Salvonus
2009-06-05, 12:15 AM
In the depths of the Mournlands, one can find much in the ruins of once-great Cyre. Where else would one begin their search, but in Metrol, the heart of a fallen nation. Virtually untouched since the Day of Mourning, that gleaming metropolis contained a wealth of untold riches... and danger.
Few are brave or foolhardy enough to defy the odds, to challenge the creatures that lurk in that ruined city, once the jewel of all Khorvaire. Our tale follows the exploits of one such adventurer; the glorious Drevin Irvanavich, a much-renowned mystic and legendary warrior. Of the few who scoured Metrol for wealth and knowledge, only Drevin was confident enough to traverse the depths of the old heart of Khorvairian culture, the still-glorious ruins of the Cyran palace.
The cataclysm had hit the palace in a unique manner; namely, it had left the physical structure of the building intact. The people inside, however, the cream of Cyran nobility, had been changed forever. The once-beautiful ladies of the court had been twisted into horrific visages, mockeries of their previous form. The strong, handsome noble men were now merely skeletal shadows of their former selves, emaciated but possessing an unearthly strength. The literal hordes of such hideous creatures was enough to keep most treasure-seekers away from the palace; few could stand up to them in combat, and they were far too numerous to evade.
To Drevin Irvanavich, these adversaries required nary a second glance. Oh, how his glorious lance of thunder clove through those hideous hordes! How the mishappen residents of the palace moaned in mindless terror! How they flocked when they saw that glimmering deliverer, how they cried out in rare happiness when they found sweet relief! They were hardly a challenge for an accomplished mage of Drevin's stature, but nor did they possess the treasure that he sought.
Oh, that ever-fascinating Mirror of Impeccable Creation! How it plagued Drevin's thoughts! The Cyran royalty had acquired that artifact in aeons past, but nary a soul aside from Drevin knew of its true nature. To Cyre, it had merely been a small bauble - a mirror that portrayed a most beautiful, idealised version of oneself. Drevin, that wily scholar, had done his research; he knew that the mirror could be used to generate a perfect copy of oneself! Better yet, the copy would be in thrall to the original! Oh, how Drevin craved that power!
The Mirror had been in the possession of the King of Cyre's daughter, the ever-vain Elaine. Oh, Elaine was a beautiful girl in her prime, but was ever so insecure about it! She hoarded that mirror, always comparing herself to her ever-changing ideal, always trying to match that unattainable standard. When the Day of Mourning struck, she surely must have been in her quarters with that mirror; at least, that is what Drevin had deduced after scouring the rest of the palace. But how would that warping effect have impacted the flower of Cyran nobility?
Our tale begins just outside the door to the Princess' quarters...
Few are brave or foolhardy enough to defy the odds, to challenge the creatures that lurk in that ruined city, once the jewel of all Khorvaire. Our tale follows the exploits of one such adventurer; the glorious Drevin Irvanavich, a much-renowned mystic and legendary warrior. Of the few who scoured Metrol for wealth and knowledge, only Drevin was confident enough to traverse the depths of the old heart of Khorvairian culture, the still-glorious ruins of the Cyran palace.
The cataclysm had hit the palace in a unique manner; namely, it had left the physical structure of the building intact. The people inside, however, the cream of Cyran nobility, had been changed forever. The once-beautiful ladies of the court had been twisted into horrific visages, mockeries of their previous form. The strong, handsome noble men were now merely skeletal shadows of their former selves, emaciated but possessing an unearthly strength. The literal hordes of such hideous creatures was enough to keep most treasure-seekers away from the palace; few could stand up to them in combat, and they were far too numerous to evade.
To Drevin Irvanavich, these adversaries required nary a second glance. Oh, how his glorious lance of thunder clove through those hideous hordes! How the mishappen residents of the palace moaned in mindless terror! How they flocked when they saw that glimmering deliverer, how they cried out in rare happiness when they found sweet relief! They were hardly a challenge for an accomplished mage of Drevin's stature, but nor did they possess the treasure that he sought.
Oh, that ever-fascinating Mirror of Impeccable Creation! How it plagued Drevin's thoughts! The Cyran royalty had acquired that artifact in aeons past, but nary a soul aside from Drevin knew of its true nature. To Cyre, it had merely been a small bauble - a mirror that portrayed a most beautiful, idealised version of oneself. Drevin, that wily scholar, had done his research; he knew that the mirror could be used to generate a perfect copy of oneself! Better yet, the copy would be in thrall to the original! Oh, how Drevin craved that power!
The Mirror had been in the possession of the King of Cyre's daughter, the ever-vain Elaine. Oh, Elaine was a beautiful girl in her prime, but was ever so insecure about it! She hoarded that mirror, always comparing herself to her ever-changing ideal, always trying to match that unattainable standard. When the Day of Mourning struck, she surely must have been in her quarters with that mirror; at least, that is what Drevin had deduced after scouring the rest of the palace. But how would that warping effect have impacted the flower of Cyran nobility?
Our tale begins just outside the door to the Princess' quarters...