The Western House Rebellion
Weavers of Destiny
Think you long and hard, my son, before you take the advice of a man who liveth the a house of ice. His words are twisted, his thoughts bend back upon themselves.
— Proverb of the Sytein Orcs
Cae Ragnon: House of Ice
The Weavers of Destiny are a very small group. There are only 10. In the frozen wastes of Sytein, there is a tower composed of ice and snow. It has never melted in spite of any change in seasons. Here, the Weavers make their home. If one is brave, and hearty enough for the journey, he can ask a single favor when admitted into the deep blue-green fortress of Cae Ragnon. Only rarely do the Weavers leave. Usually traveling in numbers from 2 to 4 individuals, they are powerful mages, seers, and sorcerers to whom the gods have granted immortality. Neither good nor evil, these ancient beings simply are.
Fabric of Creation, Seed of Destruction
Think of the universe, of all planes and worlds as threads of a very intricate cloth. Every life, each spark of being, is part of that fabric. The Weavers of Destiny oversee the making and unmaking of the patterns that are constantly in flux. They are charged with a duty they hold sacred. If anyone disrupts the destined weaving of a life, of a nation, world or plane, the mistake is corrected with decisive and often violent action. With foresight and wisdom greater than any mortal entity, the Weavers are both mighty and terrible.
Aid of Last Resort
What aid you seek from the Weavers of Destiny may only be granted if you are meant to have it. Many have traveled to their remote, icy home only to be turned away. Kings have tried to bribe them, warlords to crush them, and sorcerers to bespell them. They have all failed, and simply returned home. One must consider carefully how badly he has need of the Weavers’ aid. They are always available for consultation, but when the price is asked, it may be too high.
The asking price for the salvation of Queen Thessalain’s son was her crown when he was cursed by a mighty wizard to age one year each day that his demands were not met. In the end, she gave the Weavers their tribute, and the curse was lifted. The Queen disappeared into the void of history, and her son became a tyrant until he was killed by his own advisers. But such were their fates, and the Weavers allowed it, for it was foretold.