Twilight of Britannia

Gone from these bloodstained shores is the blessed beacon of Rome and the mighty fist that wielded it. All that remain are mere rays of light in the murky gloom of chaos as far younger kingdoms continue to feast on the corpse of a once-vast empire. Driven from their homes by starvation and death at the hands of fearsome Jötnar in desolate Northern reaches, mighty champions of the old gods hack their own domains from the land, driving men before them like sheep. Anglia and Nortembrye have fallen to the invader, now ceded to the Nordwindlings by treaty, creating a pagan domain known as the Nordlaw. In the West, Celt druids use ancient magics to drive savage Briton tribes toward frenzy even as heathen sea wolves howl up and down coastline. The remnants of those Saxon lands are ragged tatters - Dwarven Nortembrye seals its gated forts, the Northern eoldormen smug in their fastness, while the fractured frontier of the March Lords has become a lawless place where anyone leading a handful of strong sword arms may call himself king.   Christian folk whisper this calamity to be proof of God's contempt for the wanton sins of man - lusting for wealth and power without end. The Northmen claim it is their gods' justified fury that leaves churches smoldering - should Odin and Thor rest while the servants of the nailed god attempt to snuff out their stories of battles and glory? No, better to meet the foe with fire and sword than slowly be prayed into oblivion to the echoes of chanting monks.   West Seaxe is the mightiest bastion of the Saxon people, whose ancestors claimed this land and nourished it with devotion to God and blood shed in His name, attempt to repulse the foreign invaders and unite their fractured people. The famed cniht lancers of Suth Seaxe are assailed by foemen from beyond their borders - both the hated Welsh to the North and the ruthless Pechenegs to the south. Yet, Bishop Ealdhere preaches that Christ has not abandoned the land, that the strongest of kingdoms must be tempered in the hottest of fires.   What's all this about? What if the superstitions of the Dark Ages were real? Curses drain one's vitality, a crucifix wards off the devil's minions, sacrificing a bull to Odin provides fortune in battle. Trolls lurk under bridges and faeries dance deep in the woods at night. Viking raiders scour Britannia's shores, driven from their homelands by rampaging giants. The power of prayer can even summon the blessed saints to protect the Lord's faithful.   I've always loved the idea of blending fantasy RPGs with medieval Europe in some way, and lately I've been on a big Dark Ages kick, so since I'm a huge fan of fantasy in general and am also painting up a few armies for Dark Ages wargaming, I figured I'd blend the two in a bit of an Ars Magica sort of way, though I wanted to remove the overtly magical effects such as Fireball or Lightning Bolt. I'm shooting for a Tolkienesque magic level - it's definitely present, so heed the words of an oracle, but don't expect to see vulgar displays of power beyond a mere light spell, and men would be considered lucky to witness such a miracle.   This campaign will track a group of heroes as they travel through the world, gathering followers, fame, and fortune! After the initial setup intro session or two, the plan is for this campaign to be fairly sandboxy, and combined with my collection of viking miniature nerdness, we should eventually have everything on-hand that may be necessary depending on how much trouble you all get up to!   Welcome to Britannia, a dark, mysterious, and fantastic cousin of Dark Ages Britain. It is the year 900 Anno Domini.