King Arren was a great king. He united his oppressed people under a single banner, and with the help of a great sorcerer named Kemnik led a rebellion against the four great dragon clans east of Sand Spite. He brought halfling hillocks, Dwarven holds, elven groves, and human cities together under the promise of a free country, a free marketplace of ideas and goods. He made Kemnik his court wizard, and gathered a group of trusted advisors to create a council beneath him.
He sired 9 children, All of whom were trained in the art of hand to hand combat, battlefield tactics, and grand strategy. Each child was gifted a Crown, A magical Artifact crafted by Kemnik himself. A bulwark to prevent corruption and charm. A truly blessed gift for a truly blessed bloodline. King Arren worked tirelessly to give the realm something it had never had before.
Freedom.
He was a great King.
Then, He died.
No one really knows what happened. The news of his death spread a disease amongst his children, a disease not of the lung or the stomach, but one of the brain. Greed.
Each child of Arren questioned the others validity to the throne. Each questioned the others motives in relation to the death of their father. Each poisoned their holds with fear and paranoia, sending the population into a vengeful frenzy. Each formed secret alliances with one another forming a complex web of lies, and when the time came, one betrayed another. Brother killing Brother.
The grand fratricide began, Nine children became six, six became four, and then four became three. Three children are all that remain of Arren’s work, and each are willing to burn the rest of it to the ground in service of ruling over ashes.
The council and two of the three eldest children was tried for treason and executed in the capital city Saltstone , courtesy of the eldest son, Caulden, His iron fist clutching all territory south of the Rochforte River.
Divalla, the fifth of nine, consolidated middle Arrendale, killing three of her siblings in the process.
The youngest of the boys, Reznik, ripped the halfling’s out of their comfy hillocks and put them to work in the northern mines, He put his sister to the sword in the what is now the northern capital of Dyenghar. Stopping at nothing to find that which should have been forgotten long ago.
The dwarven holds welded themselves inside their mountains, the Elven groves retreated deep into the forests. Thousands fled to the twinned city, though few survived the perilous journey through Sand Spite. And then, There’s you…
Somehow you ended up in a prison camp west of Dyenghar. Maybe you were caught trying to sneak across the border, maybe you made an enemy of a local guard captain, or maybe you were just plain unlucky. In any case, you’ve spent the last few weeks in the mines, swinging a pick and digging deeper into the earth, digging deeper towards… Something…
The guards argue with each other in hushed tones about what exactly it is you are searching for, they seem uneasy, as if they fear the very notion of its existence. Just last week, a halfling girl found a gem so black that the sunlight curved around it, as if the sun itself was afraid of what the gem would do to its precious rays. One of Arren’s sons, “King” Reznik, came from Dyenghar atop a blue dragon and took the girl and her black gem. It is doubtful that she will return. You have heard other prisoners say they saw figures darting around in the darkness, just outside the walls of the camp.
The rotating 16 hour shifts take a toll on those of weaker psyche, the pick gets heavy after so many hours of swinging. Dark ,damp mines give way to hopelessness and despair. Will you seize your moment and escape the suffocating shafts? Or will you fall in line, and consign yourself to oblivion? Welcome to Arrendale, Adventurer. They hope you enjoy your stay.