The Fourth Time: Being an Account of the Reconstruction, and the Matriculation of the Younger Races

For centuries, the dwarven and elven races teetered on the brink of extinction as they labored feverishly to pass on all they knew to their respective successors, the halflings and the gnomes. Under the tutelage of the dwarves, the halflings grew into a race of travelers and traders, perpetually migrating in great caravans along the rivers and highways from one town to the next, slowly reweaving the web of civilization that had been destroyed in the Spellwars. The gnomes, learning at the feet of the elves, came to crave knowledge in every form, and together the elves and gnomes worked to return enlightenment to a world fallen into darkness.

In the early part of the Fourth Time, magic was anathema to all. It was magic that had fueled the empires of the Arcanarchs, magic that had led so many into hubris, and magic that had ignited the conflagration that nearly extinguished all life. The few wizards' towers that remained intact were razed to the ground by raging mobs, their treasure troves of hard-won arcane knowledge burned and scattered to the wind. Mystic artifacts were shattered by the scores, sometimes with catastrophic results: at least three cities were destroyed by arcane detonations when authorities attempted to dispose of powerful magic devices. This led to a change in policy: artifacts from the Spellwars and prior Times were to be sealed in hidden vaults, and all records of their existence destroyed.

But, of course, nothing stays buried forever. In time, a few scattered individuals, motivated variously by curiosity, lust for power, or simply the lure of the forbidden, began to research the foundations of magic again. Practicing in deepest secrecy, the arts of wizardry, druidism, and other forms of magic were resurrected by solitary practitioners or small cells. Some of these were rooted out by inquisitors and put to the sword, but others always sprang up in their place. As the decades and then centuries wore on and the horrors of the Spellwars largely forgotten, the taboo against magic lost its power. Finally, mortals dared to wield arcane, divine and primal magic openly again.

Peace has reigned for well over three millennia. To be sure, there are skirmishes among proud nobles, and provincial wars for pride and for territory, but most agree that mortals' taste for widespread warfare was burned out of them in the furnace of the Spellwars. But now change is coming again. Strange lights appear in the night skies, and astrologers say the Fourth Time is drawing to a close. What does this mean? What do the alien stars portend? What will be the character of the Fifth Time? None can say.

Prologue: The Legend Breakers, pt. 1

On a hot summer day late in the Fourth Time, a letter arrived in the hands of Clangden Stonehammer, dwarven cleric of Viridex and leader of the adventuring company known as the Legend Breakers. The letter had been sent from the Temple City of Hennes by a Wayfarer named Scanvio, and invited the Legend Breakers to Hennes to discuss the prospect of work for the church of Anathor. Clangden discussed the matter with his comrades, and they agreed that they would travel to Hennes in the fall to meet with the priest of the Lord of Roads.

So it was that as Harvestmoon drew to a close, the Legend Breakers rode into the Temple City and took lodging at the Silver Shield in the Knights' Quarter. The next day saw the adventurers taking counsel at the sacred grove of Anathor with Wayfarer Scanvio and, curiously, a young human girl with quite striking eyes. The task Scanvio asked seemed a simple one: escort the child, whose name was Anriel, across the Plain of Bones by way of the great dwarven highway known as the Via Mortis to the city of Varen; take the child to see a certain sage who dwelled in that city; and then return the girl to Hennes when the sage's examination of her was finished.

The pay the Wayfarer offered seemed scant to Clangden and his fellows, and they successfully haggled Scanvio up to 100 platinum coins from the sixty he had initially proposed. Having gained half their payment, with the promise of the remainder upon Anriel's safe return to Hennes, the Legend Breakers and their young charge set out on the Via Mortis for Varen.

Approximately a week into the month-long journey, the adventurers were lured away from the highway by a false cry for help and set upon by nearly a dozen ambushers. The assailants were no match for the experienced combatants of the Legend Breakers, however, and were put down with little trouble. In the pocket of their leader, however, a troubling item was found: a note indicating the approximate date the adventurers would be departing Hennes, brief but accurate descriptions of each of them as well as little Anriel, and instructions to "retrieve the girl, and make sure her protectors never leave the Plain of Bones."

The note was signed with a single cryptic letter: "K."

Experience rewards:
Haggling with Wayfarer Scanvio: 500xp
Defeating the ambushers:
1x Human Hexer, 300xp
1x Human Knife Fighter, 600xp
4x Human Lackey, 300xp
4x Human Bowman Lackey, 300xp
Total: 2000xp
Per character: 500xp
Current status: 26,000 + 500 = 26,500xp
To next level: 32.000 - 26,500 = 5,500xp

Treasure rewards:
The ambushers carried coins and goods with a total value of 250gp.

Next time, in Sailing the River of Worlds:
The Legend Breakers arrive in Varen and meet with the sage. What is his interest in Anriel? Why did the church of Anathor hire them for such an apparently simple mission?

The Third Time: Being an Account of the Spellwars and the Devastation wrought thereby, and the Creation of the Younger Races

When the Arcanarchs realized the Arcanum was being worn away at an accelerating rate by their own reckless use of magic, their reactions were as varied as the Arcanarchs themselves. Many, principally dwarves and elves who, by virtue of their long lives, were already accustomed to taking the long view, immediately proposed measures to conserve what magic remained by limiting its use. Most human Arcanarchs, unfortunately, rejected this idea out of hand. Some were pressed by rivals and feared for themselves and their people should they relinquish even a fraction of their power; others refused to believe that the Arcanum really was degrading, or that it was their fault; and still others, sad to say, were simply drunk with power and unwilling to let go.

The dwarves argued the case for conservation with passion, and the elves with cool logic, but with few exceptions, the humans would not listen. They continued to use large-scale magic for military and industrial purposes, in arcane forges and factories churning out everything from goblets that changed color when their contents were properly chilled to vast siege weapons capable of reducing the mightiest fortresses to rubble. The Arcanum continued to deteriorate, and the pleas from the Conservators (as their faction became known) grew ever more strident. Eventually, the Conservator Arcanarchs realized their Exploiter rivals could not be dissuaded from their reckless course by speech alone, and the Conservators girded for war.

What followed was, if anything, even more terrible than the wars among the gods. Although no single Arcanarch could muster anything like the power of a deity, there were far more Arcanarchs than there had ever been gods; and while the divine battles had laid waste to vast portions of the world, this had only ever been a byproduct, where the Arcanarchs now devoted their considerable intellects and magical prowess to this very end. Where the armies of the Arcanarchs met, the very fabric of reality boiled. The land heaved and bubbled; spectral beings flickered in and out of existence, snatching away the souls of their victims; wizards raised their hands and consumed entire regiments in fiery holocausts; vast constructs battled titanic aberrations from beyond the stars.

Entire races were created for the express purpose of waging war. One human Arcanarch, having allied himself with beings of primordial evil, blended that evil with a cadre of his most bloodthirsty human warriors to create beings he called tieflings. He made them the generals of his armies, and their inhuman cruelty and cunning won him many battles. At last, another Arcanarch uncovered the secret of the tieflings' creation, however, and adapted it to his own ends. Merging his own people with elemental spirits, he created the dragonborn, and they were even mightier than the tieflings. As the war ground on, however, and the Arcanum continued to degrade, both races eventually died out. The lucky ones simply sickened and died; the unlucky ones lived long enough to die in unutterable agony when the magic that sustained them drained away.

The Spellwars lasted for two thousand, three hundred and eighty-four years. Entire continents were taken, lost, and retaken, over and over. Billions died. In places, the weight of their deaths tore aside the veil between the world and the afterworld, and undead abominations rose to add still more misery to the burden of the living. At last, when the Arcanum had frayed so badly that it could no longer support any magic at all, the spellcasters died. All of them. All over the world, at the same instant, every wizard, cleric, sorcerer, and druid cocked their heads as though listening to a distant song... and fell down stone dead. The Spellwars had claimed their last casualties.

All the mortal races had been driven nearly to extinction. The dwarves and elves feared for the survival of their cultures, and took steps to ensure it. They searched within themselves for the fragments of the divine spark left over from their own creation, and coaxed it forth. From elemental air and fire, the elves created the gnomes to carry on the knowledge of their greatness. From elemental earth and water, the dwarves created the halflings to continue their traditions of craftsmanship.

With the birth of the younger races, the Third Time came to an end.

On Elves

Elves live the life of tribal nomads. There isn't a single corner of the world that has not known the tread of an elven foot; certain elf-tribes have even taken to the sea in great flotillas. Living off the land and owning no more than they can carry, land-dwelling elves have little use for commerce, but sometimes trade with dwarves for items of metalwork they cannot make themselves: tools, weapons, and armor chief among them. Seagoing elves, while they do not build trading ships per se, are given to carrying small but valuable trade goods in the unused nooks and crannies of their vessels.

In order to gain the coin to purchase what they need, elves reaching maturity leave their tribes and hire themselves out as scouts, skirmishers, ambushers, spies, and other careers requiring stealth and discretion where they can put their incredible fieldcraft skills to good use. A few even become adventurers, forsaking regular pay for the opportunity to gain incredible treasure. These sojourns among other races traditionally last for one hundred years, and in addition to being opportunities to gain wealth for the tribe, are seen as an essential part of a young elf's education.

Elves have generally excellent relations with the other races. Their constant wandering frequently brings them into contact with other cultures, and has made elven diplomats the finest anywhere. This, coupled with the respect their status as one of the elder races gains them, means that elves are often asked to mediate in disputes between different races.

Elves are generally laconic and taciturn. The elven language has an immense vocabulary, containing words for every imaginable object, condition, action, and so forth. This allows elves to be extraordinarily precise in their speech and to use no more than the bare minimum of verbiage. Where dwarves wear their hearts on their sleeves, elves are very restrained, to the point of seeming shy. They are also scrupulously polite, and will never give offense if they can help it. An elf will even show an icy courtesy to a blood enemy... usually just before putting an arrow through the enemy's eye. In combat, elves display economy of action similar to their economy of speech, disdaining flashy maneuvers and grandstanding flourishes in favor of a brutally simple doctrine of cutting the enemy down as efficiently as possible.

Elves enjoy a degree of longevity only slightly less than that of dwarves: reaching maturity at approximately 30 to 35 years of age, the average elf lives a total of roughly 800 to 1,000 years.

On character creation

As previously mentioned, there are five races available for PCs. See post "New edition, new rules" for details on racial ability score modifiers. I will allow any class for which you have documentation (D&D 4E book or class preview document from D&D Insider). Player characters will start at level 11; yes, this means you will choose your paragon path immediately.

Ability scores are generated by 22-point buy, per "Customizing Scores," p. 17 of the PHB.

Each character may choose up to four backgrounds, per the PHB2: one each from the Birth, Geography, Society, and Occupation categories. Optionally, you may substitute a Racial background for your Birth background. The "On Another Plane" Birth background is disallowed. Overlapping skill bonuses from multiple backgrounds stack. Backgrounds from other sources may be substituted at my discretion.

In terms of equipment, each character may choose one magic item, weapon, or armor up to level 5. Each character will also start with 50 platinum pieces (equivalent to 5,000 gp).

The Second Time: Being an Account of the Wars among the Gods, and the Rise of the Arcanarchs

The wars of the gods were terrible. Mountains were cloven in two, seas drained away, plains and forests burned. Countless mortals died as the gods slaughtered each other. The power of the slain deities passed to their killers... except for one. Among the greatest of the fallen was Sirrenar, god of magic and custodian of the Arcanum, the conduit through which mortal mages and clerics accessed the power of magic. Viridex, god of war, coveted Sirrenar's portfolio jealously, and so fell upon Him while Sirrenar was engaged in another battle. Viridex successfully murdered Sirrenar... but could not take his power. The portfolio of magic, and with it custodianship of the Arcanum, vanished. Viridex searched every corner of the world, but He could not find it. He combed the Arcanum itself with every grain of power and divine perception at His command, but uncovered nothing.

Viridex attempted to conceal His failure to absorb Sirrenar's portfolio from the other gods, but could not. When His fellows learned of it, they took pause, for here was a consequence of their war they had never conceived of: the total amount of divine power in the universe had declined. Prior to this, the gods had thought that at the end of the war one of their number would stand triumphant, all-powerful, having gained all the portfolios of all the gods. Now, however, each was forced to confront the idea that, even should He or She claim victory, that victory would be incomplete. Who could say how many portfolios would be lost, should the conflict continue? So it was that by common assent, the wars among the gods came to an end in an uneasy truce. Each still coveted sole dominion over the world, but none could attack another for fear of further diminishing all.

Time passed. First years, then centuries, then millennia. Fears that the Arcanum would wither for lack of tending proved unfounded; indeed, the power of mortal mages grew at rates undreamed of in the First Time. Some grew so powerful as to approach the level of the gods themselves; such quasi-godlings named themselves Arcanarchs, and they ruled vast empires. One Arcanarch thought to slay a god, steal the divine spark, and become a deity himself; for his hubris, all the remaining gods joined together and laid him low, making it clear to all magi: seek not above your station. The reasoning of the gods was that if one of their own could prevail in battle yet lose the portfolio of the defeated, a mortal challenger would surely be incapable of seizing the divine spark and divinity would be lessened still further.

The Arcanarchs grumbled at this prohibition, but none believed themselves powerful enough to defy the gods united. They contented themselves with ruling over lesser mages and those who lacked significant magical ability. For the most part, this was a good era. The Arcanarchs were, in the main, reasonably enlightened, and did not rule with fear or cruelty. Their empires occasionally skirmished with one another, but outright war was prevented by the titanic power of the Arcanarchs themselves: each had the power to lay waste to vast portions of an enemy nation, but their hands were stayed by the knowledge that they faced opponents of similar ability.

At last, after centuries in which civilization spiraled upward, in which the powers of mages and clerics fuelled wonders like flying cities and vast golem armies, the Arcanarchs came to an horrific realization: the magic was going away. The flying cities drifted slowly to the earth, the armies of constructs fell over one by one and become inert. All the myriad minor cantrips used by ordinary people to save labor and make life easier ceased to function. Magic became hard. Spells that once were taught to teenaged students in magical academies became so difficult that only experienced magi could use them reliably. The Arcanarchs and their most accomplished servants delved into magic's deepest and most esoteric secrets in an effort to understand what was happening, and uncovered something terrible: their own magic, drawing on the Arcanum in ways it was never meant to withstand, had been degrading the conduit for centuries. Bereft of a custodian, the Arcanum was beginning to fray.

With the beginning of the decline of magic, the Second Time came to an end.

On Dwarves

Dwarves are the great makers and builders of the world. Every dwarf practices some form of handicraft: brewers often make their own barrels, warriors frequently forge their own arms and armor, traders build their own wagons and so on. Even in their downtime, a dwarf will nearly always keep his hands busy with knitting, whittling, or some other minor craft.

This deep and abiding love of artifice means that the meanest product of dwarven hands is fit to stand beside the masterpieces of other races. A dwarf-forged blade will never rust, dull or break. Dwarf-raised buildings, invariably built of stone, are so tightly constructed that not even a knife-blade can be slipped between one stone and the next. Although dwarves seldom sell their work to other races, they can be persuaded if a potential buyer performs a service of some kind.

The dwarves originated the concept of cities, and most of the world's great cities are of primarily dwarven construction, linked by broad stone highways also of dwarven design. Humans and halflings commonly inhabit most surface structures, even in dwarf-ruled cities, with the dwarves themselves delving underground in vast halls and great corridors.

Dwarves are intensely passionate people, outspoken and headstrong. A dwarf's friends are never uncertain about where they stand, for dwarves are honest to a fault and despise liars. Most dwarves also have a vengeful streak, and though rarely troubled by minor slights, a dwarf who has been the victim of theft or violence will hold that grudge for centuries and go to enormous lengths to gain satisfaction.

Dwarves are tremendously long-lived, reaching physical maturity at the age of approximately 40 years, and living for a total of 1,000 to 1,200 years on average.

New edition, new rules

After talking it over with Richie, I have decided to use 4th edition rules rather than 3.5. I think it will make the campaign easier for me to DM and easier for you to play, and as far as I can tell there's nothing I can't do in 4E that I could in 3.5.

Also, a few notes on character creation: the following races are allowed, with changes where noted.

• Elves - +2 DEX, +2 INT
• Dwarves - +2 CON, +2 CHA
• Humans - As per the Player's Handbook
• Halflings - +2 CON, +2 DEX
• Gnomes - As per the Player's Handbook 2

In this world, the eladrin never existed. More exotic races, like tieflings and dragonborn, may have existed in the past, but are now extinct. (I'm not being capricious there; there is a reason, and it will become clear.) There are no half-elves: elves and humans can reproduce together, but any such child has a 90% chance of being a full-blood human and a 10% chance of being a full-blood elf.

On the subject of the low-magic initial setting, converting to 4E has made this much simpler than the half-caster-level nightmare I concocted earlier: all powers drawing on the arcane, divine or primal power sources are used at -2 to-hit and -2 damage. This may be subject to revision. Later, when you leave your home plane, these penalties will disappear.

The First Time: Being an Account of the Creation of the World, and the Birth of the Mortal Races

Eons ago, the gods spun the world out of nothingness. From the void they created an infinitely precious jewel, blue and green and white: white of clouds, green of forests and growing things, and blue of the deep, deep sea. Having created a world, the gods moved to populate it, for what is a god without worshippers? In the deep and secret places of the world, the gods fashioned the dwarves out of earth and fire, gifting them with the resilience of stone and an unquenchable spirit. In the hidden glens, among the trees and the wild things, the gods shaped the elves out of air and water, granting them grace of mind and body coupled with untamable wildness.

For a time, all was well. But the gods were not content. Each coveted sole dominion over what they had jointly wrought. They fell to scheming and plotting against one another, alliances and enmities shifting as soon as they were formed. Soon enough, jealousy begat anger, and anger begat violence, and the gods warred among themselves. The weapons of the gods struck sparks from one another that illuminated the whole sky, and where these sparks fell to earth, a third race arose: humans, the children of conflict, ever restless, often reckless, capable of greatness but prone to fall.

With the birth of humanity, the First Time came to an end.

Hail, and well met.

This is the chronicle of the Dungeons & Dragons 3.5 campaign entitled "Sailing the River of Worlds." I'm the Dungeon Master for this campaign. If you're reading this, you're probably one of my players, and got here because I sent you the link. Alternatively, you may simply be the kind of person who browses random blogs. Either way, welcome. I hope, first and foremost, to run an exciting, challenging, and engaging campaign; and if the blog also turns out to be worth reading, so much the better.

"Sailing" will be my first effort at running an RPG campaign. This blog will consist primarily of the things that happen both to and because of the player characters; but will also contain asides consisting of my thoughts, observations and experiences as a first-time DM.

Welcome to my world, gentlemen. I hope you enjoy the ride.