It was all so very simple and idyllic in the beginning on the island of Leonera. The sun was shining on azure water with gentle waves topped by fluffy white crests, on brilliantly white sandy beaches, and on vibrantly green jungle. Occasionally, a volcano erupted maybe a bit or a storm playfully ripped over the island but by and large everything was peaceful. You basked in the sun, you splashed around in the water, you ate and were eaten, just as the food chain dictated.
But then, one day, large white things connected to large brown things appeared on the horizon and humans arrived. And instead of also basking in the sun and paddling around and eat a bit, they spread out something nasty and cut down trees and multiplied like dodos, ate pretty much everything and built a city. The usual human stuff. There were more and more of them and the neighbourhood went to the dogs because the humans brought them as well. And goblins.
Leonera has been through a lot since those early days. At first trade was booming and the island was an important stopover on the route from the Empire to the colonies and back. The town, affectionately named Puerto Alto, became rich, a fort was built, balls were held, people dined, you had a house in the countryside and one in the town and anyone who was anyone had a host of goblin slaves to keep it all going. And then the pirates came. Or at least became noticeable.
There were just a few of them at first, easily blown to smithereens by the Armada’s ships. But there were more and more of them over the years and they got really pesky. Then some spoilsport discovered a faster route to the colonies and Leonera quickly turned into some provincial hinterland. Trade dried up, the better part of the garrison was re-deployed, the pirates took hold and before you knew it half the city was in their hands and was now called Longfall. On top of that, the goblins rose up in a global revolt to shake off the yoke of slavery. They even went so far as to claim part of Longfall as their own.
And while pirates, Armada, and goblins were at each others’ throats, the island attracted more and more soldiers of fortune and adventurers. Dead hard men and women, hiring out their swordarms and pistolhands for gold, no questions asked. At some point somebody turned that into an official commercial enterprise. But just because they have teak tables on the inside, brass plaques on the outside, and regularly publish a balance sheet of questionable veracity doesn’t mean they’re not still the same gold-driven cutthroats.
In times like these, concerned citizens cry out for people to restore order, to bring back the good old days, the by now semi-mystical founder or at least his descendants of the right blood who were thought to have disappeared. What they don’t cry out for, but what they got in this case, and, as it turns out, had all along, is a group of people killing people for obscure but supposedly noble reasons. Masked people lurking in dark alleyways with glinting poisoned daggers, aiming to prune the tree of succession by cutting off unfavourable branches. It is astonishing how far such branches appear to have grown. Some of them have apparently managed to grow on entirely different trees.
No sooner had people gotten over that than strange women suddenly appeared in the jungle. Scantily clad and heavily armed they talked some guff about a Great Earth Mother and that certain ruins in the jungle were actually theirs. Nobody knew where they suddenly came from but now you could no longer go for a nice little stroll in the forest. They are organised in tribes, who each have their own totem which the tribeswomen aim to imitate. Men are frowned upon and unwanted unless required for, cough, an evening’s entertainment or to make more women. Then man-robbing bands of Amazon raiders appear on the fringes of the suburbs. The number of young men who “accidentally” get “lost” in the jungle has steadily risen since then.
Of course, all this uncertainty and unrest is going to bring out the religious fanatics sooner or later. They popped up suddenly, like mushrooms from a rotten spar, having been repressed for centuries by the secular Empire. Following centuries of heated debate and countless schisms over the name, eben they simply call themselves “The Cult”. Interestingly, they are actually not a religion or even a faith-based community, because the loas which they invoke actually exist. Traditional rituals are being refined with pretty much scientific methodology and objectively verifiable results. The borders to the spirit world are thin, and the beings dwelling there are only too happy to be brought over and summoned into people to intoxicate themselves with the feeling of being surrounded by pulsating blood.
And right in the middle of all that a volcano erupts, all paths to the interior of the island become impassable. This is extremely inconvenient because somebody had just discovered major amounts of gold there. Suddenly, the demand for boats goes through the roof because they can use the still-existing waterways and carry a lot of firepower while doing so. Leonera’s rivers and lakes are suddenly crammed with rowboats and canoes busily ramming, boarding, and sinking each other left, right, and centre, while surrounded by fresh water sharks (you tell them they don’t exist – go on, we’ll watch), piranhas, and giant octopuses. Of course the East-Leoneran Trading Company, main employer of all mercenaries on the island and owner of the largest sheds with the shiniest brass plaques in Longfall, makes a tidy profit from each splintered plank.
Now just when you thought that was enough to be going on with, a group of escaped political prisoners bursts onto the scene, having staged a successful revolt and breakout on their prison island. They hail from the restless little country of Debonn, where demonstrations, political agitation, unrest, and civil war are part of daily life. Under the leadership of the greatest military genius of modern times (his own words) and the world’s largest hat (his trademark), they settle in Longfall to cause a clash of cultures. Wine instead of rum, coffee instead of… even more rum, croissants instead of hard tack, nasal accents instead of a rolling Arrr – there’s plenty of potential for conflict there.
No sooner had the island got used to that than the eye of the Empire comes to rest on Leonera again and a fleet appears on the horizon which is supposed to repatriate the whole sorry mess to the Empire. As well as the extensive gold discoveries. You know, since they’re in the area already. Ad majorem auri, cough, imperii gloriam. However, the pirates, goblins, cultists, and Debonnese form an effective if fragile alliance. Cunning plans are made, traps set, heroic deeds done – for Longfall to end up as a city separated by a massive wall right through its centre from the harbour to the goblin quarter of Goblinopolis along the great canal, and nobody wins. Apart from the ELTC, of course.
This could have gone on for decades, with really existing imperialism on the one side and degenerate piracy on the other. But one day, not that long ago, someone opened a door. Not in the Wall, but somewhere in a secret location on the island. And of course that was bad – opening secret doors which have stood ajar since time immemorial can only go wrong, everyone knows that. But now it was too late and Evil, or at least darkness, which had been imprisoned for ages, burst forth. Dark corners became even darker, dangerous alleys even more dangerous. The Shadows were free and were out for revenge. Let’s face it: it would have been boring if it had been quiet for once.
The Shadows almost plunged all life on the island into Darkness, if not wiped it out completely – unlike the villains popularised by travelling storytellers, the Shadows don’t tend to explain their plans in detail to captured heroes. But when the night was at its darkest, the humans and goblins managed to defeat the common enemy in a heroic battle and banish the danger. It is still unclear how exactly and how well the Longfallers managed this, but in their opinion it was good enough to return to everyday life.
But then a couple of rather damaged ships appear on the horizon, full of people who have supposedly sensed the breakout of the Shadows on the other side of the world and come sailing in to redress the balance of the world. This raises some pressing questions for the crews in Longfall: Who are these people? Who the Fate do they think they are? Why do some of them have pointy ears? Where should they live? And what kind of stuff do they eat?
