soylentplaid
2007-03-09, 12:58 PM
History
The Loss of the Thunderflight
In the first years of the Plague, as the Weeping ravaged the surface world, deep underground, gnome society went on blissfully unaware. Strange tales of people of all races dying as their bodies twisted and wept blood filtered in through the few surface traders that came back and were all dismissed as completely mad. A demon-caused plague, sweeping over the entire surface world? Preposterous! How could any such thing be?
Then it came to the ancient city.
To give the gnomes credit, they reacted quickly enough. The Thunderflight was an Nether trade ship that had been sent two months previous from the ancient city to a halfling colony to trade in grain and ore. Many Netherese and even a few Aether were gathered by the dock to greet the sailors on their return. The Thunderflight soared in through the main cavern tunnel, floating majestically between the twin basalt columns that flanked the entrance. Gleaming iron plating and twin plumes of smoke were illuminated by the magic lanterns at the tunnel entrance, making for a beautiful sight. One enthusiastic Netherese artificer raised a spyglass to his eye so he could view the hardy sailors of such a magnificent vessel.
What he saw was sheer horror.
Pale, twisted mockeries of nature crewed the vessel's decks. Their clothing torn and stained, much like the Thunderflight's banners. They wept blood. The deck was scattered with the twisted bodies of those who didn't make it. They had caught the plague from the halfling settlement, which had entirely succumbed to the Weeping, and had made a mad, desperate rush home. All of them in pain, all of them desperate and feral, all of them quite insane, all of them come to bring the blight to the holy city.
The artificer cried out, and the sentries sighted in. The captain of the watch made a panicked, tragic decision. He ordered every watchtower cannon in the city to turn on the Thunderflight and fire. Cannons blasted in the cavernous city, magical thunder and fire were loosed by the mages of the watch. Aether and Nether gnomes came together to defend their city. The insane stories of the Weeping, the ravaging of the surface world, it was all true. And it must not come here. The Thunderflight was destroyed barely beyond the tunnel entrance.
Afterward most gnomes simply dismissed the Plague as a surface problem that should be contained, but left to the surfacers to deal with. One gnome, however, knew the truth. Uruk Al'Azred, the gnome artificer with the spyglass, swore over the flaming wreckage of the Thunderflight that the Plague would be cleansed.
Unforseen Programming
It took years. The Weeping raged above, but Uruk Al'Azred kept working. At first he made proposals to the ruling council for his creation. They rejected them time after time - the Plague was a threat, true, but not one worth wasting valuable resources on while there were still arcane secrets undiscovered in the city, let alone elsewhere in gnome lands. Tired of the council's hypocritical stance and failure to see the danger right in front of them, Uruk struck out on his own.
He'd need raw materials, so he bought what he could and stole the rest. One thing Uruk was was devious, and though it took many years, he finally gathered the raw arcane materials required. During the intervening time, he was busy with other pursuits. His home, once a simple laboratory and artificer's forge, became the operating theatre of grisly, inhuman experiments. He kidnapped plague victims and their families from the surface, kept them contained in special force cages, and butchered them alive. Uruk did whatever was necessary to gain even a small understanding of the Plague, and in the time he spent he learned much. He subjected his "subjects" to extreme temperatures, living autopsies, disease interaction experiments, every sick and twisted experiment imaginable. In the end, he learned all he needed to.
His creation was magnificent: living constructs of iron and mithril, immune from all disease, able to hunt down and pacify all those infected, as well as those who had any dealings with them. The perfect synthesis of surgical blades, disinfecting fluids and the will required to do what was necessary. Only through careful pruning of the population and all those infected was the Weeping to be stopped. They were perfect. They were the Cleansers, a hundred living metal instruments for the surgical removal of the diseased tissue of the world.
Then, with a word, he turned them on.
Too quickly, they achieved sentience. The first being they saw was Uruk, and they knew he had handled the diseased. Perhaps Uruk would have been able to reason with them, explain that he had taken all the necessary precautions to avoid infection, had the Cleansers not operated their flensing blades and acid sprays and taken Uruk apart on the spot. Then, without a word, they left the artificer's lab burning, moving towards the surface.
The Rediscovery
Rumors would spring forth, from time to time, of metal horrors claiming entire villages. Even as the Plague died down, entire towns would simply drop off the map, people too afraid to investigate any sudden loss of contact with a town in fear of contracting the Weeping themselves.
Several years ago, a ranger named Jorn Tenbrier came across an amazing discovery. Jorn's favorite enemy was the Plaguetouched, a damned race that had risen from the survivors of the Weeping. Jorn felt only the purest hatred for the pathetic creatures, for they represented the Plague which had taken his family and the filth of the Plague Fiend. He had murdered hundreds of Plaguetouched, and had tracked down a small farmhouse where several of their kind had taken shelter, when he witnessed a remarkable thing. First horrible screaming, then the sight of metal beings slicing apart the infected, cleaning the ground, disinfecting the infection. It was so brutal, so efficient. It represented only the strongest will to do what was needed to clean up the Weeping. Jorn was moved.
Nobody knows why Jorn wasn't taken apart instantly by the Cleansers, all they know is, for the time being, Jorn now operates as the discoverer of new sources of Infection for the Cleansers to "clean up", their front man and fixer. Jorn employs agents throughout Ursoule to track down rumors of the Weeping or Plaguetouched communities, and report directly to him. Then, with the coldest heart and most ruthless execution, the Cleansers come calling to "fix" the situation.
The Loss of the Thunderflight
In the first years of the Plague, as the Weeping ravaged the surface world, deep underground, gnome society went on blissfully unaware. Strange tales of people of all races dying as their bodies twisted and wept blood filtered in through the few surface traders that came back and were all dismissed as completely mad. A demon-caused plague, sweeping over the entire surface world? Preposterous! How could any such thing be?
Then it came to the ancient city.
To give the gnomes credit, they reacted quickly enough. The Thunderflight was an Nether trade ship that had been sent two months previous from the ancient city to a halfling colony to trade in grain and ore. Many Netherese and even a few Aether were gathered by the dock to greet the sailors on their return. The Thunderflight soared in through the main cavern tunnel, floating majestically between the twin basalt columns that flanked the entrance. Gleaming iron plating and twin plumes of smoke were illuminated by the magic lanterns at the tunnel entrance, making for a beautiful sight. One enthusiastic Netherese artificer raised a spyglass to his eye so he could view the hardy sailors of such a magnificent vessel.
What he saw was sheer horror.
Pale, twisted mockeries of nature crewed the vessel's decks. Their clothing torn and stained, much like the Thunderflight's banners. They wept blood. The deck was scattered with the twisted bodies of those who didn't make it. They had caught the plague from the halfling settlement, which had entirely succumbed to the Weeping, and had made a mad, desperate rush home. All of them in pain, all of them desperate and feral, all of them quite insane, all of them come to bring the blight to the holy city.
The artificer cried out, and the sentries sighted in. The captain of the watch made a panicked, tragic decision. He ordered every watchtower cannon in the city to turn on the Thunderflight and fire. Cannons blasted in the cavernous city, magical thunder and fire were loosed by the mages of the watch. Aether and Nether gnomes came together to defend their city. The insane stories of the Weeping, the ravaging of the surface world, it was all true. And it must not come here. The Thunderflight was destroyed barely beyond the tunnel entrance.
Afterward most gnomes simply dismissed the Plague as a surface problem that should be contained, but left to the surfacers to deal with. One gnome, however, knew the truth. Uruk Al'Azred, the gnome artificer with the spyglass, swore over the flaming wreckage of the Thunderflight that the Plague would be cleansed.
Unforseen Programming
It took years. The Weeping raged above, but Uruk Al'Azred kept working. At first he made proposals to the ruling council for his creation. They rejected them time after time - the Plague was a threat, true, but not one worth wasting valuable resources on while there were still arcane secrets undiscovered in the city, let alone elsewhere in gnome lands. Tired of the council's hypocritical stance and failure to see the danger right in front of them, Uruk struck out on his own.
He'd need raw materials, so he bought what he could and stole the rest. One thing Uruk was was devious, and though it took many years, he finally gathered the raw arcane materials required. During the intervening time, he was busy with other pursuits. His home, once a simple laboratory and artificer's forge, became the operating theatre of grisly, inhuman experiments. He kidnapped plague victims and their families from the surface, kept them contained in special force cages, and butchered them alive. Uruk did whatever was necessary to gain even a small understanding of the Plague, and in the time he spent he learned much. He subjected his "subjects" to extreme temperatures, living autopsies, disease interaction experiments, every sick and twisted experiment imaginable. In the end, he learned all he needed to.
His creation was magnificent: living constructs of iron and mithril, immune from all disease, able to hunt down and pacify all those infected, as well as those who had any dealings with them. The perfect synthesis of surgical blades, disinfecting fluids and the will required to do what was necessary. Only through careful pruning of the population and all those infected was the Weeping to be stopped. They were perfect. They were the Cleansers, a hundred living metal instruments for the surgical removal of the diseased tissue of the world.
Then, with a word, he turned them on.
Too quickly, they achieved sentience. The first being they saw was Uruk, and they knew he had handled the diseased. Perhaps Uruk would have been able to reason with them, explain that he had taken all the necessary precautions to avoid infection, had the Cleansers not operated their flensing blades and acid sprays and taken Uruk apart on the spot. Then, without a word, they left the artificer's lab burning, moving towards the surface.
The Rediscovery
Rumors would spring forth, from time to time, of metal horrors claiming entire villages. Even as the Plague died down, entire towns would simply drop off the map, people too afraid to investigate any sudden loss of contact with a town in fear of contracting the Weeping themselves.
Several years ago, a ranger named Jorn Tenbrier came across an amazing discovery. Jorn's favorite enemy was the Plaguetouched, a damned race that had risen from the survivors of the Weeping. Jorn felt only the purest hatred for the pathetic creatures, for they represented the Plague which had taken his family and the filth of the Plague Fiend. He had murdered hundreds of Plaguetouched, and had tracked down a small farmhouse where several of their kind had taken shelter, when he witnessed a remarkable thing. First horrible screaming, then the sight of metal beings slicing apart the infected, cleaning the ground, disinfecting the infection. It was so brutal, so efficient. It represented only the strongest will to do what was needed to clean up the Weeping. Jorn was moved.
Nobody knows why Jorn wasn't taken apart instantly by the Cleansers, all they know is, for the time being, Jorn now operates as the discoverer of new sources of Infection for the Cleansers to "clean up", their front man and fixer. Jorn employs agents throughout Ursoule to track down rumors of the Weeping or Plaguetouched communities, and report directly to him. Then, with the coldest heart and most ruthless execution, the Cleansers come calling to "fix" the situation.