Beginnings

[Sierra]

No one saw it coming.

No matter how much the time of troubles might be invoked after the fact by preachers to chide the immoral and indecent, by mothers to frighten their children into behaving, or by the crown to remind citizens of their civic responsibilities, the fact remains that no one among the authorities or the populace of Solata was prepared for the decade's worth of deceit, strife and bloodshed collectively referred to as the Unrest.

Before the troubles began, the kingdom of Solata was a picture of unassailable prosperity. Temporate in climate, predominantly human in composition with a notable minority of elves dwelling within the official borders (who were content to be considered Solati as long as the crown was willing to overlook their not paying taxes, an arrangement the crown was regularly forced to accept given the inability of tax collectors to locate their forest homes). Bracketed by imposing mountains to the east and west, with the security of the open ocean to the north, and a southern border consolidated through resounding military victories and unchallenged for decades. Blessed with ample mineral resources, forests to fell for timber, open plains and the sea's bounty to feed the populace, no material element necessary for a growing nation's development could not be found within its borders. But even at the best of times, there were some for whom peace and stability was not enough--the restless and ambitious could not help but consider, in their idle moments, whether the order of Solata could be reworked in some way that would benefit them personally.

It was this seed that allowed an alien element to insert itself, to foment discord and feed off the spoils. Historians and royal enforcers alike would later struggle to reconstruct the early stages of conspiracy, which quite by necessity did not actively document its activities, but interrogations would reveal some consistent patterns: the approach of a mysterious individual of no renown but demonstrable wealth and charm; offers of aid material, arcane and martial in reducing adversaries; compounding debts and obligations as the client reaped benefits social and material from his hasty bargain; complete subjection once the mysterious patron's true nature was made known, and the client so thoroughly ensnared in the web of greed as to make escape impossible. Routinely it was an aristocrat or a merchant prince that served as the first contact, wealthy men of identical circumstances and ambitions, easily convinced of the mutual enrichment potential in a cabal of like minds, and thence to convert their family, subordinates and inferiors.

Some of the guilty later attempted to renounce their misdeeds on grounds that they did not initially realize they dealt with devils, and many outside the upper echelons of rebel cells would insist that they never understood the true nature of their mysterious benefactors at all (arguments which were rarely successful in staying the headsman's axe). But the net result of these infernal bargains was that it generated a ready market for demonic aid among the ranks of the oppressed and dispossessed, the vengeful and the rebellious, and the simply hedonistic--and soon Solata found itself a shadowy staging ground for a wing of the endless war waged between Baator and the Abyss. Proper factions coalesced--one authoritarian and militaristic, the other viciously anarchic--and in time waged proper war as whole cities came under their control.

Insofar as the path of corruption can be traced with so many of its architects now dead or vanished, the point of origin is generally agreed to be Amaranth, a provincial capital in southwest Solata whose livelihood stemmed principally from simple exploitation of the land--mining, timber, the cultivation of apples--and whose national profile rarely rose above mild praise for its colorful harvest festivals (expressed via ironic condescension in more fashionable metropolitan circles, of course). Of no great social sophistication or renown, Amaranth nonetheless remained a focus of conflict and fiendish activity throughout the time of troubles (at the peak of the Unrest, it was occupied for two years by soldiers under the command of mercenary captain Connor Creel, whose marching orders came directly from infernal generals). Some scholars (and moralists) point to Amaranth's relative insignifigance to suggest that fiendish infiltration was first initiated at the request of mortal supplicants rather than part of any grand design, and certainly the crucial inability of the fiends to infiltrate royal circles would support the theory that the proxy war waged through Solata was an opportunistic one.

But regardless of what provided the initial spark, the fire found no scarcity of fuel. When one otherworldly faction found its progress stymied in Amaranth, it took its campaign of subversion to neighboring towns to counterbalance its adversary's influence. The ensuing chain reaction was inevitable, the royal reaction tepid and muddled. The queen, famously charitable and forgiving, derided by her critics as soft-hearted (and occasionally soft-headed), mustered only a halfhearted attempt at martial law which could inadvertantly further the designs of either faction. Infernal surrogates in particular cited the crown's weakness as justification to enforce order on a local level through their own authority, by whatever means and methods proved necessary.

It would be alleged in later years (quietly, so as not to offend the heir to the throne) that the queen did not at the time properly understand the magnitude of the threat Solata faced, and through complacence and naivete allowed the situation to deteriorate far more than an experienced monarch would have permitted. Nonetheless, the persistent failure of either faction to sway the royal household would be deemed instrumental in staving off total disaster.

Ultimately, the outsiders did not take such intransigence in good grace.

After the horrific murder of Queen Auranelle, Regent Verlaine's inquisitors were relentless in ferreting out any personal secret, flaw, or misdeed that could tie Solata's socially prominent citizens to upstart factions (or make them potential risks for enemy subversion via blackmail). Assistance was solicited from crusaders more experienced in combating a menace from the lower planes, chief among them itinerant heroes operating under the aegis of Pelor and St. Cuthbert (though the latter church would see its reputation blackened for years after the revelation that one of its principal clerics was carefully shepherding allied operations to target abyssal activities and leave infernal cells unmolested). Coordinated strikes were planned to expose collaborators in the most devastatingly public of ways, sometimes even in the company of their patrons--at which point their unmasked fiendish masters lashed out with a ferocity that left quiet villages like Oakleaf and Crystal Harbor descriptively rebranded as Smoking Hollow and Bitter Shore. Historians reconstructing events would later conclude that such outbursts, though devastating to the locales in which they occurred, conclusively turned the populace against the rebel factions and demonstrated even to faithful thralls the deterioration of the interlopers' control. And from the capital outward, one city at a time, Solata was gradually reclaimed.

Beyond those slain in battle, and even setting aside the incalculable devastation of infrastructure, Solata emerged from the Unrest a leaner nation, bereft of a broad swath of citizens from all ages and stations. All manner of circumstance contributed to the ranks of the missing and lost: thousands of bystanders starved dead from the privations of the times; an unknowable number vanished to feed the dread appetites of fiends; refugees sought safety overseas and never returned; individuals, families and sometimes small villages were dragged away as slaves by retreating infernal forces; conspirators fled to other worlds to escape justice.

And sometimes people disappeared simply because they wished to.

~

Victory can prove an elusive target when the enemy lies within. Even after the official royal declaration of triumph over rebellious elements, weary soldiers were forced to attend to the pacification of masterless mercenaries ruling country towns as their own personal fiefdoms, bands of orcs and gnolls come down from the mountains to exploit the turmoil in raiding, and the opportunistic occupation of border counties by Solata's southern neighbor. Even the trials proved to be their own protracted nightmare--while many noble families were stripped of lands and title as penalty for collaboration, still others successfully maintained their position by disavowing and disinheriting their guilty relations. And inevitably the gears of justice ground slowly when spite and old grudges expressed themselves through false accusations.

But twenty years later King Aric rules, if not with good humor (and who can blame a young man for growing up with a dour outlook after his mother is butchered in her own bed?), at least with diligence--and a distinct lack of patience with citizens who are not enthusiastically cooperative in answering whatsoever question may be posed to them by a royal official. But it cannot be denied that Solata has seen a return to safety and prosperity, even if its travails have perhaps left it a less welcoming place for the unknown and unusual.

[Sierra]

October 15th, in the 25th year of King Aric's reign, 672nd year since Solata's founding

Amaranth lounges late abed this morning in the indulgent sleep of the celebrant and gourmand. Another harvest festival has come and gone, and in the wake of its merriment left the city streets littered with torn bunting, wayward shoes, and a not inconsiderable amount of recycled apple brandy. It is a civic holiday and a day of rest on which decent folk should not expect to stir themselves for work. And yet, three of the city's more unusual inhabitants find themselves roused to attend upon one Rosemund Whitefall. She is known to each of her three guests at least in passing:

-To Stephanie, as a frequent inhabitant of the temple of Pelor, if not exactly serving such in any official priestly capacity.

-To Julia, as a fellow healer tending to Amaranth's sick and ailing, albeit through different means, magical and instinctive instead of practical.

-To Franceska, as perhaps the only person persistent enough to make herself part of the barrister's very limited social circle.

A city fixture for enthusiastically volunteering her healing magics for the common good, but somewhat short on the discipline and focus needed to enter the priesthood proper; educated, but somehow not scholarly; raised primarily by her only remaining (and very protective) blood relative; orphaned in war, yet too young to recall that which was lost. Rosemund principally leaves as her first impression an oblivious collection of well-meaning but undirected intentions. The first years of her life (and not coincidentally the last of the war) saw her safely ensconced in the capital whilst fighting raged through Amaranth's streets, a fact many jealous youths were keen not to let her forget when she arrived here in blissful ignorance of the city's very recent violent past. Perhaps it was this that led her to seek out odd personal acquaintances...but one could just as easily suppose her magnanimous nature accountable for that as well.

"I am so glad you all could make it," she begins once everyone is gathered in the foyer of the comfortably-appointed city home she shares with her maternal aunt. "I am so terribly sorry to wake each of you after such a busy night as you all must have had. I can only assure you that I would not have done so were time not of the essence in this matter." Rosemund herself looks more than well-rested, quite energetic and alert, which she explains with an awkward diversion: "Ah, I myself was abed very early. You see, I had the most curious conversation with this stranger at the festival and I found myself compelled to head home and fall asleep right after..." She looks distracted a moment before rallying brightly. "But I will come to that soon enough!

"You see, this morning, when the acolytes were tidying up the temple for services? You will not believe what they discovered. When they opened up the vault to count out the morning's alms, well--the Dawnstar was gone!" For the sake of those less well-versed on the subject of the sun god's holy relics, she elaborates: "Oh, it was a holy weapon wielded by crusaders during the war. Many a fiend was smote with it, I assure you! It passed through the hands of many great heroes." She adds that last with the solemn implication that martyrdom was the routine cause of change in ownership. "Can you imagine that?" she continues. "A thief in the night, walking right into our vault brazen as day? Committing such blasphemy!

"And so, to why you are all here--" She buries her face in her hands, and emits an aggrieved sigh before continuing. "Oh, it's all my fault, you see--I thought back to last night and realized that instantly, how I prattled on and on like a fool to someone who I didn't even know who they were...well, I think it clear our thief used me to find out where our vault is and how it's guarded and locked, and I cannot tell you all how I burn with shame to think I'm responsible for it all. I still don't understand what came over me! Sharing all my knowledge with this stranger, and you know now I cannot even recall a face? But the point is that I was taken in by this scoundrel and I simply must make amends myself, by tracking this, this ne'erdowell to their dastardly lair and taking back what they hadn't any right to set their hands upon!

"You see, I think the thief has gone a rather long ways away--oh, but also rather not far away? Let me explain. As soon as I heard the news this morning, as soon as I realized what had happened, I set to questioning anyone who could have seen me with the stranger last night--shopkeepers, guardsmen, everyone in the pie-eating contest (it was right by that pavilion, you know), whatsoever faces I could bring to memory. And would you know, although many of them just thought I imagined everything because I had drunk too much (which is not at all true, you understand) and several of them just wanted me to let them go back to sleep, I did find witnesses who saw me speaking to a cloaked figure just before I went home for the night? And all of them swore they saw this person depart the festival heading east.

"And do you know what else? I encountered a group of woodsmen at the edge of town who would swear on their mothers' graves they saw a strange constellation of lights in the brush outside the city throughout the night, like a manor house all lit up. Right in the space where--oh, you remember those stories we'd all hear as children, of a mansion which used to sit out in the woods? That there was a wizard who lived there, and folk whispered of how he'd consort with demons and get up to all manner of unsavory business but no one could ever prove anything? And then back during the war the whole mansion just up and vanished in a blink? And how when you were very young your aunt would warn you that if you didn't sit still and let her wash your hair like a proper girl then that wizard would snatch you up and use you in one of his wicked ceremonies? Or, well, not your aunt, but I suppose your parents--" She seems to remember her audience, and has the good grace to look chastened as she addresses her feet. "Well, you know, that is the sort of thing people said.

"But there was a house there once, everyone agrees that part is not a crazy story. So you see, I knew this could not all be coincidence, I went out to see the spot myself, and I found a broad bed of soil freshly turned up. As though something had been there and then suddenly was not! So I enlisted Auntie Leah--ah, that is, Lady Harbinger--to have her look at it for magic and she said, yes Rosemund, that is a great curious patch of dirt, but it will keep on being a great patch of dirt and can it not wait until after I have slept this off? But I pressed on and we had some men dig at it and would you know, there is a portal to another world down there? Under that house all those years and no one knew a thing about it!" Rosemund beams so much in triumph that she could make crops grow.

"So I know where this thief has snuck away to, in a manner of speaking at least, and I simply must retrieve the Dawnstar before it's desecrated in some evil ritual...but, ah, you see, I've decided I should not attempt this without a company of brave fellows at my side." She mutters in an embarrassed aside, "And it's not at all because of Auntie Leah insisting I not go on my way without an entourage," before continuing in her ebulliently gregarious manner.

"I feel certain I was ensorceled in some manner, to tell them everything they wished to know about our temple as I did? I cannot let that happen again! As much as it pains me to ask another to share the burden of my weakness, I fear I must travel in numbers to ensure success. So I ask each of you..." She addresses Stephanie, Julia, and Franceska in turn: "Another who walks in the sun, a respected fellow professional, and an old friend...will you help me? Oh, I am sure this little task will not keep you from your daily lives for any great time!"