| Plaindog |
I am going to try something different when it comes to War interludes. I will try to tell the interludes through the eye of someone who experienced it. Something like this. I will also tell a different story based on their use of Triump points.
The next interlude might be through the eyes of Zauglagaul himself or something.
What did you do with the War interludes?
War interlude 1 - The Loss of Riverspire
As told by Lethariel Moonsong, Scout of the Southern Boughs.
Riverspire was quiet that night. The lanterns along the riverdocks burned low, their reflections trembling in the water like nervous stars. I was on the southern watchtower, bow in hand, listening to frogs and wind and nothing else.
Then the ground moved.
That was the first sign. The roots beneath the town swelled and split, and from them came the sound of wet laughter and cracking bark. Sickly spores drifted up like fireflies made of ash, glowing faintly green as they settled on roofs, cloaks, skin.
The first scream came from the riverside.
Demons poured from the treeline, horned silhouettes and things that were once animals, now walking gardens of rot. Fungal growths burst from their backs and jaws, pulsing as if alive. Arrows slowed them, but did not stop them. I remember pinning one through the eye, only for a second eye to open in its chest.
We fought anyway. Calistria help us, we fought.
I saw families dragged into the streets. I saw the river itself begin to change, its surface filmed with drifting mold, its currents carrying black sludge instead of water. I leapt from the tower and ran north along the river… and I swear it was following.
The town of Riverspire in southern Kyonin has fallen! An army of demons and fungal creatures attacked late at night, seeking to slaughter all who dwelled within it and expand Tanglebriar’s borders further to the northwest. Some of the townsfolk managed to escape north along the riverbanks, but now corruption has started seeping into the river waters as well, endangering all who dwell downriver.
Story for 0 Triump Points spent
By dawn, the screams were gone.
Those of us who escaped hid among the reeds and watched smoke rise where the town had stood. Demonic banners, of bark and sinew, were planted along the docks. The demons worked methodically, herding survivors into spore choked circles or dragging them below ground, where the earth pulsed as if swallowing.
The river turned fully then. Dark growths clung to its banks, and bloated fungal sacs drifted downstream, bursting as they struck rocks. Fish floated belly-up, their scales furred with gray mold. We dared not drink. We dared not follow the water south.
Riverspire was taken, roots and all
Story for 1 Triumph Point spent
The horns warned us.
Elven runners burst through the treeline, warning the elven population. Wardens held the southern roads while druids raised walls of thorns, buying us moments, precious, bleeding moments.
I covered the riverbank as families fled north, loosing arrows until my fingers was bleeding. When the first spores touched the water, a circle of casters froze the current solid long enough for the last boats to cross.
Riverspire still burned behind us while demons still claimed its streets.
But the people is alive. As we retreated north, I looked back once more. The river flowed again, tainted but not lost.
Riverspire fell, but it did not take us with it.