Post by pajosftw on Apr 4, 2012 13:28:44 GMT -5
In the 15th age, the island known as Archonfel first bore human feet upon its back.
The area was frequented by violent winter storms. One such storm took a ship full of sailors by surprise. Helplessly tossed about by the wind, they had no choice but to batten the hatches and bail as well as they could. For hours they suffered, until at last their torment was ended with a final, jarring thud.
In the morning, after the storm passed and the sun broke the clouds, the crew ascended to the upper deck. Looking at their surroundings, they noticed the ship had run aground in shallow water, off the coast of a tall mountain sticking straight up out of the sea. Bewildered, they watched as the sea level lowered (the water level had been increased by the storm) and gradually an island was uncovered around the mountain. Looking down, they noticed the water had retreated from around the ship, and that they were now on dry land.
The Captain, a man by the name of Tyberius Archon, deduced that the island they were on must be low enough that it floods regularly from the tropical storms. Stranded on this little piece of dirt, sand, and rock, with no way to get their boat down the beach to deeper water, the Captain resolved to repair and prepare the ship in time for the next storm, so that they might ride it back home.
The island was bountiful. It had a forest of strong, workable softwood trees, most of which bore delicious fruits. The coast teemed with fish of all shapes and colours, and the crew was even able to prepare a thin brew out of some thin, reed-like plants. The repairs to the ship were made, and the crew fashioned strong oars to push them through storm waves.
At last, another storm brewed in the distance. The Captain ordered all sailors below decks to the oar-ports, and he himself took up the wheel. As the sky broke open and the rains poured, gradually the water level rose.
The temporary shelters they had constructed were dislodged and broken by the waves as they edged up the coastline, eating it up bit by bit. The island they had made their temporary home disappeared as the rain increased in intensity and the water rose and rose…until the ship started to shift on its sandy perch.
The Captain yelled the order to push out, and as one the crew dug in their oars, pushing against the sand they were trapped on. Timbers creaking, the ship started to move, its bow gliding forward, and then the rest followed as it splashed into deeper water. Cheers erupted from the crew, as they rowed out to the sea, on their way back home.
Several Years Later:
Now, before we go further, let me mention that the crew featured in the previous tale was no ordinary crew. They were men of fortune, every one of them, and the Icarius which crashed onto the island was in fact a raiding ship. As soon as they found a friendly port after escaping the island, they made proper repairs and jumped right back to their usual “business”.
The Icarius hit bigger and bigger targets, their ego growing as their reputation did. Gold and trinkets lined their pockets, and they feasted and drank merrily in the night. The mighty fighters travelled from port to port, raiding and looting boats, until finally the capital put a price on their heads.
They were forced on the run. No longer were they facing merchant ships and lightly armed civilians; no, they were up against cutthroat mercenaries, bands of them, all looking to win the rich prize that was the death of the Icarius. With no safe port left and nowhere left to hide, the Captain devised a cunning plan.
“Flee!” He cried; “Flee, to the island!” So gathering their families, back to the island they went, the place where no-one would ever find them. They sailed for days, until finally, the mountain loomed out of the sea in the distance. Waiting until the tide withdrew to its farthest capacity, the ship dropped anchor and the lifeboats rolled out across the waves, heading for the shore.
The sailors, knowing their stay would be a long one, travelled to the top of the mountain, chopping down the tough hardwood trees. With these, they built tough shelters around the base of the cliff, protected from the dangerous tide. In these they made a decent life, improving their new home and surviving on native plants and creatures, supplemented with stores of edibles from the ship.
Eventually they felt the need to expand. The small area of dry land was no longer enough to shelter the slowly increasing population of the island. So, they needed a way to prevent the lower ground from flooding during heavy tides. After careful consideration, the first inklings of design for what would later be the sewers were made. During the next low tide, the crew took what heavy wood they had on hand, and dug large ditches into and under the island, on the edge of the beach. Reinforcing their long, deep trenches with the beams, they retreated back to their shelter and waited.
It worked smashingly. When the tide approached, it flooded down into the trench and dissipated under the island, leaving the rest of the ground high and dry. Excited by their success, the crew hastened to perfect their new drainage system, strengthening the walls with great chunks of stone and wood. Tide after tide proved their plan successful and functional, and they decided it safe to build on the newly dry ground.
As months turned to years and the years passed by, the sailors built new homes, had more children, expanded, and improved their structures. The tunnels underneath grew, and they constructed boardwalks over the bay and protective walls around the boardwalks. Gradually, they developed a proper settlement.
They named their village Archonfel, after their Captain. Eventually, more ships started to find the settlement. Several of them were pirate ships, to which they offered refuge and shelter in exchange for some trade. The pirates were glad to have a guaranteed safe port, and made alliances with the settlers. To the official capital ships, however, the settlers took to the cannons (which they had removed from their ship, and retrofitted to the walls) and sent the officials off with a salvo of lead. The pirates shipped back and forth, telling contacts about the town in the ocean and spreading the word. Ships started to stop off regularly for trade and information, so the Archonfel settlers constructed a proper docking area, further increasing their reputation as an ideal port town.
People even started moving to Archonfel. New citizens, almost entirely men of fortune as well, built homes and settled down. Archonfel became a well-known and frequented hub, drawing not just pirates but thieves, assassins, and people of all kinds. Eventually the Capital even acknowledged it as a proper city, although reluctantly and informally. Rull would rather have the men of fortune living elsewhere anyway.
Throughout the 16th age Archonfel continued as it was. Neutral in all conflicts, they kept to themselves and happily ignored Central Mirugan laws. An old legend rumours that a woman by the name of Selena Night started some sort of organization around this time, a syndicate of malicious activity. Perhaps this might be related to the sudden economic growth Archonfel experienced, which they put to use in further developing the sewers, draining another section of the island. However, after the water drained away, the workers were bewildered to find a series of stone ruins littering the new section, a mystery unsolved to this day.
Today Archonfel is a bustling hub of trade and shipping, still populated by a majority of men of fortune. All boats are welcome, people from all backgrounds, as long as they don’t work for Rull. The docks are a favourite among other towns, used as a place to link the towns together for trade and business. The government continues to pretend the city doesn’t exist. And of course, the ships still sail.
The area was frequented by violent winter storms. One such storm took a ship full of sailors by surprise. Helplessly tossed about by the wind, they had no choice but to batten the hatches and bail as well as they could. For hours they suffered, until at last their torment was ended with a final, jarring thud.
In the morning, after the storm passed and the sun broke the clouds, the crew ascended to the upper deck. Looking at their surroundings, they noticed the ship had run aground in shallow water, off the coast of a tall mountain sticking straight up out of the sea. Bewildered, they watched as the sea level lowered (the water level had been increased by the storm) and gradually an island was uncovered around the mountain. Looking down, they noticed the water had retreated from around the ship, and that they were now on dry land.
The Captain, a man by the name of Tyberius Archon, deduced that the island they were on must be low enough that it floods regularly from the tropical storms. Stranded on this little piece of dirt, sand, and rock, with no way to get their boat down the beach to deeper water, the Captain resolved to repair and prepare the ship in time for the next storm, so that they might ride it back home.
The island was bountiful. It had a forest of strong, workable softwood trees, most of which bore delicious fruits. The coast teemed with fish of all shapes and colours, and the crew was even able to prepare a thin brew out of some thin, reed-like plants. The repairs to the ship were made, and the crew fashioned strong oars to push them through storm waves.
At last, another storm brewed in the distance. The Captain ordered all sailors below decks to the oar-ports, and he himself took up the wheel. As the sky broke open and the rains poured, gradually the water level rose.
The temporary shelters they had constructed were dislodged and broken by the waves as they edged up the coastline, eating it up bit by bit. The island they had made their temporary home disappeared as the rain increased in intensity and the water rose and rose…until the ship started to shift on its sandy perch.
The Captain yelled the order to push out, and as one the crew dug in their oars, pushing against the sand they were trapped on. Timbers creaking, the ship started to move, its bow gliding forward, and then the rest followed as it splashed into deeper water. Cheers erupted from the crew, as they rowed out to the sea, on their way back home.
Several Years Later:
Now, before we go further, let me mention that the crew featured in the previous tale was no ordinary crew. They were men of fortune, every one of them, and the Icarius which crashed onto the island was in fact a raiding ship. As soon as they found a friendly port after escaping the island, they made proper repairs and jumped right back to their usual “business”.
The Icarius hit bigger and bigger targets, their ego growing as their reputation did. Gold and trinkets lined their pockets, and they feasted and drank merrily in the night. The mighty fighters travelled from port to port, raiding and looting boats, until finally the capital put a price on their heads.
They were forced on the run. No longer were they facing merchant ships and lightly armed civilians; no, they were up against cutthroat mercenaries, bands of them, all looking to win the rich prize that was the death of the Icarius. With no safe port left and nowhere left to hide, the Captain devised a cunning plan.
“Flee!” He cried; “Flee, to the island!” So gathering their families, back to the island they went, the place where no-one would ever find them. They sailed for days, until finally, the mountain loomed out of the sea in the distance. Waiting until the tide withdrew to its farthest capacity, the ship dropped anchor and the lifeboats rolled out across the waves, heading for the shore.
The sailors, knowing their stay would be a long one, travelled to the top of the mountain, chopping down the tough hardwood trees. With these, they built tough shelters around the base of the cliff, protected from the dangerous tide. In these they made a decent life, improving their new home and surviving on native plants and creatures, supplemented with stores of edibles from the ship.
Eventually they felt the need to expand. The small area of dry land was no longer enough to shelter the slowly increasing population of the island. So, they needed a way to prevent the lower ground from flooding during heavy tides. After careful consideration, the first inklings of design for what would later be the sewers were made. During the next low tide, the crew took what heavy wood they had on hand, and dug large ditches into and under the island, on the edge of the beach. Reinforcing their long, deep trenches with the beams, they retreated back to their shelter and waited.
It worked smashingly. When the tide approached, it flooded down into the trench and dissipated under the island, leaving the rest of the ground high and dry. Excited by their success, the crew hastened to perfect their new drainage system, strengthening the walls with great chunks of stone and wood. Tide after tide proved their plan successful and functional, and they decided it safe to build on the newly dry ground.
As months turned to years and the years passed by, the sailors built new homes, had more children, expanded, and improved their structures. The tunnels underneath grew, and they constructed boardwalks over the bay and protective walls around the boardwalks. Gradually, they developed a proper settlement.
They named their village Archonfel, after their Captain. Eventually, more ships started to find the settlement. Several of them were pirate ships, to which they offered refuge and shelter in exchange for some trade. The pirates were glad to have a guaranteed safe port, and made alliances with the settlers. To the official capital ships, however, the settlers took to the cannons (which they had removed from their ship, and retrofitted to the walls) and sent the officials off with a salvo of lead. The pirates shipped back and forth, telling contacts about the town in the ocean and spreading the word. Ships started to stop off regularly for trade and information, so the Archonfel settlers constructed a proper docking area, further increasing their reputation as an ideal port town.
People even started moving to Archonfel. New citizens, almost entirely men of fortune as well, built homes and settled down. Archonfel became a well-known and frequented hub, drawing not just pirates but thieves, assassins, and people of all kinds. Eventually the Capital even acknowledged it as a proper city, although reluctantly and informally. Rull would rather have the men of fortune living elsewhere anyway.
Throughout the 16th age Archonfel continued as it was. Neutral in all conflicts, they kept to themselves and happily ignored Central Mirugan laws. An old legend rumours that a woman by the name of Selena Night started some sort of organization around this time, a syndicate of malicious activity. Perhaps this might be related to the sudden economic growth Archonfel experienced, which they put to use in further developing the sewers, draining another section of the island. However, after the water drained away, the workers were bewildered to find a series of stone ruins littering the new section, a mystery unsolved to this day.
Today Archonfel is a bustling hub of trade and shipping, still populated by a majority of men of fortune. All boats are welcome, people from all backgrounds, as long as they don’t work for Rull. The docks are a favourite among other towns, used as a place to link the towns together for trade and business. The government continues to pretend the city doesn’t exist. And of course, the ships still sail.
