dwarves because they saw her in action. Seeing action and just having faith are very different things. Not all the gods care much of the mundane lives of this Realm. And there are many of them."

Vasmoik simply nods, and re-locks the door. "This should give you more time, but I am not sure how you plan to leave here. It is a very long way down."

She laughs a little, "I don't plan on stepping on ground for some many leagues." she says as a Thunder strike hits so close it puts ringing in their ears. The babe’s cries can no longer be heard. The storms rumble was upon them with wind and rain and chaos.

Morgana Reaches towards the sky conjuring words that can’t be heard, a Lighting strike blows the top of the tower off, the dwarven priest is thrown back into the door, where it collapses onto the bewildered guards. Vasmoik scrambles for his staff just in time, a lightning strike reflects from Morgana's hand towards him and the guards. There is nothing much of this world to be able to deflect such power, but his staff was just able.

Morgana Laughs wickedly. She screams out to the worlds above, this was promised, we the dragonborn will rule! I claim this forgotten son as mine. I have witnessed the Fire and craven lust for power absolute, we will rise and be defenders of the free once again!

A huge lighting strike blinds them all as the last word escapes her mouth as she grabs the babe in claw.

All that remains of everything is brick a mortar, small pieces of furniture, broken wax candles. The priest and his guards stumble over each other in awe at seeing what they see. Books torn and sundered. It was so black that it was hard to ascertain what it was exactly in front of them. Was it a reptile or some beast forgotten from the old world? It was massive, looking back at them on the edge of the tower stairs, it took up the entire top of the tower. Its wings hadn't yet even been unfurled.

Just as cued.

The snake lets out a huge thunderous roar, as if responding the lighting strikes showing everything that Vasmoik is looking at in fine detail.

Dragon.

The black of death itself was not able to remove itself from the thunderous beast. Zedena the water god consumed its cousin the red Dragon Fire near ten thousand years ago. The red dragon consumed the world like none other, it was supposed to be a savior and became the downfall of all the old world. And once it was defeated, instead of going back, Zedena warned them that the old world would not be a place they would be able to survive for many lifetimes, if ever. Very few were privy to the truths, but it is said that Zedena washed away all death from those lands with wave after wave after wave, a great flooding. What grew next, no living could know.

Vasmoik gets up as best he can, staggering to his feet, yelling as if to the stars. "You say you're not your sister!

He throws down the hilt of his staff, smashing it into marbled stone at his feet, creating a type of vortex, sound could not enter, normal objects floated as if gravity was effectively lost. He let go of the staff and walked over to the monstrous beast, "Raise that child right! He will never know how important he is! Everyone will try and use him to advance themselves with no thought of his sacrifice."

A voice enters his head, the dragon's deep blood red eyes piercing to his soul. "Try to keep the chosen alive, they didn't ask for it, they didn't choose it, but it is there responsibility. May the Knights protect them all."

As the small magic faded, "May the Knights protect them all." Vasmoik stared out in awe and wonder as the Dragon dove out into the nothingness furling out its enormous wings amongst the winds and the rains. He ran to the edge, all of his attire was drenched and soaked and ruined, but he had no care. A new age was upon them, and he smiled to be able to be part of it.

Alarm bells started out through the city, Flaming arrows flicked in and out but loosed themselves in the air to nothingness. "She was smart to go to the water, its as black as she is!" He pointed out to the few guards that had the nerve to stand with him.

"Sir, Let us get you inside, no need to catch death tonight! And you'll have plenty of writing to do to inform people that this was just a simple accident of the weather!"
They had to continue to yell up here, the wind was something fierce, its hands pulling on the tower trying to rip them all down.

They staggered into the lower levels and his study, here they wrung out their clothes, Vasmoik put on new ones, the clever guard stayed while the others left to get dry undergarments on. "You seriously look like a wet dog with your helmet off. What's your name, boy?" Vasmoik asked.

"Kagan, sire."

"You're half orc?" It was meant to be an inquiring question, Vasmoik wasn't actually sure.

"I am half Orc and half Dwarf, not many like me. But the Captain's Guard said this was the place for me, and my axe will always be yours." His Axe was a different weapon then any of the other guards, and he had it at his side, instead of sheathed. It was the size of a Hand and a half sword, but with an intricately carved axe head.

"Don't be too quick to give that axe away, we may be needing it soon. Everything about tonight will spark talks of magic coming back into the world. The damn dragons, blessing and a curse." Vasmoik looks out one of the few windows of the tower.

"She's out there right now, a few arrows coming unexpectedly close to the dragon, but none hit their mark, she had gotten such a fervor of speed from the leap off the tower from it being so tall. Morgana may have been female but her young dragon so long ago was a huge black beauty, his ivory horns and teeth glistened as one of the moons appeared on the horizon. He hardly had to bat his wings, generally just gliding off into the horizon, the greatest task the world could give, a babe and an egg to shield and sword those of the Spawn have never seen."

Kagan coughed, "A babe and an egg? Sire?"

Still staring out into the void, now glistening from the first touch of moonlight "Each of the major houses has had a dragon egg, they might not even know about them now but 3 were given to the dwarven descendants, two above and one below. Five eggs to the house of Men, and seven eggs to the Elven houses. Five were said to be given to the water goddess and her people, but as with everything, time has erased any record of a water people. If they ever even existed." His gaze was that of someone looking far off into the distant, eyes becoming glassy.

"So, your saying we have had twenty dragon eggs this entire time, and instead of embracing them, we kill those that could hatch them?" Kagan asked, baffled by this news. Ancient news if it were true.

"You'll be off your guard duty soon" Vasmoik asked bluntly. "Well no, sire, they will bring me fresh underpads and I'll be here the night. Until dawn, about four hours from now."

"Kagan, one thing you'll have to understand is histories point of view, instead of judging it in the moment, instead try and look at it from their eyes."

"But I don't have their eyes, sire." Kagan stated bluntly.

Frustrated, Vasmoik scoffs, "No you idiot, their point of view, um, their perspective." He shakes his head "Pardon me Kagan, I know the common tongue must be your second language, no doubt you are from the Orken tribes?"
Put down, Kagan simply nods this time. "Now stop that, we all just about got eviscerated by one of the most powerful beings in the lands history, I am a little, shall I say, jagged." He grabs his staff making sure it's not been destroyed, he felt it should have. Such an old artifact, did it consume the lightning bolt or dispel it completely?

Kagan shakes his head this time, "The Collective's young Princess will kill thousands in the next coming days." He shudders.

"Amazing point Kagan, we must depart at once. I will send pigeons to the major towers, and the queen entailing what has happened today, just a simple storm and having an iron top to this tower was its undoing." He starts pacing frantically about, grabbing quills and parchment. He stops a moment understanding he didn't actually tell the Half Orc to do anything, "Go and get the other two guards that saw any of this, you'll meet me back here at the base of the tower, in less than an hour. We must leave the city quickly before they cast suspicion of magic on us." The hair on his arms stand tall, "Now Kagan, Go!"

The Collective empire was ruled by a very young ruthless Princess, some manner of time ago was so scared by the possibilities that magic possessed as a child, even simple card tricks, hat games, and where is the coin. Anyone to show any type of magical ability, no matter how small, was put to the guillotine. The Princess over time had become Judge, Jury and Executioner. Numb to the thoughts of life, and their meaning.