Here is given the pitch for my current campaign, young as she is, evoking a general sense of the nature of magic in my setting, along with the lightest of histories.
It always begins simple enough, with some even calling it pretty: Flewers grow larger, trees more verdant—mushrooms abound, tasting sweeter than ever. Farmers may rejoice that their crops grow quicker and more plentiful, though the strong and fast-changing weather can also harshen their jobs. Most notably, sprites venture out of their arbor homes, as goblins and ogres—usually the stuff of folklore—emerge and start nesting in caves and crypts. In every village someone claims to have seen an Elf.
The Long Season is here.
It has long been understood that there are worlds beyond our own—clerics try and ward against them, whilst philosophers peer beyond the proverbial veil. Yet, even through the most foolish interventions, our Alberlond remains her old and gentle self. It is neigh a full century sith the New Empire withered and fell, and the petty conflicts of feudal lords only serve to make the world feel smaller; even as trade with the desert across the sea has brought upon us this age of gunpowder. With each passing generation those superstitious elements, once conquering our short lives, feel ever more distant. Farmers work their lands unmolested, and foresters need fear but wolves and banditi. What monsters once stalked the realm now live and die in children's verses.
But now it starts again, as it does every 300 years. The Long Season. When the stars align such that the veil thins: When the Faerie world touches our own. And what force shall yet keep these monsters at bay? Who can now say what lurks in the night?
Contact me at LechterDoily@gmail.com!