top of page

I'm a paragraph. Click here to add your own text and edit me. I’m a great place for you to tell a story and let your users know a little more about you.

Ragnarok: The Beginning

 

All was not well upon Twilight Isle. From the flora to the fauna to even the goblins that called the island home, something was… off. It had begun subtly enough, a steadily rising thrum of resonating energy much like a pot beginning to boil over. But just like an unwatched pot, the final change was so sudden that the island’s inhabitants didn’t even have time to react before it was all said and done. First came the quaking, the ground under foot rumbling with continuous tremors. Next came the tidal waves, cresting high and crashing upon the isle’s shores from all sides. The winds followed, tempestuous gales whipping into a frenzy with neither rhyme nor reason. Even the volcano to the north joined in, plumes of blackened ash rising high above the island, lending well to the sudden burst of volcanic lightning that danced through the skies. But just as quickly as the calamity had risen, it died away, leaving Twilight Isle as calm and serene as it had always been.

 

Except for one thing. Far to the northwest, past the towers of Earth and Fire and beyond the high reaching mountain range and low lying shore, a new island had been born. Cloaked in a darkness rather unusual for the perpetual twilight that gave the realm its name, the newly risen isle was an ominous sign of things to come. But a fraction of the size of Twilight Island proper, the unnamed land mass was ringed by jagged stones jutting up from the placid waters and flanked by hovering hunks of rock that paced a slow orbit around the island, making the island inaccessible by air or water. When the questions weren’t answered, they gave way to rumor. Just where had this island come from? What did it mean? It was a bad thing. It was a good thing. Nobody could decide. Even the goblins, unconcerned as they so typically were, seemed worried and perplexed. For as long as anyone had known, there had only ever been the main isle.

 

The Quest of the Four Ladies

 

The days became weeks and still no one could account for the dark isle to the northwest. But much like any other strange occurrence in Rhy’Din, life slowly but surely returned to normal. If answers were meant to be had, they would come in due time, or so many assumed. The Island’s goblins went back to their work, keeping the Isle running at much the same pace it always had and at last, the answers they sought were found.

 

When the island was made, Klytus of Regilius had let it form as it wished, from the high mountains to the low plains and even down to the tunnels and caverns that traced ever changing trails beneath the Isle. Often times, these tunnels were home to a number of creatures including one, Jexart Fizzleboot, an ambitious if naive young goblin who dreamed of one day revolutionizing the transport and sale of cogsprockets throughout the isle and beyond. To explain just why that was such a lofty goal would take far longer than it took to even create the isle, but if you ever get the chance, be sure to ask young Lord Fizzleboot. Skipping past all of the cogsprocket nonsense, we come to the pivotal moment in Jexart’s tale.

 

April was coming to a close, May and the days of Beltane were upon Rhydin, and for Jexart, it was the same as any old day. Deep in the twisting and turning tunnels where young Fizzleboot spent his days plotting and scheming, he found himself distracted by an emerald light just around the tunnel’s next hairpin turn. Curiosity battled with the qualms of self-preservation but finally the insatiable need to know won out. As he hesitantly tip-toed around the way, he came across the loveliest of creatures, just out of reach. Draped in forest green silks, her emerald hair was piled atop of her head, thick strands like soft green roots covering her eyes and pinned with vibrant flowers. When he set eyes on her, she giggled and hurried further through the tunnel, beckoning him with a curl of a finger. Entranced, Jexart followed down long stretches, around tight curves, and finally emerged on the northwestern tip of the Island.

 

The green lady was gone and Jexart Fizzleboot was convinced his eyes had been playing tricks on him. Maybe he had been spending too much time with his cogs and sprockets and cogsprockets deep within the Isle and this was his hint to get some fresh air. Alas! Fresh air could wait when the glory of game changing innovation was on the line! He turned on a heel to march back through the slim crevice he had come from only to catch wind of an airy laugh behind him. Similar to the one in the tunnel, this one carried a touch of whimsical delight so when he turned to see another ephemeral woman, he was none too surprised. Much like the green lady, she was clad in silver-blue silk that covered a slightly androgynous frame, and like the first, wind swept locks were gathered like a crown of wispy clouds that also covered her eyes. A dove, pure white against a backdrop of sky blue hair, peeked out at Jexart before releasing an obnoxious squawk.

 

Jexart Fizzleboot was confused to say the least. What did it all mean? Sensing the young goblin’s bewilderment, the airy lady lifted a hand, curling her index finger while she stepped toward the water’s edge.

 

“You seek fame and eternal glory, do you? We have a task for you. Fulfill it and you will find yourself rich beyond your wildest dreams.” She promised him. Now, if you know anything about most goblins, it’s that they are rather fond of their monetary gains, so her proposition intrigued him most definitely. He nodded, urging her to continue.

 

“Bring them to us for the end is nigh. This is the way you must take in order to reach the Island of Ragnarok without harm. Bring them to us, the best, the brightest.” She stepped back onto the water and Jexart followed. Not into, onto. Where the surface would have normally given way to the azure depths below, instead he found his footing solid. Amazed, he looked past the air lady to find three more like her lining the path beyond. One in crimson, hair aflame. Another in sapphire, a riptide of strands much the same color swept up just like her sisters. And finally the green lady beyond, pinpointing the final leg of the journey to the new land in the distance.

 

“Bu’ how?” Jexart asked, finding a few scant words amid his amazement.

 

“However you must. But you must hurry.” The Lady of Air urged him and once she had a final nod of agreement from the goblin, a quartet of laughter sounded and all four ladies disappeared, leaving Jexart waist deep in the surf.

 

The Station

 

Day and night Jexart Fizzleboot toiled, enlisting the help of every fellow goblin he could bribe or borrow. In a matter of days, half the island’s stock of dynamite was gone and the resulting explosions deep in the mountains were only interrupted by the sound of jackhammers cutting through earth. When the island wasn’t being used for dueling, the portal was a steady stream of materials, Jexart sparing no expense in his quest to fulfill the wishes of the strange creatures that had visited him.

 

When all was said and done, a winding past cut from the dueling rings in the center of the island through the forest and into the mountains. Midway through and tucked neatly into a lush valley, Fizzleboot’s station was at last complete. Now, he was torn between naming it after himself and auctioning off the naming rights to the highest bidder, so for now it was simply “Da Twilight Island Side O’ Thin’s.” That was subject to change, of course. It was small, hastily built, and probably not up to code, but offered all of the modern amenities any traveler could want; snacks, booze, and other such sundries. That what counts after all.

 

A single train is set to take passengers through the final passes of the mountains and to their destination, the Island of Ragnarok. Trips are taken as needed and run on no set schedule, instead coming and going as travelers need. The round trip takes only ten minutes each direction and is ultimately faster than futility trying to infiltrate Ragnarok Island’s impenetrable defenses.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ragnarok Island

 

As the train glides across the sapphire bay that separates the two islands, the smaller of the two is quick to come into view. The Ragnarok Station is a floating platform just beyond the ring of barrier rocks that surround the island. Narrow as it is, it is suggested that passengers quickly vacate the platform by way of the dock that connects the station to the isle. Rumor has it that a little witch often times peddles her wares to those arriving, offering a number of items that may aid them in their journeys in exchange for something she called “magical essence”.

 

Ragnarok Island itself is home to an eerie silence that hangs over the land like a thick blanket. Though the vegetation is thick and full of exotic flora never before seen, there are no animals to be found. Not so much as a squirrel calls Ragnarok Island home. This may be due to the overwhelming aura of unstable power that radiates from every inch of the island. Even the most amateur of spellcasters will find their natural abilities amplified during their stay. Maybe that was the magical essence the little blonde witch had been talking about?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

bottom of page