—Aldreth Umberis, Book of the Masters
In a beginning were The Dragons.
The oral and written histories of the people tell of The Six Eternal Dragons—they who joined together to sing the Song of Creation before the world was. It was their harmony that created space and time, the planes, the deities, the elements, and life itself. The laws and natural order of the universe—and of magic—were crafted by them. With the final verse of their song, a world was sung into being meant to carry the secrets of their legacy. This world, Aethmira, is where our story begins.
The children of Aethmira awoke and found one another during the long First Day of the world—a day that spanned several Human lifetimes. They discovered the Great Tree at the heart of the world, and it taught them many things, chief among them the nature and uses of magic. As the sun of that great day at last began to set, and Aethmira faced an equally long First Night, the Great Tree ordained that the hunter Halvar, his wife Corielle, and four other heroes should board the ship Hope and sail into the darkness of the Eastern Sea in search of the sun and The Six who could return it to the world. They faced many dangers on their journey, but ultimately—and at great cost—the heroes found The Six of whom the Great Tree had spoken. Halvar wished that the light of the daystar be returned to Aethmira, and his wish was granted.
In honor of this ancient journey, The Six return every hundred years to call Pilgrims to walk the Holy Road.
This story, the tale of the eighteenth generation of Holy Pilgrims in the 2700th year of the Glorious Dragons, begins at the foot of the Dracosconditum during the Festival of Gems. Almost as old as the world itself, the Festival of Gems was a celebration of The Six, held on the Spring Equinox of each centennial year. During this time, the peoples of Aethmira identified the six chosen Pilgrims and marked the beginning of their Holy Pilgrimage with feasting, merriment, and song. Most of this year’s celebrants, however happy as they may have appeared, shared a sense of hopelessness. The last four Pilgrimages had failed and their Pilgrims were never seen again. In addition to this, the Aquillian Empire, the despotic northwestern neighbor to the good Kingdom of Larion, had spent the last few centuries engaged in piracy, warfare, genocide, exploitation of resources, and all other manner of atrocities at the expense of the other nations, tribes, and peoples of the world.
Some of the free peoples of Aethmira were fighting back, of course, but a prevailing malaise had settled over much of the populace—an easy, almost willful ignorance of the true scope of Aquillia’s crimes. They had heard rumors, but had not yet suffered injury themselves. As such, most people were content to go about their ordinary lives, believing that The Six would never allow Aquillia to upend the peaceful order of their chosen world. In this belief, they failed to unify into a resistance powerful enough to challenge the might of those flying the Black Eagle’s banner. Nevertheless, many around the world who dared to hope for a brighter tomorrow shared the same—or at least a similar—desire: that the wish granted to the Pilgrims at the successful conclusion of their journey would be the end of the Aquillian Empire and its villainy.
For those who wish to explore deeper, Aethmira’s myths and history may be found in the companion work “Aethmirisknig.”
MELISSA: Okay… this is a LOT. Is anyone taking notes?
DM: I have my notes, but it would probably be good for you all to keep your own campaign log. Maybe pick a scribe? In any case, don’t worry about writing down any of the lore—that’s all been added to the “Player Resources” folder I shared with you when I did our individual Session Zeros. Take a look sometime, and add your character sheets to the folder for others to see while you’re there.
NICK: Holy Crap.
CHARLIE: You didn’t look at anything before the session?
NICK: No! I mean… I know I probably should have, but I’ve been busy. I’m amazed you had time to prepare all this.
DM: Life happens, no one is judging. The goal here is just to have fun and, hopefully, we’ll be able to make that happen with whatever degree of engagement each of you want with this campaign. I’ve been working on this story for over a year, and I’ve tried to make Aethmira a world that we can build together. I have the “skeleton” of the world laid out—I know where you can go, and who or what will be there depending on when you arrive. But I want you to feel like Aethmira is just as much yours to create as mine. If the story we tell together doesn’t make its mark on this world, you wouldn’t be very good Pilgrims, would you?
AMY: So, is this where we should all introduce ourselves? Like, our characters?
DM: Not yet — that’s coming. For now, just to recap: your characters were called as Pilgrims by The Six, and you’ve all found your way to the Festival of Gems at the base of the Dragon Tower. You’re walking around, doing what your characters would do — playing games, dancing, dining, drinking, shopping, gathering information… whatever fits. Just tell me what you’d like to include in the narrative, or jump in and role-play whenever it feels right.
NICK: OOH! Shopping?! What kind of stuff can I buy?
DM: You can find all the basic stuff in the player section of the Universe Machine handbook at the prices listed there. If you want something that’s not in that section, or something custom, just ask. Flavor is free, and I don’t mind bending items or rules in your favor—especially if it makes for a better game. But this festival is a bit of a hike from major cities and ports, so don’t expect to find many rarities.
The twinkling stars set in the Onyx vault of night seemed eager to disappear into the light of the rising Diamond sun on the morning of the Festival. The busy clamor and joyous mirth of the gathering multitude echoed off of the dark, gray stone of the Dragons’ Tower throughout the glade. It was the morning of the first day of the first month of the new year after Aethmiran reckoning—the Spring Equinox. A new year was cause enough for celebration, but this particular New Year’s Day was special: it marked the once-in-a-century celebration in honor of The Six Dragons and the Holy Pilgrimage—the Festival of Gems.
The Valley of The Temple, in which the Festival was celebrated, was a large, irregular, oblong clearing in the middle of the Great Wood from which rose the Dragons’ Tower. Long ago in this clearing the Temple of Gems was raised, not afar off from the Tower, as an offering to The Six. A large structure of golden ochre stone, it featured seven triangular sides which came together at a point topped with a large, colorless prismatic crystal that cast light of every color across the valley and upon the Dragons’ Tower. Its entrance faced the Tower to the West and, in turn, the Tower’s entrance faced the Temple to the East. At the center of the complex between the Temple and the Tower stretched a short and well-trod road known as the Pilgrims’ Path which could be crossed in around ten minutes at an easy pace. Most of the food and festivity within the complex was centered at or around the Great Court of the Temple on the nine-fold pavement, while the space at the foot of the Tower was reserved for the upcoming ceremonies and the outset of the Holy Pilgrims.
While it was the custom of Aethmirans to neither designate nor recognize strict political borders between their kingdoms—with the notable exception of the Aquillians who established, patrolled, and expanded their own territory with deliberate purpose—The Kingdom of Larion, whose capital was closest to this holy site, volunteered their military forces to protect visitors to the Dragons’ Tower and Temple, peace and harmony being of utmost importance at these centennial Festivals. Aside from a few misunderstandings, accidents, or minor disputes, however, there had never been a significant need for Larion’s soldiers to bring their might to bear at these events, and so, even now, celebrants moved leisurely, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells of this—for most—once in a lifetime event. Clad in leather and mail, bearing the emerald Green Wyvern insignia, the Larionite soldiers made their patrols at a relaxed pace along the edges of the trees and through the clamor and crowds, glancing up every now and then as mounted Wyvern Knights, the symbol and majesty of Larion’s military might, circled overhead.
Everywhere one looked there were peoples of every kind, creed, and age. Everyone was talking, trading, cooking, playing, working, making, and otherwise enjoying the Festival—together. The common tongue of Aethmira, as always, dominated the space, yet many of the other languages and dialects of Aethmira—Elvish, Dwarvish, and the like—could be heard from many venues. The sound of music filled the air, as bards and minstrels wound their way through the crowds singing songs of old heroes, Pilgrims, and Masters long departed. So contagious was the mirth at the gathering of so many friendly peoples that many were inspired to sing and dance spontaneously. This year, there seemed to be a happy contest of dance between the Elves and the Halflings—the latter making up for what they lacked in grace with a little charm and more than a little heart (and plenty of drink).
It was not yet noon when an old crone called out to a young man, hooded and robed, as he moved through the crowds.
JOHN: Aww, yiss—time for my character intro.
DM: Sure is! Let me just get my old-lady voice ready…
“You! You, there! Young man! The cards are calling to you! For just a few coppers you can have your future foretold!”
The man cast his eyes round about for any other person to whom the old woman might be calling.
“Yes, you, dearie! You in the dark robes with all those pretty rings on your fingers. Come hither!”
He considered making an escape, but the thought of drawing attention to himself tightened his chest—simply paying the old woman and moving on would be quicker. He moved past a few others traveling by and made his way toward the old woman’s booth where he leaned in to whisper in a hushed voice.
“Here, woman: your coins. Now, I’ll be on my way—”
“Nonsense! You must stay—stay and perceive your future! The cards demand it!”
“Please—I’ve paid you, now give me leave. I know well enough what troubles my future holds and I don’t desire to revisit any version of it here.”
The woman looked up into his face. He was a young man, pale, handsome, seemingly in his early twenties. His long, dark hair hid his face almost as well as his hood. His eyes were dark and in them she saw fear. More accurately, she perceived worry, uncertainty, and stress.
“Oh, child,” she said, soothingly, “I can see the truth of your words upon your face. Give me but a moment and I’ll do a quick reading. Let me help set your heart at peace.”
The man gave a deep sigh and relented.
“Very well. But be quick about it.”
“Alright, alright, child. Now, let your mind dwell on the events yet to come. Consider those things that are troubling you. Then, when you are certain and centered, tell me when to stop shuffling—”
“Oh, just get on with it—stop now,” he said, sharply.
“Very good! Now… seven cards…” she said. Then, drawing the first and laying it face-down on the table, she said, “This one is you.” Drawing another, she laid it face-down atop, and perpendicular to, the first and said, “This one crosses you.” Drawing the third, she laid it face down above the first two. “This one crowns you.” Placing another face-down card below the first two, “This one supports you.” Adding a card to the left of the first two, “This one is behind you.” Then, placing a card to the right of the central two cards, “This one is before you.” Finally, she added another face-down card to the right of all the cards and said, “And this one is for you.”
The man was growing impatient. Careful to keep his face covered by his hood, he continued to glance up and down different pathways, seemingly searching for something. He didn’t notice as the old woman turned over the first card.
“The Magician! One of the major arcana —this tells me that you’re something of a genius. Talented and ever-searching for new ways to improve and to understand the world.”
The man chuckled in response. “Sure, I suppose I’m something of a magician,” he said, turning the ring on his index finger.
“This crosses you,” she said, interrupting him, “— the Wheel of Fortune! My, my… something big has happened to you, hasn’t it? A turning point in your destiny?”
The man fidgeted uncomfortably and crossed his arms beneath his robes.
The woman continued, “And you are crowned by… Death? Truly? This implies that your ideal outcome or aspiration is transformation—a change in understanding or being. Still, this is three major arcana at the beginning of your reading. Truly, fate has much in store for you, child.”
“I told you before, I am well aware of the troubled future ahead of me. I don’t need to be reminded.”
“If you know what the cards refer to, that is good. The remaining cards should give us insight into what is to be done. Beneath you… the Seven of Swords. See this masked figure? There is deception at the root of this situation. You’re hiding something—no, you don’t need to tell me what it is,” she said, waving away the young man’s comment before he could speak. “Let’s move on,” she continued.
“Behind you… the Five of Swords—conflict in your past. Betrayal. Division. Suffering. Before you… the Hierophant: authority, tradition, spirituality. It seems you are leaving a painful life or situation and embarking on a spiritual journey to something better.”
A sudden flash of realization crossed her face, and she looked up at the young man who was staring at her intently. He was no longer fidgeting or avoiding her gaze. Instead he held her gaze.
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“Continue. The final card—what counsel do the cards have for me?”
“I… ah… yes, the final card,” she said, looking down again and turning the final card. “The Four of Wands. This card implies unity, harmony, and collaboration. A homecoming—perhaps a celebration? As counsel, it suggests that you should seek out others to ally with. Others to accompany you on this… Pilgrimage?”
The young man reached into his robes and produced another gold coin. Placing it on the table before the woman, he thanked her and turned to leave.
“Young man!” she said, grasping his hand to prevent his flight, “are you really one of the—”
He pressed a finger to his lips to indicate silence. “Keep this to yourself for now. The world will know soon enough—let me have my final moments of peace.”
“I’m too old to reach the ceremony, let alone stand through it,” she pleaded. “Give me your name and country so that I can tell my grandchildren the story of how the cards revealed to me a Holy Pilgrim.”
The young man hesitated, but finally whispered, “My name is Mugen.”
Then he turned and disappeared into the crowds.
JOHN: Badass.
DM: Thank you.
NICK: Ooh! Ooh! Do me next! I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille.
DM: We’re getting there.
As Mugen slipped back into obscurity within the crowd, he turned to see a young Elf maiden surrounded by men and Orcs at a drinking stand. Her most striking features were her spring-green hair streaked with summer gold, and the flowers strewn throughout her hair from which petals gently fell with each movement. She was dressed in rider’s leathers, but the quiver and assortment of satchels and forage pockets she wore told him that she was a ranger of the wildlands. Her movements were graceful, but also forceful and direct. She told loud jokes and clapped the men on the back as if she had been one of them all her life.
MELISSA: Yay! This is me!
DM: Yup! Time to switch gears—I have to get my Orcish accent ready…
She picked up the large beer stein in front of her, and the man sitting opposite her at the table picked up his. One of the spectators counted down and shouted “Go!” The two began to drink, each trying to drain the amber liquid as fast as possible. The man was swallowing great gulps, but the young maid employed an impressive strategy—she poured the liquid into her mouth and drained the entire stein before swallowing. She slammed her empty vessel onto the table as the man opposite her had only half finished with his drink. Cheers erupted from the men, who were all a little too tipsy for a day not yet half-spent. Her opponent stopped drinking with the shout, cursed under his breath, and, to his credit, he reached out a hand to concede their contest. She took his hand with a smile and shook it firmly. A Half-Orc emerged from the crowd and, laughing, he hoisted her on his shoulder and shouted, “Vadania is winner!”
Mugen realized how long he had been lingering and moved on.
Vadania bore her victory with dignity. However, very quickly she began to feel a bit dizzy atop the shoulder of her friend.
“Woo! Alright, let me down now,” she said.
But just as she was lifted down her eyes were drawn upward to a dark shape flying above. It was too small to be a Wyvern Knight, so she focused her attention on the shape in an effort to discern it before she started feeling even more tipsy. The winged figure was black-feathered, with talons for feet and a beak where a nose and mouth should have been.
“Ah!” she said, as she realized.
She pointed toward the shape as it roosted atop one of the buildings in the complex and whispered to her Half-Orc friend, “Look! A Tenku.”
Her friend squinted and raised his hand to shield his eyes from the late-morning sun.
“Yes, is Tenku! Small tribe—not many left. I hear they live in Blade Mountains, to northwest of here.”
“To northwest…” she replied. “Isn’t that where Acq—”
“Hush! We will not speak this name today. Today is festival—is celebration! Come, we celebrate together before your journey.”
Vadania nodded and gave one last look at the dark-winged figure before turning back to their drinks and conversation.
CHARLIE: Mel, I like your accent! Good roleplaying.
MELISSA: Aww, thanks! I’ve been practicing. My character was raised by Orcs in… Kruck?
DM: Kryuuk. It’s pronounced “k-r-YOO-k”—you gotta roll the “r” a little bit. It’s off the southern coast of Lesser Draconia.
MELISSA: Kryuuk! Yes. That one. So, I wanted Vadania to have an unusual accent in the game. But who’s this with the wings?
CHARLIE: Me!
The Tenku, of course, was not aware that Vadania had noticed him, nor would it have bothered him. Iss Yuga had recently purchased a bag of mixed nuts with dried berries and, having now found a favorable perch, folded his wings and began to eat them. He munched slowly while he observed the crowds below. He had never seen a crowd so large and wavered between feelings of anxiety and wonder. His thoughts wandered back to his nest—what would his brothers and sisters think to see this many gathered together in one place? They would probably be just as baffled as when he told them of the vision that had called him here.
Some sudden movement caught his eye: a young boy in the crowd pointing his way, and his parents realizing to whom their son was pointing. Iss nodded toward them, attempting to communicate camaraderie through the gesture. The parents nodded back, and the little boy waved. Iss returned the wave, feeling a bit sheepish—his beaky smile would be imperceptible to them at that distance. The young family moved along and Iss raised his hood, suddenly feeling a bit exposed. He gazed over the crowds again and munched a few more nuts when a sudden loud voice pulled his attention to the right…
CHARLIE: This is awesome.
DM: Thank you! Alright, Nick—you’re up.
NICK: OOH! OOH!
DM: You ready?
NICK: I was born ready!
“Step right up! That’s it—gather ‘round!”
The voice was rough, but agile and bright.
Iss scanned the crowds and found the source: a Naghid slithering through the pressing crowds and calling for attention. Anguiform, yet broad-shouldered beneath a horned, serpentine head, he slithered about in a colorful, loose-fitting shirt, holding out a small bag to the few who gathered to see what the commotion was about.
NICK: Anguiform?
DM: It means snake-like.
NICK: That’s, like, a twenty-dollar word.
DM: …Thank you?
“If you good people will give me your attention and some of your coins for just a moment, I will show you a magic trick the likes of which you’ve never seen before!”
The half-dozen or so who decided to humor this strange person were obviously skeptical. Looking at one another, they each placed a few copper pieces into the bag and waited to see what would happen.
“Thank you, my good people! Now…” he said, “close your eyes and think of the wildest wish of which your hearts can conceive. Visualize it! See it coming to pass in your mind’s eye as I… make your coins disappear.”
With that final word, he closed the bag in his fist and darted away from his audience.
MELISSA: Oh my god, you’re stealing from them?!
NICK: I am merely accepting (involuntary) contributions towards our Pilgrimage.
Slithering at top speed, he started for the edge of the trees. He had barely made it a few yards, however, when, looking over his shoulder and smiling at his own cunning, he slammed headlong into something hard. He was thrown backward and landed dazed on the ground. Just as he regained his wits and his audience finally caught up with him, he looked up to see what he had collided with. Standing directly in his path, well over seven feet tall, was an immense, muscular Pah-Khi. His skin was gray and ashy. His honey-colored eyes were focused on the Naghid with a gentle patience. Reaching down until his mighty tusks nearly scraped the ground, the elephantine figure grabbed the absconder by the wrist and lifted him into the air.
NICK: Wait, seven feet?
DEVON: Yeah.
NICK: Whoa-kay…
DM: You ready, Devon?
DEVON: Yeah.
DM: Okay, just jump in and do what Dinto would do.
A great deep voice came from behind the trunk, “What is your name?”
“Oh. Hello, big fella,” the Naghid laughed nervously. “I’m, uh, my name is Tizhaus.”
The prodigious figure regarded Tizhaus carefully. Finally, his eyes settled on the bag with the stolen coins. With his other hand he took it and held it up to Tizhaus, saying, “I do not think these belong to you.”
“Well, no, not exactly… it was, uh, just part of the performance. No hard feelings?”
The Pah-Khi stood in silence for a moment before throwing the bag on the ground before the shocked onlookers. “Take back what is yours, leave the bag. All is mended.”
A few people stepped forward, took the bag, and began distributing the coins back to their rightful owners. When all the coins had been returned, one of the men handed the bag to the Pah-Khi. He took it with an acknowledging nod, then handed it back to Tizhaus.
Then, looking Tizhaus right in the eye, he said, “I am Dinto. I am a mender. There is enough to mend in this world without such tricks. Please, no more of this. Let people enjoy the festival.”
“You are so right! Really, I, I am changed—reborn, even! You won’t have to worry about me anymore. If you’ll put me down, I promise this will never happen again!”
Dinto exhaled slowly and lowered Tizhaus to the ground. The instant Dinto released his grip and, without another word, Tizhaus bolted away as fast as he could slither. Dinto watched as Tizhaus wove his way through the crowd. When the Naghid was finally out of sight, Dinto sat back down between his stacks of baskets and returned to his intricate work.
A little girl cautiously approached to witness the tender giant weaving strips of bamboo into baskets. Dinto pretended not to notice so as not to startle her. She took a seat a few feet away, entranced by his nimble movements. Dinto continued to feign ignorance until he had finished the basket he was working on. Then, instead of placing it in the pile for customers, he placed it crookedly on his head. He looked at the girl, gave her a wink, and started another weave. She giggled and inched closer.
MELISSA: That’s so freakin’ cute!
DEVON: Yeah, well, I’m a cute kinda guy…
At the edge of the festivities, a mother duck was leading her six ducklings to one of the decorative pools in the temple complex. She quacked rhythmically in short bursts, calling out to her young to encourage them to follow closely. There were far more people around than they were used to and this mother was sure her children would be safer in the water. A Felikind watched from the shadows of an alley between two nearby tents. Boasting white and gray fur freckled with black leopard spots, Zara sat still as ice watching the ducklings on their journey. She perceived what the mother duck could not—that the kind people visiting the valley today were already stepping aside, creating a clear path for the family to follow. Zara smiled, knowing that her intervention would not be necessary.
MELISSA: Amy, it’s you! A Felikind?
AMY: Yeah, a snow leopard cat girl.
MELISSA: Cool!
JOHN: Wait… so there’s an elf raised by orcs, a bird man, an elephant man, a snake man, and a cat girl? Am I really the only human?
DM: Yes. It’s hilarious, but I promise this is gonna work out GREAT—especially given what we’ve worked out about your character.
JOHN: No, yeah, Mugen is gonna be just thrilled with this.
DM: Okay, Amy—just jump in here with me and we’ll tell this part together.
She climbed the nearest tent pole, balancing her slender weight so as not to topple the structure. Scanning the festival, she quickly saw the disturbance. A Naghid ducked and wove through the crowd as fast as his body could carry him toward the edge of the clearing—and he wasn’t slowing down. Zara quickly calculated that, based on his trajectory, he was liable to barrel right into the family of ducks she had just been watching. She shifted her balance, coiling her muscles, ready to pounce.
Tizhaus was racing for the edge of the clearing. He didn’t dare look over his shoulder for fear of finding two menacing tusks charging at him. He needed the cover of the trees, he thought, to prepare his counter-offensive. He didn’t see the ducklings in his path until it was too late. Just as he made the split-second decision to barrel on through, he heard a piercing yowl. He barely had time to react before he felt fur and claw plummet down on top of him. Together the two rolled for a moment before Tizhaus was thrown, crashing face-down on a patch of grass ten or so feet from the ducks. There he lay, dazed, as two Larionite soldiers ran and lifted him by his shoulders.
“Uggh… sssank you, occifers…” he said, his head falling backward.
The two soldiers exchanged a concerned look, before one of them said, “Alright son, let’s get you out of here.”
“Where… wait—we can’t leave yet!” he said, coming to his senses, “I need to report an assault!” He scanned the area until he finally found Zara, helping the last of the ducklings into the water. “That’s her! That’s the woman that attacked me. Officers, arrest that Felikind!”
AMY: You’re trying to get me arrested?
NICK: I’m trying to not get myself arrested!
The soldiers turned to see Zara crouched down, quacking away with the mother duck. Looking at each other once more, this time with a look of resolve, the other said, “Sure, sure… let’s head to our tent and you can cool off there for a while.”
“But! But! She—”
“Come along, you’ve caused enough trouble for one day. Can’t have you interrupting the upcoming ceremony.”
“Officers, please!” he said, changing his tone. “I would never dream of interrupting the ceremony! However, my good gentlemen, I must be present at the ceremony. You see,” he continued, straightening up and proudly puffing his chest, “I have been chosen as one of the Holy Pilgrims. The Onyx Dragon Himself called me.”
DM: Okay, give me a persuasion roll.
NICK: My deception skill is higher.
DM: Too bad you’re telling the truth, then.
NICK:
The two soldiers looked at Tizhaus. Then at each other. Then back to Tizhaus. Then at each other again before erupting into loud laughter. Tizhaus smiled and chuckled nervously. The soldiers tightened their grip and dragged him away.
“Wait! I’m being serious! I have to be at the ceremony! I am one of the Pilgrims!” he shouted, but the soldiers weren’t listening.
“Sure you are,” one of the soldiers taunted, “and I’m the King of Venicia.” The few members of the crowd who were watching the event soon lost interest and returned to their business and merrymaking.
NICK: Okay, it’s going to be funny as hell if I don’t even get to show up at the ceremony because of this.
DM: We’re only joshing—you’ll be at the ceremony. Just roll with it.
A few moments later, the sun struck a unique facet of the prism crystal atop the Temple of Gems, casting a rainbow against the Dracosconditum. The temple bells began to ring and the crowd started making their way to the foot of the tower for the Outset Ceremony.
Welcome to Aethmira.
If you’re enjoying the beginning of the journey, early chapters, maps, lore entries, and behind-the-scenes reflections are available on Ream.
You’re always welcome to walk ahead—or simply keep reading here.
Ream: