The Annals of Nuz Edrak (Setting)

[Paladin]

For ten thousand years the Emptiness has baked beneath a scorching sun. Violent winds destroy and remake the landscape daily. Mountainous dunes vanish and new ones are born after each howling sandstorm. It is a labyrinth of barren desert void of settlement or habitation.

But it wasn't always so. Great forests grew and withered there in the dim past. Mighty cities rose and fell, their names half-remembered and kings long forgotten.

Merchants skirting the edges of the wasteland speak of tantalizing glimpses of gleaming spires polished by white sand glinting in the far distance. They dance like a mirage in the perpetual haze of unbearable heat. But those few who venture to chase these fleeting clues are soon swallowed by the restless sand. The desert keeps her secrets.

One thousand years ago, the wizard Nolazar Bone-Caller fled the persecution of his fellows to pursue his fascination with death and the dark arts amid the comforting solitude of the Emptiness. Legends say that he sacrificed his mortal life for undeath and, thus inured to the elements, delved deep into the haunted waste to seek that which all men seek--power.

And as the centuries wore on, even the oldest of The Wise forgot the name of Nolazar Bone-Caller. Until, that is, a madman staggered from the desert, blistered and nigh unto death. White paint of powdered bone coated his flesh and the name of Nolazar spilled from his lips in an agonized cry.

His blasted mind disgorged horror after horror before he succumbed to merciful death. The shriveled man-husk whispered of bones rising from the sand, of ancient beasts stalking the dunes red-eyed and silent. He gibbered feebly of the cold eyes of a long-dead wizard and his hatred of the living who'd chased him from civilization so many centuries ago.

But the dying man brought something besides a warning. Those who touched his shattered corpse contracted a mysterious wasting disease. Slowly but surely it eats away at the lifeforce of its victims until they are empty, shambling vessels of flesh and bone. Death comes for them, but only until nightfall. When the moon rises, so do the dead. Cold eyes gleam and awkward limbs creak.

They rise from the grave and march unerringly into the Emptiness and are lost from sight. The disease has spread like wildfire and the king himself is offering a bounty of 10,000 gold coins to anyone who can find a cure or somehow break the spell of Nolazar Bone-Caller.

Over all lies the unspoken fear that, with each corpse that marches into the silent sands, an ever-growing army of the dead looms over the living with ill intent.

How long will it be before their master commands them to return in force?

[Paladin]

Our tale begins in the city of Nuz Edrak. It is an ancient trading center at the crossroads of several major regional powers and has grown rich from the trade which flows like water along the well-maintained caravan routes that weave between the steaming jungles to the South and the parched white sands of The Emptiness to the North.

Walls of thick rammed earth encircle the colorful city and richly-caparisoned cohorts of the king's guard patrol the streets to ensure that the source of their wealth, the Great Bazaar, operates peacefully.

White-skinned men from across the sea come in long ships bearing amber, furs, smoked fish and rich leather. Ebon-hued traders from the South come in heavy-laden caravans with gleaming ivory, ingots of the purest gold, and precious stones. Olive oil, aromatic cedar, and finely-patterned steel pour in from the white-robed hawks of the desert, emissaries of the great Shah of Mihron.

Tall, imperious elves bear magical knowledge in the form of scrolls and expensive components required to cast the most powerful magics--though if truth be told, they often use humans to sell their goods, as they find the task of hawking wares beneath their dignity.

Iron-limbed dwarves pour smoke from a thousand forges along the perimeter of the market district, smelting ores and refining metals, cutting gemstones and shaping exquisite jewelry.

Representatives of every race, shape, and hue mingle in relative harmony. The taxes collected from the Bazaar each day provide King Kanakbel with bursting coffers to fund the plentiful guards and vaunted defenses which keep the peace in Nuz Edrak. So long as gold flows freely from hand to hand, everyone is content.

Only in recent days has darkness come to Nuz Edrak. The City of Gold, the great gem in the crown of Kanakbel, is under siege. Daily, more and more are infected by the plague which sweeps on swift wings through the citizenry, infecting noble and beggar alike.

The king's reward of 10,000 gold pieces has inspired countless merchants to organize mercenary bands to scour the desert and track down the walking dead on their nightly journey. Nobles of ancient bloodline (and irresponsible spending habits) gather their household troops and make war upon the elements in search of the horrors stalking the desert. So far, all have returned either empty-handed or battered into submission by the desert.

Foreigners come to die in droves in pursuit of the yellow gold, their corpses adding to the ranks of Nolazar Bone-Caller's dread army. The Wise scry endlessly to locate the source of the plague or a reliable cure, but their best minds find nothing. The temples of a thousand dieties assail the heavens with prayers, but the gods stand mute.

Butchers posing as doctors hawk miracle cures on the streets to desperate fools, only to vanish when the guard arrives to seize their ill-gotten gains.

These are not good times for Nuz Edrak. The world has gone made, and over it all laughs the bleached skull of Nolazar Bone-Caller.