Fallen Warlord
A new mythic cycle begins for season three!
Welcome to the dawn of a new saga in a realm shimmering with magic, fraught with monsters, and brimming with spectacular adventure. We stand at a pivotal moment in history, where new conflicts foment and ancient ones echo.
This is a world born from a mythic cycle that endlessly turns. We are all, but actors in a constant struggle between order and chaos, creation and destruction. And that cycle is turning once more.
The Gods interfere in the world, taking sides. Balek aligns with the Maercant, and Mot with the Ardenne, leading to a dramatic divine gambit with the lives of humans. These divine schemes and the ensuing warfare are not without terrifying consequences.
But even in the face of such overwhelming fate, there is hope. You are about to embark on a heroic journey. Heroes, by their very definition, are those “who defy the predetermined course of fate” choosing to “chart their own courses, striding boldly into the unknown” and facing the challenges of their age!
Let us embark!
Episode 1
The “Fallen Warlord” is the inaugural episode of a new campaign set within a world shaped by an endlessly turning mythic cycle, where gods actively intervene in the lives of mortals. In this first episode, players assume the roles of low level characters within the Ardennese army, a dominant military power. The world is fraught with magic, monsters, and a constant struggle between order and chaos. One of these seemingly expendable characters will rise through the ranks to become a significant leader, and eventually, a central antagonist within the Ardenne military. The episode introduces rising conflict, gigantic behemoths, wartorn lands, and the beginnings and rise of a new Ardene Warlord.
- The Mythic Cycle Turns: The adventure begins with an introduction to a world governed by an endlessly turning mythic cycle, where gods like Balek (aligned with Maercant) and Mot (aligned with Ardenne) are engaged in a “divine gambit” with human lives.
- Jungle Blood: Mercenary Ardenne soldiers are sent deep into a jungle to recover the eggs of a Behemoth. Recovering an egg will prove their worth to Hrothgar, the Ardennese Warlord.
- Brutal Combat and Warlord’s Death: The mission quickly devolves into deadly combat. Both with the Behomoth and with each other. After this fight, the Warlord Hrothgar is killed.
- Honoring the Fallen: The surviving soldiers are tasked with honoring the Warlord and carrying his body back to camp.
- Return to Camp and Eulogy: The group returns to a bustling, disciplined Ardenne camp, where a eulogy is given for the fallen Warlord, Hrothgar.
- A New Leader Rises: After Hrothgar’s eulogy, Ironhelm, who brought back a Behemoth egg, is made the new Warlord. Ironhelm is known for the strength of character and charisma with the natural ability to command men.
- Conquest: Ironhelm rises to power, during which time the Behemoth eggs hatch and become companions to the new Warlord. Ironhelm begins a campaign of dominance, amassing troops, capturing territory, building strongholds, and modernizing the army.
- Emerging Threats: The morally ambiguous choices made by the Ironhelm (and his catains) lead to Ironhelm becoming the “butcher king”. The episode concludes with the war rising between the Ardenne and the Maercant and the Morningstar (a ship) being prepared for battle.
Prologue: The Turning Wheel
The world, a vibrant tapestry woven from magic and ancient strife, teetered on the precipice of a new age, its mythic cycle turning once more. For millennia, gods had played their divine gambits, their colossal wills shaping the destinies of mortals. Balek, the enigmatic patron of the mercantile Maercant, pitted his might against Mot, the fierce deity of chaos championing the militaristic Ardenne. Their celestial war, a dance of creation and destruction, bled into the mortal realms, unleashing terrifying consequences upon humanity. Yet, even in the face of such overwhelming fate, a nascent hope flickered – in the hearts of those who dared to defy the predetermined course, to chart their own path through the storm. This was the dawn of a new saga, and its first chapter began not with kings or legendary heroes, but with the lowest ranks of the Ardenne army.
Act I: The Behemoth
The Jungle’s Maw
The jungle swallowed them whole, a twisted lattice of green blotting out the sun. Shafts of light pierced through in broken fragments, illuminating swarms of insects that drifted like glittering motes in the thick, oppressive air. Each step sank into damp soil, the scent of wet moss and decaying vegetation clinging to their lungs. This was the Southern part of the continent, far from civilization. A small band of low-level soldiers, barely trained and utterly expendable, march for the favor of the Warlord Hrothgar. Hrothgar was a man to behold, his broad shoulders cloaked in wolfskin and a jagged scar, proudly borne, ran from brow to cheek. His hands, gnarled and powerful, gripped a great axe, its iron head dark with the patina of countless battles. His voice, deep and steady like the sea before a storm, had thundered their impossible orders: “Recover the young of a Behemoth. Its egg.”. A fool’s errand, perhaps, yet they pressed on, each step a testament to Ardenne obedience, or perhaps, desperation. Nestled in a colossal bowl woven from splintered logs, upward trees, and overgrowth, lay the prize: massive, leathery eggs, each one easily the size of a barrel. As the group approached, Bjorn, one of the warriors, muttered in the old tongue, “There are eggs ahead and we need to figure out how to get them and eliminate the rest of the group”.
“Brothers, we must kill the Behemoth!” - Ironhelm’s rallying cry.
The combat with the Behemoth erupted without warning, a maelstrom of claws, teeth, and raw, primordial fury. A hulking Behemoth, its massive form a shuddering force of chaos, lunged from the dense foliage, tearing through their unprepared ranks. In a single, devastating bite, the beast claimed Sid Knotskull, whose gaunt, withered arm and skeletal frame were no match, silencing the unfortunate priest in one bite. Chaos erupted, but a brave few held their ground. Burnhood, screaming, “Not scared! Not scared!”, raced towards the monster’s foot, leaping to hug its ankle and valiantly chopping away with a handaxe, managing to draw first blood from the titanic creature.
The Behemoth, an apex predator whose guttural bellows shook the very trees, was a formidable foe, completely outmatching the adventurers. As the warriors moved in, one character, Thorgar Iron Fury Scald, found himself directly in the path of the beast. The Behemoth unleashed a devastating tail sweep, smashing into the nest. Thorgar, a man known for his braided hair matted with blood and frost, was sent “careening through the jungle”. With his last breath, he whispered, “You got this, bro,” before succumbing to a brutal 33 points of damage, ending his journey.
Hrothgar’s Death
Meanwhile, from the undergrowth, Iron Fang, having stewed a “vicious, lumpy, vile, and ballistically accurate” lugie for days, spit with expert precision straight into the Behemoth’s face. Yet, even as the monstrous form recoiled, another warrior, Bjorn, emerged from the brush, fixing the beast with a glare and a thunderous “Shut it!” primal shout. To the astonishment of all, the behemoth, momentarily chastised, recoiled and lost its next turn, its immense form taking a step back as if obeying a stern command. The battle, already a brutal dance of survival, shifted with every desperate act, each moment a testament to the fragile line between terror and audacious defiance.
“Shut it!” -Bjorn to the Behemoth.
Panic threatened to unravel the remaining survivors. One, a stoic warrior named Ragna, found herself clutching a Behemoth egg, its smooth surface a stark contrast to the bloody carnage around her. Another, Ironhelm, his usual thunderous voice now a desperate roar, rallied the shattered remnants of their squad.
After loosing several men, the war band successfully stole two behemoth eggs and returned to awaiting Ardenne in the jungle. The Warlord Hrothgar, the seemingly indomitable chieftain, is killed when the low-level characters surprise attack him and snap his spine and then use a hallucinogenic potion is to cover up the act and confuse the remaining Ardenne. Finally the Ardenne warriors carried Hrothgar’s limp body on a shield, a solemn promise to bring their fallen leader home.
Act II: The Fallen Warlord
Return to the Camp
The Ardenne encampment, when they finally reached it, was a bustling, disciplined affair, a stark contrast to the chaotic jungle they had barely escaped. Leather tents and crude wooden structures huddled around a central fire, the air thick with the smell of woodsmoke, roasting meat, and unwashed bodies. Soldiers, clad in furs and leather, moved with grim purpose, their actions a reflection of the Ardenne’s fierce reputation. The rhythmic clang of hammers from a nearby forge and the guttural shouts of officers pierced the constant hum of conversation.
As Ragna and Ironhelm report Hrothgar’s demise while a somber war drum echoed across the village – a summons, an ushering of a fallen warrior. Branches and flowers were thrown towards them, a final tribute to the “wolf cloaked king” as he rode his “final voyage”. Hrothgar was laid to rest, his broken spine a silent witness to the brutal truth of their world.
Ironhelm’s eulogy for Warlord Hrothgar:
“Raise your horns high, for Hrothgar has gone to the halls of the gods.”
“He was a storm upon the sea, an axe in the dark, a wolf among men. His cloak was the hide of the beast he slew, his scars the runes of battles won. He stood as shield and spear for his people, never bending, never breaking, until his last breath was spent in their defense.”
“The earth bears his footprints, the sea remembers his oars, and the sky has carried his war-cry. Enemies feared his name; friends feasted in his shadow. Hrothgar did not live quietly, and he shall not be forgotten quietly.”
“Now he sails the whale-road to the underealm, where the Allfather himself will pour his mead. There he will sit among the honored dead, a place at the high table reserved for kings and killers of kings.”
“So mourn not as if he is gone — sing as if he still stands beside us. For as long as we raise steel and song, Hrothgar’s name will thunder across the ages.”
The Butcher King’s Coronation
With the Warlord fallen, a new leader was demanded. Ragna, still clutching the miraculous Behemoth egg she had retrieved, stepped forward. “I believe I have received a field promotion,” a voice declared, and the Ardenne soldiers, after a moment of uncertainty, Ironbelm also presented his egg and was chosen as the new Warlord. All the Ardennese pledged their allegiance. Ironhelm, with his commanding presence , reputation, and charisma, had already garnered significant support amongst the Ardenne, even before their ill-fated mission. He was chosen, or perhaps he chose himself, as so became the new Warlord of the Ardenne.
Act III: Conquest
The Butcher King
Months pass, stretching into a new epoch of Ardennese dominance. The Behemoth eggs, symbols of Ironhelm’s ascent, hatched under his watchful eye, and grew into monstrous and fierce companions. Under his iron will, the Ardenne gathered strength in the southern half of the continent. Ironhelm, now a hardened warlord, subjugated other kingdoms, his armies sweeping across the land in a “bloody campaign of dominance”. Strongholds rose from conquered territories, a testament to his ambition. He modernized his army, implementing new tactics and making difficult leadership decisions, balancing social encounters within his camp with the relentless march of conquest.
As Ironhelm ascended to leadership among the Ardenese, following the unexpected demise of Warlord Hrothgar, he was immediately confronted with a series of profound moral questions, each bearing the weight of his burgeoning power and the future of his people. His first true test arrived swiftly, amidst the bustling, disciplined war camp. With the clamor of the forge and the hum of conversation filling the air, a vital decision awaited him regarding the organization of the newly amassed army. His advisors presented the dilemma: should they have organized the troops by their native villages, ensuring units fought with the fierce loyalty of kin, yet risking the utter devastation of entire communities if those units fall in battle? Or should he, as the burgeoning leader, have mixed the troops, fostering a broader brotherhood within the Ardenne, but perhaps diluting the fierce, personal bonds that fueled their valor? Ironhelm’s choice would define the very fabric of his army and the societal cost of its inevitable conflicts, a delicate balance between cohesion and catastrophic loss. He chose to mix the villages, declaring, “We are one, we are the Arden, we fight together, we bleed together, we mix the villages blood”. This decision aimed to forge a collective identity, strengthening the whole, but potentially sacrificing the tight-knit support of local communities if they fell.
"”We are one, we are the Arden, we fight together, we bleed together, we mix the villages blood.” -Ironhelm
Soon after, a more immediate and personal challenge arose in the form of Stiger, a local leader who had openly defied Ironhelm’s orders and encouraged others to abandon the ranks. Stiger was brought before him, clad in irons, a symbol of direct treason. The choice was stark: execution, deemed worthy of death for such an act and vital to prevent the army’s unraveling, or an act of leniency that might undermine Ironhelm’s freshly claimed authority. The weight of setting a precedent, of demonstrating the nature of his rule – merciless tyrant or unifying force – fell heavily upon him. Stiger’s words echoed, “If you kill me, I will die a martyr,” challenging Ironhelm to consider the perception of his actions. In a surprising turn, Ironhelm offered Stiger a sword, choosing to duel him, and through this display of honor, brought Stiger to his side.
“If you kill me, I will die a martyr!” -Stigr
A later, even more brutal, moral crossroads presented itself on the battlefield. After a successful campaign of dominance and the subjugation of kingdoms, Ironhelm faced three regiments of enemy soldiers, stripped of their arms, beaten, and awaiting his word. The choice was simple yet horrifying: execute them all, sparing none, solidifying his reputation as “the Butcher King” among the Ardenese, whose cruelty would be remembered by the earth itself. This would rally his troops through fear and decisive action, ensuring rapid compliance in newly conquered territories. Or could there be another path, one that, while potentially risking morale, might lay the groundwork for a different kind of rule? His decree was given: “spare no one,” and “steel flashes, throats are cut, bodies left for the crows,” as his army cheered. This decision cemented his fearsome legacy, ensuring his name would thunder across the ages, but forever stained by the blood of the vanquished. These choices—from uniting his people to deciding the fate of dissidents and captured foes—were not merely strategic; they were moral crucibles that forged Ironhelm’s identity as a leader, painting him as either a unifier or a tyrant, and shaping the destiny of the Ardenese Empire. His path was that of “the Butcher King,” wearing a crown hammered from the helms of his slaughtered enemies, a gaoler of nations whose cruelty the earth remembered.
The Morningstar’s Awakening
But even as the Ardenne empire expanded, shadows gathered. The Maercant, the burgeoning cosmopolitan commonwealth, grew in naval power, their trading routes extensive, and their influence steadily encroaching. Amidst this escalating tension, a vessel of renown is fitted in Maercant territory. Its timbers were dark and strong, its deck bristling with cannons. Carved into its stern, in newly painted letters, lay its name: The Morningstar.
The war between the Ardenne and the Maercant rages on, its fate intertwined with the choices of Ironhelm, the “butcher king”. The cycle, indeed, had turned. And Ironbelm, once a zero-level soldier had become a warlord king, was now irrevocably bound to its bloody, inevitable path. The story, once a simple quest for an egg, had blossomed into an epic of power, betrayal, and the shaping of a new, brutal age.