Salt: Realms of Salt

Salt
Quenched Powers

The Vast Wastes, Realm of "Qort": Perfection of Serenity (by Jon Winter)

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.

The Grinder (by Tom Bubul)

Character: At the very heart of Salt is the Grinder, the infinitely large source of the plane. The two fantastically large boulders which have been smashing away at themselves for all of eternity have given birth to the quasiplane itself. It is said that when the Grinder finally grinds itself completely, that Water will wash over the plane and it will then cease to exist.

The Chant: Not as infinitely large as they are made out to be (but nonetheless rather imposing), the two perfectly round boulders that make up the Grinder have indeed been smashing at each other for quite a long time. Massive and extremely rough to the touch, the Grinder's purest salt corrodes metal (not mentioning skin) almost instantly. It is nearly impossible to approach the boulders, as the sea of Salt surrounding them is only slightly less potent as the salt the boulders themselves produce - and the incredible cacophony the boulders produce in their eternal crashing is nearly unbearable. Without adequate protection, even swimming near the Grinder is a hazard. Should an enterprising enough cutter be able to get a jar full of this purest of salt, there is no telling what price he might fetch for it.

The Dark: Crashing together to form the purest of salt, the gargantuan boulders are in fact a little-known retreat of the Norse powers, Frey and Freya. It is said that in days long passed, the two were captured on a prime world and forced to grind salt on a pirate ship to preserve its hold full of meat. The stones that the two powers ground together eventually made enough salt to sink the ship - where from the bottom of the sea, the twin powers continued grinding. Since ascending to power status, the two have actually cast the magical stones off into Salt - where they occasionally come to visit them. It is these trips the two take to the boulders every 101 years that keeps them from wearing away into nothing; something about the presence of the two powers renews the boulders to their original size.

The Salt Cellar (by Jon Winter)

Character: <sniff> What's that in the air? An expression of horror crosses the face as the realization dawns; something foul, something unspeakably rotten is nearby. Hold your breath and try not to imagine what grotesque thing could exude such a stench. Try as you might, an image forms in your mind... tentacles, fetid flesh falling off bones, skin so putrid even Jubilex would shudder. A scream so inhuman it hurts to even think it. Then suddenly, all is white and clean and crystalline and the only scent is the acrid dryness of Salt.

The Chant: Sometimes travelers on the arid and brilliantly white plane of Salt stop and sniff the sharp atmosphere. Sometimes, just sometimes, they smell something fearsomely awful, a smell so terrible it should not even have a name. Then as suddenly as it wafts in, the stench is gone. Most bashers put it down to imagination, for the plane of Salt is so monotonous it tends to starve the senses, but the effect is very real. In fact, the lucky traveler has just escaped a brush with the Salt Cellar.

The Dark: Long ago, before there were tieflings, a power of stench and rot did something unspeakably disgusting to a fellow power. Most scholars point the finger at Qort, power of cleanliness and minimalism, as being the likely victim, but any real proof of it was She is long lost to the sands of time. In retaliation, Qort lashed out, enveloping the power of rot in all-preserving salt, and entombing the poor sod deep in the plane of Salt for all eternity. It doesn't take much imagination to figure that an oozing, pustulant power is suffering terrible agonies as the desiccating nature of the plane oh so slowly leeches away its moisture.

Rumor has it that the Salt Cellar is a real place, far away from anywhere in Core Salt, and that the rotten power is very much alive, and insane with rage and vengeful desire. Surely it would promise anything to a blood brave -- or foolish -- enough to release it from its torment and pain. None claim to know the real name of this lost power, and it's said that anyone who speaks its name while on Salt is sucked into the Salt Cellar to join it. Funnily enough, nobody seems that keen to learn it, but there's smart money on the assumption that learning its name is somehow the key to freeing the sod.

Sweat of the Brow (by Jon Winter)

Character: Toil, toil, and toil some more. Dig till your hands are bleeding. The salt might sting your wounds and burn your eyes but it's a wholesome pain and it'll do you good. Work until your fears are forgotten, so hard that you stop thinking about anything but the rhythm of the pick swinging. The crunch of shovel in salty rock is the music, and the sizzle of sweat on the ground is the song. Through work comes enlightenment, forgiveness and righteousness.

The Chant: It's a well-known fact that dwarven powers work their petitioners harder than most. Just as in life, the dwarven dead dig their tunnels and mine their gems, only working for a higher power rather than for their own gain. What happens, then, to the spirits of work-shy dwarves; those who were lazy or guilty of slacking? In the dwarven mindset, sloth is the deadliest of sins, and bashers guilty of it are made to make amends in the next life. This then, is the purpose of a realm like Sweat of the Brow.

It's not really a home to any one particular power, rather a realm that all dwarves deemed too slothful to enter the afterlife proper eventually end up. Here the poor petitioners are made to dig in the salt, working until they have worked hard enough to atone for their previous lazy sins. It's not a punishment as such -- there's no evil dwarven proxy with a whip in his hand, lashing away - there's no point forcing someone to work because then their efforts will be half-hearted. No, it's harder than that. Dwarven petitioners here have to toil because they *want* to, and that's the hardest work of all. They know that until they've repaid their debt to society they'll be stuck in Salt forever...

The Dark: Most of the petitioners here are a dour lot; it's not that pleasant to be slapped in the face with your own laziness. Dwarves are dwarves, however, and they're now determined to work up enough sweat to escape the realm. Apparently the way it works is this -- a petitioner keeps digging and digging, and one day, when the powers reckon he's dug enough, he breaks through the Salt into the dwarven afterlife. The hole-portal swallows the basher up and closes behind -- there's no easy escape for other petitioners this way.

Of course, all that digging leaves a lot of tunnels behind. Sure, the powers close them back up after a while to give the remaining petitioners space to dig and construct their own tunnels, but Sweat of the Brow is a vast warren of twisting passages. Some are grand and some are barely large enough to squeeze a gnome, let alone a human. Few lead anywhere interesting (the biggest irony of the realm is there's almost nothing of value in Salt so dwarves are digging for nothing more than the sake of it), but there's air to breathe and relative safety. Except for rock falls, the occasional tremor of collapsing passages and salt elementals hunting for prey.

Not all of the petitioners are happy to dig, however. A couple of charismatic individuals resent what they see as cruel impositions on their (after) lives, and like-minded bitter dwarves have flocked to their sides. There are at least two warring factions of dwarves down there in the tunnels, each with their own schemes and idea on how to escape the entrapment of the realm without working their fingers to the bone for centuries. It's likely that few, if any, will succeed in escaping, however...

The Tears of K'un Lun (by Tom Bubul)

Hearsay: "It came to be that on an ancient Prime world now lost to existence that a Power of the Sea fell in love with a mortal of the land. The Sea studied and adored this mortal, though could never touch her, for she lived on land. After many years, this mortal the Sea so adored finally took a ginger step into the foam that frothed on a beach. The Sea was overjoyed, and used its mighty tides to pull the mortal closer to it. The sea pulled and pulled, until the mortal was completely submerged - screaming for air and floundering against the waves that so adored her. The mortal drowned, and when the Sea realized what it had done, it cried great tears. These tears exist still on Salt, it is said, where lovers go to seek the solace of the sea's tears to aid in their tearing relationships."

- Nora Twelvetales, Storyteller

The Chant: Five lakes arranged in a vague star formation, the Tears of K'un Lun are each ponderous bodies of water, so rich in salt that a body can actually walk across them and only end up submerged to the ankles. The waters of the lakes are a grand mockery to thirsty travelers of the plane; there is no water to be found in the planes that is less drinkable. Salt Mephits congregate at the lakes and sloggosh herds mill about in the middles of the lakes, dipping their salty beards in the water. They occasionally search for fish that might happen to swim too high in the salty water. The occasional superstitious mortal comes to take a flask full of water in exchange for whatever offering they might be able to make; a tossed coin, a prayer, or even salt being thrown over a shoulder are all common.

The Dark: The Tears of K'un Lun actually are the tears of the sea; so heavily salted and emotionally charged, they seeped their way to through the fabric of the planes to rest on Salt. The Tears never dry up, and are nearly impossible to store, due to the high salt content; they quickly eat away at all manner of containers. A canny basher who does find a way to store them will quickly find that his searches for something to aid in his love life weren't in vain. An ingested drop of water from the Tears will allow him to spout poetry and speak as flowery as the Sea to its precious mortal. While causing a sod to suffer mild dehydration and a -2 to Constitution checks until he drinks a decent amount of water, it gives a +4 to reaction adjustment. These tears are also reported to be an ingredient in philters of love.

An estranged proxy of the prime power K'un Lun claims these lakes are holy to her master, and dwells in and around the five lakes. Myrtle, as she is known, does not prevent visitors from exploring the lakes, but will act quickly and with great force to defend the lakes from harm. She's also been known to help weary travelers who need shelter by providing them with conjured food and water, in exchange for them listening to the sad story of K'un Lun. The Tears aren't strictly a realm of the power, but in the godsforsaken plane of Salt, any connection to divinity is considered special.

The Dead Sea (by Jon Winter)

Character: <Gasp> Shed salty tears on the parched, cracked sand. This place used to be teeming with dolphins, scattered with lush islands and perfect coral reefs. It's sad when something natural is destroyed, and sadder still when a beautiful creature dies. Imagine the sorrow, then, the Dead Sea has brought to the plane...

The Chant: Long ago, there was a prime world where all things were worshipped; the mountains, the forests, the sea. All of these things were sentient, and responded to their worshippers by granting them mild seasons, calm water or rich harvests. But in time the primitive people of this prime world grew sophisticated and the culture matured. Their religion turned to gods and idols, and they neglected their ancient nature powers.

The nature powers slipped into a deep slumber, pushed aside by their mortal children. The same thing's probably happened on countless worlds, but this one, chant goes, was different. A race of salamanders emerged from below the ground, torching and razing the cities of the humans. With no true powers to aid them, the salamanders systematically rounded up and killed the humans until they were all dead. Their magical fires burned the land and seared the skies. The prime world grew hotter and hotter, their air choked with fumes and the seas began to boil. After many years of flames, during which time the salamanders frolicked gleefully in their new found home, the ocean had been reduced to a wasteland of blowing salt dunes. The scorching winds scoured the barren wastes, blowing the last traces of the seas away. And that was the last the salamanders ever thought of the nasty water that they used to hate so much.

The Dark: The planar winds of change blow hard, and a long way. When the salty remains of the dead sea power came to rest, they found themselves deep in core Salt. Here they remain deep in slumber, stirring only slightly when disturbed when mortal life passes by, or so the legends go. See, there's divine life in this here salt yet...ask any Athar and she'll tell you that a dead power never really dies. Bloods who should know better sometimes whisper that if a planewalker found this place, and willingly spills precious water into the salty ground, the weakened ancient power will rise from its torpor and grant the water-bringer wishes that would put a marid to shame.

Sounds too good to be true? Maybe it is. No planewalker really knows where the Dead Sea is (all of core Salt looks rather similar to most folks), if indeed it exists at all. Natives of Salt are tight-lipped on the subject, neither confirming nor denying anything. That hasn't stopped many a traveller getting themselves lost, both literally and figuratively, in the parched wastelands of the plane, chasing a dead power's dream...