Table of Contents
For those who yearn for the cry of battle, the smell of blood, and the glory of conquest, it is a violent paradise to be sought out and conquered. For others, it's an unrelenting horror that reaches out to grab the innocent, pulling them into a nightmare realm of sound and fury. Warfield is a bleak and mysterious world, a land of violence without meaning and conflict without goal, where nothing exists but the battle.
Warfield is a pocket universe. It is an infinite plane that wraps back on itself, so that whatever direction one travels in, one is always moving towards the center, and towards whatever other (undoubtedly violent) creatures may currently inhabit the universe.
Physically Warfield is a blasted wasteland, a rocky desert where nothing grows, and the only sign of life is other off-worlders. Rocks and boulders jut up irregularly from the uneven ground, and rolling hills and short cliffs form an ever-changing terrain to test the warriors who visit. The ground is pocked with blast craters, and strange bomb-blasted ruins are scattered across the landscape. What little rain occassionally falls from the sky collects in brackish pools of chemical-tasted water to be drunk at your own risk. During the day the sky is a hazy, polluted yellow, dominated by a swollen red sun that hangs like a baleful eye above the battlefield. By night the stars are dim, and a crumbling moon scarred by unimaginable weapons limps sickly across the sky.
The only living things in Warfield are warriors. They appear from across the Multiverse, sometimes after having sought out the strange universe, sometimes swept up unexpectedly and deposited in this post-apocalyptic nightmare. While the world will sometimes take innocents and civilians, most often those who appear in Warfield are warriors or soldiers, taken from a million different times and places. They may be stone-age neanderthals fighting with clubs and spears, medieval knights in shining armour, raygun-wielding samurai, twelve-foot-tall amazon cyborgs, or a group of goblins operating a Panzer IV German tank. There are numerous reports of the hulk of a massive starship seen in the distance, nuclear fires burning in its broken hull.
There is no goal to achieve in Warfield, no mission to complete, no objectives to meet. The soldiers and warriors brought here are often frightened, confused, or insane. They can rarely communicate with other groups, universal translators and peace-inducing spells mysteriously failing to work inside Warfield. Something in the air itself seems to call for violence, making tempers short and even the meek more impulsive and violent. The only purpose, if there is one, seems to be to fight. For some, this represents a purity not often seen on other worlds, an opportunity to prove oneself in battle without having to worry about motives and orders from the higher ranks.
Usually within minutes of arriving in Warfield, a newcomer will be attacked by some other person or group. Just enough time to realize you are not where you were before, and try to get your bearings. Newcomers never appear too far from those already in Warfield, the world seems to want to get to the violent part as soon as possible.
Those who have survived Warfield often report having felt a malevolent presence, as if there were someone watching them while they were in the pocket universe, studying their every move and prompting their actions. The world itself seems to act as if it were intelligent at times, twisting space and coincidence to bring groups into conflict, denying avenues of retreat and encouraging further fighting.
Those who believe in it call this intelligence the Warlord. Whether god, man, machine, or just an inherent intelligence of the universe itself, the Warlord's true motives seem to be unguessable. Occassionally a warrior who has visited Warfield, perhaps many times, begins to form cult-like beliefs about the Warlord and preaches to others, but any information taken from these sermons is based on nothing but assumptions. If the Warlord actually exists, he has never revealed anything about himself.
Portals to Warfield are temporary and unpredictable. There is no guaranteed mechanism to find or open one, they simply appear, draw people in, and then vanish again. A person might be walking down the street and feel a wave of light-headedness, then suddenly find himself standing in the open wastelands, a tank full of goblins bearing down on him. Some warriors seek out portals to Warfield, eager to test themselves in the fabled battle zone. Some search for years, others coincidentally stumble upon the world only a few hours after first hearing about it. Those who Warfield will usually find it, eventually. The world seems drawn to those who would dare to challenge it.
Getting to Warfield can be purely accidental. Getting back, on the other hand, is never easy. Portals to exit Warfield always appear as swirling black whirlpools suspended in midair. They appear out of nowhere, last a few hours, and then evaporate. Some are easily accessible, others might be literally impossible to reach, floating a mile above the ground or suspended over a pool of lava. The only constant is that they never appear near anyone. A portal is something you have to look for, something you have to reach, never just dropped in front of you. And there's no guarantee a given portal will take you back to your own world.
Some claim that Warfield rewards those who fight well by giving them portals to send them home, but there is no evidence to support this. Portals seem to appear completely at random in Warfield, without any consideration of who might use them or who deserves them.