Life is a constant
struggle against an unthinkably harsh environment. Blind
obedience to authority is the only hope for survival.
Close ranks and pray for the nightmare to end.
Hardheads have been accused
of being many things, but easy going and forgiving ain't
among em. The Garrison is a case in point. In the
aftermath of the battle at the Armory, which saw two of
Dragos' brothers fall to the blades of the Doomguard,
Drevlin Dragos was sent to Ortho to call up two regiments
of Hardheads. He commissioned to bring them to Sigil, to
patrol the streets of the Cage and deal with the ongoing
faction war. By the time Dragos had returned to Sigil,
with about 1200 fresh-faced, clueless Hardheads waiting
for him in Arcadia, Faith, Sarin's widow, was engineering
the withdrawal of the Harmonium from Sigil and calling
for a general peace and an end to the bloodshed.
Unwilling to allow the Doomguard to go unpunished for his
personal loss, and in no way eager to give up his new
found command Dragos raced back to Arcadia and pondered
his options.
Now this is the part of the
story that'll make clueless berks shrug their shoulders
and say "Gee, its funny how things work out some times",
but cutters will just laugh at the poor sods. You see,
Dragos had risen through the ranks of the Harmonium, to
the rank of Mover Two, through his skilful dealings with
Furcas' emissary to the Harmonium, Kuvura. Some even say
that the two struck up a genuine friendship, and so when
Dragos returned to his regiments in Arcadia, despairing,
Kuvura was right there with advice. Not only did he
suggest that Dragos take the battle to the
quasi-elemental fortresses of the Doomguard, but he was
also able to suggest a perfect place for Dragos to
establish his stronghold.
So Dragos led to troops to
the elemental plane of Salt, in an area where the
Doomguards ravaging entropes had torn a hole between the
plane of Water and the plane of Salt. Kuvura placed
magical wards around the cavern, protecting those inside
it from most of the planes dehydrating effects.
Description:
The Garrison is
built in an open cavern, about 200 yards in diameter,
located in one of the vast pillars of salt that stretch
away to the emptiness of Vacuum. A thin trickle of water
flows through from the elemental plane of Water before
evaporating in the lower end of the cave. On the opposite
side a narrow passageway leads into the depths of the
plane itself, and eventually to Citadel Sealt.
Ruler:
As the highest ranking Harmonium officer at the Garrison
Drevlin Dragos (Pr/male/human/F7/ Harmonium/LN), serves
as the town's ultimate political and military authority.
Dragos is the very image of the ideal Harmonium officer.
He is tall, well built, and darkly handsome, with a
genius for organization, and a zeal for the cause that
goes far beyond the simple call of duty. However, while
canny and efficient, Dragos is still to fresh from the
Prime to be considered a true blood ... or to handle the
situation he's gotten himself into.
Behind the
Throne: Dragos
relies heavily on a handful of advisors.
Chief among them is
Hyrcannos (Pr/male /beholder/Pr5/Harmonium/LE), Dragos'
second, a wry, officious beholder who sees to much of the
day to day maintenance of the Garrison, including
provisioning and discipline.
Brennan Livset
(Pr/male/human/F9/Harmonium/LG), as drill sergeant and
taskmaster of the Garrison is the only contact most
rankers have with the command structure. Both sympathetic
and unfeeling by turns, tenaciously hard-nosed, with a
surprising flair for the dramatic, Brennan is a career
soldier, and a seasoned campaigner. He always has time to
listen and commiserate with the complaints and problems
of the rankers.
Increasingly many of these
complaints center around Archlictor Kuvura
(Pl/male/cornugon/LE) an always grinning, always helpful
emissary from Furcas of the Dark Eight for the Harmonium.
No one is sure how far back Dragos and Kuvura go back, or
how much Dragos relies on Kuvura, but the rumors are
starting to fly.
Services:
Garrison consists of
nothing more than a row of barracks, a mess hall, and a
command tower built along a narrow trickle of water. But
for thirsty, lost, planewalker that's more than enough to
make it an inviting refuge. There are also two portals
located in the Garrison, one at the source of the stream
to Water, and another located in the officer's apartments
to Arcadia.
Militia:
The whole bleeding burg is little more than a
militia. The cavern is heavily patrolled by Hardheads,
who regularly make excursions into the surrounding plane.
Any visitors are likely to be scragged within minutes of
entering the Garrison and taken to see Dragos.
Current Chant:
The Garrison is
almost completely cut off from the outside world as
Dragos and Kuvura ponder their options. The rankers are,
to a man, exhausted and frightened and eager to finish
their mission. They are angry at being kept in the dark
about its nature, resentful of Archlictor Kuvura, and
increasingly suspicious of Dragos. Several young
rabble-rousers have even began spreading the chant that
Factol Sarin is dead, and that the Harmonium has
disbanded. So far no one is really listening, but the
longer they maintain the Garrison, cut off from the rest
of the multiverse the more plausible those rumors are
starting to sound.
Even more upsetting to the
rankers are the negotiations that have recently started
to take place between the native creatures of Salt and
Dragos. In return for guidance to the Citadel Sealt
Dragos has promised the elementals...well no one is quite
sure what, but more than a few Hardheads worry that the
price might be more than they can afford. The natives
have remained aloof with the exception of Parch, who
might just be unique in the multiverse, a modest,
self-depreciating Salt mephit.
Character:
Imagine an expanse of endless whiteness, smooth
and flat, stretching in all directions for further than
you can see, or could walk. This featureless, waterless,
anythingless plain is the realm of Qort, the power of
cleanliness, simpleness and minimalism. The blankness,
second only in its sheer lack of features to Vacuum
itself, is not exactly nothingness however, but subtly
different. While Vacuum embodies nothingness, the Vast
Wastes (or Perfection of Serenity as Qort's monks call
it) embodies a state of severe cleanness, a blank slate,
or virgin sand that the tide has just washed.
When a cutter meditates and
reaches a state of inner peace, she understands the total
stillness of Perfection of Serenity. Try telling that to
the countless bashers who've died in hideous thirsty
agony out on the Wastes, however. The plain is
featureless white salt, smooth as glass, cleaner than a
bucket of whistles, lit with a brilliant light. White
burns in all directions, and the shimmering heat is
intense -- imagine salt flats on Athas and you're perhaps
halfway there. No shelter, no relenting.
The
Chant: Why do fools
tread here, then? Seeking Serenity of course. It's the
name of the palace of Qort, a construction that does not
have a color or even a shape, only an existence. This
place is a veritable Nirvana for mediators and bashers
seeking inner peace. The searingly fearsome trek across
the Wastes is not the only hazard, however. A warring
tribe of Dust elementals seems to be bent of capturing
the Wastes and Serenity itself. None seem to know why,
but their attacks on travelers seem more fierce, frenzied
and frequent of late. The creatures still have not
stumbled across the palace of Serenity yet, but this is
due less to their eagerness and more to the fact that the
burg can't be reached by travelers until they themselves
have reached inner peace -- or died in the attempt. The
fact that the Dust elementals fail to understand this
rather Outer Planar concept belies their own Inner Planar
mindset.
The chant goes that no
powers dwell on the plane of Salt. Fact is Qort doesn't
live here. Apparently, the power has some other hiding
place on an Outer Plane (none know quite where, however),
and doesn't believe in cluttering up her own beautifully
empty realm with her presence. Qort herself is a
mysterious power at best, depicted as a shrouded figure
in colorless, featureless robes with barely her eyes
showing. Her skin is completely hairless, without
wrinkles or blemishes, and whiter than salt itself. Her
worshippers on Salt and other planes follow her minimal
appearance with their robes, donning no color, shaving
and even bleaching their skin. Owning no material
possessions and living in the most barren of
environments, the monks and nuns of Qort are usually
silent, and spend most waking hours in deep meditative
states.
The Dark:
Wandering about the
realm in the name of Qort is the only beacon of hope a
lost sod in the Wastes has - Qort's only known proxy, one
Armin the Frail. Armin, a human whose skin is as pale
white as the infinite salt he travels, searches out the
realm for the lost berks who mean well, but just can't
make it to the Palace. With a word of encouragement and a
nip of water from his bottomless flask, he puts the lost
party on the way out of the Wastes, or alternately, on
the best path to the Palace. Canny bashers take the
former, and are sure to be polite - as no road to
the Palace is easy.
