An Overview of the Arkian Peninsula, and the History of the Fall

1100 years have passed on Telluria since the once mighty Empire of Rega fell. The world has turned, and changed. Once, the Arkian Peninsula was the center of Imperial might and culture. The greatest of its cities lay there, from the hills, valleys, and coast of Rega itself to the marsh islands of Corvenna in the north. The Caputine Mountains were filled with dwarven settlements, mines and forges. The Arkian forests were warded by elves, tended by druids. All was peace and plenty, or so it seemed. But there came a day when the people of Rega became complacent, and ungrateful. They considered their good fortune to be their just due, and ceased to give the gods the respect they deserved. They stopped doing the rites that were required, and even turned from the teachings of the gods, thinking that they could act as they wished without consequence. They turned, as a people, to sin and decadence, though many among them still held to the old ways. Those who did, the gods still protected. When the fall came, the faithful were warned, spared, given safe passage. And the unfaithful paid that no heed, for the faithful tried to spread the warnings of the gods, and they fell on deaf ears. But even then, Saevios held to his word. He would not destroy Rega, for he had promised Caela he would not. It was not the hand of any of the Bright Gods that smote Rega . . . but the hand of the Dark Gods, and the masses of the enemies Rega had made, and the consequences of their own folly.

Long ago the Empire waged war against the nation, and city of Karth-Usu, worshipers of Interitus and Rixa and Metus who gave their own children unto the fire in sacrifice. It was even in the last days of the Old Republic, and the early days of the Empire, when they had not turned their back on the gods, that Summus, son of Magnus, led the Empire to the city of Karth-Usu itself, to strike the final blow. The battle raged 18 days and nights, and when it was done, not a soul remained alive in the city. It was ruined and laid waste, the fields salted, the lands around despoiled and cursed. The women, the children and the righteous were spared, sent to exile in other lands. This mercy was to prove costly, though there was no other choice for people of good heart.

And so it was, a millenium later, that the birds sent forth came home to roost, that the people of the island of Ifaisnisi, whom had come there as exiles, whom were born of Karth-Usu before it burned, mustered a great host of the greatest warriors and mightiest magicians of all Tellus, from each and every nation offended by Rega, and reinforced by the minions of the Dark Three themselves. Dragons, and serpentfolk, and monsters of every kind gathered, and descended on the Arkian Peninsula in their hordes, more vast than the War of Serpent's Rage a thousand years before . . . and there was no now demigod left to oppose them as Magnus did in that conflict, for the children of the gods had fled as their parents bade them, and Rega was left to its fate.

Even without demigods on the side of the beleaguered cities of the Empire, there were many mighty warriors and mages remaining, and the battles were long, and bloody. Many moons passed. War raged up and down the peninsula, into the mountains, into the forests, into the cities and the swamps. Great and terrible magics were cast, the earth quaked and bucked, and Tellus himself cried out in agony. So much blood was spilled, so much Invidian ichor, that many of the plants of the Peninsula, and some of the animals, were forever after red in hue, as was much of the soil. The volcanoes of the Caputine range were awakened, and the channels of the earth ran hot, and all of Arkia was warmer thereafter. The magic used, the portals opened, the blood, and the death, and the Invidian ichor, all combined to create a monster haunted jungle, a near-tropical rain forest, there in the temperate regions of the Northern Meditellurian Sea. Tellus spawned some of his own guardians there, but they are, and were, hideously outnumbered by the monstrosities born of Invidian ichor and foul magic. In the end, every city lay in ruin, every Regan remaining lay slain, man, woman, and child. The elves were driven north from the forests. The dwarves were driven from the mountains. The halflings , almost to the very individual, had left when warned. The Spartoi who stayed to defend were all destroyed. And Rega, mighty Rega, city of the chosen of the gods, was dust and wreckage. The mightiest landbound monster of all lay resting beneath it, sleeping fitfully, to this very day, it is hoped: the Tarrasque.

So. Now, the Arkian Peninsula, once the heart of Rega, once the center of commerce, and art, and culture, is but a distant memory. Only the eldest of the elves saw it with their own eyes. For others, it is a legend, a myth, of brighter days, and of the price of hubris.

At its height, Rega brought many a curious animal from distant lands to their shores, and many descendants of these creatures remain, some warped by fell magic and Invidian taint, some not. The Karthians brought their elephants, and so many more monsters besides. Creatures of scale and skin and bone, creatures from far to the south, some even from across the Outer Marean Ocean. Many monsters grew grotesquely large on their diet of blood and magic, others still gained mobility or appetite for flesh. None who have been brave enough to delve the lost secrets of the Peninsula have gotten far inland . . . or those who have, have not returned to tell the tale. It is said that even more monsters have been drawn there, by the warmth, by the magic, by the plentiful prey . . .

This Bestiary will strive to enumerate some of the creatures known or rumoured to dwell on that cursed spit of land. Someday, perhaps, brave adventurers or mighty heroes will reclaim what was lost in those now blasted and hidden ruins . . .someday.