Apr 7, 2010 4:26:37 GMT
“He’s dead! He’s dead!”
He crawled into his room of writings, of prophecies, of fate. And he died.
In a land miles below any other civilization in the world, news of his death shook the scene like an earthquake. His officials sprang into action and defended the throne from the peasants while hypocritically fighting for it for themselves. The gnawers, the rats, ran into the night with victory cries, screaming their inevitable triumph over the killers.
The hopeless sat. The hopeless looked to the dirt sky. The hopeless waited.
Half a century ago, Bartholomew of Sandwich had a vision of a magnificent grey city, lit only by torches. That city would be the complete epitome of art. It would be the only man-made art in the world as all else on the Earth’s surface would be nonexistent. It would be at constant war with not only other humans but also other species--the moles, the ants, and the rats, all of whom were giant, mutated, and more than fit to eat a human for lunch.
Now, the war has ended, but the land is not secure.
Sandwich is dead.
Long live Regalia, City of the Underland.
Life. Death. Light.
The Underland Chronicles RPG
