The city of Kor’Korai has a storied past. A millennium ago, Kor’Korai soared among the clouds—a marvel of spire and valley elf collaboration, one of the last of the fabled flying cities. Kor’Korai was unique in that it was cooperative creation of spire elf and valley elf magics. It and its sister city Arien orbited the peninsula of what would eventually become Cheshire.
But that grandeur came to an abrupt end with the Rending—an arcane catastrophe shrouded in blame and blood. History casts many suspects, but consensus blames a mortal high mage, likely human. The Rending tore a hole in reality, that caused the Aether to bleed through to our world, and weakened the walls between realms in general – Kor’Tunni immediately censured all magic in the year -250 CR. Unfortunately she gave no notice and everything powered by anything short of primal magic ceased to function. Spells, sigils, magical weapons fizzled out or became mundane. Dragons lost their ability to cast magic. Demons found themselves using fang, claw, and weapons to survive. All magic was null and void. Including the powerful magic that kept the floating cities in the air.
As luck would have it, the sister cities of Arien and Kor’Korai were in close proximity for a celebration, and to allow visitors access only hovered a few miles off the ground. Still the fall destroyed most of both cities. Kor’Korai landed in the Forest of Dreams, while Arien landed a few miles west in the Spider Woods. The death toll was high, but mostly affected the spire and valley elves respectively. The elves did not rest on their laurels however, and set about salvaging what they could.
By the time Kor’Tunni restored magic, although limited, a long decade later, both cities had been rebuilt, with aid from the dwarves of Shatterstone, and the nomadic humans that roamed the lands of the peninsula. High magic had not yet been restored, and the secrets of the flying cities remained mostly lost. Besides Eldaar, the governing body of all things magic, only a few floating cities have ever been restored. No such new cities have been created since.
As the decades went on, the spire elves and the valley elves helped their neighbors, and eventually helped the humans found Cheshire. To honor their alliance, Armer I declared the Forest of Dreams spire elf sovereignty, and Cheshire would never impose its will on it or the city of Kor’Korai. They extended a similar treaty to Arien and the Spider Woods. Kor’Korai opened a magical academy and trained a new generation of elves, humans and anyone else who wanted to learn magic. Arien, became known for its magical smithing and jewelry, with aid from the nearby dwarves.
When the Corruption occurred in the summer of 1335CR, and the Forest of Souls was cut off from the rest of the world very little was known about what happened to Kor’Korai. In the early hours of its existence the portal that led back and forth from Arien still functioned, though the magic that sustained it was also being corrupted. There was an attempt of an exodus, as Arien welcomed spire elf refugees, mostly nobles and their servants. Before more of the city could be evacuated, the portal collapsed in on itself and demons from the Pit began to spill forth instead. It was only from the survivors we learned the epicenter of the Corruption was in fact the city of Kor’Korai, or more accurately, the basement of the Academi Korai the magical school.
Dark magic forbidden by the spire elves had been used, and a portal to the heart of the Pit had been opened. The pure energies of the Forest of Dreams reacted violently with the foul energies of the Pit, resulting in an explosion that ripped the academy apart. Inky clouds of violet-black magic billowed skyward, clashing violently with the forest’s natural renewal. The result was a creeping, toxic mist—horrid and alive, expanding with malevolent intent. Plants withered, or became infected, with horrid welts, the barks turning purple or black and seeping foul ichor. It changed some of them, giving them bloodthirsty sentience. Animals too were corrupted by the Corruption as it came to be called. The worst of it was to the mortals that tried to stop it. While the mist didn’t outright kill mortals (at least not after the first few days), anyone who died in it, rose up shortly thereafter as an undead horror.
Once the city of Kor’Korai was cut off from magical escape via the portal to Arien, the survivors were forced to fight their way out, to try and make it out of the forest, by any means necessary. It was complete chaos. Many died in the first few hours. Those that died turned on the living, in an ever growing horde of death and darkness.
It took several days for a proper rescue effort to coalesce. When it did it was a massive undertaking. The guardians of the Forest, led by the druid circle known as the Oakenshields, the rangers known as the Wyldefires, as well as the mated pair of unicorns Truhart and Lighthope, joined forces with an army of humans from Cheshire from the east, and an army of elves from the west. Even the Shatterstone dwarves sent a battalion to in the cause.
The spreading energy was halted at the borders. That is where the tragedy lies. For one, the field became impregnable. Nothing could get in or out of it, physically, mentally or magically. Contact was lost with the champion army. And the last anyone heard of Kor’Korai, was that the city had fallen.
That was 30 years ago. I stand in the center of the ruined city of Kor’Korai. The fabled buildings and homes are little more than ruins. The magical academy is nothing more than a hole in the ground. The temple to the goddess of life still stands, but it has seen better days. Something stirs within it. I feel like I’m being watched. By the living or the dead, I know not. The graveyard is empty.
Even my curiosity does have its limits. I seek stories, not an early demise. If there are living here, they are doing a damn good job evading even my sensitive nostrils. All I smell, is death. As I wasn’t invited, I don’t feel the need to overstay my welcome as it were. Night is approaching, I shall find a place to make camp, and try to get some rest. In the morning, I will seek out the glade of the druids, or the swamps which was home to lizardmen. Both are due south of here.
A bloodcurdling scream erupts as the sun sets. My hackles rise. Sleep it seems, will have to be postponed.
Always take time to enjoy some music
– Chord, the Ivory Bard
A Darkness Rising 