Rolof Skywise's Eulogy for the Rhonelands

### An Explanation

These are a collection of tales preserved from the city of Rohne after its destruction, taken from the memories of the departed and collected by Bellsk researchers.

### The Fall of the Black Hold

The tragedy of the Rohnelands begins with the Dwarven legend of the fall of the Black Hold and Morthammor Duin's champion Deirith Freehammer.

The Black Hold was once a teeming source of activity and life. Dwarves all across the world would come to see the Hold and pay their respects to its master, the wise Arathor Stoneready who was a just and honorable leader and had made peace with the Goliath tribes. One day there came a band of the dwarven exiles known as the Trail-blazers. They were followers of Morthammor Duin, wanderers who had willingly exiled themselves in order to see the surface world in its entirety. Each one wore a brand to signify their sacrifice. When they approached the Hold they were turned away by its guards, ridiculed by their former kin, spat on, and yet they refused to leave, instead holding fast and setting up camp until Arathor would give them audience. After seven days their leader, Deirith Freehammer was given an audience. He told Arathor of a coming danger, a horrible army that could move silently through the night and destroy entire villages in moments. Followers of a demon God that gave them dark appetites and insatiable bloodlust. he warned them that their fortress would not be safe from this enemy and evacuation was the only option for their people.

After hearing Deirith's tale Arathor committed two unthinkable acts- both would change dwarven society forever. The first act was to allow the Trail-blazers inside the Hold, giving them housing and allowing them to stay, but the second would be the first unwise thing Arathor had done as leader and the last: he did not heed the warning of Deirith Freehammer.

Several weeks after the arrival of the Trail-blazers, Deirith and his clan of exiles refused to be still or to rest, instead they watched the walls and patrolled the surface as much as possible. On a cool spring morning the winds blew low over the land and with them came a terrible unseen evil. In total darkness the evil army of the gnolls made their advance on the fortress, and at the front of them stood a monstrous flind, the terrible Foghn. Not even the Trailblazers could have foretold their arrival for when their invasion force came they came underground. The endless tunnels and mines under the fortress had been used against the dwarves and would become one giant crypt.

Arathor was forced to watch as the very walls and barriers that had given them such a sense of security would become the very reason that his people were slaughtered. Dwarven children were eaten whole along with their mothers' clutching hands, an enclave of Dwarven typists were forced to watch as their own entrails were sent through their press as they bled out. It was an absolute bloodbath. Arathor was not finished- he had an idea that would save what remained of his people. The Trail-blazers were sent throughout the Hold, gathering what remained of the living and moving them up through the halls, taking them to the surface. Many of them had never seen the light of the sun, had never seen the wind through the trees, had never seen grass. The Trail-blazers took their hands and the exiles moved them for many days and nights, leading them to Holtz and to safety. The army of the Black Hold was largely slaughtered by the initial gnoll strikes, but several days of fighting had exhausted the gnolls, who hadn't expected this much of a challenge in their conquest.

Arathor and Deirith stood side by side and cleared the tunnels, slashing gnolls as they marched forward with great efficiency, turning the tide of battle through the force of their combined strength. Foghn brought what remained of his army back to a camp halfway through the fortress, an area heavily barricaded that the dwarves could not penetrate, and it was here that he committed a great and horrific sin. He channeled the strength of the great demon Yeegnoghu and made a final offering. Foghn threw his weapons upon the ground and with only his claws and teeth he slew every remaining member of his army, feasting on their flesh and reveling in bloodshed until his God answered his prayers. Foghn was reborn as the avatar of Yeegnoghu himself and in his hands appeared the powerful weapon of the Demon and the ultimate symbol of his domination: a three-headed flail of immense strength. With a flourish of the weapon the dead rose from beneath his feet- gnoll and dwarf alike were now ravenous ghouls that swarmed the fortress and attacked anything that yet lived, single strikes of the flail were met with powerful explosions of force, clouds of poison so potent that flesh would decay from bone, and wounds that would never stop bleeding. Foghn would not be defeated. Victory would come on his own terms and defeat was never an option. As Arathor and Deirith defended themselves against the constant barrage of attacks from the ghouls- many of which being their own fallen brothers- they came to a horrifying revelation. Foghn would not stop at the Black Hold, this conquest would expand itself to Holtz, this power would be a genocidal force that would lead to the extinction of their race. Arathor fought with increased vigor and urged Deirith to escape while he still could and to flee to Holdt where he could prepare them for a second defense, but as soon as the words were said he was overtaken by the ghouls. With Arathor dead, Deirith was all that remained. He hung his head and said his final prayers, consigned to die.

The father of the Dwarven Gods is Moradin and his strength is undeniable, but his youngest son Marthammor Duin had been a constant source of disappointment to the old God. His penchant for trickery and his love of wandering had created a bad reputation among the Dwarven Gods. When he had taken on his patrons many had thought it a joke, and perhaps he himself had doubted his resolve when it came to answering their prayers. Centuries of travelling outside of his father's realm had left him in a state where there was not much he could do, save the occasional lightning bolt or change in wind. His Trail-blazers had been a curiosity, then a fancy, but the sheer will of Deirith and the strength of his faith awakened something in Marthammor that refused to be silenced and after all of this time Moradin's remaining faith in his youngest son was paid back in full. The Wandering God returned home.

Deirith was surrounded on all sides by enemies when he became cloaked in holy light. From his mace crackled electricity and in an instant he filled the room with it, becoming a ball of living lightning and clearing the room. His wounds became healed as he fought, sealing up as quickly as they had been made, and eventually he stood directly against Foghn. Avatar faced down avatar in a battle that raged across the Hold. Deirith led the great gnoll as they fought, leading him to the keep and then climbing the outside of the structure on the surface, taking the fight to where he would have a greater advantage. Now that he was in the surface world clouds formed overhead, and after being evenly matched the fight had finally come to a close. Before the avatar of Yeenoghu could even realize he had been tricked, a bolt from the heavens pierced Foghn and Deirith used the opening to strike him down with his weapon, and with this final blow he was slain and the unholy flail of Yeenoghu was blown to pieces and scattered to the ends of the world and as the evil was vanquished from the land, Deirith was brought up into the kingdom of the Dwarven Gods where Marthammor was waiting for him, and the two still wander the heavens as eternal companions to this day.

Since the Fall of the Black Hold the Trail-blazers became honored as heroes and were no longer outcasts and exiles for wanting to explore the outside world. They are the defenders of the surface and healers of the injured, the Volamtar (Blazers of Fresh Trails) are to this day known as powerful clerics, fighters, and rangers and have shown many Dwarves that the surface world is not to be feared, for they know the way. The followers of Deirith wore their exiles brands for the rest of their lives with pride, and many young clerics and monks brand themselves in order to remember those who came before.

### Raeghul the Ruiner

The Rohnelanders were fierce folk with fiery tempers tempered by frost and for years Rohne had been their home, until the

### The Diary of the Black Necromancer of Rohne

It has become common knowledge where the domain of certain magicks are based, an ordinary fireball is derived directly from the plane of fire, a simple hydration spell draws its power from the plane of water and so on. In my tenure at the Bellsk University I theorized that other spells had similar sources, various planes of energy from which to draw from, and further, I believe that by harnessing the power of those planes one could draw forth potentially limitless amounts of energy. While many of my colleagues were willing to concede on this point, I took it one step further, regarding the use of that which is considered most vile by my contemporaries: necromancy. In pursuit of answers I have come to the middle of the wilderness, deep in the former kingdom of the Frost Giants, where I shall not be disturbed by lesser minds like the common lawmen of Bellsk. Why don’t they understand that what I am doing benefits all of mankind? History will make fools of these men.

In animating the dead I theorize that we must be drawing life energy from somewhere. I believe that this confirms that necromantic spells are in actuality pulling power from a plane of pure life energy, possibly the energy of the Gods themselves. Through harnessing this energy and discerning its divine source, we could reverse the effects of age, we could reverse death itself, nullify the effects of pain! My work will recreate this world in the vision of a new existence. I will bridge the gap between the material and the celestial plane.

When I returned to the college from my trip to the ancient crype I found my mind drifting more and more to my experiments, but I also understood that getting caught practising necromancy in Bellsk would be a sure death sentence for me. I collected my things and left, giving little notice in case one of my braver students (or hard-headed rivals) decided to follow me.

Before leaving Bellsk I had the great privilege to explore with a team of gor guides a crypt several miles South of the Black Keep. The crypt, as I was able to discern by the horrid stench of the place, had been occupied by a warband of gnolls, who seem to have vacated the premises recently and in some haste. The gor later informed me that they had raided the crypt and slaughtered the gnolls inside, but that a day later the corpses had returned to life. After dispatching the animated corpses the gor promptly burned the bodies and had returned to their masters who, recognizing they were out of their depth sent in the request to the university who brought me on board. On the whole the excavation seemed fruitless. The tomb itself was of ordinary dwarven make, even the magical artifacts within seemed mere baubles, and many of them were used by the gnolls for uses both mundane and grotesque, and not fitting their original purpose. After scouring the temple twice myself, and thrice with homunculi, I discovered the single item of interest: an ornate bone ivory axe handle that was fit to burst with necromantic energy. I took the item and, as if by impulse, found myself attuning to it. I was giddy by the promise of what I held and affixed it to my staff eagerly. As I searched around for a suitable corpse to try it on the guides returned from hunting the night’s dinner. I dispatched them both with a single clean lightning bolt and let the artifact work its magic upon them. I watched them feast upon the pile of charred gnoll corpses without being sated. In less than an hour they had devoured every corpse and became more desperate and ravenous. I watched as they finally turned on one another, tearing each other to shreds.

On the road I packed plenty of provisions yet it seemed as though I never had enough food. By the time I arrived at my location nearly eight days later I had eaten all but one of my horses. My hunger dissipated greatly once I was able to return to my glorious work.

I held in my hands the key to the fountain of life, but after using it multiple times I am still no closer to discerning where the power comes from.

The hunger I felt on the road returned in spectacular fashion after my monthly shipment of supplies from Rohne came in this week. I ate an entire barrel full of salted Hjaltian trout in the first day. At this rate I’ll be needing a supply run every fortnight.

My time in the lab may not have been pointless after all, I believe to have made a breakthrough. After placing the artifact onto a common teleportation circle I was able to create a portal that I believe led to the source of the object’s necromantic power. I finally have definite proof that it came from somewhere not of this world. Looking through the portal for the instant in which it was up, I saw a shining kingdom of white stone in the middle of a lush field of green. This was truly a realm of gods.

As I slept in my chamber a vision came to me- the white kingdom from the portal, and then a beautiful elf king with pale eyes and skin just as fair. He took me by the arm and showed me his kingdom from the walls, and with a flourish he waved across the horizon and my eyes followed it, taking in the majesty of what I beheld. His grey eyes then looked deeply into mine and he said that all of it would someday be mine. I crumbled there and wept, for I was blessed by this white god.

I really must get a new food supplier. Every bite from this shipment has made me retch with disgust. I can’t eat this swill. I’m losing weight as it is. Perhaps I need to hunt fresher food?

I spent the next week pouring over old religious tomes, trying to discern the identity of my new benefactor, most interesting was a story about the ancient elves of the Wellnirr. The Wellnirr were devoted to their forest above all else because it was through its trees that their goddess spoke to them. Their priests could raise their hands and make the trees contort themselves to their will, and if they were in danger their trees would uproot themselves and slay enemies of the forest. Many a would-be invader would be stopped by the forest itself, and no Wellnirr ever had want to leave its shelter. Interestingly, the Wellnir, being so insulated by lush forest, having such a supply of fruit or vegetables ready to them if they so desired, abstained from the eating of plants. To eat plants in their eyes meant to foresake their goddess, to foresake their security, and thus the Wellnir only ate meat. They would hunt deer and trap squirrels when needed but often their diet comprised of a different source. The invaders and trespassers who had forsaken their forest and trampled their sacred grounds were quickly turned into food, and the rest would feed the plants. When one of their kin was killed in battle his brothers and sisters would eat their flesh and speak of their deeds, declaring them to their goddess that she would know of their glory when they came to live in her domain. This time when I started work on the fresh corpses I had collected from the roads on an impulse I used my scalpel to slice off a sheer piece of flesh from above the stomach, and tasted it, as I chewed I could feel the blessings fill my body.

My new diet seemed to satisfy the constant hunger, but I noticed that my eyes had become gaunt and my skin very pale. Perhaps I just needed more rest, and to spend more time in the sunlight instead of sequestered in the lab. There would be time for this and more once I was finished.

I was wrong. Life can not be saved. Only borrowed. I know the truth and accept my fate, but no more will I bring others with me. The blessing of eternal life was a curse in disguise. I reject this life, and in the traditions of the Rohnelanders, I offer myself to the Gods upon the flame, in an attempt to attone for my sins. I shall wait no longer, the White Kingdom awaits.

### The Vision of the Destruction of the Rohnelands

As the mindwitness drew ever closer and the threat of death became a reality, Orwin let loose his weapon of last resort, the Orb of Obliteration, an ancient demon-crafted item of apocalyptic strength. With a powerful blast it knocked a hole through the Mindwitness, sending shockwaves so strong through the beast that other creatures on its telepathic link felt the blast, crippling the Illithid elder brain from where it sat under the ground, knocking it into a paralytic slumber where it will stay… The players never learned of the plight of the White Necromancer. They never learned of his connections to the Underdark and his family’s servitude to the illithid hive, yet these strangers who slew him in cold blood also fulfilled his life’s work. The Orb had other effects… From under the earth a shockwave of energy from the abyss pulled the earth apart at the crust, pulling up magma, creating a volcano that shook the region and destroyed everything the adventurers had held dear. In instants burning clouds of ash filled the air and rained down on the people in the area, enormous slabs of pumice-stone rained down from the sky.

In the city of Rohne people were going about their daily lives, attempting to return to some semblance of normalcy before being buried in ash, their forms flash-frozen forever in time. Future excavators of the city would find the remains of Prince Rolof, clutching his brother’s infant son, in the same position he had been in for hundreds of years.

The Gnolls would take to living in caves after nearly being wiped out by the volcano.

The provincial homeland of the goliath race was smothered in ash, their people perished. The race will teeter on the edge of extinction.