World of Aethe

One Quarter Saurian

2007-10-14T08:17:00.000-07:00

Bits of stone, splintered timber, and seared bone crunched under the feet of the two Harmonant brothers as they moved to the last building standing at the end of Oak Street. It was the last house they had left to check. Walther rested a casual hand on his sword hilt as he kicked the front door of the battered home as hard as he could. The door slapped back against the inside wall and it bounced back part way before coming to a stop. Thin clouds of dust swirled in the shaft of sunlight that streamed in through the open door. The hint of charred flesh still hung in the air like an afterthought.

Simon sighed. “You don't have to keep doing that Walther. It’s unseemly.”

“I like kicking doors open,” he said as he headed into the long deserted space. “I’d break glass if I could find any.”

“Dukes do not kick open doors. They have men for that.”

Walther pushed a chair away from a few pieces of crate that had been used for a table. “The barracks are a little thin this week.” He checked an ink bottle, found it empty, and tossed it to the side.

“Do you really expect to find anything of any value in this loose collection of bricks and boards?”

“It's something to do,” Walther sighed as he turned over an empty wooden box. With a quick hand, he reached inside and pulled out a scrap of paper with writing on one half of one side. “This might be something.” He handed it to Simon and waggled it until his brother took the half- finished note.

“It’s in one of the darker tongues,” Simon said. “It has a sergeant telling his girl that she should be with him because he is the strongest in his squad.”

Walther put his hands on his hips and stared at the walls one by one. “So, I looked around and found a decent fire- starter. Great.”

“And, our sargeant says that the town of Lord’s Ferry, the town where she lives, is about to be quote swallowed by a thousand devils endquote.” Simon turned to page over in his hands until he was sure that there was nothing more of interest. “Bad day to be in Lord’s Ferry.”

Walther walked out of the building and snapped the note away from his brother on the way. “I’d imagine any day in Lord’s Ferry is a bad day. We have any idea where that is?”

“Down the coast and inland, I think.”

“That’s the last of the intact buildings in this quarter,” Walther said. “Next, I guess we search the piles of rubble.” He started toward a pile of charred stones, that might have been a building once upon a time. “Look at this, I’m the Duke of Rubbleville.”

Simon laughed a little and followed as well as his bad leg would allow. “Sure, the city could use some work...”

“I wouldn’t mind moving five miles down the coast and starting over.” He stopped for a moment and looked around at the piles of debris. “The walls are full of holes and the hoard, they just disappeared. That means they might come back. This place is totally indefensible.”

“You’re being a bit harsh.”

“You’re right. I could be the Admiral of a sunken fleet. That would be much better.” Walther kicked a stone out from a pile and a skinny rat scurried back deeper into the stone pile. He looked up at the sound of a rider coming their way. One of the guards was working to get his attention.

“Sir, we have an army coming at us from the North. It must be two hundred of them coming on foot.”

“I’ll be right there,” Walther said as he swung up into the saddle on his horse Lucky. “There are only a hundred of us. Looks like my tenure in the position of Duke might be mercifully short.”

Simon swung has bad leg up and onto his steed. “You aren’t that lucky.”

Walther and Simon joined their brothers at the North Gate. Duke Walther pointed to his left and spoke directly to the leaders of the two squads. “Sir Tancred, I want your guys on the wall, ready to fire. Sir Adrian, I want your guys at my back, securing the gate.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Adrian said as he gestured to his squad.

“That’s not going to get tiring,” Walther said as he shifted in his saddle. “Come on. Let’s get out there.” He rode out a few steps with his brothers at his side. Three of the approaching Saurians broke off from the mob and walked forward slowly. They came within twenty paces of the brothers and fell to their knees and bowed while speaking with a series of clicks and hisses. “Simon, what are they saying?”

“They are begging for sanctuary, milord,” Simon smiled.

Walther slung a leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground. He pulled a waterskin from the saddle horn and walked toward the three beggars. “I think these are women. I mean, female Saurians.”

Simon rode along beside Walther. “Now I know how you got the job. Eyes like an eagle.”

“What else are they saying?”

“They were driven from their homes by the, ah, mannish hoard up the coast.”

“That’s where Duke Melicter set up, right?”

“Yes. If you take them in, it will be trouble.”

Walther pulled the stopper out of the end of the waterskin and took a drink. “Tell them to get up.” The three women stood as he continued. “They will all have to work as best they can. They’ll need to help rebuild the walls and they will need to fish. If they do that they can have sanctuary here in Hiadron.”

“Are you sure you want me to translate that?”

“No,” Walther shrugged, “but a city needs people.”

Victor called out from behind the two men. “They outnumber us two to one.”

“And they are not armed. Get a good look. Maybe five people in this lot could fight if they had to. They must have been walking for days.” Walther handed the waterskin out to the reptilian woman in the center of the three.

She stepped forward slowly and took the waterskin from Walther. As Simon spoke, she watched the two men with dark lidless eyes. She tasted the water and drank a little before passing it on to her sister to the left. She spoke slowly in a series of hisses and clicks, eyeing Walther.

“She wants to know your name,” Simon said.

“Walther Harmonant. I’m the Duke of Hiadron.” He extended a hand to her, hoping it was a universally friendly sign.

She took his hand and they pumped their arms up and down for an uncomfortable moment.

"That's it then," Walther said as he walked back to his horse. He slung up into the saddle and wheeled his horse around. "Let's go find a good place for a Saurian Quarter."

“This place is as hot as Hell’s hinges,” Victor said as he set his dinner plate aside.

“You have an opinion about everything,” Oberon said.

“So. Am I not entitled to my opinion?” Victor started twirling his chin whiskers, warning the others of the coming debate.

Walther stood to get their attention and change the subject. “I’m loading my gear onto one of the ships tomorrow and sailing south. I’m headed for this little town of Lord’s Ferry that has some kind of threat hanging over it.”

Simon put his glass aside and spoke slowly. “To do that, you’ll have to go through Endoch. And that will require a state meeting.”

“No. I’ll just ride past it and explain later.”

“That’s just going to cause problems, Walther.”

“I do not care. And I am not going to be having another silver plate dinner while Lord’s Ferry is on fire.” He refilled his glass and sat back down.

Lukas pushed his plate away. “These guys can’t possibly hold the city by themselves.”

“The saurians will help.”

“Our troops do not trust them.” Lukas cracked his knuckles.

Walther laughed. “They went out to fish this afternoon and started working on the city walls. Feeding troops is a pretty good way to get trust.” He leaned forward and looked at the brothers one by one. “We could sit on this pile of stones or we could ride out and help the people of Lord’s Ferry. What do you say?”

One by one the other Harmonant brothers agreed.

-- by Bill

Schedule July-September 2007

2007-08-31T23:39:00.000-07:00

The Schedule for July and September:

Saturday July 28, 2007: 11 am to 5 pm
Sunday August 12, 2007: 12 noon to 6 pm
Sunday August 26, 2007: 12 noon to 6 pm (cancelled)
Sunday September 16, 2007: 12 noon to 6 pm
Sunday September 30, 2007: 12 noon to 6 pm

Schedule March-June 2007

2007-06-17T21:34:00.000-07:00

The Schedule for March, April, and May:

March 4, 2007: 12 noon to 6 pm
March 18, 2007: 12 noon to 6 pm
April 1, 2007: 12 noon to 6 pm *
April 22, 2007: 12 noon to 6 pm
May 6, 2007: 12 noon to 6 pm (possibly later -- maybe 8 pm? -- dinner included)
June 3, 2007 12 noon to 6 pm
June 17, 2007: 12 noon to 6 pm

* Note: This is no April Fools' Day joke -- we will be playing.

The Fallen

2007-06-16T14:59:00.000-07:00

The tiny drops of blood flew out in a lazy three foot arc from the monster’s shoulder where Lukas had cut a fresh new valley. The mountainous gray-skinned beast hung still for a moment as his blood lost momentum and fell like rain on the scattered stones of the ruined peak. After a long pause, gravity decided to drop him in a heap and he fell like he was always meant to lie in a meaty pile at our worn and beaten feet. I staggered over and watched the last of the malicious light drift from his wicked eyes. Then I raised my sword and with a couple of swings, separated his knobby head from his shoulders just to be sure.

“I thought that troll would never fall,” Victor said.

“Are you sure that wasn’t an ogre?” Simon deadpanned.

“Yeah, he’s sure.” I groaned as I weaved away from the last of the battlefields. All across the outpost, the granite was slippery with the life that had dripped and flooded from us over the course of the last half hour. Sticky battle axes and scorch marks and armored dead bodies dotted everything in sight and the wind was bringing us the fresh scents of the sea making the whole scene a little unreal and distant.

Picking a trail through the dead barbarians, I ended the short walk at the cliff’s edge where Taylor and Swain had fallen. Taylor had dropped across his ally and they were resting eternally within easy reach of the climbing rope back down to the rowboats that we had used to come over to the reedy shore. Taylor was staring up at me with dead accusing eyes. Kneeling, I looked into his eyes for a moment and found no spark of life. Letting go of my wounded belly, I closed Taylor’s eyes with my left hand, not wanting to let go of the sword in my right. I said a quick prayer for their souls in the Celestial tongue of my faith.

Oberon made his way up behind me. “Walther, are you all right?”

“No,” I croaked is a low voice.

He put his hand on my shoulder. “Did you know them well?”

“Well enough.” I pointed at Taylor. “He had a couple of elderly parents that he was helping. He worked on their farm a couple of days a week. He was from Prendor like us.”

“What about the other one?”

“Swain had a wife and a couple of kids. It’s all on a piece of paper in his belt. I wrote it down for them last night after we finished going over the plans for the invasion.” Using the sword point as a brace, I stood and stared down at the two. “By my count, there are seven of us left.”

Oberon pulled me back a few feet to a nearby stone and sat me down. After opening up a leather carrying case that resembled a small bed roll, he started examining my wounds. “That seems right. How many wounds do you think you have?”

“I dunno. Four or five bad ones.” My eyes were still fixed on the dead men in my charge. “I feel like I need to do something for them. I’m not sure what the plan was, but I want them prepared for funeral and taken home to Prendor.”

Oberon pulled a black lacquered wand from his case and checked the inscription on the narrow base. “The fallen were to be prepared and buried at a holy site here.” With a kindly smile he waived it across my shoulders for a moment.

“Maybe we can make some sort of accommodation. Anyway, I want to give the families 100 coins each. It’s not enough to make up for the loss, but it’s important. I want to show my respect, my esteem for these two. They were good soldiers and they died like men should.”

Oberon smiled as he checked the bite marks on my shoulder. “I always thought old age would be a good way to go.” He moved the breastplate to get a better look into the wound. “This one is pretty deep.”

I turned my head and let him work. Long- necked sea birds had landed on the freshly dead bodies of the barbarians and they were making quick work of the flesh still left on the bone. Newcomers hopped sideways along the still cocked catapults looking for a place at the dining table. “The worst of the lot is along my belly.” Looking back at Taylor, I unbuckled the left side catch and pulled the chest plate back a little.”

Oberon blanched. “When did this happen?”

“When the archers along the low wall opened up on us, I made a run at them. I didn’t know that they had battle axes behind that thing, but we needed a minute to regroup.”

“There is a lot of blood here.”

“All mine,” I quipped.

Oberon moved to get a better look at the injury. “Are you sure you have any left inside?”

“Just enough.” Our presence was keeping the carrion feeders away from my men. “Look Oberon, I owe you an apology. I was getting furious at you guys back there.”

“When we were bringing the rest of the men up the ropes?”

“Yeah. I was watching those savages work the catapults and I wanted to rush them. This team sank two ships as I watched.” A shooting pain ushered in a clingy cold across my stomach and I knew the wound was closing. “But if I had rushed them, I’d be as dead as Taylor.”

“I would imagine so.” Oberon refastened the catch on the breastplate. “Your stomach wound should be good as new in a few minutes.”

“I’ll try to stay off of it for a while.”

“At least you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”

“No, but I know why old soldiers have that particular look in their eyes.”
We looked out across the open water for a long moment before he spoke. “Why?”

“Old soldiers have seen things no one should see. And they know that they have managed to survive only by the grace of God. Behind that is just a touch of guilt for the ones left behind.” With a flick of the wrist I slung the last of the fresh drops of blood off of the end of the blade. “I suppose we should go through that last tower so that we can give the all clear signal.”

“I think we have time enough,” Oberon said. Looking across the battlefield, he said, “Victor seems to need me for something.”

“Yeah. He almost got knocked out of the saddle. Thanks for the mending, Oberon.” As a reply, he smacked me on the shoulder and then he was across the field checking a wound on Victor’s side. The wind drove a fresh scent across the carnage of the field and under a bright blue sky, I looked for something to cover the bodies of the fallen.

-- by Bill

Reflection

2007-06-16T12:55:00.000-07:00

The day’s light faded slowly towards dusk breaking into all of the familiar beauties of sunset. Looking out over the sea, Victor watched the thickish storm clouds on the homeward side of the island plowing towards the waning colors with their thought provoking contrasts. At once ominous and threatening with the quick flashes of lightning reminding of the dark gray-white truth of the storm then returning calmly to the wash of breathtaking skyfire, crimsons, tangerines, and indigos.

With a faint huffing of breath the shapeshifting youth that had come along to see the advent of war stepped up the southern slope stopping a few feet behind Victor.

“What do you see?”

Victor hesitantly broke his upward gaze recognizing the voice and wondering with a slow blink of his eyes what face he would see this time. As his own face prepared to master any outward signs of surprise he started to glance toward the voice. Calmly checking that sideways motion of his head he resumed his slightly raised westerly view deciding his poise was better kept without seeing whichever unfamiliar or uncomfortably familiar visage his enquirer might choose to show.

“I see a reflection of myself, my mind, my heart, my spirit, my past. What is it that you see?”

The boy, Aushedar, choosing now to look out with eyes strangely resembling Victor’s own said, “I see a reflection of the world around me, storms behind me, fading beauty in front of me, darkness to be.”

“Darkness is ever the herald of tomorrow’s light. You have seen much of the world at the same tender age I had. Your parents killed, enslaved by those who care not for your well-being and now you travel with your mother’s killers to see more bloodshed in the name of a just god whose service you have been asked into. I will confess that often times I have thought that tomorrow’s light be far more terrible than it’s precursor. Ironic that we both go forward under the banner of this god Elos, god of the sun, giver of light.”

The storm drifts closer as the setting light changes to only a lingering blush withdrawing from the blue-black curtain of dusk. Aushedar’s voice struggles to rise in his throat, this time less certain.

“Y-you speak truly. I came here with you murderers that would be saviors to see something of men and this Elos and the evil beyond my mother. I am a-afraid. H-how do you do it, how do you calmly wait for the light?”

A soft sprinkling of rain gently started to fall on them as the last reminder of tomorrow reluctantly fell beyond the eastern horizon. Victor regretted his bluntness and turned to face the faceless whose face was none other than his own though younger and afraid, as he had been, as some part of him still was. No surprise arose this time for he was prepared now to look in that face, his own face, the face of truth, anger, the past. In the last half-light he answered honestly and with compassion.

“I will show you. Now, as you feel these tears of Narduna, my chosen goddess, wetting your brow, now is the time of all men who would ask such questions. Now you must let your own tears fall until you can no longer tell hers from your own. She will cleanse you in the darkness, she will listen as you spill out your truths. She will wait as you empty yourself, hollow yourself, making a dark void within, for darkness is ever the herald of light. That is how I do this. Would you take a knee now beside me?”

The rain poured a little heavier now, the clouds blending their grays into the dusky beyond. Without another word Aushedar moved close enough for Victor to hear that familiar sound, the choked muffling of sobbing barely discernible from the pattering water falling about them. Their hair sponging full dripped forth its streams with the impact of knees meeting dampening earth.

Victor let his mind sink deeply having glimpsed the face of himself, so young, fighting back pain, not so different. The sky, the ground, the sound of rain, all fading away as the sun until all that was left was the warmth on his face. It was good that the rain was warm tonight, warm as tears.

- by Jon

Swimming With Lizards

2007-06-16T12:44:00.000-07:00

A fair morning dawned, not too warm yet still lacking the chill of most mornings, that kind of perfect morning that rouses lusts in men and finding no relief for such affections stirs him to action instead. So Victor arose amidst the encampment of men awaiting battle and looked to the nearby beaches. “This morning deserves a swim. Akreth come.”

A laughable sight, a man clad only in short leathers and a horse sized lizard strolling towards the water as if for a morning swim. A few hails and hellos along the way and the two companions arrived at the pristine salt sea.

A couple of hours passed when Simon came back dripping atop his gleaming clockwork steed, a laughing air about him, to tell his brothers of his play. “You all must see this. Come down to the water for a minute. Even I could not resist a wash in the sea. Really though, Victor has half the camp in fits.”

A quizzical glance from Oberon, “Whatever do you mean brother? Stop your suspense and tell us. Is he in trouble?”

“No, no. You must see it. He has been trying to teach that overgrown iguana to swim, to no avail of course. He even recruited a dolphin for his lessons. I saw him trying to talk to the animals earlier, as if they’re intelligent enough for that. That’s amateur magic for you. His beast will hardly put a toe in the water, true comedy.”
After a quick change the remaining Harmonants strolled to the water’s edge listening to Simon’s chastising review all the way. Even Lukas couldn’t hold back a giggle. “There, there, look at that.”

There was Victor, as serious a face as ever trying in vain to coax his lizard forward into the water as a dolphin playfully leapt over the waves a dozen yards behind. “Come on Akreth. Look there, see, he can do it. It’s so simple. One foot after another, then a bit of paddling and you’re doing it. Almost like walking on cavern walls. Come on.”

The large drake stared at Victor in almost human disbelief. Any onlooker could practically hear his gaze saying, “Me, do what?”

Many men of the camp, stirred by the wondrous morning, had gathered by now and many a snicker playfully rose into the soothing morning air. “Look at that thing.” “Just the thought of it!” Some of the men were rolling in the sand trying hopelessly to disguise their amusement.

Victor only smiled and seeing his brothers said, “My brothers, the water’s fine. Have you any suggestion for making reptiles amphibian?”

With that, Walther, the youngest, charged the rear flanks of the creature hoping to push him in by sheer force and only managed to force another reluctant toe as he flopped into the laughing waters aside the great beast. “Sorry Victor, there’s no hope for it. He’ll just have to stick to walls, ha, get it?”

Walther shot a stream of salty water from his mouth, cascading over the lizard’s back before diving with a laugh back into the water.

“You’re right Walther. I’ve been at it for hours. He’s hopeless. Looks like all my entertainment will have to be splash my brother instead.”

As Victor swung his arm like a sword to send a great wall of water towards Walther, Lukas already at a run, landed a full body splash all over his brother Victor. He came up for a laughing breath saying, “I’m, winning,” and swam off to get another good one in on Walther.

- by Jon

How many halves make a whole?

2007-06-16T11:45:00.000-07:00

It has been too long since I have written to my sisters, yes, well, my half-sisters as I have been now informed. Caged a year in a cave, under royal restraint another year in a city I had never seen for a “crime” I still don’t wholly understand and now? Now waiting to fight for an almost obsessed holy war to engulf the known world, more or less trapped again within the church’s most powerful city. In the midst of it all, a mysterious letter in the hand of my deceased mother and another in the hand of whom I now am to recognize as my second dead father, though he be my true sire.

“Victor. What’re you doing, always brooding about?” My youngest half-brother Walther comes out onto the balcony. It’s far too nice of a day for two able bodied men to be just staring off at nothing. As I lean over the railing, I hardly notice the panorama of the holy city below.

“Thinking about things Walther, the past, the future. Trying to compose a letter.“

“You’re always thinking about things. The past is gone and the future is looking more exciting all the time. Why don’t you just leave it at that? Who’re you writing to anyway?”

Walther steps towards the little table behind me were my paper lay to try a peek. I do not move to intercept him as I haven’t written a word yet.

“You have the great wisdom of youth Walther. I will try my best to heed your advice. I am writing a letter to my sister in Hathaine.”

“You have another sister? Do I know her? Does that make her my sister too? I kind of miss our sister Elissa.”

Even with his head bowed towards the table, I can see Walther’s longing as his hand glides over the blank paper.

“Yes I miss Elissa as well, but no this sister is of my mother not of our father. I have not seen her in over three years now, her and my other three sisters. I hope they are untouched by this war. They are as dear to me as you all are now.”

“Well, I don’t know exactly about being dear to someone, but if that means I protect you like I would Elissa then I agree. I’d protect your other sisters too ‘cause I can and you’re my brother.”

He smiles broadly and steps back away from the balcony railing with enough room to draw his sword if need be.

“You have a great spirit Walther. I will accept your protection. Gods know in this coming war we will all need protection. More than even brothers can give I imagine.”

“Brothers can give more than you would believe Victor. At least I believe that. Elos is our brother also and look what he can give. Well, have fun writing your letter. Tell your sister that the great Walther Harmonant offers his protection to her and her family. See ya’.”

My young brother whirls around and strides through the balcony doors and out through the room beyond, his warrior’s stride echoing heroically off of the stone walls. He is already protecting us all. I sit down to write.

“My dearest Danielle,
I am blessed to be in good hands here. Today marks the……..

- by Jon

The Dark Green Bottle

2007-04-08T13:08:00.000-07:00

The low fire guttered and hissed while throwing a soft light into the night’s sky. I was sitting on the edge of my traveling chest, enjoying the crisp breeze coming off of the bay in the relative silence. That heavy piece of furniture made of oak and iron had been doubling for all sorts of things that we were missing in the military camp. Tonight it was a makeshift bench as the crude footstool held the point of my sword. The encampment was muffled by the night and the size of the challenge in front of us. I watched the way the fire light played across the blade as I dragged the whetstone the length of the sword’s blade time and again. The stone sang a low song as it played down the blade.

"If you’re trying to start a fire, you’re running a little late." Simon was standing behind me and smirking at his joke.

"I’m early for the next fire," I said. "Pull up a chair." I scooted to the edge of the chest to make room for my brother.

Simon pulled his bad leg over to the chest and sat at the edge of the fire’s warmth. "Nice night."

I put the whetstone down and dragged an oiled scrap of cloth down the length of the sword. "I hope I didn’t keep you awake with this."

"Nah," Simon said as he glanced back at the leather tent that he shared with Oberon. He put a concerned hand on my shoulder and used his serious voice. "But I am worried about you, Walther."

Thinking about the comment, I finished cleaning the weapon and slid it into the scabbard. He spoke again before I could come up with anything clever.

"Do you want to become some sort of holy warrior?"

"Why do you ask?" I pulled out a dagger and started sharpening it with the same flat stone.

"Every where we go, you hand over what can only be described as an enormous amount of coins to the local church. Are you trying to buy your way into some bigger station?" Simon looked like he was pondering a deep flaw in my character.

"Not really. We just find so much, that I don’t mind sharing. And I have no interest in working for the church." I checked the edge of the dagger in the firelight. "Too many rules." Balancing the whetstone and dagger on one thigh, I pulled off my signet ring and handed it to Simon. I asked him a question. "What do you think?"

Simon turned the ring over and across his fingers for a moment. "Your ring has the family crest and a little ‘W’ etched into the corner. Very stylish. And the ring is a little thicker than usual." He looked at me for a second and spoke. "I guess I did not get a good look at the sides of the ring before. One side has the sun divided into quadrants, the Holy Symbol of Elos. And the other side has a sword embedded in stone." He handed the ring back. "That’s the symbol of Geshana, Mistress of Valor."

The ring slid back onto my finger with little effort. "You are correct."

"What’s your point?" Simon looked down his nose at me for a second. "We all know you know how to use a sword."

"The point is that I run on faith. I give away coins to people that I share a common interest with. To expect to get something back would be, I don't know, presumptuous." Wanting to change the subject, I pointed at Simon’s bad leg with the dagger point. "You know, if we can find the right healer, I’d be happy to break your leg for you. Maybe you could get it fixed for good." Cleaned and sharpened, I put the dagger back in its scabbard.

"That is possibly the worst nice thing anybody has ever offered me," Simon said. He stood and patted me on the back. "I want you to be careful tomorrow, Walther." When he spoke, he looked me in the eye and punched the word ‘not’. "Do not rush into trouble when we are facing the hoard."

"But I can rush into trouble because I know that you guys are watching my back." Smiling, I stood and opened the trunk. "Before you go... I got you something." Tossing aside the winter blanket, I pulled a wine bottle out of a few layers of expensive cloth. "I picked this up back at the last port."

He took the dark green bottle in his steady hands. "Ah. I’ve heard good things about that island’s wine." Simon examined the label and extended the bottle to me. "Feel like sharing a glass?"

"Make it a mug and you have a deal." I rummaged in the trunk and pulled out a pair of low ceramic mugs. Simon twisted a finger at the end of the bottle and the cork pulled itself out of the neck to land back in his outstretched hand. A hundred banners of Prendor and its allies flapped in the low wind creating a dull buzz about the camp as a hundred thousand men tried to get some sleep. Most failed. Simon and I drank that bottle of wine as the fires of the camp danced like a thousand fireflies against deep shadows.

-- by Bill

The Man Described

2007-04-08T13:00:00.000-07:00

There was a soft drumming sound coming from somewhere as I studied the problem in front of me. The words had to be in the right order for me to pass the test and move on to the next lesson. I glanced to my left and stared at the arrangement of candles for a moment and parlayed that to a look around the room. Hard wooden desks and unyielding wooden stools were pushed to face the walls and everything was immaculate. Even the three students in the windowless room with me practically sparkled with holiness. My voice sounded distant when I finally spoke. "Where is that drumming sound coming from?"

"You are drumming your fingers on that piece of armor that you insist on wearing to my study room," Brother Johnathon said in his most insistent tone. "Celestial is an easy language to grasp. Just write the sentence."

"I keep getting the words backwards," I said and I put my hands back on the table. "I know the right words, but I keep getting them out of line. Order is important, right?"

"Walther, order is everything," Brother Johnathon said as he pulled over an empty wooden stool. He aimed his gleaming teeth and large ears at me and knitted his brows to let me know he was serious and that I should listen carefully. "In Prendorian, adjectives come before nouns. Use a sentence with a subject, verb and object for me."

"All right Brother. Prince Edward is a weaselly man." I straightened in place, pleased with myself.

The good Brother rubbed his temples. "Subject matter aside, that was good. In Celestial, the adjectives come after the nouns. Use the Celestial structure in Prendorian." He showed me his palms. "When you are ready."

"Okay", I said, hands flat on the table. "Prince Edward is a man weaselly, sinister, duplicitous, vile, wicked, ..."

Brother Johnathon touched my arm as he said, "that's good."

"..., black-souled, damnable, repellent, detestable, stinking, ..."

"Enough," he said, raising his voice loud enough so that the other students swung a careful eye in our direction. Brother Johnathon stood and spoke through a tight expression. "Let's step outside for a moment, Walther."

With a bounce, I was on my feet and out in the hallway a few steps behind the Brother. "I got it. And I like it, you can go on just forever with the description."

Out in the hall, he leaned in like he was sharing a secret. "Walther, it is unwise to speak like this in front of others," he said.

I chucked him in the shoulder and grinned, "You're assuming that I don't want Edward to know that we're coming for him. I do." I knocked on the breastplate. "That's why I wear the armor to class." Someone coming down the hall toward our class room caught my eye. In a half-second, I knew it was my pious brother. "Oberon..?"

Oberon looked up from a small wooden box that he had in his right hand. He was more than a little startled. The little box snapped shut. "Walther, what are you doing here in this part of the church?"

"I told you I was going to learn to speak Celestial." Smiling, I jerked a thumb at Brother Johnathon who was waiting patiently.

Oberon turned his head to the side a little. "I thought that was a... Were you trying to be funny?" He kept moving and walked backwards to see what I was going to say.

"I am funny." We said goodbye with a shrug and I turned back to my teacher. "So I'll focus on the lessons from here on out." I threw an arm around my teacher's shoulder. "Do you know where I can get some holy water?"

"Why?" His eyebrows reached for his receding hairline and almost made it.

"A few months back, we were under Larrae and we ran into something that smelled like vomit, rust and wet dog. It turned out to be something called a Chain Devil."

Brother Johnathon stood in the door to the study hall. He motioned at the little desk with my unfinished lesson. "I think we can work something out, if you can focus on your studies."

-- by Bill

The Clerk and the Chamberlain

2007-03-15T22:58:00.000-07:00

"Don't you ever sleep?" Chamberlain Jay Melicter stood in the doorway to his office, stroking his immaculate goatee with a knowing smirk. The darkness obscured the orderliness of the the Chamberlain’s office, leaving the impression that the entire office operated under the same scattered chaos as the one lamp-lit desk.

The single lamp’s soft glow reminded him of the shadowy chamber he had left just moments ago. He could still smell her perfume. Lady Anne Melicter, his sister-in-law, had summoned him in the late hours of the evening. That was not unusual in and of itself, but the discussion had been about everything but the usual. The time is now, my dear, with or without Edward’s goblin mercenaries. Our hand has been forced. If they have not yet seen the girl, they will soon. So many secrets, and now so little time… Even in her panic, she had been stunning. He sighed softly at the thought of her soft touch.

Jay's eyes passed over the books on the clerk's small oaken shelf. Two stood out. "How to Spot a Doppleganger" and "The Secrets of the Stars and Sands: a Diviner's Tale". So his young clerk was taken with the arcane, divinations in particular. That was slightly disturbing, but ultimately, the chamberlain thought, of little consequence on a night like tonight.

The pale Courbon clerk looked up from a stack of loan notes, his bleary eyes peaking out from behind a lock of auburn hair. "Sleep? He stretched, looking vaguely annoyed by the interruption. He gave the chamberlain a dark look, "My dreams are too dark. I hate sleep."

He did indeed. Philippe de Molliens was frequently at his desk well into the morning hours. It occurred to him that perhaps Philippe might have heard something the night Sir Victor died. He decided not to mention that, though.

"And the girl? Does she hate sleep as well?"

The clerk stared back, his eyes saying nothing. "Girl?"

"The mousy one I saw rushing down the hall just now with a smile on her face. Lady Melodia Gryne." The clerk stayed quiet. "Philippe, are you a complete fool? I say this to you as a friend and mentor, be careful with that one. She is a noble, and a daughter of an important duke. Do you think he will allow her to marry a commoner? It doesn't matter who your father is. That simply does not happen in Prendor."

The chamberlain sighed at his clerk's stony stare. "That was not why I came here tonight. Philippe, you know I have been pleasantly surprised by your aptitude in the time you have been my clerk. Your skill at finding coin where none exists is unmatched in Larrae. And there will always be a place for such a person in the King's Court if... if... you can keep your head low and out of sight. Especially in the next few days."

"The next few days? What..." Philippe began carefully.

"What did I just say. Is asking questions keeping your head low? No. As I have said, I am fond of you, and find you quite useful... to the realm. When the time comes to choose sides, and it will come, I would suggest you be nowhere to be found. For a clerk of such skill, your stupidity astounds me! I would hate to lose an asset such as you because you rushed headlong into politics." The chamberlain turned to leave, "Stay out of sight, Philippe. There are dark times ahead in Larrae."

As he walked away, the chamberlain thought to himself that Philippe was far too intelligent and competent to be as naive as he seemed. Perhaps the Queen had already gotten to him. Or perhaps Prince Edward. He dismissed the notion, and his mind moved on to other, more pressing matters.

As soon as the chamberlain was gone, Philippe darted from the room, voices shouting at him in his mind. His friends… his sword… his money… Melodia…

The Proposition

2007-03-06T17:57:00.000-08:00

“But by selling your raw wool to the Simbelese brokers, you leave most of the profit laying on the table for the dyers and the weavers guild. What the Aggregate needs here is a complete vertical operation—sheep, dye manufacture, spinning combine, weaving, and manufacture and then our merchants and ships can clothe the peoples of the Long Sea and extract the entire profit from the end users. Isn’t it obvious and self-evident!?” exclaimed the skinny but royally clothed teen cripple in a final crescendo of logic.

The blank faces of most representatives of the Benthian Wool Aggregate said it all. Martyk, the oldest of the group and its unofficial leader, however, had heard enough. “But you know the dyes needed to compete in the market are to be found only in Simbelin, and that there is no more closely guarded secret in all of Simbelin than the formulas for those dyes. You could sooner access the maps of the many portals of Ranoc’s Tower than get your hands on the secrets of the Simbelese Dyers Guild. We are shepherds, not magicians, we know sheep and the shearing, not the ways of the vat, wheel, and loom. Look at yourself, young popinjay, in your fashionable court garb in the latest cuts and frills and colors, you would not be caught dead in the locally crafted dross available to those of lesser means, you are a walking advertisement for the Simbelese monopolists”. The leader of the Aggregate concluded his remarks and began to rise along with his more silent fellows from the plain wooden table in the backroom of the wool warehouse in the docks district of Larrae.

The teen smiled and seemed flattered by the compliments on his dress. “Martyk, you like?”, he asked, awkwardly twirling with his staff in hand to show off the long tails in back which fluttered behind as he spun. “That’s great—because I made these here in Larrae, with wool I purchased at this very warehouse, spun into yarn by my own hand, dyed in my own bathtub, and woven on the loom in my bedroom. I must confess, I had some help with the tailoring. This is merely a copy of a Simbelese original from the House of Dontre, purchased three weeks ago from Hillbottle Clothiers for nearly 200 crowns.“ Reaching into the well-worn Haversack on the table next to him, he pulled out the original outfit and held it up for inspection and comparison. “Can you tell the difference?”

Martyk and his grizzled fellows crowded around the youth, rubbing their fingers across the materials of both the original and the copy, pulling him closer to the small lone window to get a look at the colors in the natural light. “It’s good, Martyk”, said one member who sheep farmed 300 acres below the Castle of the Star in central Benth. “I can’t tell the difference in the feel—and I’ll swear the colors are BETTER in the copy—look at the sheen on that purple and the blood red on the sleeve”.

After everyone had gotten a feel and a look, and satisfied themselves that the copy was at least as high quality as the original, everyone returned to their seats. Martyk looked at the boy appraisingly, and said “My young prince, you are not the first to buy smuggled dye out of Simbelin, but unless you manage to get a wagonload, there is just no commercial application to this idea.”

“That is the beauty of my idea”, beamed the now smug looking Simon Bale. “I did not buy this dye—I MADE it!” And reaching into the bad, he pulled out a handful of small blocks of sharp color, each stamped with Simon’s personal seal of a stylized loom. “And I can make more.”

The group of rough shepherds exploded in talk all at once at that. “Young Simon”, warned the grizzled Martyk, “you have just made yourself some powerful enemies, Duke Melicter at the head of the list. You know he get a tithe of all profits from the whole of the Simbelese textile trade for his “protection”, not to mention the Hillbottles and the textile guilds of Simbelin.”

Simon sighed resignedly and said “that rival merchants would be offended is inevitable whenever a monopoly is threatened is inevitable. As for Duke Melicter…. I’m afraid that die was already cast four years ago and he was already no friend of me or mine. Perhaps in this way though I’ll acquire the means to…well..no matter, let’s talk terms!”

--by Kelly

Rehash

2007-02-27T20:05:00.000-08:00

In the Year 1400 of the Age of Faith, Prendor was in the midst of a civil war, known popularly as the Prince's Rebellion. It was initially led by Crown Prince Patrick, the son of the King. Prince Patrick revolted when King Harl ordered the destruction of the Colossal Avatars at Mount Aothlenn in Oldshire. He was joined by his brothers Prince William the Exile, Prince Edward, and Prince Gideon "Starlight". Other notable nobles joining the rebellion were Duke Nathaniel Gryne of the Courbonne, Duke Tristan Kierny of Oldshire, Duke Draco Furon of Pyraea, Duke Simon Bale of Mystria, and the Chancellor Othelius the Mourner.

In a horrific and unexplainable explosion at Mount Aothlenn, many of the leaders of the Prince's Rebellion were killed, including Crown Prince Patrick himself and his brother Prince Gideon, Othelius, Tristan Kierny and his brother Sean, and Sir Philippe-Emmanuel Gryne, the rebellion's most famous knight and heir to the Courbonne. Prince Edward returned to his father's fold shortly thereafter, as did the Duke of the Courbonne. The only territories remaining in rebellion as 1400 AF drew to a close were Pyraea, Mystria, and Oldshire.

The Castle of the Star

The children of Prince Gideon Harmonant and his wife, Lady Flora of House Bale, were many. Most remained throughout the early days of the rebellion at their home, the Castle of the Star, though the eldest son, Prince Jacob perished with his father and (it was thought) his mother at Mount Aothlenn, and the youngest, Prince Walther, remained a ward of the King in Larrae. The other children were: Princess Elissa, twin to Jacob; Prince Elias and Prince Josiah, twin brothers; Prince Lukas and Prince Oberon, also twin brothers; Prince Simon the Lame; and Gideon and Flora's adopted half-orc daughter Willa. When he heard of the Mount Aothlenn disaster, Prince Gideon's chosen custodian of the Castle of the Star, Sir Waylan Muld, imprisoned the Harmonant children in the dungeons there.

However, the Harmonant children escaped, and in the process learned that the man they thought was Sir Waylan Muld, was actually a doppleganger called Fradat-Nar, who was in correspondence with others named Zarthosht and “Lord Vareshna”. The doppleganger had killed Sir Waylan Muld and taken his place over a month ago. The Harmonants discovered the body of the real Sir Waylan Muld in the crypts, hastily buried in the tomb of his brother Sir Fletcher Muld. Fradat-Nar tried to impersonate the Harmonants’ ally, their father's kindly old chaplain Father Eldon Wilde, pretending to be a captive of goblins who were actually his servants. Then when it appeared the Harmonants might escape, he attacked them. But they proved more able than he expected, and Fradat-Nar was slain.

During their escape, the Harmonants found a portait of their mother that changed in an eerie magical fashion, depciting their mother's changing moods. This was their first hint that their mother had somehow survived the Explosion at Mount Aothlenn. They also found a mysterious glowing stone, the magical aura of which indicated an overwhelming power indicative of an artifact nature. Simon guessed from a dream he had that it was called the Eye of the Avatar. In their escape, they also took revenge on Sir Niles Kerby, the cruel knight that the doppelganger had kept as their gaoler, and who had brutally murdered their would-be rescuer, guardsman Brice Walderman.

The Harmonants were aided in their escape by the aforementioned Father Wilde, their mother's handmaiden Rowena Winterbrook, who aided the Harmonants despite her sick daughter, and a merchant by the name of Carter Longshanks who served in the employ of the Crake merchant family from Wynt. Following Rowena’s advice, they chose to escape to Mystria, where they stayed with their grandfather Duke Simon Bale, a leader of the rebellion.

Blackwater Keep

At Blackwater Keep, the Duke’s feudal estate in the Mystrian swampland, the Harmonants got to know their mother’s house and its dealings. Their Great Aunt Amelia Wurshing, sister to the Duke, tried repeatedly and unsuccessfully to arrange marriages for the young royals. Their Aunt Rose Bale, the shy younger sister of their mother and the Duke’s daughter who still remains a maid, was kind to them, but quiet. The Captain of the Guard at Blackwater Keep was Sir Grimwold Balrimple, a gruff, full-bearded man of great loyalty to his lord’s house.

They learned that the key to the Duke’s power was his relationship with his most powerful vassal, his nephew Robert Molrose, Count of Zendron. The Duke’s other sister, Great Aunt Magdalena, was married to the Count’s father to tie the houses closer together in an earlier generation. Their son James was living as a ward in Blackwater Keep. And the Count’s uncle, Sir Geoffrey Molrose, remained the Duke’s closest friend, and was entrusted to lead the armies of Mystria. To Princess Elissa, the Duke gave the sword of his daughter Marigold Bale, who was a Bladesister, enshrined in legend for her glorious victories over Altaran forces during Sir Philip’s War. According to legend, she was slain in battle by the monstrous Prince Trevan of Altara.

The Harmonants spent a great deal of time in the nearby village of Blackwater, at the main inn in town, the Blackwater Blade. There, they befriended the innkeeper, a dwarf woman named Helga Goldhair, daughter of Olga Goldhair. And they got to know the visiting Baeler of Mystria, Jean-Marc Aloinde.

While staying at their new home in Blackwater Keep, the Harmonants investigated a strange cult that was harassing the peasants of the village of Blackwater. The cultists were revealed to be orcs from across the sea that worshipped a strange snake god named Ethlyssar. The orcs had as a captive Prince Drenlan, a lizardman prince from the Horde's neighboring kingdom of Sauria. As Iokrag, the orc shaman who led the cult died at the hands of the Harmonants, he let slip his last word, "Willa...", which astonished the young royals (especially Willa) as they had never told him her name.

Some time later, a goblin army suddenly and mysteriously emerged from the caves under the Mystwood and lay seige to Blackwater Keep. The Harmonant children escaped from the castle using secret passages out of the tombs and snuck into the army command tent to discover an unsent letter from Garag-Nor, the hobgoblin marshal, indicating the army was bought by Sir William Grace, the King's marshal, without the King's knowledge.

The Harmonants then sought out and persuaded the Duke's nephew Jon of Casken, son of Lady Amelia, to bring his army to lift the seige. To convince Jon of Casken, they needed to persuade his vassal Baron Glen Griddick of Mawmouthe not to attack Casken while the army was gone. To that end, they agreed that Josiah and Lukas would marry Baron Griddick's hideous daughters Honora and Mirielda, a promise that has not thus far been kept. The Harmonants also learned there that Jon’s mother Amelia had arranged the marriage between Baron Griddick and his wife Mildred in order to thwart Jon’s interest in marrying her for love, and that Jon had still not forgiven his mother. The Harmonants then joined Jon of Casken in the lifting of the siege and routing of the goblin army.

A few weeks later, the Duke's allies from Oldshire paid him a visit. The Duke of Oldshire was 10-year-old Stephen Kierny, whose father Sean Kierny had died at Mount Aothlenn. With the young Duke came his aunt, Juna Kierny, another sister of Flora and daughter of Simon Bale, and widow of Tristan Kierny, the previous Duke of Oldshire. Also attending was the young Duke’s regent, Count Arthur Cannlen and his wife Gwendolyn, a sister of Tristan Kierny.

During their stay, the 10-year old Duke of Oldshire Stephen Kierny disappeared, along with the Duke's ward James Molrose, son of the Duke's powerful vassal Count Robert Molrose of Zendron. The Harmonants discovered a mystical portal in the pantry of Blackwater Keep that seemed to appear and disappear. They went through the portal after the missing children and found themselves in another world: the demiplane of Orbion.

Orbion was the realm that the Elf Druid-Queen Perawyn took her people to many years ago, along with the good faerie creatures of Aethe, to protect them as magic faded from Aethe for a time. The Harmonants discovered in the village of Winterheld that Queen Perawyn was ill, but that were she cured and conscious, she would be able to reunite them with the lost children and return them to Aethe. At the urging of her High Guardian Girian, the Harmonants undertook to seek out a cure. While searching, they discovered a dryad who agreed to point them toward the cure, but only on the condition that one of them provide her with a child, as was prophecied. Simon agreed to the bargain.

The dryad pointed the Harmonants to a hideous ancestor of theirs, Myrtle the Green Hag, who had been posing as a Bale family servant for many years until the portal opened. She had then slipped into Orbion, and poisoned the Queen. They discovered Myrtle had also poisoned the two missing children. Apparently, the portal's appearance was linked to the birth of one of Flora's children, and now follows the Harmonants around, appearing occasionally to allow them access to the town of Winterheld and to Orbion's more magical environment. The Harmonants dispatched Myrtle and cured Queen Perawyn.

Fully healed, Perawyn sent everyone back to Blackwater Keep, but upon arrival they discovered that time passes erratically on Aethe compared to Orbion. Their two-day trip to Orbion had been a month in Aethe. During that month, Duke Simon Bale had despaired of finding the missing children. The Count of Zendron had become very angry with the Duke over his son's disappearance and without the Count's support, Simon Bale had been forced to make peace with the King, and the King sent Sir Robin Bristolan to quarter in Blackwater Keep for a time to ensure House Bale’s loyalty.

Oldshire had fallen to infighting among the Counts. The Duke’s disappearance left House Kierny without an heir. Stephen’s maternal cousin Myles Hyllrune (with the support of House Plynell) and Count Robert Sithwyck had both declared themselves Duke and were battling each other for primacy. Houses Llan and Brywen had negotiated a return to the King’s good graces. Stephen Kierny and his regent returned to a single remaining loyal vassal, Count Riley Wythre.

Also, though not necessarily connected, the day the Harmonants had left, the Duchess of Pyraea, Margaret Furon, yet another of Flora’s sisters, lost her fourth child in childbirth. The Duke of Pyraea, Draco Furon, had viewed this as a sign and sued for peace as well. The rebellion in Prendor had ended, and the King was now seeking his rebellious grandchildren.

The Lyceum

The Duke of Mystria sent his grandchildren to the Lyceum in the Hathenian city of Suzergne to keep them safe in a foreign land, and out of the reach of the King of Prendor, and to get them an education in the meantime. There they befriended several other noteworthy Prendorians who attended the school: Adrian and Tancred Pendall, twin brothers who were the sons of the Duke of Archondel, Melodia and Beatrice Gryne, the daughters of the Duke of the Courbonne, and Philippe de Molliens, the son of a prominent Prendorian merchant family, and the dwarf Morgrim, who became fast friends with Oberon. Also while in attendance at the Lyceum, the Harmonants met (unknowingly at the time) their half-brother Victor, who was working there as an assistant to groundskeeper Ivon Bogue. Prince Lukas, at the Promotion Fundraiser Ball at the end of their first year, attracted the amorous attention of Ismerine Carnenne, the half-elven professor of rhetoric and composition.

Together, the Harmonants and their friends uncovered a terrible plot by the Implexor (Chancellor) of the Lyceum Charles Cavanaugh to turn the students there into an army of nightlings who would conquer the nearby city of Suzergne for him from the ruling Baeler Garnault Salle. The Implexor was using a vial of water tainted by a corrupted artifact to infect the students.

Upon confronting the Implexor, the Harmonants learned that Cavanaugh was in fact another doppleganger called Ainyu in league with Lord Vareshna, who had been dealing with a group of theives and brigands from Larrae called the Masked Martyrs, via their local leader Zela de Larre. They also killed his hired assassin Giacamo “Graves” Ganorelli of Treverac, who had murdered Mayor Anselm Laroque of the nearby town of Montmarnet.

They rescued their friend Philippe and several other missing students including Milo Haguus, Guillaume Gaulle, and Nathaniel Courve who had been captured by the Implexor, as well as the reformist Elosian Prophet Eric de Caember. They then helped conspiracy-theory-prone dwarven Professor Vermmond Haguus (Milo’s uncle) to concoct an antidote, saving the Lyceum and the city of Suzergne. Eric de Caember was grateful and he became a mentor to Oberon.

After the terrible events were over, the Harmonants learned that the corrupted artifact that had produced the Nightling water was in fact an Eye of the Avatar, and that it was high in the Mountains of Sorrow above the Dwarven mining village of Mirth, behind a powerfully sealed door called the Candlenox Door, that opened once a year, during the festival of Candlenox. The Harmonants traveled to Mirth, and got to know the town of 800 dwarves, mostly miners at the nearby mine Khad Markun, and briefly met the Lord Mayor Thrain Andorian.

The Harmonants traveled there and entered the door, discovering drow elves were performing terrible experiments in the caves there to try and find a way to use the corrupted Eye of the Avatar to defeat their enemy, King Nirikken of the dwarven Kingdom of Turingard. After vanquishing the drow menace, the Harmonants discovered the cursed artifact and lifted the curse, finding also another artifact after slaying the white dragon Nidhogrym: a glass tablet. Though Oberon had a dream in which writing appeared on the tablet, there was no trace of any writing. When the Harmonants decided to leave, they discovered the door had closed, and they were trapped for a year.

In the fight with the Drow, Josiah had died. Oberon was able to revive him using the powerful cure for Myrtle's poison, but only with the help that Prince Gideon's spirit was able to provide Josiah in the Afterworld. During that spiritual experience, Josiah learned from his father's ghost that his mother was not in the Afterworld, that she must be alive. He also learned that in order to find her again, the Harmonants would have to allow themselves to be taken captive by the Prendorian agents who would be waiting when the Candlenox Door reopened. They decided to do so.

The King's Court

In Larrae, Victor received a mysterious package with letters from Prince Gideon acknowledging that Victor was in fact Gideon's bastard son, and from Victor's mother begging her son's forgiveness and explaining that his stepfather had loved him very much, and that she did not want Gideon to be hurt by rumors of a bastard. There was no indication who had sent the mysterious package.

Princess Elissa was eventually married to Jon Algar, the Duke of Erodel in the neighboring realm of Altara. Her brother Prince Elias joined the knightly Oathsworn Order, a chaste organization of knights dedicated to the protection of others, and accompanied her to Erodel as her personal champion.

Prince Josiah fell in love with and married Anita Fletcher of Wynt, a commoner and exiled republican dissident. Josiah then made a public declaration of republicanism and renounced the throne, and the monarchy of Prendor. He was promptly disinherited and exiled by the King, whereupon he fled Larrae with his new wife, presumably to Wynt.

Willa has not been heard from for some time. She never attended the Lyceum with her adoptive siblings, but rather went her own way in an attempt to learn what she could about her true parents, who she never knew.

In Larrae, the Harmonants were reunited with their younger brother Walther, who had been a ward of the King. During the Prince's Rebellion, he had been somewhat a hostage, but upon the death of his father, the King began to treat him more like family. King Harl has been gradually lessening the restrictions on the rest of the family for the year they have been in Larrae, but they are still restricted to remain within the city walls of Larrae.

Although Prendor is largely at peace, one conflict remains. Prince William the Exile holds the title of Duke of Dryadern in neighboring Altara and remains at war with his father. Duke Thavian Melicter of Gloriana and Duke Dayne Turrant of Brascany have led an assault on Dryadern that has fared poorly against Prince William's superior generalship. Rumors abound of a coming reprisal by Prince William.

Simon and Oberon, in their studies of the arcane and divine magic of Aethe, have discovered that a terrible force is corrupting magic, and has been for some time. Spells cast normally have a lethal effect on nearby life, killing plant life and spreading disease and affliction. With some effort, these effects can be avoided, either by controlling and limiting the power of the spell, or exchanging some measure of control over the spell's effect for control over the corrupting side effect.

Meanwhile, the nation of Prendor is in shock over the death of Sir Victor Balroy, the King's chancellor and beloved bastard half-brother. The King's physician Luther Stills has declared he died of old age. The king will need a new Chancellor soon.

Also, the city of Larrae has been abuzz lately over sightings of goblins within the city walls. Not long ago, goblins were regarded as mythical in Prendor. But after the siege of Blackwater Keep and the recent sightings, people have begun to believe, and to panic. And to make matters worse, Tymon of Zendron, a popular priest who was an outspoken advocate for the poor, was recently cut down in the street, and multiple bystanders reported goblins were the culprits. The people of Larrae are frightened.

Hot Then Cold

2007-02-27T17:32:00.000-08:00

The cold fog of the great hall drove into my feet like spikes, coming in through the thick leather of my boots. My feet dragged silently as I scuffled toward my grandfather to get a permission he would not grant. Still I moved through the frigid space as the paper-pushers and diplomats floated around the throne like ghosts. Hard-eyed watchmen weighed my intent as I got close enough to King Harl to notice the deep lines that crossed his face like a map of the world.

My voice cracked as I spoke. "Grandfather, have you considered my request to ride to the West, to fight for a unified Prendor?"

His head rose from a carefully folded note and he looked down the considerable length of his nose at me. "I just do not see what could be accomplished by sending you into combat against William the Exile. Maybe after your next birthday." A puff of frost hung in the air in front of his mouth as he gave me a moment to consider my next request.

Words failed me and as a response, I gritted my teeth with so much enthusiasm I was sure they heard it in the stables.

"Walther, continue your training," he said. "Your brothers will be back in Larrae soon." With a quick smile, he went back to studying the next carefully prepared scrap of paper.

"Thank you sir," I said feeling the weight of the room pressing in on me. My face burned as I turned and marched back down the length of the hall. A fire rose in my body as I slowed and turned back to look at the throne and another spurned request. The great space was empty and the throne had vanished behind me. My palms itched and on inspection, burst into flames. Flames lept up all around and even the flagstones burned with low flames that brought no pain.

A man-sized living flame burst up in front of me and spoke in a voice that sounded like two stones grinding on each other. "Where do you think you’re going?"

"I’m not in the mood," I grumbled. On closer inspection, my arms were burning and flames lept up and down my body. "Pheck, not this again." Just yesterday, I had charged into a burning building with little more than royal responsibility driving me. That had gone well except for the painfully red arms and the smoky chest.

The ignored flames disappeared from my clothing in an instant and left behind only a distant whooshing sound. My mother stood in front of me in the exact spot where the giant flame had been. She seemed to be wracked with pain and she spoke deliberately. "Walther, I need your help."

I screamed something and sat bolt upright in bed, a cold sweat running down my back and dampening my forehead. A ragged breath exploded out through clenched teeth. The bandages on my arms and hands were as full and heavy as sea sponges.

A knock came at the door and after a moment, Victor stuck his head into the room. "Are you well?"

I breathed out the words like a sigh of relief. "Well enough. How are you?" A quick shiver wracked my right arm and I realized that I was just being diplomatic with my half-brother Victor. I hardly knew him at all.

He answered with words that were quick and honest. "Restless. I am not fond of funerals."

"Me either. I think I’ll skip mine." I pulled my shoulders back and cracked my neck out of habit.

"You should get some sleep." Victor closed the door and padded away without another word.

I fell back into the covers and shifted to a cool spot. As I drifted back to sleep, I realized that I was just about done asking for permission to do the right thing.

-- by Bill Williams

The Way Beckons

2007-02-27T17:28:00.000-08:00

Three months now we are locked behind the Candlenox Door. I have started to hate that name now, Candlenox Door. I fear that my feelings towards Candlenox itself, normally such a festive time, will forever be marred because of it.

“Candlenox, (murmuring), Candlenox, (louder), you’re no door! Pah!”

“What’s that Victor? Couldn’t hear you in the corner over there. What is that you’re doing with those pieces of wood?”

“Ah, take no bother of my words, friend Elias. As for this wood, once upon a time I worked a forge if you can believe. I thought perhaps another distraction might be worthwhile if I whittled out a practice weapon or two. Might we spar when I finish?”

Elias’ eyes light up, “Indeed Victor, my arm grows weaker by the day and my mind is no good for another craft. Simon speaks to me of magics and family lore and I simply haven’t the head for it. (whispering)Truly I don’t know what he’s said at all, but your words are clear. Call me when you are ready.”

Left alone to my little corner again, I patiently shape the pieces of wood I salvaged from a few wrecked barrels.

“Ah, Dame, I miss you more than even I had thought. Where are you now? Flying freely, I hope. If only we could all join you.”

The day draws on, or what passes for a day in this dark hole.

“Victor, won’t you join us for the evening meal?”

I put down my blade and my newly fashioned practice weapon, ”Coming along quite nicely, but yes Elissa, I am hungry once again, thank you.”

A few minutes later as I walk into what was once the mess hall for cursed Drow scum, a delightful smell wafts under my nostrils.

“What new delight is this? I have smelled worse in greater kitchens than this?”

Around the table sit the Harmonants. Simon pipes up, “You can thank me for such great deeds once again for it was I who found the cache of spices overlooked these months by some others, I won’t name whom, whose hands are not accustomed to such delicate work.” (a smirk towards Josiah)

“Yes, yes little brother, we’re all so grateful and far more humbled than such as you”, Josiah laughs, “Victor, Elias says you are crafting practice swords, is that one of them there?”

“Yes actually Josiah, have a look, I would wonder what a prince might think.” I toss him the wooden weapon, still proud of my waning skill, “Once upon a time I worked a forge in the service of no greater than yourselves. My father was often employed by the Hathainian royal military for his great skill at the forge. Such was my teacher.”

“And it shows, my friend, quite the piece you’ve made, almost a shame to ruin it with practice blows.”

“Let me see it Josiah.” Elias stands and swings competently over the heads of his seated brothers, “Yes, Victor, well done. Are there more?”

“Patience Elias, we have more than enough time I reckon. More will be made, for now that is all I have to show.”

“Patience, ha, you’re looking at the wrong face for that virtue. Hey! Ow!”

With a skillful tap Elias smacks, Simon’s cheek with the hard enough wood, “I guess you’re right, little brother. I lost my patience again, ha ha ha.”

Elissa walks over with the hardy smelling stew we were waiting for, “Enough, boys, Oberon and I are to blame for wearing all of your patience thin with the tease of such smells. Eat now, it’s very good, sometimes I surprise even myself.”

After we all had eaten our fill and talked as much as we would, I sat back with a smile. We hadn’t anything half so satisfying in all these months, “Excellent you two, reminds me of my sister’s cooking back in Hathaine, she had a wonderful skill in the kitchen. What I wouldn’t give for a mug of ale now. I can almost see the inn now and with such fine companions as you all.”

“Hear, hear, I could do with the same. Oberon might not approve, but my throat has been too dry as well. Don’t look at me like that Oberon,” Lukas licks his lips with the memory in spite of his twin.

“Well, despite your drunken losses, it is good to see everyone in such spirits. It’s almost as if Elos’ sun shone on us even in this gloom. Victor, if I may, you haven’t smiled this much in a month. I remember well your loss, but I wouldn’t have it overcome you.”

“Thank you Oberon. I appreciate that. In fact, I do feel much renewed today. In fact I think it is time. Tomorrow, I will once again beseech Narduna for her wisdom in finding a new companion. I have thought long on the words in the tattered book I chanced upon from the Drow grave and it seems to be prodding me forward, reminding that there is more than entrapment and artifacts to be found here. If all of you would be so kind as to leave me undisturbed for twenty-four hours tomorrow I will pray again in the dragon’s lair for it is there I left Dame and it is there that calls me again.”

Elissa puts a caring hand on Victor’s shoulder, “Of course we will.”

“I know what this means to you my friend”, Oberon makes the motions of Elos’ blessings upon me.

“Let me know if you need any help Victor, I also feel more ready to do something though I know not what animal you may find within these walls.”

“Thank you Lukas, it may come to pass that I do need your aid. So it begins, tomorrow another friend shall we all have.”
_____________________________________________________________

It will be a long day. I walk to the dragon’s lair once more. Its stink has lessened in three months time though there is still an odor about the room. If it weren’t for the subtle beautiful drip of the water far below I would think I would almost be too distracted. I find a suitable space to sit upon and fold my cloak to make a seat of it, twenty-four hours of prayer is good for the soul yet hard on the bottom.

I take a moment to breathe as I ease down upon my cloak and let the ritual sink in again. It is remarkable that once learned you cannot erase it. Such is the power of Narduna. As I begin to recall, I stumble a moment, a choke, a tear. Dame, you always be my friend. I stroke her feather, all that I have of her, and remember my teacher’s guidance.

“A companion from the goddess is a great gift, never to be taken lightly nor to be given back on a whim. Do not test her, she will not forsake you in your need.”
She will understand that what I did was right. She must, those pages, and my dream, she has spoken to me already. The time is right.

Hours pass, the odor fades. All sounds but my own slowly disappear. The torch has long gone out though it seems as if I can see in the dark. See something in the darkness. It is different yet so much like the last time. I will not cry. Her guidance comes to the strong of heart.

More hours pass and now there is only silence and darkness. I have invoked her wisdom and now I wait.

What, what is that? I turn. Something has touched my shoulder. They wouldn’t disturb me.

“Who’s there? Come on now, no games. I asked you all nicely to…….”, wait, I am not in the cave. There is a soft green underneath me, grass. It is her. She has come.

I sit in silence again, fool that I am. There is a smell of soil in the air. There it is again her familiar laughter, like a running stream. A wind touches me again as my heart slowly fills with her.

He is here. Her boon is here in this very room, somewhere unseen, undiscovered. I know it. Thank you goddess. Thank you once again.

She is gone now. The ritual is ended. So tired now, so tired…sleep.

(calling)“Victor, Victor, are you here?”

“What, what, who is that?”

“It’s Lukas, Victor. Sorry to bother you, but many more hours than twenty-four have passed and I feared some unexpected creature might have disturbed you before me.”

“No, no, my friend, but I am glad you have come. Do you have a rope?”

“A strange question, but yes, in fact I have brought my pack. Since we were worried I thought it better to be prepared. Why a rope?”

“It is here Lukas, somewhere in this room, I feel it even more now.”

“What, what is here Victor?”

“My companion, Lukas, he is here though I do not know exactly what he is or where. Where have I not looked in this room? I have spent countless hours whiling away the time in here.”

“Well, I may not understand all of this, and I would think you a bit off if Oberon hadn’t spoken to me of your talk. I trust you Victor. I have some sense of the spiritual, of the goddess. Oberon may be more severe, but I feel it now, there is a touch upon you now. Let me help you Victor. Where shall we look? Why do you ask for a rope?”

“Yes, yes, a rope, that’s it. Over the side there, Lukas, can we fasten a rope so I can climb over the cliff’s edge above the water?”

“Let me see, yes I think it can be done. I’m not sure of the depth all the way around though. We pulled that treasure before from the shallow side where the dragon had easy access to his plunder. The distance between cliff edge and water grows as we come around this farther side. Where will you descend?”

“Here, here Lukas, at the longest fall.”

“I may trust you Victor, but this has become dangerous. What if you fall? Ah yes, I have it. Oberon thought to loan me the feather fall ring should we have need. He feared you could’ve fallen over yourself. Wear this Victor and I will be more at ease to help you.”

“Brilliant Lukas, your brother’s forethought will aid us now. Did you not hear her call yourself Lukas? You have arrived at the right time with everything we need. Your knowledge is more than you admit, I think. Let us secure the rope.”

After tying one end of the rope to a rocky arm nearby as well as around Lukas’ waist, I started to climb over the side, the feeling growing stronger on me. After a minute or so down, I stopped.

“I see it Lukas, there is an opening, big enough for a man or something larger. That is where I must go though I cannot quite reach it. Can you lower the rope anymore?”

“No Victor, all of the slack is let out. I know you must feel as if possessed to go forward, but perhaps you should wait. We do not know what could live in there.”

“I have it Lukas. I can swing near to the mouth and drop with the ring to land me safely. I will return shortly.”

“Victor, no. Wait! There is no more rope, how will you return?”

No answer as Lukas feels the weight drop from the end of the rope and hears the scuffle of feet far below and then nothing.

“Victor! Damn. Breathe Lukas. This is how it works. You don’t need to understand crazy Victor moods, just be patient. How can I lengthen this rope?”

After tying and retying the rope many times, Lukas finally admits that there is no way to get another foot out of it.

“That’s it, I’m going down, it’s been more than half an hour and if I go down we can help each other back to the rope end some how. Here goes.”

Lukas slowly starts over the cliff edge and slowly works his way down the side.

“This is madness, what am I doing? Wait, what is that sound, like the grunt of something large. Hekar’s bonds! I mean, Elos save us, what is that? This thing ate Victor and now for dessert, back up, up. Light of Elos, light of Elos, it’s getting closer. Oh dear god, there is it’s head. Oh, Victor, I’m sorry.”

“Whatever are you sorry for, Lukas?”

“What, Victor, is that you?”

“Of course, what did you think? This big softy doesn’t like the taste of people. If you were Drow on the other hand, ha. I already have something in common with him. Wait right there and watch this.”

As Lukas stared on in amazement, the large bulk of a lizard deftly twisted around and began to climb straight up the cliff side with Victor clinging to it’s scaly back. Lukas quickly clambered back up the rope himself as the great beast came up right behind. It seemed for a second as if Victor and this new “friend” glowed together, just a second, and then his senses returned.

“Victor, you must be crazy. What is this, this…lizard..thing?”

“I am fairly certain it is called a crag drake though I confess that I have less knowledge of beasts that dwell under the earth.”

“Won’t it harm you or rather harm me. It doesn’t look so gentle.”

“No, no, he’s all excited to get to know you all already. It seems he’s been about as bored as we have and the food’s been none too great either. Drow don’t really taste very good. I’m going to start training him right away.”

“Does he have a name, what should I call him?”

“Oh yes, he told me, but I suppose a better translation would be something like, Akreth. Call him Akreth.”

Lukas put out a hand to his odd scaly head, “Nice to meet you Akreth.”

-- by Jon

A Difficult Parting

2007-02-21T22:08:00.000-08:00

Lost in thought, I reflected on our situation. Quite the adventure I’ve gotten myself into now. The ship to Turingard was fortunately uneventful. I’ve seen the sea many times though I had never taken a vessel upon its fickle fortunes. I wasn’t altogether sure of what brought me up the cursed mountain, at least that is how the dwarves saw it, to become locked behind the Candlenox Door. A name I now understand much more clearly as we wait now, hoping to exit again on Candlenox next year, a year.

Dragons, a pair of foully magical doorknockers and a garrison of wicked drow had demonstrated some of the cruel interest in this artifact we sought, this Eye of the Avatar. The price was nearly two of our lives, mine included. Where will this take us? And now….now what shall a year in a cold and dreary cave bring to us, alone and yet together?

A full month had passed since our victory and our entrapment. We thought we knew the price when we entered this enchanted dark, but the full realization of an entire year lost in this lonely cave began to settle upon us. The last pride and rush of battle well-fought and the satisfaction of the spoils, legend though they may be, had dwindled to little more than a reminder of our inability to go on. In fact, the certainty of escape was slowly becoming less sure every day.

I did my best to console my companion, who liked even less her fate of subterranean life. I never should have brought her here. What place has a hawk, no matter how noble or loyal, in a place such as this? Her agitation continually mounted and I began to fear for her mind. No words or actions I take now can soothe the ache for the sky of any of Narduna’s winged believers. Ah, Dame, what can be done for you? Watching your plight does naught, but increase my own.

“Oberon. Would you walk with me a bit?”

“Where would you have me walk Victor? You know the boundaries of this place as well as the rest of us.”

“Only to talk, away from barrels of dried food and the almost warmth of the torchlight. Would you talk with me?”

“If that is what will console you then, let us make another circuit of this hole.”

We walked away from the storage area of our enemies, which we now saw fit to make our own encampment and wandered back towards the dragon’s lair under a shrouded light of an everburning torch.

“What weighs on your mind, Victor, other than the dark, cold, and prospect of a year in it? What do I have to offer my friend?”

“It is exactly that which I wish to speak to you of. Friendship. I know that still you do not know me fully though we have bested much evil together. I also know that perhaps our faiths cross swords, if still unacknowledged. Do you really call me friend?”

“Victor, what question is this? You have thrown trustingly into our lot, the outcome of which we do not even know. You have bravely fought at our side. Were it not for your thrown axes, we may have never left that icy pass outside.”

“I know of my facility to a group, Oberon. That is no deeper bond than necessity and shared hardship. I am no coward, nor traitor to a just cause. These are not things I need reminder of at present. I wish to penetrate the walls of foreignness and estrangement. I wish your friendship and of all the party. I feel that there may be even more than that between us. I am an outsider. You are all family, nobility, born and raised in another country in a different life, my prayers go to a different deity, my age even, sets me slightly apart and yet I feel…..well, connected, I suppose.”

“It is my belief that you have our friendship and even that of our families not with us, whether living or no. Why do you ask these things of me?”

“It is with you most Oberon, that I feel a distance and a solidarity. A brotherhood of spirit and respect yet a nod of disapproval for a wayward soul. The others, less….religious, laugh and jest with me. Their acceptance is much nearer than yours. Would you honestly look into the eyes of another faith filled friend and tell me that you do not judge me according to the will of Elos?”

We entered the larger opening now, where the slow current of the water just over the edge farthest from us could hardly be discerned. I might have thought the sigh was that of the water had Dame’s head not abruptly turned towards Oberon.

“Victor. Were it my simple lot to judge others, life would be far easier. Elos teaches not judgment, but goodness and hope for all creatures, to live and love under his guiding sun. I would be lying to you though if I said that it does not hang on my heart to see you sit off in your own prayers when the rest of us come together, or that you do not utter thanks to Elos for our safety or the simple blessing of our food. I do not mean to be so brash as to sit in judgment as if I were a god myself.

You must understand, Victor, you are not only an outsider, you lead a different way of life that we have never been exposed to until we were forced to leave our home under duress. Your words of our upbringing and nobility ring close to my heart. For I understand more now that knowledge, custom, and family are but a part of wisdom and understanding in this world. For my part, I can say that I respect your faith and your truths and in time I hope to call you friend as you mean it in your question now.”

“Thank you Oberon. Your words are fair and kind and gladden my heart in this darkness when I need it most. I sense in you a depth, akin to that of Elissa, but, I don’t know how to say it, deeper. Now, as my friend I ask your help in a difficult task before me.”

“What task faces you in this place, Victor?”

“You spoke truly when you said that I knew the boundaries of this place as well as any and now I tell you perhaps more so. I have spent many long hours wandering in the dark, in part to quiet my restlessness and in part to calm my companion, Dame.
Shortly after the boons of your healing arts aided my strength’s recovery I found something of interest. Nothing that would greatly interest the party, but something that has grown on my mind as Dame’s spirits have been sinking.”

“What is it Victor? Why do you speak as if some evil thing were afoot? Dame looks as fabulous as ever. Long have I envied your connection to the animal world. All creatures that fly, swim or walk under his light touch near to the heart of Elos, whom I also love. You speak as if she is sick yet I sense no malaise. Though my arts are seldom practiced on animals, I have a sense when there is pain or dis-ease. Speak plainly now, what is wrong?”

“Ah, was her malaise that which could be healed by magic or herb. I have senses too, as you have noticed, with regards to Narduna’s cherished. No, no, she is not sick, not yet, though I know in my heart that she will not make it a year trapped with us. Not for lack of love, but for lack of the life of a hawk. I need to let her go, Oberon. Many years has she been with me, long before I met all of you. She has been my only friend until now. How can I free her?”

“Surely, Victor you do not mean to kill her? In that, I cannot help, if that is why you called me. I will do no harm to things not wicked whether in mercy or not. That is not the will of Elos.”

“No, Oberon, no. Never could I bring myself to harm her, nor could I ask such a treachery of another. Perhaps I have done her much harm already, but now I will make amends as I can. See there.”

With that I gestured towards a small point on the far side of the cavern, past the cliff’s edge and over the water, high above us.

“What do you point at, Victor, I don’t see anything there.”

“Wait, let your eyes adjust after I shroud the torch.”

A few seconds passed and in the darkness there grew a faint light, almost imperceptible even in darkness. One would think it was just a trick of the eye after blinking, but no, there it was growing still a bit brighter.

“What is that? How did you see it?”

“I told you I have walked much in the dark and a still mind can notice such anomalies. As for what it is, I am no stone-worker or cave dweller, but I know it to be your god’s rays shining forth. How and why, I do not know and it is not our concern. What I do know is that no man could climb there though some tiny creature might. A creature that wants, no, needs freedom and the sky.”

The torchlight grew as I lifted the shroud from it again and stroked Dame’s neck.

“She would fly to it now, if not for our friendship, our bond. I brought you here, Oberon, as one who can understand the need for ritual and solemnity and now also as a friend. There are words that I could say alone, taught to me by a greater man, to release her from my service. I do not wish to be alone in the dark watching my friend leave to a better home than I could give her.”

“I understand. What would you have me do?”

“Here underneath her outer feathers are softer ones, not quite downy. After I ask her pardon for taking one, I would ask your blessings on her. She will not miss it, but it is not something a friend asks lightly for.”

“I am afraid I do not know the traditions of Narduna as I might sometime like to. I do not know what to do. What blessing would you ask that I could give?”

“I ask you to give the blessings that you know. Ask your god for her safety as I will of mine. Please, give her what you can.”

“Yes, Victor, I will do that.”

With that I plucked one feather from her underside and she almost snapped at me. Regaining herself, her claws kneaded my arm quizzically, annoyed.

As I held the feather up to Oberon, he softly began to chant. I didn’t know what he was saying as my heart welled with sadness, but I knew it was right. I whispered gently into Dame’s ears the words I knew would hurt me forever more.

I raised my arm towards the small opening I had found and bade her fly away. As she lifted off towards the little light, I felt she was grateful and I knew that I was truly her friend and her companion now.

“Go now little one. Go back to her. Fly back to your goddess….”

With Oberon’s soft chanting in my ear, I looked at my new friend and back to my old….

“…..and to your god. It is done. Thank you for your grace my friend.”

“Any time Victor, any time.”

-- by Jon Bohrer

An Elf Messenger In The Mists

2007-02-21T22:05:00.000-08:00

As the sun rose over the hills and valleys of the kingdom, there hung a mist in the morning. In the Keep all slept, but two who lye silent under the mist. Since childhood Lukas had been sneaking off into the early morning with an Elven marksman named Amdr Sirfalas . They would lye silent and wait for the wildlife to come to life.

Amdr was an Elf vagabond whom had befriended the young prince one morning, while he hunted the deer of the valleys. Lukas had just let loose his arrow, when he stepped on a twig sending an alarm instantly. As Lukas readied another arrow, one flew quickly by his head. Lukas immediately fell to the ground fearing for his life. Father had always said not to leave the Keep by oneself. As Lukas looked behind him he saw the slim shadow of a figure run quickly by and it was followed by laughter.

Lukas soon realized this was an elf.

He had heard of such beings only in stories his mother would tell him and Oberon at night. They were a timeless people that kept to their own kind for the most part and humans rarely interacted with them. They were masters of weapons and weapon making from what he remembered in stories. But why would an elf shoot at him?

Lukas scanned over where the laughter had come from and saw the slim shadow standing, looking down; and chuckling. “Not a bad shot for letting the animal know you were after it, young prince. It would not have gone very much further if I would not have shot it. Ha, ha, you had wounded it in the back flank my friend.” Amdr said as he pulled out the arrow that Lukas had shot.

“Let me introduce myself, I am no assassin although it may have seemed that way young prince. My name is Amdr Sirfalas, traveler extraordinaire. You’re not too bad with that bow, but you have to ask yourself ‘do you want to improve?’”

With this Lukas didn’t know what to say, he had never seen an elf before and was dumbfounded by it. “Are your ears really pointy?” were the only words he could muster up to voice.

“HA, HA, HA…Indeed they are my young friend, I also can move quicker than you would expect.” Amdr replied.

“Why would you want to help me elf? Are there none who need it more than me?” Lukas remarked with some hesitation.

“I see in you what I once saw in myself and I believe that our paths were meant to cross. You are young now, but I know you and your brother will grow to be kings of old one day. There is much wisdom to be found in the mean time though. Will you allow me to train you?” Amdr inquired again.

“What do you want from me in return good elf?” Lukas asked.

“Only that you remember me and all that I teach you. Also you can not tell anyone except for your brother of me. I live in these woods for now, but things are changing and I will be leaving. These valleys used to be filled with good berries and wildlife. Now all I see are briars and thorns besieging the land.”

“I’m not quite sure that I should trust you Amdr. What if you should take me off to a hunt, but I become the hunted?”

“HA, HA, HA…Humans are not a tasty meal and much too hard to digest, I JEST! I only want to help you. This has been a long time coming for me. I have traveled to many places and seen many people, but none bear the marks you do.”

Marks? Marks, my face Lukas thought. The scars from when he and Oberon ran off to the valleys against their Father’s will. The ones he received when running through thicket and thorns to escape the orcs that had come into the kingdom. This began his hatred of the orcs and the stench that all of them had.

“Well, when do we begin Amdr?” Lukas finally replied
“Now, and tomorrow and the next day…Until your hand is steady and you can reload arrows as quickly as me!”

This began the long friendship the two would share. They met every morning, hunted and fished and Amdr taught Lukas of the different foods that could be made from the land. He also showed him some tracking skills, but Lukas was never good at remembering these lessons. He was always focused on how to steady his hand and reload faster, shooting with more accuracy.

The teaching went on for years until the day that Amdr did not show up. Lukas showed up to the usual spot underneath the thick mists of the valley by the cypress near the river. He waited until the sun broke the mists. He had no idea why Amdr had not shown up. Finally he decided to leave.

As he did he noticed an arrow had been shot into a tree. Tied to the arrow there was a small parchment. It read “Will meet again, danger comes! –A” Lukas thought about the note for some time as he slowly walked back to the Keep. Was this from Amdr? Why wouldn’t he just tell me? They had known each other for years; Amdr knew that Lukas would harbor him if needed. He could have hid in the crypts for a long time, even though they were kind of scary.

As Lukas came upon the Keep, he saw the glorious flying of the Blue flag of the House. He had never seen it so animated in the morning time. Then he heard and saw the gates open and his father leading men fully suited coming out.

“Father,” he yelled and Prince Gideon strode over.

“Lukas, get yourself inside the Keep, I will return soon. I have to support your uncle Edward in a decision that we have all made together. Your mother and I shall return soon and remember we love each of you very much.” Prince Gideon remarked as his horse pulled him back towards his wife’s.

Lukas stood there as the dust began to fill the air, while horses and mounted men rode hastily out the gateway to the Keep.

-- by Keith

A Note on the Naming of Bastards in Aethe

2007-02-01T21:45:00.000-08:00

Consider an illegitimate child named Randall, whose father was Jordan Fletcher and whose mother was Nyssa Simmons. These people all reside in the village of Thorpton. The question at hand is: what is Randall's last name, probably?

In Prendor, an illegitimate child's last name, if the father is known, is the father's last name prefixed by Bal-. So Randall's name would be Randall Balfletcher. If the father is not known, then the mother's last name is prefixed by Bel-. Randall's name would be Randall Belsimmons. There is one exception. When the father is of the royal bloodline, the child's last name is Balroy. So if Jordan Fletcher were the third grandson of the fourth son of the previous king, for example, Randall's name would be Randall Balroy.

If the child's namesake has only one name -- which is to say Jordan Fletcher was really named simply "Jordan" -- then Bal- or Bel- is prefixed to that name. Randall's name would be Randall Baljordan or Randall Belnyssa, or would have no last name himself and be simply "Randall".

In the Prendorian Duchy of Courbonne, however, as well as in the Kingdom of Hathaine, an illegitimate child simply takes the mother's family name. Randall would be Randall Simmons.

In Altara, Randall would take that town's name as a last name and be Randall of Thorpton. Or he would simply be known as Randall the Bastard.

In most other lands of the Long Sea, an illegitimate child takes the father's last name or the town's name. Randall would be Randall Fletcher or Randall Thorpton.

Questions?

Religions of Aethe

2007-01-31T23:15:00.000-08:00

Religion is deeply enmeshed in the lives of the peoples of Aethe. Most people believe deeply in their chosen faith, and attempt to live their lives according to its precepts. The words of a priest or prophetess carry great weight among ordinary folk, and one’s standing with the Temple can often affect one’s business and personal relationships. Although the civilized folk of Aethe often choose a single patron deity (usually Elos), they mostly believe in the existence of the other deities, and occasionally make offerings and prayers to them as well.

There are a great many deities worshipped across Aethe. The deities described here are those worshipped most often by the common races, and by the heroes and villains of the Long Sea.

The Temple of Elos

To gain a comprehensive understanding of religion in the world of Aethe in the year 1403 in the Age of Faith, one must first consider the worship of Elos. On the shores of the Long Sea, the Temple of Elos reigns supreme in the hearts of most peoples. Although other religions exist, only the Elosian religion truly flourishes. In civilized lands where the Temple of Elos holds sway, the temples of other deities usually choose to operate in secret.

Elos

Elos, the god of the sun, is lawful good. His titles are the Lightbringer and the Sunlight King. He is the most commonly worshipped deity among humans of the north coast of the Long Sea, and the worship of Elos is the official religion of many human nations. He has done much good in Aethe. He heals the sick, and lifts up the fallen. His priests strive to be a beacon of hope wherever they go, and are often well-positioned in the halls of power. All classes are common among his followers, but especially paladins. The domains he is associated with are Good, Law, Healing, Strength, Sun, and Glory. The mace is his favored weapon. Elos is a greater deity.

The worship of Elos the Sun God is the majority religion and the official religion of Altara, Prendor, Treverac, Wynt, and Hathaine. The head of the Temple is the Semptenar who rules from Coronen, Altara, in the Temple of the Brilliant Sun, within the district called the Semptenarium. Within each nation, the top religious official is the Patriarch, who has subordinates called Baelers running each region. Underneath the Baelers are Priests and Arristants (trained lay priests) who run the temples. In temples without Priests or Arristants, there will be an untrained lay priest called a Goodman, or Goodwoman.

As women are not permitted to be trained as priests, Goodwoman is the highest hierachical title a woman may gain in the Temple of Elos. Women seeking to serve Elos in a capacity with a greater potential for advancement often create or join outside organizations called sisterhoods dedicated to Elos.

The Elosian religion holds sway over much of the daily life of its adherents. Priests perform marriages, funerals, appellations (naming ceremonies), and newkindlings (coming-of-age ceremonies). Temples often employ skilled healers as well, though their services are scarce in rural areas. Monasteries abound as repositories of religious and historical knowledge, and priests provide most education for the children of noble and well-to-do families. Prayers are held at dusk, noon, and dawn every day.

The symbol of Elos is a sun divided into quadrants. Frequently, priests indicate their areas of expertise by symbols in the upper right and lower left quadrants.

Elos was known as the god of justice four centuries ago. But newly discovered religious texts transformed his portfolio into that of a sun god. A small sect known as the Justiciars still worship Elos as a god of justice. The human nation of Geonia follows the Justiciar path.

The Major Deities

Adonahane

Adonahane, the god of truth, is neutral good. His titles are Lord of Truth and the Omniscient. Above all, Adonahane and his followers seek and preserve knowledge, and expand upon it. Adonahane always speaks the truth. He is the son of Narduna, and the brother of Neir and Elos. Wizards and rogues are found among his followers, and worship of Adonahane is popular among elves. Adonahane is a greater deity, and he is associated with the domains of Good, Knowledge, Magic, Mind, Oracle, and Mentalism. His favored weapon is the longsword. His holy symbol is a blank scroll.

Hekar

Hekar, the god of death, is neutral evil. His titles include the Bringer of Death and the Dark Prisoner. Hekar is served by those who wish to bring great evil and destruction upon others for pleasure, or for their own gain. He is known as the Dark Prisoner because he was imprisoned beyond the Void Gate many ages ago by an alliance of other deities and great heroes of Aethe. His followers frequently include necromancers and rogues, and they are often scheming to release Hekar from his bonds. Hekar is a greater deity, and the domains he is associated with are Death, Evil, Trickery, Destruction, Hatred and Darkness. His favored weapon is a scythe. His holy symbol is a skull against a black star.

Narduna

Narduna, the goddess of nature, is neutral. She is known as the Aethemother. Narduna rules over the wilderness and the elements, and she is a friend of those who dwell in peace and harmony with the natural world. Barbarians, rangers, and druids sometimes choose to worship her. She is a greater deity, and is mother to the deities Elos, Adonahane, and Neir, and is a swarn enemy of Hekar. Among her servants are the deities Besos, Goprani, and Brebos. Among the dwarves, she is known as Narda, the Dwarfmother. In the dwarven pantheon, Narda is wife to the deity Thror, and patron to the deity Nikander. The domains Narduna (Narda) is associated with are Air, Earth, Fire, Water, Plant, Animal, and Weather. Her favored weapon is the quarterstaff. Her holy symbol is a simple circle.

Neir

Neir, the goddess of war, is chaotic neutral. Her title is the Lady of Wrath. She is mighty and honorable on the battlefield, but fickle with her support. She is the daughter of Narduna, and sister to Elos and Adonahane. The domains she is associated with are Chaos, Protection, Strength, Wrath and War. Fighters and Barbarians can be found among her followers. Though most of her followers are human, other races are certainly welcome. She is a greater deity, and her favored weapon is the battleaxe. Her holy symbol is a row of three parallel lightning bolts with an axe across them.

Racial and Regional Deities

Bahg Ara

Bahg Ara, the god of the ice plains, is chaotic evil. His title is the Blade. Bahg Ara despises his twin brother Bahg Tura, who stole his position as god of the orcs from him, and Bahg Ara has been working to get back his portfolio ever since. The domains Bahg Ara is associated with are Chaos, Evil, Destruction, War, Domination, and Orc. He is an intermediate god, and his favored weapon is the battleaxe. His holy symbol is a bloody axe.

Bahg Tura

Bahg Tura, the god of the orcs, is chaotic evil. He is called the Watcher by his followers. Bahg Tura demands strength from his followers, and that they cull the weak from among them so that they may conquer the territory Bahg Tura desires. He is the twin brother to Bahg Ara, whom he displaced. Bahg Tura is a greater deity, and the domains he is associated with are Chaos, Evil, Strength, War, Domination, and Orcs. His favored weapon is the spear, and his holy symbol is an eye.

Eloath

Eloath, the goddess of spiders, is chaotic evil. Her titles are Queen of Spiders, and Queen of the Demonweb. Dark elves (drow) generally worship Eloath, but she has few worshippers on the surface of Aethe. She is despised by the Ancestors of Ithilan and considers them her enemies, as well as the gods of the dwarves. She was an ally of Hekar long ago, but has since been largely forgotten outside of the underdark. The domains that Eloath is assciated with are Chaos, Destruction, Evil, Trickery, Drow, and Spider. She is an intermediate deity, and her favored weapon is the whip. Eloath's holy symbol is a spider with her face hanging from a web.

Ibiris

Ibiris, the Ammenite goddess of the sun, is lawful good. Her title is the Sunlight Queen. She is primarily worshipped by the good humans and halflings of the nation of Ammen, and is largely unknown in the lands of the Long Sea. The domains assocaited with Ibiris are Glory, Good, Nobility, Law, Sun, and War. She is a greater deity, and her favored weapon is the khopesh. Her holy symbol is a serpent coiled around the sun.

Koth

Koth, the Ammenite god of Night is chaotic evil. His title is the Night Pharoah. Koth is worshipped by the evil humans, elves, halflings, and humanoids of the kingdom of Ammen and its neighbors. He hates all good deities, but especially Ibiris. The domains associated with Koth are Air, Chaos, Darkness, Destruction, Evil, and Strength. He is a greater deity, and his favored weapon is the shortspear. His holy symbol is a twisting whirlwind.

Mublu

Mublu, the god of the goblins and their kin, is neutral evil. His title is the Dark One. Mublu is primarily worshipped by goblins, hobgoblins and bugbears, but other races of the mountains and the underdark may occasionally choose Mublu as a patron. Domains associated with Mublu are Chaos, Darkness, Destruction, Fire, Evil, and Trickery. Mublu is a greater deity, and his favored weapon is the battleaxe. The holy symbol of Mublu is a torch with black fire.

Nikander

Nikander, the dwarven god of prosperity, is neutral good. His titles are Bringer of Prosperity and the Resplendent King. He is among the newer deities, having been raised to godhood by Narda (Narduna) only recently. Prior to ascension, Nikander was a great and wealthy priest-king of the dwarven kingdom of Turingard. He is loyal to Narda, and allied to Miroth and Ranoc. The domains he is associated with are Earth, Good, Fire, Craft, Trade, and Metal. He is a lesser deity, and his favored weapon is the warhammer. His holy symbol is a hammer and forge.

The Ancestors

The Mourners worship the spirits of their ancestors, who perished during the Age of Legends in the great Elven city of Ithilan. Collectively, the spirits are a greater deity. Although occasionally other races also have joined the ranks of the Mourners, they are mostly made up of elves and half-elves who are directly descended from the people of Ithilan. Unlike adherents of most other religions of Aethe, Mourners do not ever pray to any other deities. Mourners stand out in society because they dress in simple grey cloaks. They are frequently, though not always, unwelcome among other faiths. The domains associated with the Ancestors are Chaos, Good, Protection, War, Community, and Elves. Their favored weapon is the longsword. Their holy symbol is a sundered ziggurat.

The Innumerable

The Innumerable are, collectively, the deities of the gnomes, and they are neutral good. There are a seemingly infinite number of deities for every aspect of life, and gnomes raised to revere the Innumerable are taught their names and purposes from childhood. The domains the Innumerable are associated with are Good, Protection, Trickery, Community, Creation, and Gnomes. Collectively, the Innumerable are a greater deity, and their favored weapon is the battleaxe. Their holy symbol is a simple prism.

Thror

Thror, the god of the dwarves, is lawful good. His titles are the Great Father and Lawgiver. Thror is the lover of Narda (also known as Narduna), and is a crossover deity from the pantheon of the dwarves of the Kherinai mountains to the north. Thror is the protector of the dwarves, and created them many ages ago, as a gift for Narda. He has pledged to always aid the dwarves in battle. The domains he is associated with are Good, Law, Dwarves, Creation, Earth, Fire, and Protection. He is an intermediate deity, and his favored weapon is the warhammer. His holy symbol is a warhammer and shield.

Volena

Volena, the goddess of the halflings, is lawful good. Her titles include the Stalwart Protector and the Blessed Mother. Volena is the creator and protector of all halflings, though many worship other gods. The worship of Volena is found most often among groups of halflings that live together, rather than those that are intermixed into human societies. Domains Volena is associated with are Good, Law, Protection, Community, Creation, and Halflings. Volena is a greater deity, and her favored weapon is the short sword. Her holy symbol is a silver goblet.

Other Deities

Aestin

Aestin, the god of scholarship and learning, is neutral. He is called Aestin the Divine Scholar, and is rumored to know more of the nature of Aethe than even its divine creator. Wizards of all races worship Aestin. He is allied with Adonahane. The domains Aestin is associated with are Knowledge, Magic, Trickery, Mind, and Oracle. He is an intermediate deity, and his favored weapon is a quarterstaff. His holy symbol is an open book.

Ambira

Ambira, the goddess of magic, is chaotic neutral. She is called the Lady of Mysteries and the Lady of Magic. Her divine loom, called Ambira's Loom, from which she spins the spellthread that makes up all magic, appears in the sky as a constellation during times of great import on Aethe. She is a servant of Adonahane. Wizards and sorcerers of all races worship Ambira. The domains she is associated with are Law, Magic, Mind, Domination, Spell, and Rune. She is an intermediate deity, and her favored weapon is the dagger. Her holy symbol is a dagger across a crescent moon.

Aris

Aris, the god of conquest and battle, is chaotic evil. His titles are the Battlelord and the Conqueror. Though previously allied with Neir, Aris has now aligned himself with Hekar. He is worshipped by evil fighters and blackguards, and counts many orcs and humans among his followers. The domains Aris is associated with are Destruction, Evil, Law, War, Domination, and Tyranny. He is an intermediate deity, and his favored weapon is the flail. His holy symbol is a pair of crossed arrows.

Arte

Arte, the goddess of retribution, is lawful neutral. Her title is Lady of Vengeance. Arte (pronounced "ART-uh") is invoked by those who seek a just revenge for wrongs done to them or others. She is a servant of Elos, though she is more independent than his other servants. Her followers are as diverse a group as any, including both paladins and rogues, druids and wizards. She is primarily a human and halfling deity, though others follow her on occasion. The domains Arte is associated with are Law, Protection, Strength, Destruction, and Domination. She is an intermediate deity, and her favored weapon is the mace. Her holy symbol is a clenched fist.

Aruntus

Aruntus, the god of balance, is lawful neutral. His title is the Balance Keeper. Aruntus is charged with weighing the sins of the dead to determine which afterlife they are destined to enjoy or suffer. His followers often include fighters and druids. Although primarily a human god, Aruntus welcomes other races as well, and elves and dwarves can often be found among his worshippers. Aruntus is a loyal servant of Elos. The domains he is associated with are Death, Fate, Law, Protection and Balance. Aruntus is an intermediate deity, and his favored weapon is the mace. His holy symbol is a balance scale.

Besos

Besos, the god of the ocean, is neutral evil. His title is the Stormbringer. Besos hates sailors and fishermen and strives to thwart those he casts his gaze upon. Though he was once a servant of Narduna, who raised him to the intermediate deity he is, he has since turned away from her. His few followers are often sorcerers and druids. The domains Besos is associated with are Chaos, Destruction, Storm, Ocean, Water, and Evil. His favored weapon is the trident, and his holy symbol is a crashing wave.

Boreas

Boreas, the god of the north wind, is lawful good. His titles are Wind of the North, and the Platinum Dragon. Boreas is rarely seen or worshipped among humanoid races, but is often blamed for unseasonably cold days and nights accompanied by eerie but colorful lights in the northern sky. The domains Boreas is associated with are Air, Cold, Good, Luck, Protection, and Dragon. He is a lesser deity, and his favored weapon is the heavy pick. His holy symbol is a star-tipped scepter.

Brebos

The god of beasts, and of competitions, is chaotic good. His name is Brebos, and he is often called the Beastlord. Brebos is the patron of athletes, who often choose a totem as an emissary to the Beastlord. He is a loyal (if free-spirited) servant of Narduna. Brebos' worshippers include skilled fighters, barbarians, rogues, rangers, and druids. The domains he is associated with are Chaos, Good, Animal, Luck, Strength, and Competition. He is an intermediate deity, and his favored weapon is the battleaxe. His holy symbol is a claw holding a animal. The animal can be of any type, and is called a totem.

Bryl

Bryl, the god of murder, is neutral evil. He is called Bryl the Cruel. Bryl is the patron of assassins and murderers, as well as those who enjoy slaughter on the field of battle. His worshippers span the races, but include many orcs and half-orcs. Barbarians and rogues are especially common among his followers. He is a servant of Hekar during Hekar's periods of strength. The domains Bryl is associated with are Chaos, Evil, Trickery, War, and Madness. He is an intermediate deity, and his favored weapon is the morningstar. His holy symbol is a grinning mouth full of fangs.

Daionus

Daionus (pronounced die-OWN-us), the god of luck, wine and the arts, is chaotic neutral. His title is Lord of the Vineyard. Rogues and bards frequently worship Daionus, and he is especially popular among elves, half-elves, gnomes and halflings. The domains Daionus is associated with are Chaos, Luck, Trickery, Celerity, and Mind. He is an intermediate deity, and his favored weapon is the rapier. The holy symbol of Daionus is a wooden cross.

Dismater

Dismater, the goddess of conquest, is lawful evil. Her titles are Matriarch of Many Colors, and the Chromatic Dragon. Dismater is rarely seen or worshipped among humanoid races, but is often blamed for unusally aggressive dragons and drakes. The domains Dismater is associated with are Destruction, Evil, Law, Trickery, and Dragon. She is a lesser deity, and her favored weapon is the heavy pick. Her holy symbol is a pendant with the heads of black, white, red, blue, and green dragons emerging from a central gem.

Ematri

Ematri, the goddess of ambition, is neutral. Her titles are the Queen of Ambitions, and the Queen of Favors. She is a servant of Neir. Merchants and ambitious nobles are among her followers, as are many rogues, bards, wizards, and sorcerers. Though primarily a human and especially halfling god, dwarves, and gnomes are also often found in the halls of her temples. The domains Ematri is associated with are Knowledge, Trade, Travel, Creation, Competition, and Wealth. She is a lesser deity, and her favored weapon is the light crossbow. Her holy symbol is a large gold coin.

Geshana

Geshana, the goddess of valor, is neutral good. Her title is Mistress of Valor. She is a servant of Neir, and is worshipped by those good warriors who are obliged to do battle and valiantly strive to fight with bravery and skill. The domains she is associated with are Good, Law, War, Glory, and Inquisition. She is an intermediate deity, and her favored weapon is the longsword. Her holy symbol is a longsword embedded in a stone.

Goprani

Goprani, the goddess of the woodlands, is neutral good. She is known as the Woodland Queen. Goprani is a friend and protector to the good people of the forests and their allies. She is especially liked among elves, half-elves, gnomes, and halflings, and her worshippers often include rangers and druids. She is a servant and ally of Narduna, though she often feels Narduna does not go far enough to protect the good creatures of Aethe. The domains she is associated with are Animal, Good, Plant, Sun, and Celerity. She is an intermediate deity, and her favored weapon is the longbow. Her holy symbol is an image of a great tree.

Iux

Iux, the god of creation, is lawful good. His title is the Creator. Iux is an ancient and largely forgotten deity with few worshippers today. The domains Iux is associated with are Law, Good, Creation, Knowledge, and Oracle. He is a lesser deity, and his favored weapon is the mace. His holy symbol is a sword and star.

Miroth

Miroth, the god of mercy, is lawful good. His titles include the Wise, and Merciful Savior. Miroth is the patron of prisoners and petitioners. He is among the newer deities, having been raised to godhood by Elos only recently. He is loyal to Elos, and allied to Ranoc and Nikander. Miroth's worshippers include paladins, fighters, and bards, and he is popular among the poor. The domains he is associated with are Good, Healing, Law, Protection, Glory, and Courage. He is a lesser deity, and his favored weapon is a lance. His holy symbol is a shining white throne.

Misera

Misera, the goddess of grief, is neutral. Her title is Lady of Sorrow. Though known as a bringer of sorrow, Misera is also known as a comfort to those who are bereaved, especially widows and widowers. She was an ally of Hekar in the past, but is now unaligned. The domains Misera is associated with are Death, Suffering, Destruction, Healing, and Community. She is an intermediate deity, and her favored weapon is the dagger. Her holy symbol is a skull inside a teardrop.

Rame

Rame, the god of honor and duty, is lawful good. He is called the Honorable One. Rame is often invoked by those who feel honor-bound to accept a difficult task or quest they would not otherwise attempt. Rame is a loyal servant of Elos. He is primarily a human deity, and paladins often invoke Rame. The domains he is associated with are Good, War, Strength, Protection, and Glory. He is an intermediate deity, and his favored weapon is the greatsword. His holy symbol is a blue-and-white shield.

Ranoc

Ranoc, the god of hospitality and travel, is neutral good. He is called Ranoc the Red and Ranoc the Reborn. Ranoc is the patron of scholars and wayfarers. He is among the newer deities, having been raised to godhood by Adonahane only recently. He is loyal to Adonahane, and allied to Miroth and Nikander. Ranoc's worshippers often include wizards and sorcerers, as well as bards and good-aligned rogues. The domains he is associated with are Luck, Protection, Knowledge, Magic, Travel, Celerity, and Weather. He is a lesser deity, and his favored weapon is the quarterstaff. His holy symbol is a set of three concentric circles, signifying a portal.

Satana

Satana, the goddess of disease, is chaotic evil. She is called the Queen of Pestilence. She is often blamed when a plague strikes. Evil druids and assassins are among her followers. Satana is an ally of Hekar. The domains she is associated with are Death, Destruction, Evil, and Pestilence. She is a lesser deity, and her favored weapon is the quarterstaff. Her holy symbol is a sickle and rat.

Umija

Umija, the goddess of lies and deception, is chaotic evil. She is called Umija the Cursed, and Revealer of Lies. She had deceived Adonahane into thinking she was a loyal servant, but she instead has worked to undermine him. Above all, she hates Aestin, Ambira, and Ranoc, who are Adonahane's true loyal allies, and who alerted him to her treachery. When he was alerted, Adonahane stripped Umija of her true form, which is her curse. Evil illusionists and rogues are often found among the worshippers of Umija. The domains she is associated with are Evil, Trickery, Luck, Knowledge, Madness, Illusion, and Oracle. She is an intermediate deity, and her favored weapon is the longsword. Her holy symbol is a twisted mask.

Vaalru

Vaalru, the god of evil and sorcery, is neutral evil. His title is the Whisperer. Vaalru was once an evil sorcerer who discovered a means to elevate himself to godhood. He is worshipped, usually in secret, by evil spellcasters of all races. The domains Vaalru is associated with are Evil, Knowledge, Magic, Darkness and Madness. Vaalru is a lesser deity, and his favored weapon is the dagger. His holy symbol is a gray hand with the forefinger severed at the first knuckle.

Into the Under

2007-01-31T21:13:00.000-08:00

There I stood, considering the maw of the cave as my heart steadily quickened. I had never seen it as a thing to fear before yet now, somehow, it seemed remarkably like a mouth that might swallow me up and never spit me out again. I became aware that I was even holding my breath a little. It’s good the elders had gone…..I guess. What were they thinking? Sending me, their favorite daughter into almost sure death.

No more of this. I willed myself forward and once again stopped at the end of the daylight. One foot into the passage enveloped me in darkness, behind me was the last daylight I might see for who knows how long. I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready for eternal darkness. Yeah, sure, they blindfolded me and made me walk around and grope in the dark, but that was different. I knew the blindfold would come off. I knew I would see my people’s faces again. Who, or rather what would I wake to down, down under the earth?

They told me of evil creatures, the goblins that used to raid our village, and of icky things, slimes and oozes, and fungal creatures, and to be wary of other travelers because no one is as they seem in the underdark. They trained me in the practical use of several weapons though I had never killed anyone and now I might need to. They gave me one of the few luxuries they could provide, an everburning torch, a magically created wonder that would light my way in the darkest of darks. I had food for weeks and a vague map-like piece of parchment that supposedly led me somewhere another halfling had wandered to and from once before. Great. Yeah, ready.

Well, here it is, the day I asked for. Not the way I’d imagined exactly, but here anyhow, alone, trying to push away the uncertainties, stepping into a life in darkness. Okay, Teeny, trying to get used to that pseudonym, let’s see it then. Let’s see that plucky spirit and that impatience and those grand dreams of adventure. I’ll show ‘em. I’ll find the best for those old coots. They’ll see. Death don’t knock on this girl’s door so easy. With my hands on my pack straps I took another step, then stopped, turned to face the outside one more time and yelled,

“Thanks for everything, you crazy old coots!”

And with that and a spin on my heels, I plunged in to darkness.

After a few hours walking down, always down, I stopped to have a look at this almost a map. Where was I going again? Right, Cray, a deep dwarven settlement on the fringes of Turingard’s rule. I knew dwarves well enough as they had been through the village enough times though they didn’t speak overly much. They always seemed tired and still busy. Something important to do that frivolous halflings wouldn’t understand. Pah! What do they know. We took their money for ale all the same. Once, before I was trained for service, I even served a few of those longbeards. They thought I was cute and dainty like a small human girl. One of even tried to flirt with me, the nerve of foreign men. As if the local leerers weren’t enough. Well now I shall be the guest and we shall see if their customs are found wanting or not.

I started walking again, down the tunnels, which were partially carved from running water of long ago and partially of dwarven or even goblin crafters, sometimes very difficult to distinguish nature from nurture here. It was more or less slow going as well. Even though the torchlight provided enough illumination to see many halfling steps ahead and behind, the ground wasn’t kind and loose rocks slid about under every other footfall. Occasionally there was even a long echoing opening into gaping pits of darkness that really would swallow you up if you were to misstep one to many times.

Always, always, I was told to be looking and listening for unsuspected companions. It was all too easy, they had said, to let the darkness wrap you up in your own thoughts and your own brighter worlds until you just drifted downward with a wind of blissful ignorance filling your sails. That is when you were most in peril. Do not drift, walk with purpose, sit for a spell when you are weary, but do not get lost in thought or you are lost. I started to understand this more and more as my attention wandered further than my small ring of light. They were right to say that there is no teacher like experience. She is gracious and merciless with her instruction.

After another bit of food and a few hours more of what felt like aimless wandering though I knew I had a destination, I heard voices. It was hard to tell from where or how far away. They seemed distant and more than one, though I could barely make out a language. I now walked with all the stealth a halfling could employ and cautiously yet briskly I tailed the voices. As I got closer I could hear better the language of the underdark. I had very little practice speaking undercommon, enough to recognize it though not enough to understand clearly what they spoke of. I wrapped my fingers around my katar without knowing why. Echoes of kill or be killed rang in my excited brain. What if they were dark elves, drow? What if goblins? What if dark dwarves, the duergar? I had been instructed on the debatable societies of these unkind races and knew that my only hope other than fighting was to rely on the fact that most of the underdark knew precious little of surface dwelling halflings.

I knew I could lie well and I knew I had knowledge on my side, but a small lonely girl in an unknown, dark land, coming upon unknown folk felt like wrapping her fingers around a weapon, if for nothing more than comfort. After all, I had been taught to kill and effectively I might add. More so I had been taught to hide and sneak and wait for the right moment. Was there a right moment in an unknown darkness? Lost in thought, lost in thought. The torch might give me away. What to do? I knew too that most underdwellers could see in darkness. The voices were getting louder though my pace had slowed. Perhaps they were coming up.

I quickly pushed back into a creviced wall and wrapped the lit end of the torch in extra clothes to hide it’s light. Louder still. They were coming up. Oh no, oh no. I’m not ready, I’m not ready. Just hide girl. You know what you’re good at. Calm your breathing or they’ll hear you and don’t forget that there are friendly travelers in the dark as well. All the same, I waited for what seemed like too long and I smelled them before I felt them pass. They were goblins I think, though I can’t be sure. They paused for just a second in front of me and I heard one sniff the air once.

“What, what? Let’s get on with it. All this talk of kidnappin’ and thievin’ and that damned old traitor witch, we’ve no time for your infernal nose now.”

“Something sweet’s gone by here, I tell you, and sweet means loot. Always the sweet smellin’ ones are carryin’ gold and interestin’ pleasantries. Are ya’ too busy for gold, fool?”

“Just hurry it up, is there something or not? We’ll get ‘nuff gold if we get on to doing this job and besides we’d’ve seen a torch if some wealthy merchant came this way.”

“Not for a dwarf, not for a dwarf. You know they walk in the dark as we. No need for cursed lights. It seems to be going up, maybe to the surface from Cray with goods for sale.”

“Dwarves never smell sweet. Yer dreamin’. Let’s go on then. If we find ‘em, we find ‘em and we rob ‘em then. Enough of this fool trackin’. Come on, it’s not far to our filthy employer now.”

“Watch yer tongue, lest you lose it says I. I don’t trust ‘im either, but a job’s a job. Fine, let’s move.”

And they passed on leaving a girl’s head swimming in fear and confusion and wondering what she’d just heard. Wait now, little Teeny, wait. Their footsteps became softer and softer until I felt it was safe to breathe normally again. What am I doing, what am I doing? Is this adventure? It is what is and now I must go down for going up means goblins in my path. I waited sitting for another thirty minutes or so until I felt sure my torchlight could be used again. There was no sense groping along even more slowly if I didn’t have to.

The light restored some comfort, if you can call, wandering in the dark comfortable at all and I looked at the map again. It was mostly useless. You might have well just drawn an arrow pointing downward and said, that way. It did give some approximation of a time to Cray which is what I wondered. These goblins seemed to be speaking of a nearish town and I wondered how close I was or if they could be referring to Cray. They had mentioned it at any rate. I was still less than a day into the journey and I had thought the town to be further than perhaps I realized. It seemed I was only another half a day to a day off.

Well, that begged the interesting question of sleeping. Would a girl sleep out in this unknown dark to be pawed and looted by those whose senses were more keen to darkness than mine? No, no, I had food and I was far from tired after that little excitement. I would walk until I couldn’t and hopefully that would land me in Cray sooner than later. The last thing I want is any goblin pawing about me in the dark. Nothing good could come of that, of that much I was sure.

Down and down and down again then. A little while back on the path and I let some pride in. I just passed my first journey’s test, hadn’t I? Clever Teeny. Teeny, Teeny, Teeny, got to get used to that name. Perhaps I have more adventure in me than I thought. For sure a toast to the old coots when I get to Cray and maybe this little excitement will pay off. Kidnapping and thieving, huh? Someone will want to know about that. Stupid goblins.

-- by Jon

Where, Where, O Dark?

2007-01-31T21:10:00.000-08:00

An inconsequential tavern in the land of Turingard...

“What say you dwarves, a song, a story for a mug of ale and a bowl of dwarven stew?”

A few drowsy dwarven men look up from their own brews and glance toward the door.

‘Eh? What’s that? A beggar, a minstrel, a bard all in fineries even?”

“Sir Trossit, at your service good sirs.” He says with an indulgent bow.

A raised eyebrow from behind the bar with a laughing tease, “Good sirs? Don’t know me boys too well then, do ye? Ha! Their not worth the breath of a Sir, ha!”

“Shut yer yap Ol’ Kellen. A sir then, is it? A knight, not a bard then? From the mouths of knights come only morals and lessons and such. Ya’ can keep them, sir.”

“No, no, gentlemen. I was made a sir in another land, perhaps one you’ve never heard of. No knight am I men. Not half so gallant as twice so full of it and a fair bit famished to boot, but that is another story unless you’d care to hear. Perhaps a moving moment to complement your beer? Or something of a tale you’re already rather fond of? A morsel for an ear bending, no danger there, yes?”

An olden dwarf turns about from a far corner and says, “I’ll have ye’ on, fair Trossit man. I can tell already you’ve a voice worthy of at least a pot o’ stew. How ‘bout the lay of the traitor? Don’t right remember the proper name, but the day those devilish dark elves winced a bit, betrayed by their own shadowman. Know it, do ya’?”

“Ah, a brilliant tale with a melody strong, worthy of this dwarven hall. Yes, I know it well and a choice selection if I do say. Shall we begin then?”

Several dwarves flick wrists at Ol’ Kellen for tankards all around as the baritone voice of Sir Trossit starts at a hum. Most of the bar turns at least halfway ‘round on their stools and benches, grateful for some new distraction.

“Hmmmmm, hm, hm, hmmm. A minor tune for a major story of darkness and betrayal. Listen to my tale and know something of another place and time yet still lives all around us.”

Deep, down dark, below the earth
Where fires flow and devils birth
It’s said they came from forges old
By hand of wicked gods
Skin rubbed black with miner’s coal
And hair as white as frozen cold.

Eyes that blind in sun’s warm light
Made to live in shadowed night
Gifted warrens of ancient make
Endless corridors of stone
Their cities rose with unseen hands
No aid except enslaven drake.

Some say of their twisted ways
Nature cries or evil plays
No friends, no allies all are foe
Save one, save one who left the flock
The day when evil’s smiles frowned
For long planned ills brought low.

Grew and grew their power and lust
Craving more than cavern dust
With magics learnt, dark and fell
To steal lands of burning light
As below, above on Aethe
endless night for all who dwell.

Councils met deliberating
Sorceries to end cruel waiting
Blind no more the world is ours
All said yay save one, save one
I’ve walked among them, man and dwarf,
Brethren elf you would devour.

Pleading sense against such folly
You’d waste our powers drunk and jolly
On children weak with eyes of light
While future queens lay starving
Homeward, homeward blinded fools
Forget these talks of endless night.

Warped your words from sun’s enchantment
We’ll feed our queens on spoils granted
Away, away misled spy
May darkness forgive your tongue
Stripped of rank and wealth and home
One wandered torn ‘tween dark and light.

Years were passed, spells were gathered
While unknown above nothing mattered
And still he knew their every move
Stripped of all save power
He stole into the sacred chamber
Now was the time to prove.

Though known not, this benefactor
Screams of rage reacted
Rising up from unseen depths
Screams turned to soothing balm
For every man, woman, and child
Who sees sun rise and go to rest.

Now he wanders, traitors plight
Curse of sun, hand of night
Where, oh where dark-born soul
Forgotten savior, shadows danced
Holding sun in ashen hands
Ages pass with thanks untold.

“Hear, hear, a fine rendition, worth more than a stew or an ale or two.”

Scattered applause and cheers crept up in the dim lit bar of dwarven workmen.

“A drink all around for a song well sung. Kellen, me tab be damned.”

“Thank you, thank you. Reward enough is the gratitude of my bearded brethren.”

“Cheers to Trossit and cheers to the sun. We’ll wake tomorrow to work another day and drink another night.”

“Drow be damned, but one, but one. Hear, hear.”

-- by Jon

Questions Answered

2007-01-31T21:06:00.000-08:00

In the village of Clan Lightfoot, days passed mostly quietly and routinely. Many of the younger Halflings, including me, longed for more. Oh sure, we made mischief and pranked each other, but we all wondered why we had been taught our way if we never were to use it. Orc raids were nearly nonexistent and even if they did come, our help wasn’t needed. What good is this service in the guard if we never use it? We don’t practice, we aren’t challenged, we will become weary and lazy like most of our parents.

I sat with Kami one afternoon talking about these things and throwing rocks into the open mouth of the underdark cave we were forbidden to enter,

“Don’t you want something, anything to do Kami?”

“Not really. I just want to finish this silly service time and get married to a good man, maybe Kenan, and be happy. Why don’t you ever just want to be happy, Tava?”

“Don’t you care about history, our past, your great grandparents? Don’t you wonder about the legends they taught us, where they come from, why, and why do we still honor them?”

“Will that make you happy, T? If it’ll make you happy, then yeah, I wanna’ know, too.”

“Brat. You’re hopeless. That’s it, I’m going to pester the elders again and I’m not letting up until they tell me something or do something or something. I am so sick of the some day you will understand crap. Wanna’ go with?”

“Oh T, someday you’ll understand, (snicker).”

With a playful smack, I left Kami there to go do the thing I do every week, ask more questions. Surely they cannot stay relentless in there silence. There must be a way or something I haven’t said right or maybe if I cry, no. Heh, I almost won that time with the whole I’m just a girl thing, until Granny Lightfoot showed me her dark robe and said someday you will understand child. Pah! When, when?
By this time, I knew my way to the training hall where we first were sworn. I made sure no one followed, not even a bird, as usual until I came to the grand steps. They really didn’t seem so grand anymore and I felt like I was just walking into the clubhouse in the woods. That would roil ‘em. Maybe I’ll throw that one out.

“Ah, Tava. What brings you buy today?”

Well, Savin, make a wild guess.”

“So impatience brings you yet again. Perhaps it is time for you.”

“What? How did……, I mean yeah, right, it’s time. Um, what does that mean Savin?”

“If you cannot be taught by us then maybe it is time for the world to teach you. I will confer with the others and you may return here tomorrow. Answer just this for now Tava, are you afraid to die?”

“What?”

“Answer me, Tava. Do you fear death?”

“Well….I mean….I don’t know….no. No. No I don’t. I don’t fear death just as I don’t fear any of you.”

“Then return tomorrow, dear child.”

Well that was certainly different. What are those old coots up to now? Come back tomorrow is only a little better than you will understand someday. I waited this long, what’s another day?

“You have returned Tava. Are you ready to hear our decision?”

“Yes, Savin. Please tell me.”

“Come into the council room. They are waiting.”

“Tava Lightfoot, sworn. Will you this day swear once again upon your ancestors and upon your duty and upon our way to never speak of this day again, to any?”

“I will swear.”

“You will be given more training and you will be sent away, into the underdark, on a mission for your people. You will never speak of your homeland. You will never reveal your given name and you will not see those you care for from this day forward until you return though you may not return. That is your decision. Do you understand?”

“Yes my council, I understand.”

“Alright then, we can take off these stupid hot robes and get to it.”

“What…..Th-thank you. Oh thank you all so much. I have been waiting and waiting.”

“We know young daughter, we know. We believe you will serve us well as many have before.”

From that moment on, I understood that I would be trained to travel alone in the underdark though traveling thus I would also learn more than could be taught at home. It was the only way to join the ranks of the elders. It was the only way to understand. It was the only way to become one with shadow. And when the time came, I would again meet him. He, of darkness and mystery. Only he could pass you on and approve your task and now I worked steadfastly for that day.

A year passed and my knowledge grew, my skill grew, I no longer pined for any of the trivialities of comfort. There was no time for such thoughts, though I did occasionally miss Kami and my family. The elders assured me that my family would understand for I was not the first of my kin to seek the shadowdance.

It was made clear that my mission would be to add to the voluminous collection of poisons our clan had discovered over time. Every man or woman that embarks on this trial must return with a new poison of a new creature that could only have come from below. You were set to memorize what was already found and understand the uses of them to aid you on your journey. You were to memorize the much shorter list of known, but as yet undiscovered toxins and venomous creatures and you were to understand how to identify the qualities of a poison should you encounter something unheard of.

There were many days in the alchemy lab that none save the elders knew of. It had been built by ‘him’ and the elders had been trained by ‘him’. As I could not use my name in the world, nor could we know his. It was taught that we would bring great danger and terrors upon our village should certain forces learn of what we know and have. They would know who taught us and they would destroy us in their hunt for ‘him’. The reasons behind this were unimportant, only that you understood that you were bound to secrecy at the risk of the destruction of all you knew, friends, homes, and our way.

Finally the day came when I would be blindfolded and brought before ‘him’. You could not learn of his locale or how to contact ‘him’ until you proved you could overcome the underdark. I knew my mission, I was equipped with the knowledge passed on to me and I stood alone in a clearing to wait in the dark.

I waited. I was told to practice patience and vigilance and to stand up against fear and that these traits would grant my approval. I waited for an unknown time. My eyes grew heavy as I searched the darkness around me. I wondered if a beast might kill me first for I was given no weapon and no torch. I wanted to walk away from that place, but I did not know where I was or which way I could go. Trapped, trapped, by stupid old coots and some weird elf. No, no, the anger comes from the fear. I must be calm. As I chastised myself, I put my head into my hands for just a second. That is when he came.

From nowhere, from everywhere, without a sound, it could hardly be real. I sucked in my breath when he touched me and I raised my head up. He was behind me and yet I knew not what to do. Do I turn to face him? I stood unmoving, wondering if he had heard my quick breath.

“I carried you in my arms as a small child, I remember you. Your face was full of joy though you were as scared as the others. Joy and trust. You knew that you need not be afraid despite the emotions of youth.
I heard your gasp when I approached young one. That will get you killed below the surface. I could forbid you go on that alone. I will not. Now turn to look at me. See what your enemies will look like.”

I turned slowly, on the verge of tears.

“But you are not my enemy, are you?”

“Take this seal, Lightfoot daughter, and know that when next you look upon one like me, you must kill or be killed. Now go child.”

With that he was gone as I stood there facing where he had stood. I did not even see him step away and my questions were only answered with more questions. Was I ready? I need now only give his seal to the elders and my life was to change. A life of shadow, together and apart.

-Jon

The Great Betrayal

2007-01-04T23:14:00.000-08:00

As the Infinity Train rumbled quickly through the rock and stone of the world below the surface, Vendar, Teeny, Fingus, and Vardis turned to the middle-aged, raven-haired woman they had unbound. It was now days after they had released her from Kurenthis’ mobile prison, but she was still pale and weary from her captivity. Though now fully healed, the slender noblewoman sitting before them hardly seemed capable of the dazzling display of sorcery that had brought down the illithid lord Kurenthis.

“Tell us, surface woman,” said Vendar Prin, “How did you come to be imprisoned by this mind flayer you slew?”

“Exactly who are you, Lady of Prendor? Have you the power to control this great artifact, this Infinity Train?” Teeny demanded.

Fingus added, “Just what on Aethe are you doing here, my lady? And how do you come by such mighty and impressive talents?”

Slowly, and with the reluctance of a heavy heart, Lady Flora Harmonant of Prendor began her tale…

In the year 1398 in the Age of Faith, I was counted as a noblewoman of some influence in the surface nation of Prendor. There was some truth to that, as I am… was… married to Prince Gideon Harmonant, youngest son of King Harl Harmonant. We were blessed with eight beautiful children, six sons and two daughters. As I was the eldest remaining of my father's children, all daughters, my own children stood to inherit the province of Mystria, the feudal realm of my father. So yes, I held influence in Prendor.

But that year, a storm was brewing. The King, growing ever more concerned about his legacy as an devout Elosian, determined to rid his lands of all sacrilege. Paintings and books were burned, sculptures crushed, and the holy places of lost religions defiled. Of course, there were those who begged the king to relent and allow the great works of the ages to stand. But he would not listen.

And then the King stumbled upon the Avatars of Mount Aothlenn, near the town of Colossea. Called the Tridianth by the locals, the avatars were immense statues of the deities Elos, Narduna, and Adonahane, holding aloft a torch that burnt with an everlasting flame. They, like many other such statues, had mysteriously appeared nearly four hundred years ago in the early days of King Gawaine the True.

The Avatars appeared in all the lands of Aethe where Elos, Narduna, and Adonahane were known and revered. But the Temple of Elos transformed in the century that followed into a monotheistic religion, and the Avatars portray the deities as equals, and thus, to King Harl and others like him, were profane. One by one, the avatars fell to the dark destructions of the zealots.

Othelius the Mourner, Chancellor of Prendor, ancient even among the Mourners, knew what few others did: that the Colossal Avatars held a powerful curse at bay. The destruction of the last remaining statue would cause a dark and powerful magic to be loosed upon the world of Aethe -- the shadow loom would begin to weave its insidious tapestry once more. And a glimmer of hope would grace the Dark Prisoner's ever watchful eye.

When reason failed to persuade the King, Othelius took drastic action. He fomented a rebellion among the King's sons, whose piety did not lead to zealotry: Patrick the Crown Prince, William the Exile, Edward the Lame, and my husband, Gideon Starlight, at whose side I stood, with Jacob, our eldest son. Half the King's provinces rebelled and war enveloped the land.

But the tide soon turned, and the King's armies marched straight for the Avatars, forsaking other targets. We marshaled our forces for one last defense of the mountain, and we waited while Dayne Turrant, Duke of Brascany, laid siege to Colossea and the Avatars. The seige was grand indeed, with many heroic skirmishes and escapes. But Othelius was convinced the town would fall.

He turned his mind toward saving the Avatars, and learned of a spell that would take them forever from the King's reach. And there, the leaders of the rebellion gathered. My husband and I and my precious son Jacob, the Crown Prince and his family, Stephen and Sean Kierny -- the two greatest generals the rebellion had -- and Sir Philippe-Emmanuel Gryne -- Prendor's most storied knight, admired by friend and foe alike -- all stood watch as Othelius brought salvation to Aethe and safety to a wonder of the world. But alas, it was not to be. At that cursed moment, we were betrayed.

Othelius' servant Braeden Hynde unexpectedly and without warning, interrupted the spell and stabbed his master in the neck. As Othelius fell, the traitor grabbed his staff. The nearest to them, I too grabbed it and we struggled. But I failed to take it from him before he could complete his treachery. He snapped the staff in two over a nearby rock. And with that act of betrayal, plunged the world into a terrible darkness.

Othelius' oaken staff, shod in iron, with inlaid runes of gold and silver, was no ordinary staff. It was one of the staves of the magi, the making of which has been forgotten since the days of the Weaver. The very wise know the true terrible power that is released when a staff of the magi is sundered, and would have known exactly how many lives would have been lost and what the consequence would be.

I believe that of all those on Mount Aothlenn that night, I alone was not killed in that blast, which destroyed the Colossal Avatars there. I survived because for some unfathomable purpose, Braeden Hynde released his grip on the staff moments before it snapped. As the last person to touch the staff, I was pulled through a dimensional rift created by those unstable magical energies surrounding it.

I found myself near the point of death in a place on the edge of time and space, a dying realm with little merit. With great regret, I tell you the first sentient beings I came upon were the illithids. Their kingdom, Ninithail, was one of the seven kingdoms that allied themselves to the Dark Prisoner so many years ago, and were banished for their treachery. Their mental powers were strange and foreign to me, and I was ill-equipped to fight them. They captured me and neutralized many of my... talents.

First the three who found me kept me for weeks on an altar of some sort, exhausting my mental defenses. Then, when I proved too resilient, they brought be back to their city. Most of the people of the city were not illithids but rather their slaves of all races. All were obsequious and reverent to my captors to my great chagrin -- I found no friends there. Only about 2000 of the city's 200,000 residents were illithids, and they gathered in the city's forbidden inner circle.

In a garden of sorts, they gathered to pay homage to a briny pool which contained the brains of their ancestors. They referred to the pool as the Elder Brain. While the illithid you saw, Kurenthis, was their leader, the Elder Brain was their god. I was tied to stake and dipped into the pool. I remember little of this. I can only surmise by this, and by subsequent observations that I do remember, that I failed to defend my mind against their powerful inquisition. The experience drove me insane.

Through my torture, they learned of the way I knew back to Aethe, and of Prendor. They learned also of the destruction of the Avatars, and what that meant for our world. They came here to escape their dying world, yes, but also for the insidious purpose of conquering the world of their origin.

Once their barrier to Aethe was lifted, they loaded their city into the Infinity Train, and brought it to the under-realms. I was kept as a prisoner to torment now and then by Kurenthis, but of late he had forgotten me. The loneliness merely fed my insanity. If you had not come to my rescue when you did, I might have been lost to the void. Once again, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Now, the Infinity Train is yours to command, so long as the Mercurial Chalice remains on the table and the genie obeys. It will go where you wish.

My talents too are at your disposal, such as they remain. My bloodline is that of the Weaver, favored by Ambira’s Loom. But Kurenthis has sundered much of my strength. I am far weaker than I once was.

As you must see from my tale, I am anxious to return to my surviving children. But from what I have gleaned through my madness, I sense the nobility of your quest and the potential for great deeds among you. I will aid you if I can.

Far From the Mountains...

2006-09-27T21:56:00.000-07:00

“Pheck, got dirt ‘an rock everywhere!” Dalmar annoyingly exclaimed.

“I really thought there wasn’t a trap there! I don’t understand what could have happened?” said Fingus questioningly.

“That’s becuz it’s one of ‘em dark-elves traps, son. Youu need ta keep yer eye on tha grround and trust yer gut! Not all of ‘em are like Jennifestein and his son Liberius of house Baenre! They are slyy devilz the lot of ‘em!” remarked Dalmar Smiley.

“I guess I just need to practice harder.”

“No son, yer need ta purfectly practice! Uderwise, you won’t git a second chance ta disarm. Now let’s git this cleaned up and get dinner” Dalmar replied.

Enter Fingus and Dalmar Smiley, son and father whose family came from the high mountains in Aethe, now finding refuge under the mountains. The war raged on as the small Dwarven family stowed all that they could carry. The Goblin invaders were too much for the small settlement to hold off. Then in the moment when all hope barreled forward the Dark-Elves burst from the Dwarven caves.

Caves that were once rich with valuable gems and ore had become the holding pen for the ambush. Dwarves, men and women ran whichever way possible to escape the onslaught. The young Dalmar Smiley grabbed his son and put him on his back. Then he noticed his wife was not running with them anymore. He quickly turned back and saw her get bombarded with goblin arrows. She was defenseless! In reckless abandonment he lost track of his goal of escape.

With a cat like grace he drew his magical battleaxe and hewed the first goblin in sight. His fury blurred his sense of reason and he soon began hewing and slicing through the horde of goblins and dark-elves. At last his senses were reawakened upon hearing his son, Fingus, crying.

In the Dwarven rage he had neglected to notice a goblin had bitten off part of his son’s ear! He yelled a great Dwarven Curse and the carnage ensued until he had made it out of the settlement safely. He headed south towards the great city of Turingard where there was hope. For always in Turingard dwelt the kings of Orin whose line was most exalted.

There was a time when no dwarf dwelt in Turingard, but not since before the time of Nikander. Little was know of Nikander except through the bards. Ashtar Hillendell gave his bards the stories of how Turingard was rebuilt.

It began with the slaying of the filth who occupied the ruins. Nikander being a Dwarf thought to reclaim the city for the smith’s who could still use a Dwarven hammer. Nikander discussed it with his cohorts Ranoc, Ashtar, and Aman. Upon the verdict, Ashtar began to sing a song “inspiring courage” and the battle commenced. Nikander was convinced that they did not come all this way to not reclaim his rightful Dwarven home. They slew all the beasts until reaching the throne room, where Nikander in a great voice yelled “DEMONS BE GONE, FOR IT IS THE SMITHEY NIKANDER WHICH OWNS THIS HALL AND IT’S FIRES!”

All of this was taught carefully to Fingus in his youth. It was made clear that he needed to be mindful of his surroundings. Dalmar unfortunately could not handle the loss of his beloved though. Every time he looked upon Fingus he saw the missing part of ear and remembered that sorrowful day. Finally it consumed Dalmar’s mind so much that he left Fingus with his Ranger friend Johin Haltmin.

Johin was the same age as Dalmar and the Smileys and the Haltmins had been close families for many generations. Johin thought only that Dalmar was going away for a short time, but that time ended up being a lifetime journey. Word was sent back of Dalmar and his group falling to Mind Flayers and Dark Elves. The transcripts of the battle were found on a Kobold, but no bodies Dwarf, Dark Elf, or Mind Flayer were ever found.

“Now Fingus, look at the tracks! Don’t just walk over them, you will never figure out what they are that way.” sighed Johin.

“I know Johin, but when do you tie me up and watch me escape! Ha HA!” excitedly said Fingus.

“When you learn how to track properly!”

“I know, but I don’t want to be a ranger. I want to be a great hunter like my father was!” replied Fingus.

“The key to being a good hunter is to be attentive Fingus! You can not hastily walk over a track, especially an animal’s track and still expect to kill it.” Johin responded.

Training went on while Fingus was out of the bars. Mostly one day a week, finally Johin quit trying to train him. “You will not be anything more than a Scout! They act like Rangers in some aspect, but it isn’t a way to live one’s life! Adventuring like your father, do you want to get killed like him? In that smelly, Dark Elf infested world? I know you have more sense than that!” exclaimed Johin.

“Well I’m not going down below. I am going east to the mountains by the coast. There I will be appreciated.” replied Fingus.

The next 50 years were hard on Fingus. He scrambled to make any money at all; he stayed drunk and fighting in bars all along the coast. For the coast brought in Pirates and other such riff-raff. He would work for a little while and move on to the next Ale House. Soon the days of doing this caught up with Fingus. He dreamt of his father and it was a warning. Dalmar warned Fingus of the path he was on. He showed him images of what would become if Fingus did not change his ways. After Fingus awoke, he grabbed what little he had and ran. He ran until he disappeared into the Underdark to conquer his own demons….

-- by Keith

Festival of Darkness

2006-09-09T08:40:00.000-07:00

They tell us that it is our birthright, our strength, our defense, our way. We stand together yet apart and this they teach us from the beginning. Once upon a time we were a cowering, small community preyed upon by those that come from the darkness. We shivered in our beds each night as we slept uneasily to the sounds of graceless robbery. They stole our food, our drink, our tools, and unforgivably, our children.

When the sun rose again we were forced to look into each other's eyes once more, every face smiling with shame, every step heavy with hatred and fear. Powerless yet hardened, hopeful yet resigned to our fate, until he walked among us so many, many years before.

He came as they did, from the darkness, but different, he seemed to be of the darkness, quiet like the wind, piercing like the moon, cool like the night. A new day dawned that first day out of memory now. We awoke refreshed and confused. No thieving in the night, no choices of sacrifice, no muffled sobbing, something had changed and we slowly stepped out to see the darkness in the light.

There he sat in meditation amidst all of our fears, bodies from the night, dead without a sound. Many feared the worst, a new threat, a more powerful creature of the night, the end of freedom. One halfling approached this new menace emboldened by that first sleep filled night, “You would be our savior yet we would not be saved. Kill us or teach us, o angel clothed in the skin of night, teach us to be free.”

And so a new way was born, our way, the way of the shadows, together and apart.

Outsiders come now to our festival each year, our festival of darkness. They sing and dance, but they do not tremble in fear. They can not know our history, nor understand our way. I was afraid that night, when I was still a child living in safety and protection. That night he took me from my home without a sound. A reminder, an explanation and my birthright.

He takes the children each year in the night. Their parents are vowed to the same secrecy sworn when it was their time. When the carousing wears out and every good halfling retires, locking every door and window, they are allowed to tell you one simple phrase, “Do not be afraid my child, he comes for each of us when it is our time.” They look down at you with love in their eyes as you try to fight the fear welling up in your own.

“What do you mean mother?”

“Hush now little one, there are no more answers now.”

And they leave you alone in the darkness, trying to sleep as you see every shadow move, imagination sculpting them into horrific beasts until that moment when one finally steps towards you, reaches out as your throat closes in fear and your mind cannot explain this betrayal and you are taken in his arms. Whisked away with strength, speed, and elegance as if being led in a dance you never knew existed.

Fear slowly gives way to excitement and wonder. Is it a dream? In the darkness you cannot see where you are being taken, you cannot even see the arms that bear you yet you feel their strength, their will, unseen motivation. Before your mind clears enough to ask is it him, of story and legend? You are alone again in a grand hall you have never seen before. Finally, a voice to break the dream.

“Who dares to see the truth of the night?”

“What, where are you, who.....”

“What is your name?”

“Tava. What is this?”

“Your birthright, Tava. Step forward into the darkness.”

Swirling, spinning, dancing, they appear from the shadows without a sound. Halflings I've never met stood silently holding open a solid black cloak waiting to embrace me.

“Step forward and know the truth.”

Then it all begins. The bedtime stories you were told all your life come alive. You are taught fact from fiction and you are made to understand and you are sworn into the clan Lightfoot forevermore.

They teach you the beginnings of our way that night so that you also can defend and protect from those that would see the old ways return. There are dark secrets to our methods that come from the darkness itself as he had taught the elders that first new day so long before.

And so is the clan Lightfoot preserved and patiently holds the night at bay on the borders of darkness. As he said to them that day, they repeat to you, “and one day you will be needed when the darkness rises.”

I am Tava Lightfoot, sworn.

-- by Jon

Our Friend Danielle

2006-05-13T14:29:00.000-07:00

I wrote a post on my other (mostly politics-related) blog Casual Soapbox about our friend Danielle, what a wonderful person she was, and how I'll miss her. Here's what I wrote:

You may have noticed an absence of new material over the last few days here at Casual Soapbox, and I'd like to apologize. My friend Danielle, I learned Monday night, had passed away on Sunday. I found it difficult to concentrate on much else during the next few days, and I wanted to write a few words here to help me to cope. I do realize this is a little different from what I've written about here in the past, but I feel it's important. I promise I'll return to my normal posting habits soon.

Danielle was a smart and funny woman, who was always smiling, and lit up the room when she entered. She had beautiful red hair that turned gold in the sunlight, and held herself with confidence and charm. She had a sharp wit, and was a terrific storyteller. She was a loving mother, wife, sister, daughter, and friend who always put others before herself. Twice, she picked up everything and moved to be closer to relatives who learned they had cancer.

I knew Danielle and her husband Ben through my brother Kyle, who worked with Ben. We had them over to our house about once or twice a month for dinner and games. They lived close to us, and we occasionally ran into them at nearby restaurants. Ben and Danielle visited Kyle and his family in the hospital when Noah was born. And when Kyle and I were furiously fighting the discriminatory Proposition 2 last November, they were right there with us, distributing leaflets.

Ben and Danielle have been an integral part of our Dungeons and Dragons game, and you can read her summary of the early part of the campaign in her story, "1st Day of the Apocalypse" at my campaign-related blog, "World of Aethe". She loved her character Elissa Harmonant (a human paladin), and told her brother all about her. She would tell me after the game how much fun she had, and I'm truly glad to have had the chance to play with her. She always made the game more fun for everyone. Games like D&D can be a great escape from life's problems, and knowing now that she had been in pain, I only wish I could have made it more so.

I will greatly miss my friend Danielle. And she and Ben will be in my thoughts and prayers.

Danielle's obituary can be found here, at the website of the funeral home of Wilke-Clay-Fish in Austin, TX.

A Chicken, a Page, a Pact and a Path

2006-05-05T18:14:00.000-07:00

We had just crossed into the magically sealed cavern, behind the Candlenox door, to find whatever the gods had in store for us, the Harmonant's, Morgrim and Dame and I. I hesitated to bring Dame in here, but the unnaturally bitter cold outside was even more difficult to bear for just a tiny hawk.

Already we found footprints. Guards?

“Wait, I recognize these footfalls. I have seen them, but once before. They will not be so lucky as to see ours.”

We followed these Dark Elven feet for a time to be rewarded by two men and a Smilodon. Victory was quiet and swift and the beginning of satisfaction. I admitted to myself a wince of regret though for the beast slaughtered in the name of good. What does Narduna think of her pupil? Wasted carcass of her creation. I cannot think on it more for we are in a den of enemies now.

Deeper into the tunnels we crept, just enough light to see each other, maybe a few feet more. Dame shifted uneasily on my shoulder. Just then the light expanded outward to be lost in shadow, a much larger opening here. I felt it before we saw it. The smell, the quiver of life, breathing.

“Something lairs here!”, Simon warned. His connection to the world of magic let him feel it for entirely different reasons than I.

We instinctively spread out as eyes of hostile intention blinked at us in warning, almost entrancing me. What is this? It watched me start to flank until I left what little light we had and it followed our torch bearer more intently. Josiah, always unflinching courage in that one. For one so skilled in the arts of thievery, his role as the eldest son still seems never to fail him. I hope it never does, protector.

My mind started to race in the darkness, I could hear its breathing, I could feel something......more. For one second, the shadows spoke to my mind.

“Go. Hurt you, pain you. Mine here.”

Did it speak?

The torch outlined a large bird-like creature as well as my own substantially smaller form now. I glanced away for one second like an untrained fool, my emotions getting the better of me. Another wondrous creature to destroy, but I knew, without doubt it was born of evil. I knew what must be done and so we did just that.

As we searched this cavernous room we found several entombing piles of earth and ice burying deceased Drow, a reassuring sight normally. Was this planar bird truly evil? Did it take these Drow for food? Is that not the balance of nature, the balance of Narduna? To take and give in cycles we cannot fully understand. Does not balance serve evil as well as good?

The others were calling to move on when I felt it, almost as slight as a shiver from the cold, Dame shuddered. I probed about in the dim light searching for who knows what. There, almost calling to me, my hand landed on a half-torn journal with a few dangling pages remaining. Something of the nature of good lying in this rubble of evil. I had no time to read its offerings now, we had still more tunnels to investigate. A good omen, regardless, to put my mind more at ease.

We pushed ahead until we realized there was a small Drow community here, perhaps guarding, perhaps trapped as we presumably were now, for the Candlenox door opened only once a year. The amount of supplies we passed spoke more to guarding then unprepared happen chance.

Then we heard the rest of them, just outside a laboratory where we had sent more Drow to atone for their vile experiments. I was ready to punish more as a plan of surprise came together.

Elissa, atop her summoned steed immediately drew our attention to battle once more. No matter the age, the ways of the paladin are always an inspiration. Simon prepared to summon a bison of the wilds to charge our foes giving Josiah a chance to quietly enter the fray as the rest of us charged in behind Elissa.

Bison grunting, hooves clopping, weapons flailing in time with the dancing flames of Elias' scorching greatsword we rushed the undoubtedly shocked villains with a frenzy of first strikes. I heard someone get gored as I ran towards the drawn back archers. Then it turned bad.

Josiah had snuck ahead of me to be surprised himself by their priestess leader and her wraith-guard who quickly overcame me as I dropped to the ground with the light of a fireball flaring past me.

“Josiah..........”

We were sitting together, a circle of men around a fire of blues and greens. Eight of them were humans wearing only pelts and in their flashing eyes was an almost animal alertness. It was a meeting of some sort. Two other humans were present, more heavily clad in ceremonial armor bearing a crest I could not recognize. There also was a Dwarf in holy raiment and an Orc in fine leathers and myself.

There was much discussion of ancient legends, the loom, the weaver, the destroyer. I could not understand everything though it seemed they spoke Prendorian, older somehow. They pointed to the stars, to a constellation in the sky that night and agreed to join together. Then they looked to me and asked for my commitment. I was compelled to nod in agreement, I sat there powerless to control my own actions.
The dwarven holy-man brought forth a stone and a chisel.

“With this stone of binding do we all commit to the future.”

Each man engraved his family's symbol on the stone and let fall one drop of blood, willingly shed. When it passed to me, I watched my hands hammer the crest of my father, the Fyne family, and I felt no pain as I watched one red tear splash onto the stone.

Each man turned towards the fire and repeated, “Only evil can break this bond, only evil can betray us now. Only evil can break this bond, only evil can betray us now.”

One man in skins raised his hand for silence and said to me, “Read your destiny, offer yourself, be well as you return to duty.”

The older of the two men in armor turned to face me and sternly said, “Do not forsake my children, so did you swear, brother.”

From the woods around our fire a woman strode into the center of the the burning embers and stood a moment as the other twelve covered their eyes and each took a knee. She offered her hand to me and I instinctively grabbed for my weapons, but her eyes softened me to tears as I extended my trembling hand.

“They will bear your cousin home as I bear you home. Bear me as I have borne you. Let us carry each other.”

In her embrace I awoke to faint whispers of old voices and the glowing awe of Elissa before me. Before I could fully get to my feet Elissa was welcoming me back to consciousness with concern in her eye and a hand of comfort.

In my confusion and excitement I could only ask, “Where is the journal my dear paladin?”

“This ripped and tattered thing you found? It's here, I saw an aura of light around it as you slept. What is it Victor?”

“I don't know, Elissa, I was told to read it. Thank you for your concern, how are the others? The last I saw was a fireball streaking over my head.”

“We thought Josiah was lost, but he is breathing again, faintly now. The others are sleeping. We are whole again, thanks to Elos. Get some rest now Victor.”

I sat up a bit longer to thumb through the pages I had found after our fight with the bird creature, there were only a few left and the Elvish writing was broken in places as well. One intact paragraph drew my eyes downward,

“He was a most horrible foe to our kind. No one is sure how he came to the underdark on such a steed. Alas, he came with death in his hands and cunning in his eyes. Not even the priestesses could slow him upon that cursed beast. It was whispered that he rode as if on the back of Narduna herself. A curse on that bitch goddess and her damned riders, especially that one. Eloath will avenge us.”

- by Jon

Gideon's Call

2006-05-05T16:19:00.000-07:00

The pain is unimaginable. It is not a physical sensation—that kind of pain ended quickly—it is the sensation of your soul choking, being forcibly shunted into a chute too narrow for single thread to pass. Souls are more resilient and, it would appear, compressible than threads.

I have existed in this state now for a timeless time that gives every sign of being an eternity, but the part of me that is still conscious rejects the notion that eternal pain is my just reward. Then it ends. There is no transition; it is as sudden an end as the beginning, which was also an end. Again, I am reminded of the single thread, but this time of the shears which cut it.

“Son,” a voice calls. I do not turn, but my perception shifts and the speaker is before me. He looks exactly like he did when I saw him last.

“My lord father,” I answer.

“I am no lord, here, only Gideon and your father” he corrects me. “Rest with me. The journey to this place is hard, I remember.”

I am seated; it is a change of state which occurs, again, without any action or effort. The change is a dramatic one. We are seated together in a cavernous hollow of a tremendous branch of the most impossibly large tree I have ever seen. Half of the hollow is open to a blue and empty sky and the brilliant golden sunlight. A waterfall is visible in the distance, but the sound is of a flowing river coming from below.

“How do your brothers and sisters, son? I loathe being cut off as I am.”

“They were in danger when I left them. We were seeking the Eye of the Avatar.” I pause. “I am dead, aren’t I?”

My father nods. “I have longed for the company of my family here. You are not long for this world, though. Your siblings will show your soul the way back to life—oh yes, such paths exist.”

“But how?”

“Why confuse the issue. It is the will of Elos, or maybe the will of some other power in the universe. Either way, it is beyond you or I to answer how.”

“You longed for our company? Is mother not here?”

“Your mother is someplace else, and Jacob has gone elsewhere in his rage.” When he speaks of mother he smiles, but he quickly sobers as his thoughts turn to Jacob. “It would seem the Bale family kept secrets hidden, but I know not what those secrets are; they are silent to me. They might talk to you. You are their blood.”

“Where are they?”

“Right here,” he gestures at the tree in which we sit. “This hollow is all I am allowed. It is your mother’s, although she has not yet joined me here.”

“This tree…”

“It belongs to the ancestors of the Bale family. I am a Harmonant. There is a home for me as well, and you, in another place. For now, though, it is the Bale in you from which you seek more answers.” He smiles.

“No, it is you I seek answers from. What happened at the Avatars? Who destroyed them? Who killed you, mother, and Jacob? Why? What will happen now they have been destroyed?” I feel I should be perturbed by these unanswered questions, but the urgency can find no fertile ground in which to root, so the questions remain floating seeds of curiosity.

“A wise man once said, ‘Everything is illuminated by what has come before.’” My father looks apologetic, “I should have spoken of this to you, to all my children, before my death—I was wrong not to trust you.”

“You ask of the Avatars. You must look back to find their importance. Ambira’s Loom was crafted by the Weaver, your mother’s distant ancestor, as a gift for the goddess Ambira in the Age of Legends; it is also called Ambira’s Cog, but only by the dwarves.”

“Is not that the name of the mysterious constellation that appears in the sky only during times of great moment and change?” I ask.

“It is that and more than that. It is also the source of all magic that belongs naturally to the world. Hekar the Destroyer created a twisted counterpart, the Shadow Loom, from his imprisonment so he might have a source of power to free himself. It is through the Shadow Loom that the Dark Prisoner weaves his dark magics to control his minions and defile all of Aethe.”

“Four centuries ago, the Avatars were created by Priamus, Iriel, and Gilrodeme to bring the Shadow Loom to a halt while Miroth the Just, Ranoc the Reborn, and Nikander Flamehammer strengthened the bonds which kept the Lord of Death imprisoned and which had decayed for millennia. The gods, through their chosen servants, spoke of slowing the weaving of Ambira’s Loom to the pace of a slug drake, that they might close that avenue to the Dark Prisoner as well. In the years that followed, to most folk of Aethe, magic, both arcane and divine, simply ceased to be. To the learned and wise, magic became forbiddingly difficult.”

“Father,” I ask, “where did you learn all this? And is the world at an end now that the last Avatars have been destroyed?”

“For your first question, I learned most of it from our ally, the Chancellor Othelius, who held many of the writings of Miroth the Just before they were destroyed by my royal father as Justiciar heresy. For your second question, all is not at an end, yet.”

“Although your mother, our allies, and I were hopeful of protecting the Wyntish Avatars, we did not count solely on our success in the matter. There remains one hope – the last of the Colossal Avatars that protect Aethe from the Shadow Loom. The Blind Avatars of the Isle of Emet still stand.”

“The lost Wyntish colony?” I interrupt.

“Indeed. Your time on the Wyntish border as a boy was not completely wasted on pranks, I see.” He smiles. “When the Wyntish explorer Tupper Crake conquered the Isle of Emet in the name of Wynt nearly two hundred and fifty years ago, he took the eyes from Avatars there as a small portion of his tribute for his beloved Republic. Although Wynt lost its colonies in the Long Winter that followed a hundred years after that, the Eyes remained in Wynt until seventy-five years ago, when they were given by the Red Houses of Wynt as a gift of friendship to my great-grandfather Breward, King of Prendor. Sadly, Ingvar the Scourge did not share in Breward’s magnanimous goodwill toward Wynt and conquered the country a mere fifteen years later, proclaiming himself king there and in Hathaine.”

“King Breward sent one of the Eyes as a gift of his own to King Nikander of Turingard, who would most assuredly have disapproved if he had ever received it. But the expedition was ambushed and the Eye was taken beyond the Candlenox Door…”

“So, Simon does have the Eye of the Avatar in his haversack,” I offered, “and the Eye of the Avatar is hidden behind the Candlenox Door, also.”

“Clever boy. Those are two of the six eyes of the Blind Avatars. The one your brother Simon has is one of three your mother found. Another, which you and your siblings unknowingly saved from the goblin horde, is hidden in Blackwater Keep and the third she kept on her person. Your uncle Brandon found one which, to my knowledge, he still keeps in hiding at the Baelery in Oldshire. There is the one guarded by the White Horned Drake who brought it behind the Candlenox Door. That leaves a sixth, and I know nothing of its whereabouts.”

“White Horned What?”

“There is no time to explain that with more important matters to tell. The Eyes are powerful in themselves, though how to wield them I do not know. But they must be returned to the Blind Avatars of Emet for the good of all. That may not be enough, however. Ambira’s Loom must be empowered to weave at its full speed, and the scions of the Weaver who crafted it may have an advantage in this. Seek the rest of the Eyes to restore the Avatars! Until you find them, the Shadow Loom weaves on unimpeded. And revive the weavings of Ambira’s loom to counter what damage Hekar may have done already with the power he has already obtained.”

“But how? I am here…”

“Not much longer. And I must tell you—the men of my father, King Harl, will wait for you outside the Candlenox door to take you to Larrae alive and unbound, but as prisoners nonetheless. You could evade them (I am sure), but if you do, you will never see your mother again.”

There are no words for my surprise, but my father sees clearly how I feel.

“She does indeed live. I wish I could say more, but your time here is at an end. Other children of mine have indeed found a way to work miracles.” He smiles, his pride evident.

And the unimaginable pain is in me, again, and unimaginably greater than before. It feels like a thousand hooks pulled in a hundred different directions are buried in my heart and tear me into fragments. “Father, I cannot do this. The pain will destroy me.” I am sobbing. “Let me … stay. More rest… rest…”

He looks grieved, but my father does not reach out to me. “I have no power to give what you ask. But,” he says as he addresses the tree suddenly, “Bale-tree. Ancestors of my wife and our children! A scion of the Weaver is being called back to the world of the living, but it is so soon after his voyage here. He is weak and needs assistance! Can you succor him?”

The entire vastness of the tree answers his plea. “Child of the Weaver! We will aid you. You must answer to this summons, no matter the pain. Let yourself be called, and we will play mendicant and guide.”

So I have let go – my father’s voice straining in the distance to remind me of avatars and looms. I am soothed by ancestors whom I have never met, long dead. Many of them I have heard of, some I did not know before, but I hear all their stories as they bear me, each carrying one of my thousand shards back home.

Victor was slumped against the cave wall when the voices began to whisper. He woke and drew his axes, seeking a foe in the murk at the edge of the light cast by the everburning torch Josiah had carried in his last battle. Nothing stirred except Oberon, who made occasional motions in his prayer vigil over Josiah’s body, and Elissa, whose watch it was. A compassionate voice whispered again to Victor, as though the speaker were speaking with cupped hand against his ear.

“Young scion, be well. We are here to bear your cousin back,” the voice whispered. Stunned, Victor’s arms dropped slowly to his side.

Oberon’s eyes crept open cautiously as he listened to the voice of Erebus Bale explain how the potion which was used was not meant to call a soul back from the beyond, how only the nature of the caves behind the Candlenox Door and the help of the ancestors of the Bale line made it possible, and how Josiah’s soul was ‘only beginning to settle into the recesses of the flesh in which it did reside until late ago.’ The frail-seeming corpse of his brother appeared no different than it did a moment before the spirit of his ancestor announced his soul’s return. It seemed the process would take a full cycle of the sun in its path overhead.

“And we will be near to knit your brother’s soul back to his flesh,” assured Erebus, “for as long as the task will take.”

Elissa was finishing her rounds about the small camp for the third time in an hour when Victor jerked violently to his feet. Before she drew her sword in response to whatever threatened him, she was awash in light and color which she knew could be from nowhere in the cavern in which she stood.

Elissa stood on the tourney grounds at the Castle of the Star, but it was like no tourney she had ever witnessed. The world seemed brighter than it ever had, and of the banners that flew, few were not outdated, and all of those belonged to houses bound to the Bale line by marriage or blood. Most of all, the competitors in this tourney were all women, and the men watched from the stands.

“Elissa. You’ve grown into quite the young woman. I know your mother is so proud of you,” a woman in ornate plate armor greeted her. Her wide smile was inviting and somehow familiar. “You do not know me, do you? Come join in the day’s competitions! I am assured you handle my sword with skill.”

-- by Kyle and Abram

To Danielle, From Victor (2)

2006-05-05T16:18:00.000-07:00

I apologize, my dearest sister, that it has been some time since the last letter. My time has been short during this adventuring and the distance is becoming greater and greater for Dame to fly.

I have discovered much about my new friends since the incident at the university. I am afraid that for our safety as well as their own I should not reveal overly much to you of their true history. I can offer you some knowledge however.

As I suspected, their arrival at the University was no mere coincidence, nor was their skill in battle a chance fortune, nor was their Dwarven companion a slight porter. I have shared many a conversation with him over the fineries of smithing and Dwarven construction. It reminds me of the days before, with father and his friends. Pardon sister, I get lost in the moment.

Their given names are of a greater significance than the ones they had assumed for daily life at the university. I am not now sure what I have volunteered myself for, but we have a growing trust between us and I can see that my life amongst Narduna's creatures is a boon to their cause. So for that reason and to continue to hunt the evil of the Drow and more, I go with the winds of fate.

We are heading into the mountains of father's stories now. Heading into Dwarven lands to seek answers about a much darker evil Danielle. I don't mean to frighten you, but this is no longer a game of wizards and treasure. We dare venture into the realm of gods and ancient myths now, Elos protect us all.

It is uncanny how drawn I am to these questing youths, almost as if to you or to father. Ah well, the thrill of this adventure is intoxicating Danielle, but I keep my mind as clear as I can. I cannot lose myself to emotion and idle musings now. I long for the trees of home and nearness to my own family. I am so sorry it has been so long my sister, too long. Please tell the others that I am doing well and give them some of this money I am sending to you. No need to worry them until worry is needed. Protect me in your thoughts as I do you. I will write again.

Blessed Candlenox to you,

-Victor

-- by Jon

To Danielle, From Victor

2006-05-05T16:17:00.000-07:00

My dearest sister, I am taking a moment out from what you would call my wanderings to tell you the latest happenings. You may hear of these events through the prescribed channels, as they were of some import, but I felt I had a little more to add for your ears only.

When last we spoke, you knew I was heading towards the university to investigate some strange rumorings. Using my unique knowledge, I landed a temporary position as a groundskeep and befriended several of the professors there. No outstanding incident occurred to offer me a lead until a certain group of interesting students arrived. I don't know why I was inclined to watch them, but I kept an eye on them nonetheless.

They were a curious lot, similary aged, about the age of our sister Monique, and accompanied by what seemed to be a Dwarf porter of some kind. This Dwarf seemed of a rougher lifestyle than these other five were akin to and drew me in for further enquiry. The names they introduced themselves with garnered me no more insight, but their actions slowly began to untangle the mysteries.

They apparently had stumbled upon a dark plot to ruin the town and perhaps more. Dark things began happening with a greater frequency. Strange creatures appeared as townsfolk and students seemed to vanish without a trace.

Somehow I lost the five for a short time and on their return I overheard a discussion I could no longer remain impartial towards. A magical malaise was infecting the town from an unknown source. It just sounded too much like those filthy Dark Elves again, oh how I hate them Danielle.

These five students were going to investigate deeper into the bowels of the university's underbelly and I knew I had to join them. The opportunity I've been waiting for, follow my gut I always say. Sensing an ally they quickly accepted my offer of aid and so we sank into the shadowy tunnels to find some answers. I know how you abhor the details of battle, Danielle, so I will spare you all, but the fact that we vanquished much evil that day. These students were more than they appeared as I had felt from their arrival. Their proficiency in the ways of magic and combat broke through the illusion they wanted the commoners to believe and their familiar banter and brotherly insults gave away their familial ties. Why were they hiding? What were they hiding? No matter to me as long as their fates take me to the enemy.

Sadly, for all our efforts, I learnt no more of the Drow. It seems only a wizard's betrayal soured here. Perhaps there is something more. Perhaps what these five hide, is worth my trust for now. For they do not know me anymore than I do them. I will throw my lot in with these would be heroes in disguise for now Danielle. Please try not to worry and always know that our loved ones will be avenged. 'Til the next moment of rest.

Narduna's blessings on the wings of Dame to you,

-Victor

by Jon

Foes in All Directions

2006-04-22T15:37:00.000-07:00

Foes in All Directions

“Vasse?!”

Professor Haguus was inconsolable and kept shouting—

“Vasse?!”

If I had misgivings about the nominee before, they had been inflated to actual fears by the incredulity and outrage on the part of the dwarf. Her name had been the first introduced at the meeting of the Regents’ Council earlier in the afternoon, following the funeral of Implexor Cavanaugh and the burial of the thing that had replaced him. The Baeler had opened the rather eventful meeting.

“My good gentlemen and ladies,” the Baeler had begun the session, “we are here to honor the departed, both Implexor Cavanaugh and Professor LaRoque. It would ill befit the memories of two such men as these, however, to leave the manner of their unfortunate and violent ends to vulgar rumor and speculation.” His gentle voice enriched each word with sorrow and with the familiarity of confidence. I could have almost forgotten the words were lies.

“There has been, as I trust you have heard, a narrow escape from a fell plot against the students of the Lyceum, the people of Montmarnet, and the safety of my dominion. Through the brave actions of a few, including our young Student Regent, Edmund of Rokesparke,” he nodded in my direction, referencing me by my assumed name, “the plot was foiled. Cavanaugh had long been coerced to complicity with the plot against the threat of death to his entire family. To his credit, however, he attempted to inform his colleague, the Lord Mayor of Montmarnet, Anselm LaRoque, of the danger to his citizens. When LaRoque moved to act, though, he was eliminated. It was through this forced action the plot was more fully discovered by certain students and professors, such as Vermond Haguus, when those students attempted to visit the late Professor LaRoque in the Lord Mayor’s tower. The plot quickly unraveled from there, but our dear friend and colleague, Implexor Cavanaugh, was killed for unveiling the conspiracy in a desperate act of petty cruelty.

“The challenge facing you now is to select a new Implexor to guide the Lyceum through its grief at losing two of its most brilliant minds and its shock at the manner of their deaths. As in the past, it is incumbent upon the Regents to both put forth the names of candidates and vote yea or nay on those candidates in the order in which they are confirmed by a second Regent. Normally, I am quite loath to intrude on the process, but I wish to put forward a name for consideration: Professor Vermond Haguus.” A murmur then passed around the room, and more than one groan had been audible. “His role in the preceding events has been of paramount importance. So much so, I would say, that without his efforts the city of Suzergne would today be facing an army of creatures transformed by the blackest alchemy from their human selves into evil shapes. As I am glad to be addressing the sixteen of you and not an assembled army to defend my dominion, I must in gratitude commend Professor Haguus to you.”

The Baeler’s gratitude had not been sufficient to overcome the prevailing attitudes about Vermond Haguus, and none of the regents was willing to expend the capital to even second his name, let alone vote for him. But just as quickly as his name had been passed over, the name of Janette Vasse, the assistant to the previous Implexor, was put forward and seconded. The discussion that ensued was fairly heated, with clear disfavor from the regents I trusted most: Legrande Grimm and Delilah Corellis. My own suspicions may have started there, but the more I learned the more solid they became.

“What do you know about Vasse?” I asked Professor Haguus.

“She’s a harlot!”

“Fantastic. My friends and I have too much money to burn. Seriously, now. Anything useful?”

“She and Cavanaugh were always too cozy! I bet she knew everything he was up to—the whole conspiracy! She’s power hungry, selfish, and she would make a worse than useless Implexor! Doesn’t even care about education… nor scholarship… nor the students… not even the professors, just about herself! Money-grubbing wench!” Vermond Haguus slowly devolved into execrations of Vasse while I pondered what I knew.

The open proponents of Vasse on the Regents’ Council were all men of a more mercantile bent; not a one of them would be above sacrificing the quality of the Lyceum for a generation if the immediate personal gain met their threshold for greed. They did not number so many to be a clear majority, but the discussions and dinners tonight might change the view before the next day’s vote.

Vasse was at least as mercenary as her supporters, if not more so, but I did not see how she commanded enough wealth or power to win them to her side, and those men were not likely to see their avarice reflected in her person and be amorously stricken. “Is Janette Vasse possessed of some great store of wealth, that you’re aware of, Professor?”

“Is this more of your ‘money to burn’ kind of humor? I tell you, it’s in bad taste.”

“No, it’s a serious question. Is she rich?”

“Not that I’m aware of. The Lyceum doesn’t pay a rich man’s wages, let me tell you. The work is our best …”

“Then how is she buying votes?” I asked myself aloud.

“She’s buying votes?!? I suspected as much!”

Knowing I had gone as far as reason would allow with Haguus, I turned to my best resource—my family. I explained my suspicions to my gathered siblings and our newest companions, a dwarf named Morgrim and a slightly mysterious man whose true name we had not been told. Fair enough, since he knew none of ours, either; that day of reckoning would come later. Until then we agreed to call him the Woodsman.

Thank Elos for my luck in family and friends, I thought when the harshest rejoinder was an almost expected, “If you’re sure about this,” from Elissa.

I took a deep breath and continued. “I’ve been thinking about a plan, but it has to be done tonight.”

Nightfall came sooner than I was prepared for it. Our previous investigations had confirmed Haguus’s suspicions once before, but we had embarked upon them only after a very real attack on our persons—it seemed potentially ludicrous that I might ransack the office of a candidate for the Implexorship with nothing more than a gut feeling and one of Haguus’s quixotic conspiracy theories for justification. Ludicrous or not, though, I have trusted my gut feelings a great deal more with every day that goes by; Professor Haguus just provided a convenient straw to throw upon a ton of motivation.

The Woodsman proved a very useful ally again, that night. Neither I nor my siblings know the Lyceum grounds and edifices half so well as he, and all his knowledge was laid to my disposal for the entry plan. It was thus, with his help, that I found myself hugging the face of Grimm Hall at a quarter till midnight, thirty-five feet from the ground.

I had climbed to a narrow ledge, mere inches in width, by way of a tall fir tree that still obscured me while I waited for the moon to descend from its height to illuminate the far side of the building, leaving me in the eclipse of the stone hall’s silhouette.

Minutes away from that moment, I arrived at my perch and surveyed the remaining distance, a dozen feet or so, from the window to Vasse’s office. Not so far, really. Only a third of distance I had already climbed—the distance I would fall, that is, if I slipped.

The moment of occlusion came, and I began to slowly slide towards the narrow window. The inches were painfully slow, but the ledge on which I stood was smooth, level, and wide enough, if not exactly spacious. My heart jumped once when I reached for a crack in the stone of the wall, and my hand found not a crack, but a shadow. The near darkness might yet prove as much enemy as friend, I worried. And, again, the organ nearly left my chest as I began to slowly work the glass framed window open on its hinge and heard my brothers in a cacophonous rendition of a nostalgic song of old Cymbeline.

O tower that guards Cymbeline, the city I call home,

I’ve traveled many weary miles, with farther still to roam,

My love is waiting there for me; to her I gave my heart.

O tower, keep my lady safe, as long as we’re apart.

By their voices, I could tell Elias and Lukas performed drunkenness fairly well; I hoped it was a performance, anyway. I could not spare a glance in the direction of their voices, but I knew that the song was meant to tell me someone was approaching who might spy me on the wall. Although I was dressed head to toe in black, with strips of black fabric wrapped about my face, I did not want to take any chances. I increased the urgency with which I pried my way to my destination, allowing the seemingly drunken ruckus to cover the increased sound.

A few seconds later, I slipped through open window and pulled it most of the way shut. Very slightly lifting the cloth from around the everburning torch I pulled from my belt, a thin strip of light appeared on the wall across from the window. Despair tightened around my lungs.

The mass of parchments, scrolls, letters, bound volumes, and loose papers that had enveloped the room was more than daunting, it was depressing. I swallowed my doubts, and looked around for anything worthy of the name of evidence. Uninformed as I was about the daily operations of the Lyceum, I could discern no organization to the chaos and quickly supposed there was none.

As I was about to start throwing sheaves of paper selected at random into the nearly limitless pack Simon loaned me, I looked up from the desk I was facing to see a large arras on the facing wall. Without knowing the source of my hunch, I carefully pulled back the arras and the green light poured into the space behind it revealing the small, square, iron door of a safe set into the wall. What an obvious place for incriminating documents to be kept, I mused, smiling.

I took great care examining the door of the safe. The small needle that was poised to strike the unwary burglar was disarmed by twisting a camouflaged knob, which was easily done. The lock was much trickier, requiring the nearly simultaneous turning of two keys. I slipped off my gloves and went to work. The tumblers sang down the rod to me as they fell into place, but as I turned the locks, I heard a woman’s voice through the door.

“…either way, he must be disposed of. Besides, he won’t be missed. You know the best method.”

“I do,” replied a sweet-voiced man in a strange accent. “He will not be seen again by you, my lady.”

“Yes, I trust he shall not. And do kill him quickly. It will be more merciful that way, and we should be merciful.”

While I heard this conversation, I was far too busy sweeping the entire contents of the safe—almost exclusively documents—into the haversack to consider the details closely. Finishing, I dashed to the window and flung it open, glass splintering as the frame struck the wall even as the door from the hall creaked open with the heavy breath of age.

With one swift motion, I pulled a grappling hook and rope from the same bag into which the documents had been dumped and wrapped it once around the now empty metal window frame and dove out the window. A scream of rage followed me through the opening into the night. I fell with a slack rope in my hands for a long, slow second in which my heart pounded several rapid beats. When it finally did stretch taught, my bare hands erupted with a fire that nearly made me pull back and fall, but I fought to control my pain and twisted my body just in time to plant my feet on the wall of Grimm Hall before my body slammed into it.

I began to repel down the wall, but a grunt from above drew my attention. Janette Vasse was above me with a knife cutting rapidly through the rope at the top. I hurried my pace, but I never took my eyes off the knife. The coils of silk frayed and unraveled as they were cut free. First one, second one, I thought, as the thick cords splayed in every direction. The ground was much closer now, but the knife was cutting through. Third one, fourth one, JUMP! I thought as the fifth and final cord of the rope was severed, and I pushed off the wall with my feet and let go of the rope.

I twisted around, facing the ground, and tucked into a somersault as I neared the ground. Pain stabbed my shoulders as they thumped hard into the ground, but I rolled with most of the force of my fall. I clambered to my feet before I stopped rolling completely and dashed for the nearest pool of shadow in which to hide before skulking back to the dormitory, shedding the black clothes in favor of more ordinary dress and stowing the conspicuous garments along with my prize in the haversack.

“Let me see,” Simon pronounced rudely the moment I entered the room.

“Nice to see you healthy, Josiah,” I said. “I was frantic with concern for your safety while you were gone, my brother.”

“Sure. Now let me see what you found. It’s my bag, anyway.”

“What would mother think of your manners, young man,” I said as I passed the haversack to him, taking my clothes off the top as he took it.

Oberon and Elissa were in the room as well, and when they saw the raw burns on my hands they both looked at me expectantly. “Oh yeah,” I said, trying to be nonchalant, “could one of you two help me out with these? I probably have a nasty bruise, as well.”

“Sure,” said Oberon. “What happened?”

“He got a lot of stuff,” Simon offered, sifting through the papers he had emptied from the haversack.

I asked, “Simon, can you still finish reading all those logs and journals by tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Yes, I’ll just get some rest. Then I can prepare my materials in the morning and—“

“So, yes,” I interrupted. “Good, let me know when you find something.” I turned back to Oberon who tended my wounds and then returned to my own quarters for the night.

“We’re blessedly lucky that Simon is able to complete the task you asked of him,” Oberon said, between bites of his buttered roll. He had joined me, bringing breakfast enough for us both, by the fountain outside Brayde Hall where I had been nervously pacing before he found me.

“Elos gives us the tools to suit the tasks he means us to perform?” I replied, more sarcastically than I intended. “I’m sorry. You’re right, Simon is a tool.”

“That’s not at all what I meant. Simon learned the trick of reading books by magic…” his voice trailed off before the end of his sentence as someone neared. It would do no good for us to be overheard using one another’s true names or advertising our brother’s practice of magic.

“Edmund of Rokesparke!”

I was startled to hear myself addressed by the stranger who approached us. “At your service, stranger. How…”

“I challenge you to a duel for your insult to the honor of a lady, young knave.” The sweet voice and remarkable accent were unmistakable now, although the man was still as much a stranger as ever. He was armored in a heavy shirt of mail with a dizzying array of coins from many lands woven into the metal of it and wore a shield on his back and a sword at his belt. “The lady is my sister by marriage and I will not stand to have family insulted by the likes of you. Draw!”

I knew only a little of the Code of Duello in Hathaine, but I knew enough to argue with the audacious accusation thrown at my feet. “You lie. I have insulted no woman’s honor and I have never met you, nor your sister—I am sure of that, though by no means sure you have such a sister.”

“If you deny my accusation, prove me wrong with your sword!”

“I haven’t one on me!”

“You, sir,” the armored foreigner said, addressing Oberon for the first time. “Go and get this fellow a sword while I stand to ensure he will keep promise.”

“Um, Edmund…?” Oberon looked to me.

“Get me my sword,” I said. “But hurry.”

“Yes, hurry little man. My outrage cannot long go unsatisfied. If you do not return quickly enough, I may forget my own honor and cut young Edmund down.”

Oberon ran for my weapon. Glad he was unencumbered by his armor, I turned to keep my eye on the challenger. I made sure to keep the fountain between us for the time being, but he did not look prepared to risk himself to the law by “forgetting himself” in a moment of rage. There seemed to be very little rage to his behavior at all.

“Your sister, sir, is Janette Vasse, then? I did not know she had family so near,” I ventured to begin a conversation to learn what I could. My opponent seemed genuinely surprised to hear Vasse’s name mentioned. “I may not be so little missed as she suggested, but that’s all one. I intend to see her at the Regents’ Council this afternoon. Will she miss you, though?” I breathed with exercised and deliberate calm, although I was far less confident than I wished the other man to believe.

“I am her trusted and faithful friend. I will not let you leave my presence alive.” The foreigner, it seemed, was also less confident than his bold statements made him out to be, for he turned and shouted out, “Hola! A challenge has been issued. Witnesses come presently to ensure the Duello is obeyed.”

I suppose he expects foul play on my part, I thought. Fair is fair. If he had no witnesses, my brothers and sister would not be likely to let me face him unaided. With witnesses, to do so would be disastrous for the violation of the Code of Duello can be severely punished by law. But fair cuts two ways, and I am not as helpless as I look once I have my sword.

By the time Oberon returned with Elias, Lukas, Elissa, and my sword, a small crowd of witnesses had gathered, all students. I was reminded that dueling is considered great sport by the younger men in Hathaine. My siblings saw the crowd, too, and the hands that reached for weapons reluctantly relaxed. Oberon walked my sword over to me and leaned close. “Are you wearing your armor?” he asked, to which I nodded. The mithral shirt was light enough to be worn under clothes and not attract attention, and I was paranoid enough to wear it nearly all the time.

I took my sword by the hilt and drew it, leaving Oberon holding the scabbard. A small sword, it was quick and its blade sharp, but it was also deceptively strong due to the enchantments on it. I was counting on that advantage as I turned to face my challenger, who was readying his shield and broad sword with evident glee.

The crowd cleared to give room for the duel and the stranger came to the same side of the fountain as me. We stood at approximately ten paces from one another and the stranger glanced at Oberon and asked politely, “A count of three, if you please. May Elos,” he spoke the god’s name with the slightest hint of mirth, “guard the right.”

Oberon consented, and the moment he uttered, “Ten,” the stranger plunged forward with considerable speed. I was prepared to parry, but the force and zeal of his first charge surprised me. His blow was deflected but not completely turned aside, and I bled from a scratch on my ribs through my mail. My own riposte bounced ineffectively from his shield, but I regained my wits quickly and set about defending myself from the fury of his blows.

His second attack came fast on the heels of his first, but with the strength he put into his sword strike, it was evident before he swung that he was targeting my right shoulder. I stepped left and lifted my sword into his own sword arm as he swung and though his armor protected him from the worst, I knew I had wounded him. I continued to circle to his left, putting his shield out of position and putting the fountain to his back.

He grunted with the effort of recovering from his last while having to turn to keep his front to me. His blow was well placed to catch me in my circular path around him. I was too focused on staying out the path of his heavy sword to step into the blow, but he did not let the opportunity pass to finesse a pass at my right leg when it was clear the main force of his blow would miss me. My calf seared with momentary pain, but I blocked it out and landed a well-placed blow of my own to his abdomen, under the reach of his sword, but too far across his body for his shield to block my sword.

The next several seconds earned me two more flesh wounds, and my opponent three, but mine were clearly costing me much more than his. The shouts of the crowd were beginning to break through my focus. Were they louder, or was my concentration failing? The big foreigner was flush with the hope of victory and desperation ripped through my mind.

It was no great difficulty to let the man see that desperation in my face. Could I have disguised it if I wanted to? My sword began a low arc to sink below his shield and strike his groin, a mortal blow if I could land it. He contemptuously batted away my blade with a sweep of his shield arm and raised his sword overhead for a blow which could cleave a man my size in two. But hope rushed through me.

I spun with the force of my blow deflected and continued the spin, knowing I would come close to losing my balance, and consequently my life, if I failed. His sword arm was lowering by the time I completed my pirouette, but it mattered not a bit. I was inside his reach and his arms went slack as our bodies closed, my sword protruding from his back.

I stepped away and stared for a moment into his gaping eyes just before the thought behind them fled and pitied the man. Nothing but a tool for a task, cruelly used and thrown away. Shuddering I turned to Elias, Lukas, Elissa, and Oberon and fought back the urge to allow consciousness to be capsized in a stormy sea of pain.

“Let’s get out of public,” Oberon suggested, “so I can fix you up.”

“You haven’t passed out, yet,” Elias offered, grinning. “That’s got to be a good sign.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Maybe I should; I’d be doing you a favor.” I chuckled at his confused look. “You look like you might be getting a little soft around the middle.”

Three hours later, I was preparing for the Regents’ Council session—a luncheon was, of course, included in the agenda—when Simon burst into the room moving as quickly as his impediment would allow him. “Wow, did you find a goldmine or what?”

I raised an eyebrow questioningly. “You found something? There was something incriminating in all that mess?”

“Really the question is if there’s anything in that mess that’s not incriminating, but let’s stick with the really good stuff.” Simon was clearly relishing the moment of revelation. “But I’ll just give you the best parts.”

“First,” he began, quite like a lecturer, “there were a number of cryptic account sheets which, once put together indicate an elaborate scheme of kickbacks to one Pinkham Hillbottle. There are indications in other documents of a much larger scale operation once Janette Vasse becomes Implexor. The evidence necessary to prove this is in this stack.” He pulled a two-foot tall ream of papers and logs bound tightly by leather cords from his pack and handed them to me. I quickly set the heavy weight down.

“Second, and entirely unrelated, is the evidence in this journal she kept of a long-running affair between Vasse and Cavanaugh dating back to when the previous Implexor died—oh, sorry, I meant ‘back to when they assassinated the previous Implexor.’ Silly me.” This was astonishing, to say the least. Also, the journal he handed me was going to be much easier to carry to the meeting than the previous evidence.

Simon finished familiarizing me with the evidence as I readied myself and began the walk across the grounds to the Council session, but as we entered the doors of Brayde Hall, I could already tell something was amiss.

The expected murmur of lunch getting underway in the room the Council was occupying during the selection process was more of a dull roar. I sprinted to the chamber with the journal in my hand, leaving Simon behind. The door was wide open and the scene before me was near chaos.

“Such a vote should never have been rushed!”

“A Regent was absent!”

“If a Student Regent shirks, his vote should not be considered!”

“It is unorthodox for a candidate to be present if she is not one of the Regents on the council,” Legrande Grimm was saying, trying in vain to stop the gabbling, “but— but it is not impossible for us to do our business, but… Our missing Regent is here!”

All eyes turned to me, and I saw Janette Vasse looking smugly from the front of the room. I might have smiled briefly to her, I certainly thought of doing so, but I had no desire to waste time. I scanned the room for the Baeler.

“Your Eminence,” I addressed him, “I have something of great importance to speak with you about.”

“Young man, this council is not the place to address your personal grievances,” an older regent and Vasse supporter interrupted. “The other regents have been attending the business of the Lyceum whilst you have been dawdling like a wastrel, and we have elected Vasse the new Implexor…”

A burst of sound came from the seated Regents as four or five began to speak all at once, and another four or five attempted to shout them down a heartbeat after. In the din, the Baeler moved towards me and tilted his ear in to try to listen above the shouting. I simply shook my head and opened the journal I was holding to a certain page and handed it to him.

Legrande Grimm began to bang an empty tankard on the table like a gavel. The respect he was generally accorded was due to his seniority on the Council—his tenure spanned more than a century. “We have not ascertained if the vote was appropriately held. There seems now to have been no reason to have hastily acted on business before our repast—indeed, cooler heads might preside now if we had waited. I believe that, in the interest of order, our previously absent Regent—absent for what he must have assumed would have been only the fish course, not the election of an Implexor—be allowed to cast his vote now. In favor?”

I added my voice to the ‘aye’ that followed.

“Opposed?”

The ‘nay’ was of approximately equal volume.

“The ‘ayes’ have it,” Regent Grimm concluded. “Regent Edmund of Rokesparke, how do you vote in the matter of the Lady Janette Vasse’s assumption of the Implexorship?”

“Against.”

“Then it appears we have a draw—eight for, eight against—and we must deliberate longer on Janette Vasse’s nomination until a majority can be reached either in favor or in opposition to her Implexorship.”

“That,” intoned the Baeler in a voice like pealing bells, “will not be possible I fear.” The Baeler glanced pointedly at his honor guards, and then held up the journal. Janette Vasse’s gaze shot directly to me and her eyes narrowed like a predator. “I have here sufficient proof to act as I do now. Arrest the Lady Vasse. Her trial for the crime of murder will begin as soon as I have been presented with the remaining evidence and sufficient time has been given for the Lady Vasse to produce witnesses to testify in her defense. I am afraid it is not well that a murderer be Implexor of the Lyceum, although you may select another Implexor and be assured that I will not interfere with less compelling motivation than this. Good day to you all, and may Elos’ blessed light destroy the shadows of our minds and give us wisdom and the inclination to do good.” With no more ceremony than that, the Baeler turned and left, followed by Janette Vasse, escorted by the four armed guards of the Baelery.

“Young mongoose,” she whispered as she passed me. “You will soon disturb a serpent much too big for you.”

Days later, Professor Delilah Corellis had been chosen to assume the Implexorship, and even Vermond Haguus received a reward for his service in the common good—he was elevated to Lord Mayor of Montmarnet.

The documents unearthed from Janette Vasse’s safe were only the beginning of the Baeler’s investigation, in which I had volunteered to assist. All of the records she kept in both her office and her private quarters were now subject to scrutiny, and the workload was massive. The letter I found exactly one week after receiving the obscure threat from Vasse on her way to judgement was just one of the thousands, but in light of her choice of words in threatening me, I took note.

To the Queen Who Sits the Coiled Throne,

I believe you have been made aware of the man named Cavanaugh. The cunning of this one is quite refined, and he could be a useful ally. Should he be made aware of our presence in this land? Should he be enlisted, either covertly or openly?

The humble snake in your distant garden,

Janette Vasse

I scribed the words on another sheet of paper, and stored it once the ink had dried. I placed the original back in the file for personal letters, but felt sure it had seen light for the last time.

-- by Kyle

The Woodsman

2006-02-19T19:24:00.000-08:00

Pull up a seat and let me drink you a story of a terrified boy and a vengeful man.

There was born Victor Fyne of the famed Fyne family, son to Mikhale Fyne, a master smith if ever there was one. The boy grew up among the forges of the Nyreuil smithy watching his father pound out marvelous works for the Hathaine royal militia. Mikhale's work was lauded far and wide, sometimes even shipping to distant countries. Victor, the oldest of five, helped his four sisters every day in whatever way he could until one brisk morning his father, hoping for a protege, brought young Victor to the forge.

The hot and tiring training made the boy sweat each day until he too could create wonders of his own. Then his father told him,

"Son, you have no gift for the armory, but I swear your weaponry glistens like the Dwarves who taught me. The king will be pleased. We labor for a great nation Victor, we protect the future. You make me proud to be a Fyne."

The next day the sun rose a little higher and shined a little brighter and the forges were a little cooler. That night, hell came a little closer.

He never saw them, the dark Elves, he never heard his parents scream. The town slept through a massacre. Assassins. We fought a ruthless enemy to employ such tactics. The brightest and the best were slain in the night. Generals, priests, farmers, teachers, doctors,..........smiths. The war efforts were temporarily sabotaged, buying the enemy time.

Victor was no professional smith and he needed to support his sisters so he sought the help of a friend. His father's best customer, Sargent Ubrecht showed Victor the door to a military career.

"You take a liking to weapons boy.", he said.

"Yes sir, the faster to kill with."

"You can be a great soldier, boy. Use your anger to save your homeland."

Ubrecht taught Victor many ways of combat and even a bit more. "The Drow, they are called, those that took the town and your parents, Victor. You'll never want to fight a colder foe, a darker evil then those creatures. Learn their language, learn their combat style, hunt them. I can teach you how."

Many satisfying years passed as Victor rose in rank, affording more comforts for his family. As he advanced he learned much, hearing more, seeing more...........until he saw it with his own eyes. That day he passed the king's chambers and overheard an elven voice.

The king was conferring with a Drow.

They were caught, Victor knew.

A poison dagger and a yell came his way as he fled out of town.

Corruption.

He left, confused and bewildered to roam the woods alone and eventually wandered upon an old, nameless druid, who was meditating amongst the trees of the forests just across the border in Prendor.

"Who are you, sir?", asked Victor.

"I can teach you focus and help you find an answer."

In that moment, Victor realized he had no home, no life to return to and was a threat to his sisters' lives.

"I will stay with you, old man, what must I do to learn?"

"First, you must learn to understand your surroundings, listen to it, watch it, experience it, befriend it. Then, you must hone your relationship through discipline, courage, and justice. Then you may understand yourself and your enemies and what it means to exact vengeance."

More years passed as he grew to manhood under the druid's tutelage, fighting as the hand of the forest, protecting his new home, and watching the betrayal of men again and again.

"I wish to travel now in search of my adversary, old one. It is my blood oath. Do I have your blessing?"

"It is good, my time has finished and you have learned much. Leave me now and use what I have left behind to continue this work. We are both passing."

With that, the boy once known as Victor Fyne, with no one left to know him, lost himself and his identity in the forests of the countryside.......hunting.

His current whereabouts remain unknown. It is believed that he somehow still keeps contact with his sisters.

by Jon Bohrer

Sparring

2006-01-21T19:03:00.000-08:00

The cloak blew in the wind like some strange construct of his body that he had not yet become familiar with. The teachings of Crazy Kotter had the results of making his armor and Great sword seem as one with his body, but this cloak had not yet formed to him as well as the sword and armor had. The Mourner Queen had told him “This cloak will protect you as long as you wear it.” Protect me from what was what he really didn’t understand. It was this unknown that caused Elias to seek solitude in this strange city of the Mourner. He practiced with his Great sword in an area that he believed would escape attention. His practice quickly turned into a tapestry of rage with the stitching “This cloak will protect you as long as you wear it.”

“I see you have some skill with that sword.” Elias looked around to find a Mourner looking at him with interest. “My kin do not use swords of such weight however you seem to wield it with a speed that our kin come to obtain.” The mourner continued, “My specialty lies in the warrior arts as well, but even I can see that you possess a strange aura about you.”

Elias was a bit surprised by his singular audience however he still managed to introduce himself. “My name is Elias.”

“My name is Dunbar.” The mourner replied with a bow. “I am what your kin would call a weapon master. I have trained many of our warriors.” The Mourner continued “I must say that you possess a freakish strength and you play to that with your moves however in our teachings speed can be just as lethal as strength. Would you like to spar with me?”

Elias found himself welcoming this stranger’s invitation to spar. He felt it was exactly what he needed to let his problems dissolve even if it would be for just a moment. “I would be more than happy to spar with you Dunbar let us make ready.”

The probing blows had all played themselves out on both sides. Elias found himself pitted against an opponent with extreme speed and accuracy that he had to admit surpassed any human ability that he knew of. This stranger’s skill far exceeded his own however Elias could still sense unease within his opponent. The blows continued to come with Dunbar as the aggressor. Swings barely dodged and parried by Elias had the foretelling of his eventual defeat. Elias decided that he would not lose while on the defensive as little of a plan as that was he meant to adhere to it.

Elias started swinging with desperate fury to become the aggressor. Dunbar’s unease vanished completely and his parries were precise and his counterstrikes connected with slaps of pain. No doubt Dunbar was a teacher of his people for his hits came with the flat of his blade. Elias swung his sword with effort through the pain in his shoulder and forearms. Dunbar dodged, stepped forward with sword point placed at Elias’ neck.

“You lost to a foe much more formidable than I cold ever be.” Dunbar said. “You lost to yourself.” Dunbar withdrew his sword and bowed with respect. “No one has ever lasted with so many sword crosses with me. I was getting a bit worried until fear crept into you.

by Ben McCabe

A Ride in the Night

2005-10-01T08:46:00.000-07:00

“Shhhhh” whispered Simon to Bertram as they approached the stables, the southernmost building in the cluster around his father’s keep, the Castle of the Star. Behind the building lay a large field, used by the younger noble population for horsemanship training, and the knights for mock mounted combats. At the spring festival, the field, with the addition of bleachers for the commoners and covered viewing platforms for the nobles, served as the tourney field, for both the knight’s jousting tournament, and the weapons combat competitions of the common soldiers.

“What are you on about now Simon?” You know the stableboy is off in Clara’s room, we saw him slip in half an hour ago. There’s no one out here to hear us, except the horses, and I don’t think they are going to tell!”

Bertram Melicter shook his head in mock disgust at his friend Simon, his partner in mischief for the past five years. From the time he met Simon, when the boy of seven had been fostered out to Duke Melicter of Gloriana, he and Bertram had been inseparable. Three years later, when Simon returned home to the Castle of the Star, Bertram had come with him, as fosterling to Prince Gideon, Simon’s father.

With both boys at age twelve now, they had begun to move from the freedoms of boyhood to the more regimented training which would enable them to take their places in amongst the ruling elite of Prendor. Daily sessions in the Salle with Weaponsmaster Harold had begun some months ago, and most recently the light riding sessions of their youth which had given them basic equestrian skills, had been replaced by rigorous training in the basics of mounted warfare. The small riding ponies of yesterday had been replaced by older, light warhorses no longer of much use in combat, but highly trained and experienced at carrying men into battle.

While Simon was a passable rider, Bertram was a natural horseman. In the past year he had grown much faster than Simon, and begun to fill out. But Bertram’s greatest advantage in handling these new larger horses was not his size, but his seeming natural empathy for horses. Though the new horses were highly trained, they were also much smarter than the ponies, and could easily read their rider’s skill and confidence. Bertram was utterly confident when mounted, and the warhorses responded like the veterans they were to his confident, forceful commands.

Simon, on the other hand, was still a bit intimidated by the larger beasts, and they knew it. It gnawed at him that what Bertram could do with a nudge of his knee, or the slightest pressure on the reins, he had to do with a forceful smack or a sharp pull. The fact that Bertam took twice as long to learn the proper conjugation of the irregular Old Common verbs did make up at all for his own slow development as a horseman. After all, the Spring Tournament showcased mounted jousting, not verbal!

So, when Bertram had told him that his mother’s maid Clara was “hosting” the stableboy each Monday night, leaving the stables unattended at night, he immediately agreed to Bertram’s plan to steal out the next Monday night when the moon was bright to let Bertram work his equine magic with Blacksteel, his father’s charger, and the largest horse he had ever seen which was not pulling a wagon.

Stealing into the stables, Bertram wasted no time. He approached Blacksteel’s stall in the center of the North wall, and confidently began to prepare him to be mounted. Soon, blanket, saddle, and bridle were taken care of, with the help of a bale of hay placed just right to allow them to reach onto the horse’s back, which was above Simon’s head.

As Bertram prepared to mount the ebony stallion, Simon suddenly blurted out, “stand aside, I will ride him, after all, he is my father’s mount, and I have been up on him with father many times, so I know him and how to handle him.”

Bertram looked took his foot out of the stirrup, turning to look at Simon cockeyed. “Don’t be daft, Simon. Blacksteel is much too big for you, and you’ve not learned the ways to handle war mounts. Look at you…you’ve practically wet yourself in fear at getting up on his back…he knows that, and there’s no way he’ll let you ride him.”

“You think I’m a baby? You’re only two months older than I am! I can and will ride him.”

“No!”, said Bertram sharply, “you’ll just hurt yourself!”.

Simon, growing angry, pulled his trump card to silence his friend. “Bertram Melicter, you are commanded to assist us. I am a prince, and you are but a Duke’s son. Now help me up!”

His friend’s jaw just dropped and his lip quivered slightly as his eyes squinted at his longtime best friend. “You COMMAND me? COMMAND???” he continued in disbelieve and outrage. “Well then, yes, mi’lord, by all means, just step right on my back so you won’t have to get too near to that smelly hay.” As he spoke, he fell onto his hands and knees alongside Blacksteel, who turned his head to snuffle at Bertram’s hair.

Simon pursed his lips, not having intended to so alienate his buddy. But, since Bert was already on his knees, he stepped up on to his back, and lofted himself over the horse’s back and onto the saddle. I should have made the stirrup’s shorter, my legs aren’t as long as Bertram’s, he thought to himself. No chance of fixing that now, not with Bert continuing on with his torrent of “mi’lord this” and “milord that”.

Blacksteel stopped snuffling at Bertram’s hair and raised his head even with Simon’s, and stared balefully into his eyes. Simon, blinked, sat himself up straight, stretched his legs longer so he could just slip his toes into the stirrups, and gave a tug on Blacksteel's reins to urge him forward…to no result, the horse just continued to stare at him. Quickly becoming angry at being shown up in front of Bertram, proving his friend’s point, he gave the huge horse a sharp kick on each side. The horses eyes went wide when he did this, and he gave an outraged neigh of protest, before rearing up on his hind legs to shake off this impertinent boy who thought to ride him, the master’s mount, and the lord of the stable.

Simon shrieked in terror as he hung on for his life. Bertram quickly stood up and tried to grab the reins away from Simon to bring the horse to heel, but he could not reach them. “Bert, hellllllllpppppp!” cried out Simon fearfully.

“Hold on, Simon, dammit, we haven’t learned the commands for bringing the horse down after rearing him. Grab the saddle and release the reins, I’m going to have to pull him down!”, shouted out a very concerned Bertram.

“Okay” screamed Simon as he simultaneously released the reins while grabbing onto the horn of the saddle.

Bertram quickly jumped in alongside the rearing stallion, and grabbed the now dangling reins. While Bert was still a boy, he still weighed a considerable amount, and when he pulled down on the reins with all his mount, he gave a considerable shock to the bit in Blacksteel’s mount. Instinctually, the warmount did what he was trained to do with those on the ground who had grabbed his reins while he was bearing a rider, and came down on Bertram’s skull with a sickening thud of his right front hoof.

Seeing this, he half-lunged for his friend, loosing his grip on the saddle while simultaneously losing his precarious toehold in the stirrups. Downward he fell, awkwardly landing with one leg twisted under the other, and striking his own head on the ground as he slipped into darkness.

-- by Kelly

Bale Family Tree

2005-09-30T21:47:00.000-07:00

House Bale of Mystria

Duke Simon Bale - age 60
1. his bastard son, Sir Lionel Balbale - age 40
2. his wife Caroline, deceased - would be age 54
3. his older sister Countess Amelia Wurshing - age 63
4. his younger sister Countess Magdalena Molrose - age 57

House Bale traces their lineage to the ancient bloodline of the Weaver, a great sorcerer.

The symbol of House Bale is the Sunlit Door.

flag - Open Door - Green and Gold on Field of Black

Lesser Houses of Mystria:

House Barton
House Derney
House Mathias
House Molrose
House Olett
House Swaeles
House Wurshing

1st Day of the Apocalypse

2005-09-30T21:28:00.000-07:00

-- The Escape from the Castle of the Star from Elissa's point of view -- Abram

1^st Day of the Apocalypse:

The actual shift change for the guards wouldn’t take place for another few hours after our initial escape, but we had already spent at least one of those hours just getting to this room down the hall, which seemed like a dead end. There just had to be a secret passage somewhere! Rowena Winterbrook had specifically said “secret passage at the end of the hall.” We all had heard it.

When someone is telling you the way to escape a dungeon the night before your public execution, it is not something you pay attention to lightly. It certainly was a surprise to hear these directions from our dead mother’s handmade, when we had been told by Brice Welderman, one of our father’s guards still loyal to our family, it would be him devising our escape. But that was over two weeks ago, which meant he was probably dead by now.

Finally, we found some lose stones in the south wall of the room, revealing the secret passage, which to my utter disappointment, was only three feet high and three feet wide. So, who is going to go first and who is going to go last?

Willa, being the half-orc bastard that she is, was definitely going first. Besides she was over six feet tall and still pretty damn quick on her feet. Not to mention the fact she can see in the dark. Josiah, wanting to make sure he was in on all the action, jumped in behind her. Then, Lucas, merely not wishing to be the last, quickly jumps in behind Josiah. Simon grabs me and says, “Your next,” since I was just standing around like a blubbering fool still grieving over my dead twin, my other half, and not really caring if I lived or died at this point. Elias went after Simon because we needed someone intelligent, like Oberon, to go last and get rid of our tracks and replace the stones as if they’d never been moved.

I never knew Willa could actually scream like a girl, but the way that HUGE rat surprised her from a whole in the wall, I probably would have screamed, too. Actually, it did scare me because I had no idea at the time what was going on and then Elias starts cramping every one wanting to squeeze past to get to the fighting. With Willa and Josiah screaming and fighting the monster rat in the front – which Willa quickly kills and quiets down – Simon and I screaming at Elias in the back to stop pushing because he’s hurting us, reassuring him he really cannot get past and he’s only going to get us all killed. Besides, the rat is already dead. It is a wonder we didn’t have half the castle fully aware of our location.

Josiah informs us Willa is badly injured, but can go on, so we all start moving ahead again, all a little more shaken up than we were before. (Except for me, who doesn’t care either way.) I never liked to see anyone hurt, but nothing could hurt me worse than the pain in the deep, dark, black, dag-nasty whole in my heart. When we get to the crypt, Oberon goes to Willa and casts some spell over her – chanting in an old tongue. She looks scared, but her expression quickly turns to relief when the spell takes affect. Her wounds heal . . . . .with no bandages or medicine.

Great Age of Faith, I sure could drain a goblet of wine right now.

At this point, Elias starts shooting off his mouth about wanting to take this spear from the statue at the center of the crypt. Lucas joins in wanting to raid all the tombs. I’m thinking “go figure” but Oberon keeps to his values and reminds every one it is wrong to desecrate the dead and Lucas agrees. I am thankful and nod. It is a cool looking spear, though.

We all start to move on to the Elder Crypts. We come across Cuthwolf’s tomb, written in Thorcian and continued south. As we go, those of us who can read, see Marshall, Rowland, Sigmund, Abigail and Brenda. Passing through a south door, we see more tombs: Defray, Rowland and a dead end. Being we find no Percival’s tomb and no fork in the tunnel. We cut back and go east.

A foul stench grows stronger as we come upon two doors and a sarcophagus, with Fletcher Muld, the brother of Sir Waylan Muld who died protecting our father on the road. We notice it is partially open. Actually, it’s more like partially closed, like someone intended to close it, but did it hastily enough they failed to complete the job. We all agree to check it out.

In the tomb is actually Sir Waylan’s body. Oberon, with his strange abilities, identified him as being dead for about six weeks.

Realizing now, there are three doors. . .we check them all out, and nothing, nothing, nothing. So we go down the hall to what seems like a storage room. Oberon, Simon and I sense the rats, but before we can say anything, they attack. Elias, Willa and Lucas are taken by surprise. (I was too excited to right down any battle details. . . .)

We find 508 silver pieces, four smoke sticks and discover a stack of boxes blocking the way to a secret corridor. Wait, there is also a corpse with a copper ring still on the finger. Removing it, we read the inscription, “to my dearest Fletcher.” Thus, the missing corpse is accounted for and Oberon takes an instant liking to him. After packing Fletcher’s corpse on his back, Oberon leads the way through the East door and finds Prince Percival’s Tomb. Whew! I was getting worried there for a while.

Josiah finds the secret door here in the east wall by pushing a stone and ‘wa-la’, the door opens. Hopefully, this leads us to the Elder Crypts. The door leads to a passage way which is 10 feet tall, narrow, but still plenty of room for everyone. Slam! Oberon gets trapped under a portcullis. With Willa heading up the front, she’s now on her own. Josiah leads up the back, but if something were to attack, we’d have to fight it one at a time. Just as I suspected, we get attacked by dark mantels. I knew I recognized that smell...

--by Danielle McCabe

The Doppleganger's Letter

2005-09-09T22:14:00.000-07:00

Brother Fradat-Nar,

You are a fool to sell the Princelings to the King so quickly. You are aware Lord Vareshna thinks they may know the whereabouts of the Eye? If you fail to find it, if it isn't there, your entire side venture will have been in vain. And in addition to not pleasing Lord Vareshna, it will have made none of us any richer, and thus have been a complete waste of all of our time and effort. Hurry, our patience runs thin, but there remains a place for you in Larrae, should you not fail utterly. Otherwise, you can return to that idealist fool and beg him to let you be his pet again.

-- Zarthosht

Josiah's Nightmare

2005-09-09T22:13:00.000-07:00

In your nightmare, you stand in a field under the hot sun, next to a sleeping dragon, holding another dragon in your arms like a child. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a viper quickly strike the sleeping dragon. The dragon wakes, thrashes violently, and then explodes in a fiery burst. You run away from the viper, but the sun is too hot and you tire quickly. You collapse as the sun begins to burn your skin and the viper wraps itself around your throat. The last image of your dream is that of the burning sun reflecting in the viper's eyes.

Elias: What Frogs Don't Like

2005-08-19T10:41:00.000-07:00

This part comes easy to me, I thought, as Tryant pressed his attack. It had always been so with the learning of the sword if only that were true in the room with all the books. Tryant always attacked with short quick slashes with his longsword. He once told me that my Greatsword would never be able to parry such an all out attack, but this part always came easy to me.

Tryant's furious attacks actually tired him out quicker than it tired me out. Eventually his shield hand would drop and this when I press my attack. Overhanded swings hammering his shield arm. He would usually start yeilding at this point, however there was something very different about this day.

"A man or creature that fights with nothing to lose is the most dangerous of all foes, and frogs don't like that" I could hear Crazy Kotter say. Crazy Kotter was an old man that worked as a lumber hand. It was said that at one time he was next in line to become captain of the guards before the horse accident that left him without his wits, or thats what most people believed. I found that pearls could be gleamed from the rantings of this old crazy man and I listened to all he had to say. It was from his huge hands that he passed down to me his old practice greatsword ...... that is once I had proven myself with his axe and many trees that now make up the new portculis.

Tryant was fighting with nothing to lose. He frantically slashed at me from behind his shield with wild arcing passes in hopes of connecting with sword or....anything. The slash across my arm was begining to bleed along with the slash across my thigh. I decided to do an old trick that Crazy Kotter had taught me years ago. I began to circle around Tryants shield side until he was forced to turn that way to keep the shield between us. Once his steps showed the same cadence I chose the moment Crazy Kotter had taught me to look for. The step, the swing, the crack, an then finally the falling. Later the story would talk of the many pieces the shield shattered into after my strike and how easly Tryant fell after that. True the plan was to hit him in the transition of his weight from one foot to the other. However the shield splintering and flying apart came from somewhere deep and dark and.......who knows of such things.

I don't know whose look was more suprised, the look on Tryant's face as I looked down upon him, or when I turned and to my surprise saw the look of my father and the leaders of the Rebellion looking on as they, no doubt, had been doing from the start of the fight.

-- by Ben McCabe

Courbon-Hathenian Pronunciation Guide

2005-08-15T23:45:00.000-07:00

Hathaine ("ha-THENN")
Hathenian ("ha-THEEN-ian") - someone from the cities of Hathaine
The Courbonne ("coor-BUN") ["U" as in "lung"]
Courbon ("CUR-bun") [rhymes with "Bourbon"] - someone from the Courbonne
Cour ("COOR") - member of the barbarian tribe that settled the Courbonne centuries ago

The cities of Hathaine and the Courbonne:

Suzergne ("soo-ZAIRN-ya")
Auralenne ("or-a-LEN")
Guillaux ("gee-OH") [not "jee-OH"]
Embordaille ("om-board-EYE")
Avlano ("ahv-LAHN-oh")
Tourlons ("tour-LON")
Cymes ("SEEM")
Nyreuil ("nee-ROI")
Surmont ("soor-MON")
Entrents ("on-TRON")
Joyeuse ("jwah-YUZ") ["j" pronounced like "s" in "treasure", "u" as in "put"]
Thaloais ("THAL-oh-way")
Molliens ("mol-ee-EN")
Chateaucour ("sha-toh-COOR") [means "Cour Castle"]
Couer du Cour ("CUR-doo-coor") [means "Heart of the Cour"]

General note on spellings: intended to imitate French.

Lukas' Nightmare

2005-08-15T23:43:00.001-07:00

In your nightmare, you are walking in a wooded area at night. You come upon a clearing. In the clearling is an immense corpse wearing shining armor and carrying a sword an shield.

As you watch, wolves feast ravenously on the corpse under the light of a bright golden yellow star. They devour the corpse quickly, and when they finish, the star winks out, then they turn, still hungry, to you.

Oberon's Nightmare

2005-08-15T23:43:00.000-07:00

In your nightmare, you and a priest are running across an ocean. Ahead of you is the setting sun, sinking ever lower. You are chasing it, knowing that there is great danger if the sun sets.

As you get closer, you can see the Dragon-Chariot of Aruntus pulling the sun across the sky. You come closer and closer to the sun, but you notice the priest falls further and further behind.

Finally, you catch the setting sun, and hop into the Dragon-pulled Chariot. Aruntus is not there, as he is in the legends. You try and slow the golden dragons down, but they pay you no heed. The priest falls further behind, and appears only a speck in the distance. You call out to him to hurry, but he seems to give up.

In the distance, you see him fall to the ground dead, and a terrible horde of wraiths and spirits spill from his corpse, darkening the land.

Elias' Nightmare

2005-08-15T23:42:00.002-07:00

In your nightmare, you are in bed in an unfamiliar chamber. You hear scampering in the room, and you know there is something there in the room with you. You call out hesistantly, "Father?", but there is no answer.

Suddenly before you on the bed appears a small greenish demon with spiky horns and bat wings. "Hello, boy. I'm your only friend."

Willa's Nightmare

2005-08-15T23:42:00.001-07:00

In your nightmare. you are sneaking up a mountain. After a long and arduous climb, you see a hooded man in a gray cloak whose face you cannot see looking into the sun.

You steal closer to him, but he does not seem to notice you. When you reach him, you notice he is leaning on a staff. You put your hand on his shoulder, but he does not turn to you.

You grab his staff from him and still he does not turn. Then in anger and frustration, you snap his staff over you knee. The hooded man finally turns to you, revealing only a skull underneath his hood, with tiny reflections of the sun visible in the eye sockets. "You did this to me. And now you will suffer." he says.

Elissa's Nightmare

2005-08-15T23:42:00.000-07:00

In your nightmare, you are still in the crypts under the Castle of the Star. You are weeping before a tomb asking some long-dead relative for guidance, when suddenly you feel a sharp pain in your back.

You turn only to see a strange and hideous creature, gaunt and gangly with gray skin and a completely featureless face. The creature wields a dagger covered in blood. He stabs you again.

Simon's Nightmare

2005-08-15T23:41:00.000-07:00

In your nightmare, you are lying on a hard flat surface. Above you is a night of inky blackness, and around you, are cold steel furnishings. Three strange bipedal creatures with purple leathery skin, cruel onyx eyes and tentacles around their mouths peer over you as they prod your skull with sharp instruments. Each prod is accompanied by a sharp pain punctuating a dull ache.

As you listen to the strange utterances of the creatures, they gradually become understandable.

"But what is the significance of this Eye of the Avatar? The subject was too forthcoming about this. It makes no sense." says the first.

A second, just out of sight, replies, "It is a sphere the size of the fist that emits a yellow radiation of low amplitude. The subject seems unnaturally concerned about it."

"I agree" nods the third one, "but I think we digress. This object means nothing to us if we cannot find the subject's... wait.. someone is watching us... look here."

The three leave your view, and suddenly the pain increases dramatically. You scream, and the last image of your nightmare is that of a large red sun dawning out the window over a barren rocky landscape.

The Months of the Year

2005-08-07T16:39:00.000-07:00

The months of the Elosian Year are:

Harvestal	[September]	[30 days]
Repental	[October]	[31 days]
Northwind	[November]	[30 days]
Hearth	[December]	[31 days]
Ystal	[January]	[31 days]
Redemptal	[Febrary]	[28 days]
Neirtal	[March]	[31 days]
Renaissal	[April]	[30 days]
Narduntal	[May]	[31 days]
Union	[June]	[30 days]
Pyreth	[July]	[31 days]
Apocalypse	[August]	[31 days]

Harmonant Family Tree

2005-08-07T15:54:00.000-07:00

King Harl Harmonant, King of Prendor, Duke of Benth - age 65

his wife, Queen Joanna of House Sulcott, the Duchess of Dryadern - age 58
1. their son Prince Patrick, the Crown Prince - died at Mount Aothlenn at the age of 41
  1. his wife Jeanne of House Avayle - died at Mount Aothlenn at the age of 34
2. their daughter Princess Rosaline - age 40
  1. her husband Othelius the Mourner - died at Mount Aothlenn at an unknown age
3. their son Prince William, called William the Exile - age 39
  1. his wife Emilia of House Zornhart - age 19
4. their son Prince Edward - age 37
  1. his wife Marlina of House Claremont - died of illness in 1399 AF at age 29
5. their son Prince Brandon, Baeler of Oldshire - age 36
6. their son Prince Gideon, called "Gideon Starlight" - died at Mount Aothlenn at the age of 35
  1. his wife Flora of House Bale - died at Mount Aothlenn at the age of 35

- his bastard half-brother Sir Victor Balroy, the Chancellor - age 63

Ages listed are as of Apocalypse 1, 1400 AF. The tragic explosion at Mount Aothlenn that claimed so many lives occurred on Pyreth 2, 1400 AF.

House Harmonant is the Royal Family of Prendor. They trace their line back to King Randolph Kirkfall-Harmonant, the adopted son of King Eric the Prisoner, son of King Wendel the Good. They can trace their line back further to the time of the founding of Prendor to Duke Thadeus Kirkfall of Archondel. The symbol of House Harmonant is a white star on a blue field.

Josiah's Midnight Caper

2005-08-05T08:23:00.000-07:00

The wooden walls of the abbey’s upper floors shook with the blustering weather outside. The fierce Oldshire weather had kept Josiah awake many nights his first year at the abbey, but he had long since become accustomed to its raucous song. This storm was worse than any he had heard until now; he did not know if it would keep him from sleeping, because Josiah had no intention of trying.

The other abbey residents had all turned in after the twilight devotions, and the crude water clock Josiah had made in his lesson with Brother Adrimand (it was really just a pitcher and metal pail with a tiny hole in the side near the bottom) told him it was now three hours later. The waiting had been unbearable, but now he crept from his bed and from his cell.

He had long since dressed in soft leather to go quietly, and the raging storm was perfect cover for his plan. First, he thought, my accomplice. He silently padded down the corridor, turned left at the junction, and counted a dozen less one doors on the left side of the hall. Kneeling, he pulled a strip of parchment—a seven-pointed star inked on one end—from his pocket and slid the adorned end of it underneath the door. After holding it still for a count of five, the parchment was withdrawn and Josiah moved to make room for Owen to step into the hall.

A prearranged conversation, all gestures and facial expressions, took place between the two. That idea had been Owen’s and seemed far better than scratching with quills in the middle of the hall to Josiah, although the limited vocabulary frustrated him. Still, Owen had insisted it was the best way. And he would know, Josiah admitted. Owen had been a carpenter’s apprentice in Couer du Cour, but the carpenter training him had had too little time to drink all the liquor he bought in a week and teach Owen, also, so the resourceful boy had found a man willing to protect him if he would cut a few purse strings and give the man half. Not long after that, a kind priest had taken the time to get the clever boy onto the right path and into an abbey where his wits might be put to use.

And, oh, what a use it is, thought Josiah enthusiastically. The inferred message from the gestures had been that all the components of their device were prepared and wrapped in scraps of cloth for stealth, then bundled in a spare robe of Owen’s they had tied like a sack. The duo was now moving down the abbey stairs to their destination. A grin crept over Josiah’s face as he imagined the stern reprimand from Adrimand about their misuse of the sciences and of their wits, about the poor, beset upon, Prior-Arristant Walter, and all the time Adrimand would be fighting off a smile—maybe a laugh, even, if they did their work well. Then, unexpectedly, he imagined what his father would say to their night’s work when he heard.

“You were sent away for just this sort of foolishness,” his imaginary father said. “Your uncle Brandon has kept you well and with the best sorts of tutors, opened a great possibility for advancement in the Elosian Temple to you, and you repay his generosity with ingratitude and spite. Just as well you join the priesthood, now. I will not have you

back here and performing all kinds of mischief like what you did to poor Sir Waylan.” Josiah would have tried to look guilty about that incident if his father really were scolding him; he even fooled himself enough to cast his eyes down in shame momentarily before he came to his senses and smirked at his past inventiveness.

“He should be whipped,” Sir Waylan had hollered. Sir Waylan Muld was the captain of his father’s guard, and a humorless clod. “A prince must have more manners, more… decency!”

“He is a boy of ten, Sir Waylan, and, yes, a prince. And you are quite bold to tell us what we are to do with him—especially in light of his, and our, birth.” His mother, the princess Flora, had been extremely calm with the blustery knight, as Josiah remembered it. She had smiled to put Muld at ease, then, and said, “He will be made to understand the severity of the insult he has given you, sir. We value your service to our family. Leave us, now, good sir.”

“What is to be done with me, father?” Josiah had asked. Before his parents, he was always dutiful. He had thought it the least he could do to compensate for his lack of martial character. His twin, his elder brother, even his sister, they all were showing greater promise with arms than Josiah. It had still been too early to know for sure, but the younger ones would probably be surpassing him before much longer, too. Willa had already grown taller than him, though she was two years younger—And another girl, he reflected bitterly—but mother said Willa had come from a land where they grew bigger and stronger. When he was about his daily mischief, Josiah could forget how much of a disappointment he was, but every time he faced his parents he writhed with a loathing of his own failings.

“Your uncle Brandon is here, you remember?” his father had started.

Josiah had not understood. Just yell father. Why do you pretend so much? I know I should be more like Elias. I could be a great knight, I know I can. But his father had not known these thoughts.

“Look at me, Josiah. You are not to be punished, not as such. I think you will continue to worsen if you remain here. There is not enough to occupy you, son—you are too clever for your own health. And definitely too clever for Sir Waylan’s. That vile sludge you dumped on him came from the bowels of an ill stallion? Your talent for giving insult is without measure. You must learn restraint.”

“Prince Brandon has kindly offered you a place at the Abbey of Loren of Oldshire, which adjoins with the Solarium of Oldshire,” his mother, the Princess Flora, had then intoned. “We believe it best you accept this offer, especially in light of this incident. We ask you to remember always that you are not being punished. This is a great opportunity. It may be the Temple will offer more opportunities than knighthood for one with such cleverness as you.”

And within two days, his uncle, the Prince Brandon, Baeler of Oldshire, was taking Josiah to his new home. He had found the schooling a welcome challenge, and he loved the Brother Adrimand from whom he learned the principles of mechanics. He had taught Josiah and Owen the nature of pumps, of gears, levers, pulleys, counterweights, and of springs all with such zeal the pair often forgot he was a Brother. A mistake made, apparently, too often and by too many for the liking of the Prior-Arristant Walter—chief among the brothers of the abbey. And like as Owen and Josiah had found themselves to be, they were alike in this as well: the Prior-Arristant could not be allowed to publicly disdain their beloved mentor without punishment being meted out.

And so, with care and silence, the pair of young vigilantes went to perform their most daring act of vengeance on the Prior-Arristant to date. They had slipped softly, successful thus far in their stealth, into the chamber behind the chapel antechamber, where the ranking members of the abbey kept their vestments for more formal occasions, such as the Festival of Midwinter which occurred on the morrow.

Josiah and Owen unwrapped the parts of their invention on the rush-covered chamber floor, and then began to studiously assemble the rank of linked weapons. The devices resembled nothing so much as miniature siege engines, inspired by Josiah’s own lessons in the history of warfare at his old home in the Castle of the Star.

The little engines of war were to be arranged facing out from the cabinet in which the most expensive articles of ceremony were stored. Certainly, it would be the last stage in Prior-Arristant Walter’s preparations for the celebration—a crucial point in the scheming of this nights activities. The only hurdle was the lock.

Josiah pulled out a long, thin sewing needle with a makeshift handle made of wrapped gauze at one end and began to work the lock as best he knew how. The mechanism of locks was a recent lesson to him from Adrimand, but he felt confident

this one would pose no trouble. Just when he thought he had fixed the last tumbler, though, his grip on the gauze shifted and the handle of his improvised pick began to unravel. Josiah cursed, a sound barely audible in another place, but dangerously loud in the clandestine territory he and Owen wandered.

Owen made the move to take over the work, and Josiah nodded. He stood and stretched his muscles, tight from fear and excitement. It took minutes, but the lock was soon open, and the work was almost done.

Everything was arranged as planned. The trap was armed; its ammunition was the spoil of a raid on the kitchens two nights before. Josiah lay on his back and affixed the triggering mechanism to the cabinet door. So when it opens, Walter finds a surprise waiting for him. The trap thus set, they replaced the lock, muffled their tools again, and

bundled everything into the robe to carry back to Owen’s cell. But as they turned for the door, they heard a voice that grew louder as it spoke.

“—and rouse him from his cell, at once. I must prepare to treat with royal company.” Josiah recognized the voice immediately.

That’s the Prior-Arristant! What is he doing awake at this time of night? And why is he here? We’re sure for flogging, he thought, or worse. The door flung open, and Josiah and Owen stood like cattle fit for slaughter in the blazing torchlight.

“Brother,” bellowed Walter over his shoulder, his voice gruff with sleepy tones. “You may leave off your task, for it would seem the young man is here already.” The two boys exchanged looks of sheer terror, each hoping the other was the one to whom the Prior-Arristant referred. Their faces twitched nervously back to the older man as he began to address them.

“I have no doubt you were up to complete knavery, you idiotic children.” As he spoke he lit the wall sconces. “Yet you are fortunate to be awake, my boy. There is a royal uncle of yours here to see you. Well, two, for the truth, but the Baeler is often hereabouts—though not at this hour to be sure. He has demanded immediate audience, and you are to be there, as well. Your other uncle, that is. Now, I must prepare. Brother Hugh, take the other boy back to his cell.” The last he addressed to the brother whom he had nearly sent to find Josiah. Owen was relieved enough to be dismissed that he forgot to grace Brother Hugh with the disdain he generally lavished on Hugh and all his fellow Courbons.

“Now,” the Prior-Arristant began when the other two had left, “you must wait here while I prepare myself. You are not bound by function to appear in finery, which is just as well. I would not let you from my sight, especially this night. While I dress, you must tell me what mischief you were wreaking. Well, spit it out.”

“We… we—well, sir, Prior-Arristant—we meant to merely see the raiment… Try them on, perhaps.” The lie sounded weak, as he told it. Josiah knew, however, that it would not have to hold long when he saw the older man retrieving a key from the dressing table by the chamber door.

“I doubt that. No doubt you meant larceny. That petty urchin with whom you associate will tempt the witch’s blood in you to sully your heritage. Most uncouth. He should be turned out of the abbey.” The slow grumbling diatribe hardly impeded his rapid dressing. The finery of his office was far from ostentatious, but imposing, nonetheless. He had arrived, finally, before the locked door of the cabinet which Josiah had so recently struggled to open. “And Adrimand no doubt indulges you, too much. Elven blood in him, they say. Well, a stricter—AAAAH!”

As the door opened, a trio of very large eggs struck Prior-Arristant Walter almost simultaneously—two in the chest, one in the face. A fourth sailed over his bald head, and in spite of himself, Josiah winced at the poorly calculated aim of the last catapult arm in the set. I warned Owen it would overshoot.

“You insolent— !!!!” The Prior-Arristant stood quivering with rage. His mouth, wide and gulping air, though speechless with abhorrence and shock, looked too large for his narrow, wrinkled, bony face. The whole man shook like a hut made of twigs in a turbulent storm.

“Enough, Prior-Arristant.” When the Baeler of Oldshire spoke, it was like the sound of some ancient god’s war drums. “You will have to wear a different robe and wash your face. Convey my greetings to my brother, the Crown Prince Patrick, and inform him that our nephew is missing from his cell. That will be no lie, since it would appear he is. Then excuse yourself and return to me here.”

“Yes, Your Eminence.” And the Prior-Arristant was gone.

“Your Eminence—I…”

“Josiah, your actions do not grieve me as they might have yesterday. Such light cares are for lighter times. You must leave, and now. The realm is troubled.”

“Uncle? I mean, Your Eminence?” Josiah suddenly began to feel the weariness of his restless watch since dusk.

“I cannot explain but to say that your father and the king have argued and worse. Your father is now a rebel. Duke Baldwin Pendall of Archondel will be here at the dawn, and will take you as a hostage for my royal father if you are found here. Patrick said as much, when he arrived not an hour gone to warn of Archondel’s impending arrival. I would keep you from being so crude a pawn in this, but I dare not act too openly; I do not know how the Temple will go in this case.”

“But, Uncle Brandon, what would they argue so harshly over?”

“The Avatars. My royal father would see them demolished. Quickly. Go to Adrimand with this seal. You and he will flee through the gates in disguise and he will surely find a way to convey you to your mother’s lands in Mystria. From there, your safe passage is more sure. Go now, and go softly. It would seem you have learned to do that with skill. More work is still to be done here to ensure your secrecy.”

As he and Adrimand escaped the Black Swan Mountains by a tiny boat buffeted by the icy waters of a mountain stream, the sun began to rise, sending its light directly into Josiah’s face. The air was bitterly cold, but the rowing kept Josiah warm. Brother Adrimand stirred and sat up; he had taken a shift at the oars before Josiah.

“I see it is snowing,” he remarked as he stretched and rubbed warmth into his limbs.

“It’s been doing that an hour, now. Maybe more.”

“Excellent. That should do for our footprints. If only our stomachs would be so agreeable as to be filled by a little snowfall.” He smiled. When he got no response from his pupil, he changed his theme. “Today is the solstice, you know. The Festival of Midwinter always falls on the winter solstice. It’s a little recognized fact that Midwinter used to be a celebration observed by the worshippers of Narduna.”

Josiah nodded, staring at the diminishing figures in the distance behind his teacher. The early solstice sun was gleaming from a sword held aloft by three figures of pure white stone. The Avatars, he thought. He had seen them up close only once, although they were not so far from the abbey. Their apparent diminutiveness was a trick of distance. The statues were the tallest artificial thing Josiah had ever seen, easily several hundred feet taller than the tallest tower in the Castle of the Star. The three massive figures were reported to be the gods Elos and Adonahane and the goddess Narduna.

There were many myths relating to the origin of The Avatars, and there had once been dozens of such statues up and down the Long Sea, but nobody agreed on the truth of their creation, nor of their purpose. But why go to such lengths to destroy them? Josiah was baffled. Sacrilege, the priests said, but it wasn’t so when they were made, or something on that scale could never have been achieved. But maybe they are meant to show the subservience of Elos to some other deity, as some scholars supposed, in which case, why would my parents fight to preserve them?

Josiah was becoming too exhausted from his night’s exertions and gave up the self-catechism. Grunting his intent, he switched seats with Brother Adrimand, glad to have the brightening sun out of his eyes. He looked back one more time before giving up on the waking world, imagining he could see the glowing yellow eyes of the alabaster gods which, stand or fall, seemed to be crushing his life beneath their ponderous weight.

-- by Kyle Friesen

Encyclopedia: Prendor

2005-08-04T22:25:00.000-07:00

Prendor

Capital: Larrae

Population: about 8 million

Government: Monarchy

Religions: Elosians, Mourners, Druids, Justiciars, followers of the Prophet Eric de Caember

Exports: wool, tin, gold, tree cotton, olive oil, tropical hardwood lumber, wine, tropical fruits, manufactured goods

Imports: silk, ivory, spices, incense, dyes, ceramics

Alignment: Lawful Neutral

Regions: Gloriana, Brascany, Benth, the Courbonne, Oldshire, Pyraea, Thune, Archondel, Mystria

Geography
---------------
Prendor extends from the Long Sea to the Blue Mountains, and from the River Peacewatch to the Black Swan Mountains. It is bordered by Hathaine, Wynt, Altara, Geonia, and Turingard.

Prendor possesses a large variety of landscapes, ranging from coastal plains in the east and southwest, where Prendor borders the Archon Bay and Long Sea, to the mountain ranges of the North and West. The extensive river basins of the Walex, Tweeden, and Ballybrook rivers in Gloriana, and the Kynd and Archon rivers of Archondel provide Prendor with excellent farmlands. The largest forests of Prendor are the Hauntwood in northern Gloriana, the Mystwood of Mystria, Mourningwood in the Courbonne, and the Royal Forest in the Brascan Vale.

History
---------------
The borders of Prendor roughly equal the borders of the historic Thorcian province of Walex. Very little is known about this time in Prendor's history as Walex was sparsely populated and poorly mapped by the Thorcians. The Prendor's capital city Larrae was also the capital of Walex, and is the only Thorcian city that still stands in the Long Sea region.

The modern nation of Prendor was founded in the year 450 in the Age of Faith (the Current Age) by the Harmonants of Benth. The Harmonants were a family of wealthy Thorcian bureaucrats that rose to prominence in Larrae as viceroys in the last days of the Thorcian Empire. Thereafter, they served as Kings of Benth until around 450 AF when King Wendel the Great united the barbarian tribes around him into the new nation of Prendor.

Prendor was ruled continuously by the Harmonant Dynasty until the 24-year Muld Dynasty interregnum of 975-999 AF. During the Simbelese War of 999 AF, the Harmonant dynasty resurfaced, as the last scion of the Harmonants regained the throne by adopting Randolph Kirkfall, the boy leader of the rebellion as his heir. King Randolph is the only Prendorian King considered to have two reigns. The current phase of the Harmonant Dynasty is sometimes considered a separate dynasty, called the Kirkfall-Harmonant Dynasty.

In 1250 AF, the phenomenon known as the Long Winter descended upon the nations of the Long Sea. The Long Winter brought a seemingly endless freeze, with poor crop yields, famines, frozen shorelines, and reduced trade. It is unknown how many people died, but suffering was widespread. It was during this time that the Heresy of the Spring Sun took many away from the official teachings of the Temple of Elos. Farmers quickly learned to cultivate hardycorn, a bland and mushy corn that grew historically in the lands of the Northmen and produced edible seeds in freezing temperatures.

In 1321 AF, fiery Mount Arden erupted far to the north, destroying the homes of many Northmen. As a result, they moved south, conquering and pillaging their new trading partners in Hathaine, Wynt, and Prendor along the way. They were led by Ingvar Vylkur, called Ingvar the Scourge by his enemies. Prendor fought off five separate invasions over the 29 years of war called Ingvar's War.

In 1355, Prendor went to war again, this time with its neighbor to the West, Altara. In what was known as Sir Philip's War, a conflict lasting 35 years, Prendor and Altara fought largely to a draw. The war began when a young King Harl discovered his wife Queen Adelaide and his chancellor Sir Philip were having an affair. Both were put to death. However, Queen Adelaide was the daughter of King Ryan of Altara. The nation of Altara clamored for revenge, and attacked Prendor. The war tragically claimed the lives of most of Altara's royal family. In 1390 at the Treaty of Trone, King Barnard of Altara and King Harl of Prendor arranged for an end to the conflict.

In 1392, Duke Thor Indrake of Thune, a descendant of Ingvar the Scourge, rebelled against King Harl. Thor's Rebellion was short-lived. It was quashed in 1393, and King Harl keeps Duke Thor's three sons as wards in Larrae.

Prendor is currently in the midst of a civil war, known popularly as the Prince's Rebellion since it was initially led by Crown Prince Patrick, the son of the King. Prince Patrick revolted when King Harl ordered the destruction of the Colossal Avatars at Mount Aothlenn in Oldshire. He was joined by his brothers Prince William, Prince Edward, and Prince Gideon. Other notable nobles joining the rebellion were Duke Nathaniel Gryne of the Courbonne, Duke Stephen Kierny of Oldshire, Duke Draco Furon of Pyraea, Duke Simon Bale of Mystria, and Chancellor Othelius the Mourner.

In a horrific and unexplainable explosion at Mount Aothlenn, many of the leaders of the Prince's Rebellion were killed, including Crown Prince Patrick himself and his brother Prince Gideon. The only territories remaining in rebellion are Pyraea, Mystria, and Oldshire.

Government and Politics
-----------------------
Prendor is a feudal monarchy, ruled by King Harl Harmonant II. His closest advisors are Patriarch of Prendor Thomas Prior, Coinmaster Jay Melicter, Captain of the Royal Guard Sir Alec Presten, Royal Physician Luther Stills, High Sentinel Rowan Marsh, and Chancellor Sir Victor Balroy, the King's bastard half-brother. The heir to the throne was until recently Crown Prince Patrick, King Harl's eldest son. Since his death during the Prince's Rebellion, King Harl has named his third son Prince Edward the Crown Prince.

Prendor is divided into nine Duchies: Archondel, Benth, Brascany, the Courbonne, Gloriana, Mystria, Oldshire, Pyraea, and Thune. Each is ruled by a duke who maintains his own military and owes fealty to the King of Prendor. The Duchies are subdivided into Counties, and Counties into Baronies. Inheritance in Prendor is by strict primogeniture. Although women are prohibited from ruling directly, many wield influence and power behind the scenes.

Religion
--------

The Official Religion of Prendor is the worship of Elos the Sunlord. The head of the Temple of Elos is the Semptenar, who reigns in the Temple of the Brilliant Sun in Coronen, Altara. The head of the Prendorian branch of the Temple is Thomas Prior, Patriarch of Prendor. A baeler or baeless is appointed underneath him to manage the priests and priestesses in each duchy.

A temple structure may be managed by a priest or priestess, or an arristant, a trained lay priest or priestess. In some rural communities, where a trained religious leader is unavailable, the temple will be led by an untrained lay leader, called a goodman or goodwoman.

Significant religious minorities include Mourners, Druids, Justiciars, and the followers of the Prophet Eric de Caember.