The Isteran Chronicles Campaign Introduction

Five years have passed since the prophecy of the Black Dragon came to pass. The events that took place shook Istera to its very core, and have affected everyone across the known lands. For most, it has finally begun to sink in that history has been witnessed. Future generations will speak of this time in a way similar to the other major historical events in Isteran history. No one is unaffected.

The Black Dragon prophecy spoken by the Great Blue Dragon Mumaru was true. The world was subjugated, and a singular chaotic force rose to power. Those that sacrificed everything are remembered, and the heroes that aided in humanity’s fight against the Black Dragon’s tyranny still live. Their names carry across almost the entire known lands. They would, in fact, be known everywhere; if only Istera was not still in such a state of disrepair and danger.
Much work has been done to repair the damage that Lord Philes, fulfiller of the Black Dragon prophecy, has done. Being a mage of immense power from as far back as the Tribal Conflicts, the schemes and magics he set in motion and awakened continue to fester and work, as though guided by some invisible hand. There is no knowing what terrors or monstrosities are currently set loose upon the land; and further still, what of those are yet to come...

Prelude

Dust falls from the ceiling of the dimly lit room. Some of the larger pieces glint and disappear as they touch the open flame of the single candle lighting this space. The room shakes, and more dust is launched in to the air. A middle aged Luminai, dressed in elegant red robes, mutters under his breath while he furiously writes this note:

”It seems I’m to starve to death here. These Tribal Conflicts have destroyed us. The Destroyer that the betrayers have sent to destroy this holy place sits in wait. I do not think it knows I am here, otherwise it would have killed me by now. I also do not know what magic fuels these abominations, but surely the Great Dragon Gods must have a plan for their people. If ever this note or these trinkets here are found, know this: the Destroyer that laid waste to this great temple is but one of many.
I can only speculate as to how the betrayers will rewrite this history, but I do not think that they are likely to include the fact that they are the ones responsible for creating these abominations.
As a servant to Yrvonth, the Great Red Dragon God of old, I refuse to let my enemies have the pleasure of taking my life. I choose to die here of starvation, in hopes that some day the door to my room may be discovered, and the truth revealed.
Lord Philes is the leader of these betrayers. He commands a control over magic never before seen. He believes our great dragon gods have left us, and that the only way to guarantee an end to war and suffering is to take the dragon’s power for ourselves.
Blasphemer!
Heretic!
I’ve heard he sustains his miserable life by harvesting the slivers of Dragon’s Blood within the veins of beings all across Istera, and infusing this into his own blood! Surely the Great Dragon Gods will avenge those that this terrible man has violated!
As for me, I choose to die with honor, pride, and a fiery heart of defiance.”

Present Day Llane, the City of Towers

”My Lord, I have brought you the fruits you requested. I beg of you, please release my son.” A large tusked figure shifts in his thrown, his hulking figure casting a shadow over the frail looking human female bowing before him. He snorts. ”Bring me the basket!”

As the tusked hulk speaks, it is difficult to understand his words, sounding gruff and loud. Two men rush the small basket of Tulla fruit to his feet and back away. ”These smell...” He snorts in the scent of pale looking fruit. ”...fresh.” A smile emerges across his deeply scarred and thick skinned face.
”Tell me woman, is your son of working age?”
The woman shakily replies, ”He....he is.”
”And does he serve your king loyally?”
”He does.”
The tusked hulk gestures with his hand, dismissing the woman. With another gesture, a guard brings out a young man, who immediately runs to his mother and embraces her.
A loud juicy crunch is then heard throughout the hall, followed by a cough.
”WAIT!” the hulking figure shouts.
”These Tulla fruit are NOT fresh! YOU LIED TO ME.”

In what seems like a flash, the figure darts from his throne, withdraws a massive ax from his side, and cleaves the woman in two. The young man, standing terrified, looks into the eyes of his mother’s killer.
”Next time, I expect fresh Tulla.”

Once harboring a beautiful marketplace, the central city square now lay dormant. Among the various boarded shop doors and windows are signs, blowing in harsh wind. They are difficult to read, thanks to the storms that have blown in. However, a young and hopeful child, naive of her fateful future, reads one of the signs:

”Your almighty Lord Gamin requires all able bodied men to report for the defense of
our common good. Should you prove your might in his army, you shall be entitled to
great riches and favor.”