The Burden of Alfang

The awful fruit is dissolved in your mouth like the dessicated husk of a thousand year old mummy. It is absorbed, and takes root. A tracery of veins blossoms and burns the brain hemispheres. Shooting tentacles of deep memory burrow into the fugue. Your entire body feels splayed out, exposed like the raw nerve under a tooth. A whirlwind in your mind unfolds an entire library of compressed memories. A world unknown to you dilates and overlays your own thoughts and senses. It is as if you have turned a corner and are confronted with a vast, complex vista which goes on for miles. A new personality takes root inside you and reveals its secrets and experiences. And above all, it's tragic burden of guilt. *********** My name was Alfang, and all that I was belongs to you. I was the last of my people in this place, the last of those who guarded the Horde. My people, the Mogari, watched over this island for thousands of years. An accident brought us here, and, forced to improvise, we kept dangerous forces in check to protect the life of your world. Our vessel, bound from another plane, suffered damage and was forced down on this island; at the time, a barren, sparsely inhabited place. The cargo of our crystal ship: a fearful arc of living weapons. Creatures gathered from across the planes, tools meant for the conquests of the Mogari. Nearly all escaped when the great ship was shattered and buried itself in the earth of this world. Our leader was killed in this conflagration and only 60 or so of my people remained. They are extremely long-lived, and did what the could to safeguard the dangerous menagerie. The worst of the entire bunch was sealed in the mountain, entombed in rock. All was stable for thousands of years, until my life began. I was the first and only child born to this small colony of my people. As a rebellious youth I unleashed the dreaded powers pent up here and my mistake is one which can never be repaid, for it led to the death of all of my people. Chafing at the life I was born into and all the restrictions which it demanded, I committed a careless act of mischief which had far-reaching consequences. Tinkering with the powerful magic of the spirit-seals which held the Horde vault together, I unwittingly released doom upon the other Mogari. I had only meant to render the beast Hraxen, among the worst we guarded, visible from its spectral form. What I had meant as a harmless prank, thanks to my ignorance and novice skills, unleashed the energies of the vault and freed everything within. The Horde destroyed our colony outpost and were scattered across this island. Containing all of them was no longer possible, even if I was not alone. The others have been gone now for 700 years and I remained, trying to sweep up the destruction I wrought. Some of the beasts I have managed to kill, some, to corner, and others, to subdue and befriend. Yet there is one unspeakable horror, locked away, that even I had no knowledge of. The very worst of this Horde was secreted away in an unbreakable tomb with our most powerful magic. A mind-block was implanted in me regarding this beast, a gap in my knowledge of the Horde. The only way to keep me safe from it. And yet still I can feel the influence of this unknown beast, the tightening and warping of its bonds, how it slumbers restlessly in its cradle of stone. When I broke the Horde vault open, it must have provided a crack in the binding. The box which held it opened a fraction, and its chaos has infected this land ever since. A slow unraveling is taking place, one which will end in either the destruction of this monster or our own. Somehow, the mind-walls put in me prevented me from approaching the cell of this creature, and the other defenses my people left in place keep it well-sealed in. But it calls out through dreams, it twists the fabric of this world. In its torpor it struggles to be free. Over the centuries I shaped this land, enticing the city of Akana to be built, drawing explorers to it, all in the hope that I could redeem myself. The illusion skills I had allowed me to come and go from the port at will, and so kept an ear to the ground. It was a very long chess game. The horror works through rumor and madness to free itself, and adventurers from every continent hear its call. The Hraxen beast remains in a struggle with the 3 remaining automaton guardians of our fallen crystal ship. It is a stalemate which has lasted centuries. It is not strong enough to completely escape this plane, and the automatons were not built to kill it. This spectral battle erupts periodically and wreaks destruction upon the lands. It is clear that the beast in the mountain has used this conflict to try to free itself, as well as influencing the other living things in this region. This unknown creature must be killed; a formidable, dangerous task. Knowing that my wounds would end my life soon, I did what I could to prepare the way for those who would follow, to finish my work. I have hidden powerful tools and items in various places. When it was clear my death was imminent I gathered myself into the boughs of that vile tree, hopeful that brave souls would eventually come to take up this task. The 3 arrowheads I carry are powerful magical tools crafted by the mages of the crystal ship. They can subdue most any creature, but can be dangerous and unpredictable in their effects. They are the key to entering the lands, finding the sunken ship, and retrieving the only weapon which can destroy the unknown beast in the mountain.