Coast Of Thorns
Last updated
Last updated
The Coast Of Thorns is a Tier 4 neutral/contested dominion in the continent of Khaïrnóth.
Upon the far north coast, the tall cliffs rise from the seething, black ocean like daggers in the night. And crowded upon these forsaken cliffs in their countless thousands dwell all the souls of the dead. All about them, vile demons flitter in and out of the hapless masses like a pack of wolves preying upon a herd. Nowhere in this world or the next can a more sorrowful sight be witnessed.
The lands here in the north are bitter and bleak. Few footprints mar the heavy snows and the ice-wreathed peaks are devoid of life. But it was not always so. For the Aëdr were here once, many millennia ago.
They came with one purpose. A mission to reverse their most terrible mistake, the dread folly that threatened to unravel the very structure of the universe.
So it was here, amidst the frozen mountains, that they toiled, raising the looming Symmetron pillar that still towers over the surrounding peaks. Their great work took many years and the land is scattered with the detritus of their habitation. Support structures, headquarters, storage facilities and dwellings all lie beneath a pall of snow and ages.
Yet here there also stand structures that defy comprehension. Intricate arcane constructs of unknown purpose, and grand statues that have watched over the chill landscape for thousands of years.
Why does the strange architecture built into the mountains so perfectly reflect the distant stars above? What purpose did they serve in the forgotten past, or what message do they hold for those who stare with puzzled eyes upon them now?
What else did the ancient Aëdr know that has been lost to the aeons? What fell secret did they carve into the mountains for generations to come?
Soon past and future will collide with deadly force. Here, within The Thunderstone Geometries.
Frustrated by His inability to bring the War in Heaven to a swift end, Rhïarrh turned to darker means to secure victory. His forces moved in secret and attacked the Star Wells – gargantuan constructs that were each designed to drain the energy output of an entire star. The shattered wells collapsed under the weight of their host star's gravity and the unimaginable forces unleashed wiped entire systems from existence, instantly killing billions.
But from each blackened hole left in the galaxy, new life sprung. They were the Star Titans, the unholy children of Rhïarrh. Each one forged from the death of an entire star system, they were gigantic beings of stellar fire and cosmic ash, and where they strode, the galaxy burned.
Wielding inconceivable power, the Star Titans drove the forces of the Násr like sheep before them. It would be nothing less than the tragic cataclysm that toppled the once mighty Aëdr race and cast the remnants down onto Vónekh VII that would deter their fury. With Rhïarrh vanished and presumed dead, His wayward children fled, leaving trails of devastation in their wake as they rampaged across the galaxy.
Though victorious, the children of Rhïarrh did not go unscathed. One was destroyed by the Násr and another scarred. Of this, the maimed Star Titan, something remained in the frozen north of the continent of Khaïrnóth. Here, broken shards of Titan flesh still pierce the icy tundra, ever glowing with unnatural fire after some six thousand years. To the Titan, these may have been but insignificant fragments, no more than a talon-like claw shorn off in battle with the Násr. Yet these shards now live on as a vessel of Rhïarrh’s will. They are Void-things of the darkest creation and of overwhelming power, and such things do not grow weary with the weight of years.
Neshemmhashar was one of the mighty Star Titans, each of which were forged from the death of entire star systems by Rhïarrh Himself. Dread beings of inconceivable might, they were created to ruthlessly execute His bloodthirsty civil war against the Násr. The ultimate fate of Neshemmhashar is unknown, as only one Star Titan was known to have fallen during the War In Heaven, and it was not he.
Nevertheless, something of the Titan’s power still remains in the frozen north of the continent of Khaïrnóth. Broken shards of Titan flesh pierce the icy tundra, still glowing with unnatural fire after some six thousand years. To a Titan, these are but insignificant fragments, perhaps no more than a talon-like nail chipped in battle with the Násr. Though they are no longer a true force, these shards of Neshemmhashar yet remain a vessel of Rhïarrh’s will. They are Void-things of the darkest creation, giving Rhïarrh the ability to reach through the Void to affect the physical realm.
The smallest of these fragments are enough to cause chaos and disturbance in their vicinity, wreaking havoc and attracting the Lán-Faën like vermin. But it is the largest of all, a massive shard impaled in the Titan’s Crater, that is the locus of power. Though it is of no intelligent design, these unholy shards have become almost parasitic in their fate. They have both crippled the Symmetron, yet strangely they also enjoy its protection. It is an odd pairing of Aëdr technological artistry and Rhïarrh’s most vile atrocity. The Pillar is the key to the Shard, and yet the Shard is also the key to the Pillar.
The true names of the Star Titans are not known by mere mortals. Their names are secret, forbidden and laden with baleful power. In theory, to know the name of a Star Titan is to hold power over it, but in practise no mortal alive truly possesses the will to bind the incalculable might of such a vast being. A miniscule shard of such a creature offers an entirely different story, however.
The shards are woven with Rhïarrh’s arcane power and should be bound to Him and He alone. They are vast sources of arcane power, but should be mere stones to any except their master. Unless of course, the bearer were to discover the secret and forbidden name of the Titan from whence it came.
The snows and ashes of the far north could not have hoped to hide their scintillating secret forever. A sinister presence had already reached out from the half-buried shards, it twisted its way southwards and impressed itself upon sensitive minds. Perched upon the highest towers of the Pillars of Heaven, the elders of the Starseer Council cast their arcane sight upon the far north and beheld an artefact worth dying for.
But not all of the Starseer Council were in favour of seeking this promise of ancient power. The north was also home to one of the great pillars of the vast planet-spanning Symmetron, created long before the war by the Násr to preserve the delicate and unstable balance between the Void and the material realm. They cried fell warnings that an artefact of such terrifying origin and uncertain allegiance could potentially destabilise the Symmetron and unleash unimaginable chaos. Seeking intervention, the Council turned to the Thronós Archána, highest of all thrones, for guidance.
Mithaël sat resplendent upon his throne of golden wings and regarded the rabble of Starseers and gathered politicians with a glowering countenance. Disregarding their dire warnings, Mithaël sternly reminded the Council of their sole purpose – to seek out, recover and understand the lost knowledge of the Aëdr and with it, return the Lánaraï to their rightful place among the stars. "If this was not such an opportunity to prove their prowess and fulfil their oaths of service to the throne, then what was?”, he demanded of them.
He ordered that the Star Titan fragments be recovered at any cost, wagering the lives of his warriors for the chance to wield this ultimate power. While there was at least a small hope that it might hold the long sought-after key to his people’s future, there was also a certainty that with the artefact’s possession would come military supremacy and political influence of monumental proportions.
Upon Mithaël’s word of command, Windlord Decian sounded the thunderous war horns across the Pillars of Heaven, and the daily sounds of the great mountain city were rapidly drowned out by the rushing of great wings and the sonorous clatter of star-forged steel. The might of the Storm Guard was soon arrayed for battle in all their splendour. They took to the skies upon silver-winged ships and sped over the towering peaks of the great Silver Spine mountains, departing the fairer lands of the south for the grim north. As the ships passed overhead, darting formations of lightly-armoured Solossáhri rose upon the spiralling air currents to join their brethren for war. The deployments of the Lánaraï military forces did not go unnoticed, however – for in the dark vales that lie between the cloud-grazing peaks of the Silver Spine, the shadows have many eyes.
Commander Nubekh and his warbands watched the skies with malign interest. They had long waged a war of terror against their hated kin across the mountains that divided the continent. They were of the Khavanákh – dark-clad guerrilla fighters who staged devastating ambushes and wielded bows and razor-tipped arrows to deadly effect. One by one, the warbands abandoned their shadowy dens and hideouts and they too began to converge on the north, moving through paths unseen from the ground or from the sky. For the paths the Kheïtanni walk can be trodden only by those who have known death.
In the ice-bound fjords of the northwest, word of the Lánaraï’s movements had reached the seat of power in Kheïtan. The news was met with consternation equal to that in the courts at the Pillars of Heaven in the south. However, Lilaëth of the Unlidded Eye tribe rose and silenced the quarrelsome tribe leaders with a single coldly spoken word. The armies of the Kheïtanni would march to war, for the Fallen Queen's word was law – at least for as long as the balance of power between the usually contentious tribes waxed in her favour.
Lilaëth too was aware of the fell power held in the north, for the sign of the Unlidded Eye that marked her tribe was also the mark of Nekhára, the Prophetess. The Fallen Queen's visions were unusually clear and vivid, yet at the same time they were contradictory – she saw both the promise of immeasurable power and the promise of certain death. Puzzled by the warring portents, she resolved to keep her own council for now, and settled her third eye upon more mundane happenings.
Seeing the disposition and strengths of her despised enemy, she called upon the bloody warriors of the Crimson Path to sail forth from the islands known as Ghor’s Teeth, where they dwell in self-imposed exile. While the Khavanákh lurked among shadows, these frenzied warriors lived only for the front line of battle where they could tear their foes apart limb by limb. If there was bloody work and butchery to be done, they would see to it.
The Garden of Teeth, wreathed in its perpetual ice storm, was home to few living things. The shrieking winds, as cold and sharp as the basalt terrain, gave a baleful voice to this nightmarish land. Yet it was at this forsaken location, near the base of the cloud-scraping Symmetron pillar that the two bitterly opposed forces would meet.
Wreathed in a coruscating halo of eldritch Void-fire, the eye of Rhïarrh settled its gaze upon the bitter north. It would be here that the next chapter would be written in blood upon pages of frost-rimed stone.
