Gabriel's Tale
Realm: D&D (Isn't it always?)
Scene: The ruling class has hatched a scheme. At a particular alignment they plan a move meant to be unstoppable, plunging the souls of everyone else into torture and servitude in perpetuity. They feel this is the fulfillment of an ancient prophesy, one where you are either victorious, or your soul paves the streets of privileged society henceforth.
Gabriel was around when this plan was first hatched. As a lowly bard he often wondered what his role would be on the world's stage, and opted to be an artist, and master of disguise. Tending to naturally be the type to level the playing field a bit with his actions, he often re-stole items or ideas that had been stolen or cheated away, returning them to their rightful owners. That was when he first noticed a disturbing pattern. The objects and writings he was locating and procuring had a central theme, one that was very dark indeed. They hinted at a prophecy, and as he gathered he noticed each item was designed to bring it about. The thing about prophesies is that even those that are true and must come about can be interpreted in a variety of ways. This interpretation was as sinister and vile as they came, the details of which shall not all be repeated. Needless to say, while Gabriel's interpretation of good might not sit right with everyone, this interpretation of evil was universal. He was not a great hero, however, and there was little time based on what he had gathered. He did the only thing he could think of, he wrote. He wrote in code and of the plan. He wrote in riddles and on how to thwart it. He knew not every piece, but planted one seed, with hopes that the roots would take in the minds of those who read it, remaining hidden long enough to sprout everywhere all at once, into an army of like minded individuals ready to stand against these schemes. In this way would be laid the foundation, then the bones knitted, and finally the body formed, with a single breath of life.
So he wrote and cautiously delayed the end where he could, finally identifying one lynch pin yet undiscovered. While many of these relics and writings were interchangeable to still usher in the end, one was decidedly not. It had yet been undiscovered except by him, and he protected this knowledge more dearly than his very life. When the stage had been set, and he felt the soil was ripe, he performed his greatest heist to date, completely undetected, making sure the sheer volume of the alternate identities used that night would lead any trying to track him down through countless ever expanding paths, and none would lead true. That very night he snuck away with the critical piece of their plan, to an undisclosed location. He was armed with artifacts to prevent observation of all kinds, magical or otherwise, and he rested beneath the earth, in a magical stasis for 1,000 years.
He knew to prevent the end was not enough. As the powers that be got closer to their goal, life would get worse for everyone else, eventually collapsing in on itself. There would come a time when good men and women would be persecuted for their very nature, and all industry would be owned. While artistry would be owned as well, the same thing that gave it value to those in charge gave it intrinsic value to those resisting them. In fact, calculating the nature of the end, the rulers would depend on art to sustain the people, as it maintained both their obedience and will to participate in society. It was this Catch 22 of the field that allowed Gabriel to wait so long for his plan to manifest. It would not be an easy life for the artist, chained like everyone else, but in their own minds they would be free- to write, sing, craft, illustrate, and plot, their art the tools to undermine the very hierarchy that bought and sold them with impunity.
When he awoke, he expected it to be in an empty chamber, or not at all. To his surprise, it was in what looked like a teenage hangout, with the walls graffitied and bottles and trash strewn across the floor. Confused and always curious, he examined his surroundings, and found that while many had come and gone with this intent in mind, a few had come knowingly to just adjacent to his place of rest. The walls spoke in riddles so familiar, like that written by one's own nieces or nephews. He quickly decided to search, and with a locate object spell for a particularly uncommon wood, he found what he was looking for. A simple bauble, unique in design, hinted at by the writings, providing proof that his seed had already begun to grow. Part of him had never expected to walk out of that place, never had he imagined he would be walking out with a confident smile and a whistle. He set out toward civilization to tend to that which had been planted 1,000 years prior, guarding carefully that which he possessed.
The next time was spent identifying, to a degree, those in his network. It was critical that they largely remain anonymous, so they were nearly impossible to eradicate, but calling cards were a must. Even the nature of the signature items could only be discerned once the seeker had deciphered most of the puzzle of those calling them, and so their nature remained shrouded and safe as well. He found that many had taken after his own heart, bards were the most prolific in the organization, but many from other walks with a curious heart, combined with a particularly good nature, had joined the cause as well. As in everything, some had more than the rest, and their hidden troves could be found scattered at the far reaches. He examined these troves, taking what was needed for his personal quest and augmenting them with what the next might need, as all had been doing for some time.
What was even more curious, he found, was that some had stumbled into membership in this secret society. While many sought it out, some read, or listened, or saw, and felt drawn on a deep level, unknown to them. They even found themselves laying groundwork for later, whenever they spoke from the heart, applying it to their own art. This was the case with many who sought to crack the code to destroy the organization, as the final steps took an openness that could not be faked. These became the turned spies, lurking in the corrupt noble's courts, ensuring moves were made on both sides to further secure the better end. But for many others who happened into the fold, they suddenly found themselves understanding the nature of the game one day, and realized they had already taken several steps to secure their own personal role in it. All that was left to do was to make a trinket, gather a few items, and they were then full-fledged.
The question remained: would it be enough? A large number was required worldwide, a staggering number in fact. The hardest part about this plan is that neither Gabriel, nor anyone involved, could possibly know if they had enough to turn the tides on that day. A leap of faith was required, and so it was taken. He took the piece he possessed and planted it in a secret place, before writing one more poem under a pseudonym that gave the hierarchy just enough of a new hint to sift back through old records and discover it. The next day, the sky turned dark.
On that day a prayer went up. What seemed akin to a miracle would be required for such a feat, but Gabriel had faith in the signs he had seen to date. He did not know what hands of fate guided him here, but he was confident they were there, and so, right on time, he made his wish. The specific nature of this wish was secret, but one could safely say it was incomplete on its own. This is because countless others were making wishes across the realm at the same time. Each was one puzzle piece, designed to make a spherical whole. They had all procured a means to this end, through study, intrinsic ability, ring, hat, sword, etc. They all knew the time and their own place based on the body of work swirling through the general consciousness. Right as the hierarchy was in place to conjure the hells into the world, forever changing it, a great cry rose into the sky "I wish..." With so many hearts aligned powerfully to one purpose, the ritual cracked, its seals broken, its intentions reversed. Gabriel had missed one mark by a mile. He had never considered what would happen if so many people had joined his cause that the residual wish energy remained in the air. That is exactly what happened, however, as redundant wish energy made it so that many extinct or never were creatures now populated the lands, ailments once prevalent were now gone, and everyone seemed to have a sparkle in their eye which was not there before. As far as anyone was concerned, he was just one anonymous cog in a great machine, that had managed to overthrow tyranny in one fell swoop. However, from that moment on, his words resonated with his audience wherever he went, and whenever he was asked to tell a new tale his fount overflowed, echoing the wishes of the entire world, both secret and spoken.
Scene: The ruling class has hatched a scheme. At a particular alignment they plan a move meant to be unstoppable, plunging the souls of everyone else into torture and servitude in perpetuity. They feel this is the fulfillment of an ancient prophesy, one where you are either victorious, or your soul paves the streets of privileged society henceforth.
Gabriel was around when this plan was first hatched. As a lowly bard he often wondered what his role would be on the world's stage, and opted to be an artist, and master of disguise. Tending to naturally be the type to level the playing field a bit with his actions, he often re-stole items or ideas that had been stolen or cheated away, returning them to their rightful owners. That was when he first noticed a disturbing pattern. The objects and writings he was locating and procuring had a central theme, one that was very dark indeed. They hinted at a prophecy, and as he gathered he noticed each item was designed to bring it about. The thing about prophesies is that even those that are true and must come about can be interpreted in a variety of ways. This interpretation was as sinister and vile as they came, the details of which shall not all be repeated. Needless to say, while Gabriel's interpretation of good might not sit right with everyone, this interpretation of evil was universal. He was not a great hero, however, and there was little time based on what he had gathered. He did the only thing he could think of, he wrote. He wrote in code and of the plan. He wrote in riddles and on how to thwart it. He knew not every piece, but planted one seed, with hopes that the roots would take in the minds of those who read it, remaining hidden long enough to sprout everywhere all at once, into an army of like minded individuals ready to stand against these schemes. In this way would be laid the foundation, then the bones knitted, and finally the body formed, with a single breath of life.
So he wrote and cautiously delayed the end where he could, finally identifying one lynch pin yet undiscovered. While many of these relics and writings were interchangeable to still usher in the end, one was decidedly not. It had yet been undiscovered except by him, and he protected this knowledge more dearly than his very life. When the stage had been set, and he felt the soil was ripe, he performed his greatest heist to date, completely undetected, making sure the sheer volume of the alternate identities used that night would lead any trying to track him down through countless ever expanding paths, and none would lead true. That very night he snuck away with the critical piece of their plan, to an undisclosed location. He was armed with artifacts to prevent observation of all kinds, magical or otherwise, and he rested beneath the earth, in a magical stasis for 1,000 years.
He knew to prevent the end was not enough. As the powers that be got closer to their goal, life would get worse for everyone else, eventually collapsing in on itself. There would come a time when good men and women would be persecuted for their very nature, and all industry would be owned. While artistry would be owned as well, the same thing that gave it value to those in charge gave it intrinsic value to those resisting them. In fact, calculating the nature of the end, the rulers would depend on art to sustain the people, as it maintained both their obedience and will to participate in society. It was this Catch 22 of the field that allowed Gabriel to wait so long for his plan to manifest. It would not be an easy life for the artist, chained like everyone else, but in their own minds they would be free- to write, sing, craft, illustrate, and plot, their art the tools to undermine the very hierarchy that bought and sold them with impunity.
When he awoke, he expected it to be in an empty chamber, or not at all. To his surprise, it was in what looked like a teenage hangout, with the walls graffitied and bottles and trash strewn across the floor. Confused and always curious, he examined his surroundings, and found that while many had come and gone with this intent in mind, a few had come knowingly to just adjacent to his place of rest. The walls spoke in riddles so familiar, like that written by one's own nieces or nephews. He quickly decided to search, and with a locate object spell for a particularly uncommon wood, he found what he was looking for. A simple bauble, unique in design, hinted at by the writings, providing proof that his seed had already begun to grow. Part of him had never expected to walk out of that place, never had he imagined he would be walking out with a confident smile and a whistle. He set out toward civilization to tend to that which had been planted 1,000 years prior, guarding carefully that which he possessed.
The next time was spent identifying, to a degree, those in his network. It was critical that they largely remain anonymous, so they were nearly impossible to eradicate, but calling cards were a must. Even the nature of the signature items could only be discerned once the seeker had deciphered most of the puzzle of those calling them, and so their nature remained shrouded and safe as well. He found that many had taken after his own heart, bards were the most prolific in the organization, but many from other walks with a curious heart, combined with a particularly good nature, had joined the cause as well. As in everything, some had more than the rest, and their hidden troves could be found scattered at the far reaches. He examined these troves, taking what was needed for his personal quest and augmenting them with what the next might need, as all had been doing for some time.
What was even more curious, he found, was that some had stumbled into membership in this secret society. While many sought it out, some read, or listened, or saw, and felt drawn on a deep level, unknown to them. They even found themselves laying groundwork for later, whenever they spoke from the heart, applying it to their own art. This was the case with many who sought to crack the code to destroy the organization, as the final steps took an openness that could not be faked. These became the turned spies, lurking in the corrupt noble's courts, ensuring moves were made on both sides to further secure the better end. But for many others who happened into the fold, they suddenly found themselves understanding the nature of the game one day, and realized they had already taken several steps to secure their own personal role in it. All that was left to do was to make a trinket, gather a few items, and they were then full-fledged.
The question remained: would it be enough? A large number was required worldwide, a staggering number in fact. The hardest part about this plan is that neither Gabriel, nor anyone involved, could possibly know if they had enough to turn the tides on that day. A leap of faith was required, and so it was taken. He took the piece he possessed and planted it in a secret place, before writing one more poem under a pseudonym that gave the hierarchy just enough of a new hint to sift back through old records and discover it. The next day, the sky turned dark.
On that day a prayer went up. What seemed akin to a miracle would be required for such a feat, but Gabriel had faith in the signs he had seen to date. He did not know what hands of fate guided him here, but he was confident they were there, and so, right on time, he made his wish. The specific nature of this wish was secret, but one could safely say it was incomplete on its own. This is because countless others were making wishes across the realm at the same time. Each was one puzzle piece, designed to make a spherical whole. They had all procured a means to this end, through study, intrinsic ability, ring, hat, sword, etc. They all knew the time and their own place based on the body of work swirling through the general consciousness. Right as the hierarchy was in place to conjure the hells into the world, forever changing it, a great cry rose into the sky "I wish..." With so many hearts aligned powerfully to one purpose, the ritual cracked, its seals broken, its intentions reversed. Gabriel had missed one mark by a mile. He had never considered what would happen if so many people had joined his cause that the residual wish energy remained in the air. That is exactly what happened, however, as redundant wish energy made it so that many extinct or never were creatures now populated the lands, ailments once prevalent were now gone, and everyone seemed to have a sparkle in their eye which was not there before. As far as anyone was concerned, he was just one anonymous cog in a great machine, that had managed to overthrow tyranny in one fell swoop. However, from that moment on, his words resonated with his audience wherever he went, and whenever he was asked to tell a new tale his fount overflowed, echoing the wishes of the entire world, both secret and spoken.
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