The Destruction of Tunus

Disaster / Destruction

When the combined arrogance of the Human Wizards and the Minotaur Shamans who had gathered at the great coalition city of Tunus caused a magical disaster, it was only the intercession of young Vylmia Hammerhoof which prevented the resulting explosion from tearing apart the Ridgedare Wilds, and quite possibly the rest of Adarinn. With her namesake hammer in hand, the hero used all the resources at her disposal to arrange for a barrier to be put in place that would contain the disaster in perpetuity.

Our story begins in the Ridgedare Wilds, the 14th day of the Law Moon (4th month of the year, early summer) in 421 AH. Vylmia Hammerhoof's birth was unremarkable in almost every way. The daughter of her Minotaur clan's craftmaster, her healthy arrival into the world was celebrated as any other child's might be. None of her clan members knew that she would, in seventeen short years, be the only thing standing between the Ridgedare Wilds and utter destruction due to the hubris of wizards. Vylmia grew up traveling between the hobgoblin fortress on the border of the Dead Barrens and the burgeoning city of Tunus. Now Tunus was a hotspot of trade and culture, a blending point between the nomadic Ridgedare Minotaur clans, the powerful but sparse centaurs of the northern territories, and the relatively weak humans of whom there are many. The city was a hotbed of innovation, and in the time that Vylmia was growing up it went from a collection of buildings on the banks of a river to a thriving metropolis. A small school of wizardry cropped up when she was about twelve, and her parents took her to visit. She was absolutely delighted by the spectacle of magic, and begged her father to let her enroll. He firmly informed her that Hammerhoofs do not become *wizards* (derogatory), and told her to leave that sort of nonsense to the likes of the Gleamhides (derogatory) and Buffskins (EXTREMELY derogatory). They left the city, and Vylmia spent the next few years far from its light. Her father was wary of her interest in magic and academia, so he asked the clan chief (his brother by marriage) to stay away from Tunus for a little while. Through mutual contrivance, they avoided the draw of the city for three years, during which time Vylmia underwent her coming of age ceremony as a full adult member of the clan and began training under one of the clan's defenders as a barbarian. She had little time to contemplate or resent her father's decision, as she was incredibly busy preparing, training, and learning. She was approached by several young men of her clan in hopes of contracting a romantic relationship, but she turned them all down out of general disinterest. She spent all of her free time following the clan's shaman, Wystren, around, pestering her for details of her work. Though Vylmia lacked the natural connection to the spirits required to be shaman, she could sit by Wystren's fire and listen to her tales for hours. Some of the elders snorted and shook their heads in a fondly amused sort of way, but generally the deepening friendship between the two was seen as harmless. Wystren was young for her position, after all, and a bit strange besides, and had been rather friendless before Vylmia's fixation on her developed. The much more popular young barbarian brought her brothers and sisters in arms to the fireside, and Wystren's connection to the rest of the clan grew stronger as a result. Vylmia's mother worried about her lack of any serious marriage prospects, but was soothed by the understanding that the young will do as they wish until such a time as they grow into wisdom. Her father still disapproved of her interest in magic, but at least with her spending her days practicing combat, she was not in any danger of becoming an academic. He was also satisfied. And so time passed. During the Welcome Moon (11, late fall/early winter) of Vylmia's nineteenth year, the city of Tunus sent invitations out to all the clans of the Ridgedare Wilds, summoning them all for a great feast to be held in honor of the city's hundredth year of establishment. The city's mages would put on a grand show of magical prowess, there would be food and crafts to sell in a great market festival, and the clans could all interact in peace under the auspices of Lady Bavesis. It would soon be winter, and the Hammerhoof clan was happy to have an offer of free food extended. They accepted the invitation, as did every other clan on the plains. The festival was as grand as advertised. Vylmia dragged Wystren to what felt like every booth in the city, and Wystren simply laughed and explained the more esoteric magical theories, because while she was a shaman (druid), she had been studying all her life. She had even bought books from travelers who had been to the city, and she was as happy as ever to discuss her studies with her friend. At the height of the festival, the wizards of the Tunus college unveiled their crowning achievement: a magical artifact (whose exact nature has been lost to time) which was going to make the Ridgedare Wilds more bountiful than ever before. Infused with magics both primal and arcane, the artifact would be fueled by daily spellcasting and would exude an aura of plenty, infusing the land for miles around with energy to grow food for all its creatures throughout the year, even in the depths of winter. A delighted people separated at the end of the Welcome Moon, drifting away again to their respective corners of the wilderness well fed, having made new friends and useful connections both. Unfortunately, the rest of that winter marked a tragedy for the Hammerhoofs. In the Dusk Moon (14, late winter), a plague struck the clan. It took from them their chief, their craftmaster, their healer, and the cream of their warriors, despite their shaman’s best efforts. The disease defied magical aid, and no one could discern why some took ill while others remained strong. In three short months, this mysterious plague decimated the clan. Distraught, Wystren took to her books, spent hours in meditation, and even underwent a grueling three day ceremony to cleanse and renew her connection to the spirits of the Wilds, who yet refused to answer her call. The clan began to murmur that their shaman was the cause of the illness, as she could—or, some whispered *would*—not stop it. Vylmia defended her, stalwart against the growing tide of opinion, but even the loyalty of so sincere a companion could not protect her forever. In the Dawn Moon (1, early spring) of 441 AH, the clan decided to drive Wystren from their midst in the hope of stopping the dying. Vylmia argued long and hard against the choice, but she could not sway her clanmates. When the warriors lined up with their clubs and the children began gathering stones to hurl, all she could do was put herself between Wystren and the worst of the blows as the pair were chased away from the clan’s camp with nothing more than the clothes on their backs. Wystren (an indifferent healer at the best of times) spent the better part of the next month nursing Vylmia back to health after the damage she took to protect her, chastising her for the stupidity of the decision all the while. It was during this time, with the expectations and constant company of the clan behind them, that the two felt something new blossoming between them. It remained unspoken, for fear that the other would not reciprocate, but both felt the growing warmth that went beyond friendship begin to develop. In the Storm Moon (3, mid spring), they began to construct a dwelling place, and Wystren was able to gift the completed cottage to Vylmia for her 21st birthday. They settled into their new lives, though Wystren continued to seek the source of the plague that had destroyed their clan, convinced that if she could only discover what caused it, she could find a cure and win her way back into the good graces of her people. Vylmia, for her part, had lost everything that mattered to her in the clan, and had lost all patience for the people who had harmed her friend for no reason. She did not yearn to return, and found a great deal of joy in the freedom that exile granted her. The peace was not to last, however. That summer, when the Wilds should have been blossoming, crops and grasses began to fail. The wildlife became sickly, then scarce, before it disappeared entirely. Wystren’s connection to the spirits of the Wilds only weakened further as she tried desperately to heal the land, to discover what was wrong, or to have *any* effect on the world around her. By the Scholars’ Moon (5, early/mid summer) the blight was so great that food was becoming hard to gather. Vylmia and Wystren decided that in order to discover the cause of this great trouble, they would have to split up. Wystren went north to the spiritual nexus of the Ridgedare Wilds, where she hoped to find other shamans to consult, and if not, to make a last-ditch effort to contact the spirits of nature. And Vylmia went south to Tunus, where she had a sinking suspicion there would be answers. In the city, she found thousands of desperate folk clustered together, clueless and terrified, seeking the council of Tunus’s wizards. The wizards, for their part, were holed up in their college, seeing no one. Vylmia was having none of that, the lands she loved (and the woman she was beginning to think she loved just as much) were being torn apart by this magical tomfoolery, and so bulled her way past a variety of guards and wards, eventually crashing into the archmage’s personal chambers. Finding a scrawny human man of middling years and great magical prowess, she picked him up by the front of his robe and demanded answers. The archmage confessed (with some persuasion) that Vylmia’s worst fears were accurate. The artifact the wizards had designed to enrich the lands was now poisoning them, and they had no idea how to stop it. In fact, the artifact had been decaying for some time, and it was only by constantly feeding it spellcraft that they had kept it remotely stable for as long as they had. Vylmia insisted she be shown the artifact. The wizards claimed there was no way she could understand it, but she knocked heads together until *they* understood that there would be no stopping her. The moment she looked upon it, Vylmia knew that the artifact could not be salvaged. Many of the mages involved knew as much too, but were too proud or fearful to say so. It was only a strong outside perspective that convinced the wizards that they were playing, not with fire, but with forces of destruction beyond mortal ken. The artifact, which the wizards had laced into the architecture of the whole city, was a void, consuming magic endlessly, accelerating with every moment, and it was going to collapse in on itself. When it did, it would first explode, then it would begin trying to swallow the magic of the whole world. The assembled scholars of the arcane looked at their archmage and asked what they should do. He looked at Vylmia. She was not a wizard, but Vylmia Hammerhoof had not been studying every scrap of magical knowledge she could find her entire life to fail in the endeavor now. What exactly passed between the hero and the wizard council is lost to time, but the records do state that Vylmia worked with the scholars for fifteen days and fifteen nights to find a solution. At the end of that time, they had created the Sphere of Tunus. A spell of inconceivable power that would encase the entire city in a dome of impenetrable force, containing the artifact and its effects within forever. The sacrifices would be immense, but it could be done. Preparation began immediately. Vylmia led the evacuation, transporting every living soul who could be moved out of the city into makeshift settlements on the southern edge of the Wilds, outside of the artifact’s growing sphere of influence where they could find food and shelter. Meanwhile, the apprentice wizards scattered to the winds in search of the requisite material components, and the most powerful spellcasters stayed. To feed the artifact and keep it stable. It took the better part of a year, but in the War Moon (5, early summer) of 443 AH, the spell was ready. Six wizards of the college and immensely difficult to acquire components were arranged, and the spell was cast. Three of the wizards gave their lives, remaining inside the city to finish the casting, but at the end of a full day’s intense spellwork, the ritual was completed. The city was sealed, and not a moment too soon. The instant the Sphere went up, cutting the artifact off from the magic of the surrounding Wilds, an earthshaking explosion occurred in the center of the city. The artifact had finally lost integrity, absolutely incinerating everything within the protective sphere. All that remained of the once-great city of Tunus was a glass bottomed crater inside of an enormous magical bubble. In the aftermath, Vylmia was heralded as a great hero, and was chosen by the people she had evacuated to lead them in the construction of a new home. While she was trying to come to terms with her massive new responsibilities, Wystren arrived from the spiritual nexus, trailing almost a full clan worth of shamans. Her expertise with the spirits, the arcane, and the plague had won the respect of the other shamans, and when the artifact exploded, she had been the first to feel the ripples in the Divine Sea. She’d led them south to find out what happened, and she flew into Vylmia’s arms the moment they saw each other. The two embraced like they had never been apart. Together, they rebuilt the community that had been lost, but the Minotaurs of the Ridgedare Wilds had learned their lesson. Never again would they construct a great city, nor would they host a college of wizardry. They returned to their nomadic ways, spread across their homeland in roving clans which met in friendship or battle only rarely, all the better to protect the sanctity of the Wilds. It is said, however, that there remained a small cottage somewhere on the northeastern prairies, surrounded by wildflowers in spring, where a pair of mature women retired when their long work was finally completed and their people were restored. The tales claim that the cottage was home to many long, sunlit years of love and laughter, and that when its inhabitants finally passed from this world, to cross the starlit waters of the Divine Sea and roam forever on the plains of the afterlife, they went hand in hand.