The rise and fall of the Indorani

You open a simple book entitled, "The rise and fall of the Indorani" to the bookmark, on page 1, and begin reading.

Many centuries ago, during the twilight of the first age, a cold wind
blew in from the north. It sped through the icy hills and the grassy
prairies, over the bogs and the forests, bringing a chill into the heart of the simple folk who made their living from the fruits of the earth.
And in those it touched, the cold wind awoke an icy flame, a strange
yearning that was both bitter and sweet, darkly lulling yet more
energizing than the freshest winter day. Those who were thus awakened
found no more rest in the simple work of their fields, and ever did
their eyes turn towards the dark mountains of the north, waiting for
something they did not yet comprehend.

The wind never returned. But in its stead, the northern skies brought
forth a storm as had never been seen by mortal eyes. Darkness filled the sky at the height of noon as dark green clouds filled with the wrath of Gods brought forth an onslaught of poisonous rain on the starved land of Aetolia. For days, the earth shuddered beneath the destructive cacophony of rain. Yet no ordinary rain of the Storm Goddess was this, for it was not the water of Her seas that poured down upon the thirsty land.
Instead, foul smelling liquid tinted with the green of


For thirteen nights, thirteen hours, and thirteen minutes did the rain ravage the land. And then, as suddenly as it had come, it was gone. Yet it had sown within the marked ones a seed that no simple life could
sustain, a lust for power and immortality that would not be quenched.

You open a simple book entitled, "The rise and fall of the Indorani" to the bookmark, on page 2, and begin reading.

Driven by a not yet understood need, many left their homes. Yet it was not to the north that they pressed onward to, but instead to the south where the dark clouds had disappeared. From every corner of the
continent they came, grim-faced men and proud women, bringing with them nothing but their unbending determination. And so it was that at
midnight on the thirteenth day of the Black Month did they gather at the foot of a towering mountain, lost within the endless desert of the
South.

In silence, they stood before a morbid opening to a dark cave that
loomed before their eyes, knowing by some strange power that they had
come at last to their goal. Even as midnight flooded over the starless sky, a shadowed shape emerged from the cavern. As one, all those who had come fell to their knees - such was the power of the one who walked
towards them, his face shrouded in night, his body cloaked in power.

It will never be known what he told them that dark night when neither
stars nor moon made their way across the sky. What is whispered, though, was that when the sun arose, one hundred and thirteen of those who had come had disappeared. The others lay dead upon the heating sand, their faces twisted in images of untold pain, their lifeless bodies drained of blood. Holes gaped where the hearts of the dead had once been, and blood covered their hands and faces.

You open a simple book entitled, "The rise and fall of the Indorani" to the bookmark, on page 3, and begin reading.

A passing nomad of the desert stumbled upon this horrible sight. Among the ruins of the bodies that filled the hot desert with the stench of
decay, he found a single child still breathing. He took the little girl with him to his encampment, and, once she had recovered, attempted to
learn the truth of what had happened. But the child only cried and
screamed of voices in the night and a horrible, gouging shadow that
descended in the late hours of night. Fear grew in the heart of those
who heard this tale, fear of the unknown evil that loomed among the
desert sands. Blood Chasm, they christened that mountain, for blood
seeped from it, yet all who wandered into its depths disappeared as if the underworld had swallowed them whole.

Yet for almost a decade, nothing was heard of the dark cavern in the
southern reaches of the world. From time to time, desert nomads brought news of strange screams in the night and the disappearance of many
desert animals. Encampments moved as far away from the dreaded caverns as they could go, and only the fearless Mhuns continued living in
relative vicinity, safe in their underground halls. None knew why the
Mhuns were not touched by the evil that neighbored them, and the Mhunna himself would not speak of it. And so the fears began to subside as the dark world faded into the realm of legend.

You open a simple book entitled, "The rise and fall of the Indorani" to the bookmark, on page 4, and begin reading.

Until one day, the northern skies were filled with foul cries of beasts.
Column upon column of creatures as had never been seen before descended upon the villages, their foul bodies bearing three heads - that of a
lion, a goat, and a dragon. Upon them sat robed figures, tall men and
women whose very demeanor inspired terror in the hearts of all who saw them. From their hands shot black fire, and all that they touched
withered. Fires of destructions raged across the land as the winged
armies marched forth, the world falling to their knees before the
unstoppable forces of the Children of Despair, as they called themselves - Indorani, in an ancient tongue. Yet more than the armies themselves
was feared the sorcerer that rode before them, a figure that was
shrouded in night. Yetrent, his people called him. Deathbringer was the name given to him by the people of the world.

It took ten years for the Indorani to emerge from within the depths of their caverns. It took one year before all of Sapience lay under their dark sway, a control so powerful no military might needed to maintain
it. For the world did not lie under the shadow of physical chains - it was the chains of fear and horror that kept the once free villagers
slaves to the whims of the Indorani. Each year, each village under their power would bring a single child - the most intelligent and the most
talented of all their children - to the dark gates of the Blood Chasm.
Nothing else was ever heard from those children again, but within three years of their disappearance, a brother, a mother, or someone once dear to the child would be found dead in the morning, their hearts gouged and their bodies drained of blood.

You open a simple book entitled, "The rise and fall of the Indorani" to the bookmark, on page 5, and begin reading.

The Reign of Despair, as this dark time came to be called, lasted for
almost 200 years. During this time, the sway of the Indorani was so
strong that no guild, city nor village could dare muster the power to
defy the Children of Despair. Despite the passage of time, the feared
sorcerer Yetrent continued marching at the head of his armies of fear, untouched by age to the amazement and terror of all.

Yet towards the middle of the second age, the tide began to change. A
new force rose in the land, that of gentle knights and of great healers who could draw on the depths of their light and use the power of good to perform miracles. At first, this rising might went unnoticed by the
Indorani. Yet soon, they found that their strength was beginning to
weaken. Furious and uncertain as to what could possibly be draining his power, Yetrent sent out a small group of the most powerful sorcerers to search for the source of this weakness.

The strength of the Indorani did not come from thin air. Early in their history, under the guidance of Yetrent they had decided to construct a great statue of a sphinx within the reaches of their home desert.
Because they themselves were no great builders, preferring to corrupt
and destroy, they had made an agreement with the Mhuns of Moghedu. In
exchange for building this statue the Indorani would leave the Mhuns be, allowing them to continue their lives undisturbed. The Great Mhunna
assented gladly, and so it was that the great Sphinx of Ruby rose in the reaches of the desert. It was rumored that the place where the sphinx
was built was a point of power in the universe, and the strange
structure was able to focus this power, turning it towards the Indorani.

You open a simple book entitled, "The rise and fall of the Indorani" to the bookmark, on page 6, and begin reading.

One can only imagine the horror of the Indorani sent by Yetrent to
investigate when they journeyed towards their holiest of places and
found the sentries slain and the sphinx turned a brilliant sapphire.
Instead of greeting them gladly and accepting their gifts of riddles
which it liked so much, the Sphinx attacked the Indorani, grievously
hurting one of the party. Quickly, they hurried home to tell Yetrent the bad news. Yet the wounded woman was a burden to them, and so they had
decided to leave her in a nearby oasis with enough food to last a month, and return for her later.

But even as they kneeled before Yetrent, speaking of the horrible
tragedy they uncovered, the doors to the audience chamber were flung
open and the woman they had left behind came in - perfectly healthy,
alive, and well. With wonder and disgust mixing on her face, she told
them that as she lay bleeding under the palms of the Oasis, a strange
man clad in white robes approached her. Behind him trailed a creature
made of pure light, which she at first took to be a hallucination. The man laid his hands on her, and she'd felt her wounds beginning to close even as strength poured into her. With a whispered blessing, the man
departed.

As he turned from her, though, she noticed a number of parchments
filling a bag slung across his shoulders - parchments she recognized
immediately as the riddles of the Sphinx. And so the forces of the
Indorani first came upon their greatest enemies - the healers. Soon
afterwards they met the grim guardians of the healers, mounted warriors who wielded blades that cut through flesh like butter and whose armor
shone like the rays of morning. It was not long before the Indorani
discovered that when they brought the Sphinx its riddles, it turned its favor towards them, and when the servants of Light brought him gifts it was to the Light that the Sphinx turned its eyes. The weapon they had
built turned out to be a double edged sword.

You open a simple book entitled, "The rise and fall of the Indorani" to the bookmark, on page 7, and begin reading.

Thus began the War of Power, a struggle that lasted for another century.
During this time, many other focal points of power were discovered and many others were built. To this day, historians still sift through the remnants of knowledge in an attempt to reconstruct the truth of that
bloody era filled with epic battles as forces of decay battled forces of light. At times, the tide turned towards the Indorani, at times towards the growing ranks of the servants of light. Even as their control of
these focal points of power waxed and waned did their influence in the world grow and diminish.

No single side was able to get a long advantage, and many began to fear that this horrible conflict would continue unto eternity. Until one day, by the guidance of the Gods, the combined might of the Servants of Light were able to turn all the focus points in their favour. This had
happened several times in the past, and each time the wrath of Yetrent had driven the tide that turned the power back to the Indorani. Yet
there would be no salvation for the Children of Despair this time, for unknown to all, a group of seven healers had infiltrated the deepest
reaches of the Indorani dwelling. They came upon Yetrent as he prayed to an unknown God for the power of death, decay, and corruption.
Surrounding him in a brilliant circle of light, they combined their
energies and forced the immortal Yetrent from his corporeal form. Each of the seven healers died in the attempt, yet their task was done - the once unstoppable Yetrent had become no more than a gnawing, malevolent spirit.

You open a simple book entitled, "The rise and fall of the Indorani" to the bookmark, on page 8, and begin reading.

This event marked the beginning of the Indorani demise. Deprived of
their unstoppable leader, the Indorani lost the organized malevolence
that was the bulk of their power. Their numbers dwindled, and there came a day midway through the Second Age when the forces of Light had circled the Blood Chasm, trapping the Indorani in their own dwelling. The leader of the Indorani at the time was a man named Imal. He was a wise man, and a powerful necromancer. Through his wisdom he saw that the destruction of the Indorani would be inevitable if they stayed in the caverns. Yet escape was impossible for the still large numbers of his people. So he called to himself his wife Nala, and bade her to find thirteen couples, each fertile and of childbearing age. Using their necromantic might, the thirteen couples headed by Nala shrouded themselves in darkness, and in the midst of a moonless night escaped unseen through the ranks of the
servants of Light, making their way northward in hopes of finding a new home.

When morning came, the armies of light began their final assault. Stone crumbled and screams filled the air. Blood ran as a river over the hot sands of the desert as Indorani and servants of Light alike lay dying.
But even as their enemies advanced on their forbidden tower, thirteen of the most powerful Indorani headed by Imal gathered in the depths of the tower for a final black ritual. None know what transpired the grim
chamber of rituals Imal. But when the forces of light streamed into the chasm where the tower of the Indorani rose, they found their path
blocked by a horrific demon. Fear struck them as they stood there,
paralyzed by an unknown power. Their commander, a brave man and a
renowned warleader, mastered himself first. "Begone, foul creature!" He cried, striding forth with his sword held high. A raspy laugh answered him. "You shall not cross the forbidden threshold, worms of light..." The demon croaked, his horrible mouth twisting in a putrid grin. "And how do you intend to stop me, creature of hell?" Cried the commander, rushing towards the demon in righteous rage even as his troops poured
into the cavern behind him.

The demon roared, and the very cavern shook beneath their feet. With a great heave of his wings, he smashed into the very rock on which the
tower stood, and in a crushing avalanche a shower of stone descended
upon the Indorani tower, the demon, and the forces of light. Only one
man was left alive, mangled yet still able to crawl. He was found that evening at the mouth of the cavern by wandering nomads, and related his story to them before dying of blood loss shortly afterwards.

The Indorani were defeated. But it was a costly victory to the forces of Light. It would take many centuries for the healers and their knights to recover from the horrible losses of life at the Blood Chasm. And still the Dark Tower stood buried beneath the collapsed stone, waiting for a time when the wheel of the ages would come to a full turn, and the dark banner of the Indorani would rise again in the twilight of the world.