Our group of brave warriors (and one elderly woman) successfully managed to free the village, its inhabitants, the smith, and everyone else in the surrounding forests from the undead plague initiated by the witch and her son.
As the bedraggled group arrives back in the village early in the morning the brave dwarf Torkam (Son of Darkon) invites them into his humble (temporary) abode (the town hall) and heals their wounds and soothes their souls. Due to his close connection with the mighty god Moradin (all praise to Moradin!), he immediately feels the dark and evil incarnation of death in some of his fellow group members. Luckily (all praise to Moradin!) he can channel Moradin's divine power and remove the dirty stain of death from those who were inflicted with it (of course, the Demon showed no signs of influence by the deathly sins; surprise? I think not!!).
After Torkam (Son of Darkon) got rid of the last signs of death (the old lady was particularly inflicted) he insists to check out Ground Zero of the deathly plague, to make sure none of it will ever rise again. Upon returning to the hut the group finds the following:
- herbs, medicine, poison (6 times, 1D3 damage per round for one minute, CON save: DC12)
- a book illustrating local herbs and plants (30GP)
- a book about mummification (45GP)
- a book set about her evil God (100GP)
- oil painting of her son (25GP).
Upon feeling the evil in the house, Torkam (Son of Darkon) suggest to immediately burn down the house and all its contents (especially the (un)dead bodies). After removing anything remotely valuable the feisty wizard happily starts throwing fireballs into the house, until there is nothing left but scorched earth.
The group returns back to the village in the evening and is offered 50GP per person by the grateful mayor for all the work they have done and the dangers they have endured. Tired but happy (except for the wizard who is cranky most of the time, the old lady who keeps babbling about weird stuff, the ranger who is just generally unhappy, and the demon who is a demon and therefore rarely happy by definition) they settle down for another long rest.
Friday 26 April 2019
Tuesday 12 March 2019
Skamos, always the stranger
The door to the inn creaked ominously, but the interior and the locals looked amiable enough at first glance. At least as amiable as he could expect as someone with red skin and horns, a look generally not often found in these lands. He entered the taproom and, as he was used to, the room fell silent. He said a friendly greeting, put on a casual smile, and walked to a free table at the far end of the room near the bar. He could feel all eyes on him, something that he got used to over the years. He put his sling bag next to him, just so that the neck of his lute stuck out. He looked into the room in front of him. A lot of commoners, farmers or craftsmen, and only one other single individual, maybe a travelling merchant by the looks of it. As far as he could determine, none of the thugs of the local government. Good.
A barmaid approached him warily. He could see that the older barmaid and the landlord had sent her, the youngest, to deal with the scary stranger. "Hello traveller. Do you want something to eat or drink?". He smiled at her and with his dark melodic voice asked "I would love to. If the food in this inn is as good as its barmaids, I'll have to order more than intended. What can you offer young lady?". She smiled shyly. "Oh, thank you. We have a simple rabbit stew tonight and it is definitely tastier than me" she said and suddenly jumped in horror "Oh sorry, I ... I didn't mean ... I mean, I didn't want to suggest you eatin' someone ... I'm sorry. So sorry ...". She started to turn away from him when he chuckled and smiled comfortingly at her "Don't worry, I'll only eat nasty children and mothers-in-law that people offer voluntarily". As he winked at her, she started laughing as well, the nervousness slowly subsiding. "I'll have a large portion of the stew then and a mug of your best ale." She gave him a wide grin "A very good choice! And I'll ask Soren, our chef, whether there are any mothers-in-law he could offer on the side!".
The taproom was back at its usual noise level when she came back with a steaming clay pot and a mug. "There we go!". "Thank you very much .... what is your name, if I may ask?" "You may! I'm Brenna, the daughter of Lennis, who runs this inn." She pointed at the man behind the bar who nodded in return. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Brenna. I'm Skamos. One question, would it be possible to acquire a room for the night?" "Oh, sure, I'll ask Lennis." She looked at the neck of the lute sticking out of the bag. "Are you a travelling bard?" "I am indeed!" Her look became hopeful. "Would you play for us tonight or tell us stories from far away? We do not get many visitors, especially not on days when snatch wagons are said to come through. Usually, people try to hide away, lest they are taken as well." He looked up. "Snatch wagons? You mean the prison transports?" "Yes, but they don't only take prisoners no more. If we don't have prisoners, they often take one of us. Say that a quota has to be met and we are all guilty of something. These are dangerous times, they are!". "They surely are. But if I can lighten the mood or lift some spirits, I'm happy to play some music after the meal."
After he had finished the stew and oiled his throat with the quite heavy ale, he took out his pan flute, leaned back, and started to play a well-known folk song. After the first few notes, heads lifted and turned to look at him and he could see the occasional smile as the melody was recognised. It was a song about a plentiful harvest in happy times. He switched to a more juicy song about a barmaid and a stranger and winked to Brenna who turned a deep shade of red. He could feel the room now. Some people starting singing or humming. He could hear laughter. The room warmed up to him. Time to work his magic.
Two hours and a lot of ale later, the room had gathered around him. His magic had worked. The crowd was captivated, some even enthralled by his music and his dark voice. He had switched to his lute and was singing songs from far-away lands, about longing for freedom, or the ocean, or the girl next door. Only a few customers had stayed back at the far end and still eyed him over their mugs. But he didn't care. He had managed to befriend the people. They loved him by now. Some even had left and came back with friends or family. Lennis had even offered to bring food and beer for free if only he'd continue to sing. He, of course, happily obliged. A friendly town would mean he could stay for a while and maybe even earn his lodgings. Maybe a few nights in a bed and not some stable or shack.
Sound woke him from a nice dream. Before he could identify what it was, a leather strap was forced over his face into his mouth to pin him to the bed and stop him from speaking or screaming. Other hands had caught his legs and arms before he could react and started to bind him. So much for managing to become friends, he thought. He heard someone say that at least they now have someone to offer to the snatchers. Of course. He could not even resent them. If there is a chance that someone of your friends could be taken, the decision is always the same. Take the weird looking guy. Take the stranger.
---
The cart rumbled along the rutty path and Skamos looked at the three humans that huddled together on the other side of the cage. "Don't worry, I won't eat you. I'm an innocent victim as much as you!" The guys nodded but gave no sign that they believe him. He thought back to the time when he was standing in the realm of Phlegethos in the 4th level of Hell, overlooking the fields of fire. He was a warrior in the army of Fierna fighting in the Blood War. Yes, that was the time when humans should have feared him. But that was almost 30 years ago. Times change. He had brought enough creatures into the grasp of Fierna to be allowed to roam the mortal plane. And this had changed him. Living alone, being despised by most creatures you meet, had changed him. His kind are widely dispersed in these lands - he only has met a handful of Tieflings on his travel - and the only aim by now was to survive. People did not trust him because of his appearance and he did not trust people because his trust was always broken. He did not hate them for it, he could even understand it to a degree. His kind did cause enough suffering. Other lords were not so subtle as Fierna.
He sighed and leaned back against the cage. He saw that the villagers had handed all his stuff to his captors who threw it onto the waggon. They were survivors, not thieves after all. But that meant his instruments were still within reach and there might be a chance at the next stop to find, if not friends, at least allies. Although he usually took not much interest in the politics of this realm, the queen and her thugs really started to get on his nerves.
A barmaid approached him warily. He could see that the older barmaid and the landlord had sent her, the youngest, to deal with the scary stranger. "Hello traveller. Do you want something to eat or drink?". He smiled at her and with his dark melodic voice asked "I would love to. If the food in this inn is as good as its barmaids, I'll have to order more than intended. What can you offer young lady?". She smiled shyly. "Oh, thank you. We have a simple rabbit stew tonight and it is definitely tastier than me" she said and suddenly jumped in horror "Oh sorry, I ... I didn't mean ... I mean, I didn't want to suggest you eatin' someone ... I'm sorry. So sorry ...". She started to turn away from him when he chuckled and smiled comfortingly at her "Don't worry, I'll only eat nasty children and mothers-in-law that people offer voluntarily". As he winked at her, she started laughing as well, the nervousness slowly subsiding. "I'll have a large portion of the stew then and a mug of your best ale." She gave him a wide grin "A very good choice! And I'll ask Soren, our chef, whether there are any mothers-in-law he could offer on the side!".
The taproom was back at its usual noise level when she came back with a steaming clay pot and a mug. "There we go!". "Thank you very much .... what is your name, if I may ask?" "You may! I'm Brenna, the daughter of Lennis, who runs this inn." She pointed at the man behind the bar who nodded in return. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Brenna. I'm Skamos. One question, would it be possible to acquire a room for the night?" "Oh, sure, I'll ask Lennis." She looked at the neck of the lute sticking out of the bag. "Are you a travelling bard?" "I am indeed!" Her look became hopeful. "Would you play for us tonight or tell us stories from far away? We do not get many visitors, especially not on days when snatch wagons are said to come through. Usually, people try to hide away, lest they are taken as well." He looked up. "Snatch wagons? You mean the prison transports?" "Yes, but they don't only take prisoners no more. If we don't have prisoners, they often take one of us. Say that a quota has to be met and we are all guilty of something. These are dangerous times, they are!". "They surely are. But if I can lighten the mood or lift some spirits, I'm happy to play some music after the meal."
After he had finished the stew and oiled his throat with the quite heavy ale, he took out his pan flute, leaned back, and started to play a well-known folk song. After the first few notes, heads lifted and turned to look at him and he could see the occasional smile as the melody was recognised. It was a song about a plentiful harvest in happy times. He switched to a more juicy song about a barmaid and a stranger and winked to Brenna who turned a deep shade of red. He could feel the room now. Some people starting singing or humming. He could hear laughter. The room warmed up to him. Time to work his magic.
Two hours and a lot of ale later, the room had gathered around him. His magic had worked. The crowd was captivated, some even enthralled by his music and his dark voice. He had switched to his lute and was singing songs from far-away lands, about longing for freedom, or the ocean, or the girl next door. Only a few customers had stayed back at the far end and still eyed him over their mugs. But he didn't care. He had managed to befriend the people. They loved him by now. Some even had left and came back with friends or family. Lennis had even offered to bring food and beer for free if only he'd continue to sing. He, of course, happily obliged. A friendly town would mean he could stay for a while and maybe even earn his lodgings. Maybe a few nights in a bed and not some stable or shack.
Sound woke him from a nice dream. Before he could identify what it was, a leather strap was forced over his face into his mouth to pin him to the bed and stop him from speaking or screaming. Other hands had caught his legs and arms before he could react and started to bind him. So much for managing to become friends, he thought. He heard someone say that at least they now have someone to offer to the snatchers. Of course. He could not even resent them. If there is a chance that someone of your friends could be taken, the decision is always the same. Take the weird looking guy. Take the stranger.
---
The cart rumbled along the rutty path and Skamos looked at the three humans that huddled together on the other side of the cage. "Don't worry, I won't eat you. I'm an innocent victim as much as you!" The guys nodded but gave no sign that they believe him. He thought back to the time when he was standing in the realm of Phlegethos in the 4th level of Hell, overlooking the fields of fire. He was a warrior in the army of Fierna fighting in the Blood War. Yes, that was the time when humans should have feared him. But that was almost 30 years ago. Times change. He had brought enough creatures into the grasp of Fierna to be allowed to roam the mortal plane. And this had changed him. Living alone, being despised by most creatures you meet, had changed him. His kind are widely dispersed in these lands - he only has met a handful of Tieflings on his travel - and the only aim by now was to survive. People did not trust him because of his appearance and he did not trust people because his trust was always broken. He did not hate them for it, he could even understand it to a degree. His kind did cause enough suffering. Other lords were not so subtle as Fierna.
He sighed and leaned back against the cage. He saw that the villagers had handed all his stuff to his captors who threw it onto the waggon. They were survivors, not thieves after all. But that meant his instruments were still within reach and there might be a chance at the next stop to find, if not friends, at least allies. Although he usually took not much interest in the politics of this realm, the queen and her thugs really started to get on his nerves.
Monday 11 March 2019
No Good Deed
Dagni did not like this place. When the mercenary trio accepted the job of rounding up some of the outlying villagers for the bigwigs, he had hoped they would send them to some nice coastal town. Instead they were sent to this damp foggy marshy woodland. Needless to say, he was not happy.
"Oi! Stop the cart, I got ta take a leak!" Baren bellowed from the behind the cage they were hauling. Dagni groaned but stopped the horses pulling the cart. He hoped Baren would be quick, the constant sobbing from the cage's inhabitants had begun to wear on his nerves. "Hurry up ye git!" Girin shouted, also striking the cage with his mace in an attempt to quell the constant whimpering from the fresh slaves. Baren simply muttered something before disappearing into the fog.
"Got a dragon bladder that one." Girin remarked after several minutes of waiting for Baren. "Aye, he drinks like one as-" Dagni began but was suddenly interrupted by a shrill scream that set both dwarves on edge. "What in Morghesa's tits was that?!" Dagni spat while frenetically looking around. "Stay here." Girin said, climbing down from the cart and motioning for Dagni to stay put. He saw Girin wander off into the woods, followed shortly by a shout and a loud crash.
"Damnation." Dagni muttered quickly climbing down and shuffling after Baren. A childlike laughter had started to eminate from Girin's direction. Dagni swore as he called after Girin in a low voice. The laughter had started to echo all around him now and he broke into a sprint towards the woods ahead. Suddenly he tripped, he braced himself for impact but it didn't come when expected. Indeed, it took far longer than he expected and he landed in a hole several feet deep with a bone crunching crash, together with the unconscious body of Girin.
Tristan Von Leytal peered over the hole at the dwarf spewing profanities. "That went better than expected but as predicted." he thought, adjusting a pair of round spectacles. He decided to leave them down there. If they were lucky someone would come and fish them out, if not, well there was probably some good karmic reason for it. He strolled in the direction of their cart filled with prisoners. Tristan didn't really look the part of the hero, being rather bookish, pale, and with a mop of brown hair. Not the kind of heroic figure they would write songs about. Still, he had a legacy to live up to.
His grandfather had been a great hero who had tried to stop the rise of the evil regime currently in power. Sadly he was thwarted in his decisive moment. Their family had suffered dogged persecution for attempting to foil Morghesa but his grandfather's books had contained a wealth of arcane knowledge his family had used to survive. Nowadays Tristan was happy to follow in his grandfather's footsteps, foiling the queen and assisting what villagers he could.
He approached the cage filled with captives, surprised that a scrawny man with a big hat had returned instead of their dwarven captors. "Y'all don't need to worry. I'm gonna set you loose." Tristan said airily. He furrowed his brows as he looked at the lock. Not too difficult, a simple design. He pulled out a crystalline orb and recited the words for an unlocking spell. A loud bang emanated through his head. "Strange..." he thought. "I hadn't finished casting yet." He looked up to see the blurry horrified faces of the prisoners before his vision was swallowed by a sea of black.
---
The first thing Tristan felt was pain. Primarily in his head but then also in his ribs, probably from dwarven retribution. When he came to, he noted that he was bound, gagged, and had now joined his intended rescueés in the cage he was unlocking. He looked around and saw that he had missed a dwarf, with the other two dwarves now retrieved from the hole he had created glaring daggers at him. "Should have known dwarves always come in odd numbers." he thought to himself. He concluded with a final mumbled "Bugger." before slipping back into unconsciousness.
"Oi! Stop the cart, I got ta take a leak!" Baren bellowed from the behind the cage they were hauling. Dagni groaned but stopped the horses pulling the cart. He hoped Baren would be quick, the constant sobbing from the cage's inhabitants had begun to wear on his nerves. "Hurry up ye git!" Girin shouted, also striking the cage with his mace in an attempt to quell the constant whimpering from the fresh slaves. Baren simply muttered something before disappearing into the fog.
"Got a dragon bladder that one." Girin remarked after several minutes of waiting for Baren. "Aye, he drinks like one as-" Dagni began but was suddenly interrupted by a shrill scream that set both dwarves on edge. "What in Morghesa's tits was that?!" Dagni spat while frenetically looking around. "Stay here." Girin said, climbing down from the cart and motioning for Dagni to stay put. He saw Girin wander off into the woods, followed shortly by a shout and a loud crash.
"Damnation." Dagni muttered quickly climbing down and shuffling after Baren. A childlike laughter had started to eminate from Girin's direction. Dagni swore as he called after Girin in a low voice. The laughter had started to echo all around him now and he broke into a sprint towards the woods ahead. Suddenly he tripped, he braced himself for impact but it didn't come when expected. Indeed, it took far longer than he expected and he landed in a hole several feet deep with a bone crunching crash, together with the unconscious body of Girin.
Tristan Von Leytal peered over the hole at the dwarf spewing profanities. "That went better than expected but as predicted." he thought, adjusting a pair of round spectacles. He decided to leave them down there. If they were lucky someone would come and fish them out, if not, well there was probably some good karmic reason for it. He strolled in the direction of their cart filled with prisoners. Tristan didn't really look the part of the hero, being rather bookish, pale, and with a mop of brown hair. Not the kind of heroic figure they would write songs about. Still, he had a legacy to live up to.
His grandfather had been a great hero who had tried to stop the rise of the evil regime currently in power. Sadly he was thwarted in his decisive moment. Their family had suffered dogged persecution for attempting to foil Morghesa but his grandfather's books had contained a wealth of arcane knowledge his family had used to survive. Nowadays Tristan was happy to follow in his grandfather's footsteps, foiling the queen and assisting what villagers he could.
He approached the cage filled with captives, surprised that a scrawny man with a big hat had returned instead of their dwarven captors. "Y'all don't need to worry. I'm gonna set you loose." Tristan said airily. He furrowed his brows as he looked at the lock. Not too difficult, a simple design. He pulled out a crystalline orb and recited the words for an unlocking spell. A loud bang emanated through his head. "Strange..." he thought. "I hadn't finished casting yet." He looked up to see the blurry horrified faces of the prisoners before his vision was swallowed by a sea of black.
---
The first thing Tristan felt was pain. Primarily in his head but then also in his ribs, probably from dwarven retribution. When he came to, he noted that he was bound, gagged, and had now joined his intended rescueés in the cage he was unlocking. He looked around and saw that he had missed a dwarf, with the other two dwarves now retrieved from the hole he had created glaring daggers at him. "Should have known dwarves always come in odd numbers." he thought to himself. He concluded with a final mumbled "Bugger." before slipping back into unconsciousness.
Sunday 10 March 2019
The patient monk who was an impatient bard
Besouro was trained since he was a kid at the monastery of the Capoeira Monks. This monastery, once secluded and very selective with their attendees, opened their doors to new practitioners since the beginning of the reign of Queen Morghesa. Humans and other humanoids, now fleeing from the destruction of the war seek refugee among the walls of the monastery. The monastery stays in a high-plain, on top of the Mount Roraima, in the far north of the continent. The capoeira monks enlist themselves in the ranks of the resistance in order to support the rebellion against the war. For years, Queen Morghesa tried to subdue to the monastery, but old, and foreign, magic protects them from her attacks.
Besouro is a changeling, and his parents died during the war against Queen Morghesa. No one exactly knows where the changelings come from, but due to their abilities, they usually lived hidden among human villages. One of the villages close to the monastery was attacked by the forces of the seven dwarves, and Besouro's family got killed when he was just four years old. He was saved from starvation by Master Bimba, who brought him to the monastery. There, he trained hard and quickly raised on the ranks as a Capoeira Monk. Due to his changeling nature, he was approached by an inner section of the Capoeira Monks to be trained in the Way of Shadows. The Shadow Capoeira Monks are responsible to provide intelligence for the monastery and their allies. They train to become true shadow dancers. Only a few of the high-rank monks know about the true identity of Besouro's race. To the others, he appears as a normal human.
During his training, Besouro got close to a bard that once lived in the monastery. Since Besouro was the only changeling on the entire monastery, he got quite lonely. The bard's songs and tales about changelings was the only source of knowledge he ever had about his people. The bard was old and very wise, had seen the world, he told Besouro. Besouro loved his master, but the bard was the family Besouro never had.
In his young age, the bard had been very famous. He wandered the entire continent, he was a friend of kings and queens. He was very smart, very charismatic and with a strong character. He was super stubborn, and because of the success of his deeds, put himself above everyone else. Albeit his success, the bard lost everything he had, even before the war of Morghese, due to two big problems: he was addicted to luck games, and to women.
After he came back from a very long mission, Besouro found out that the bard had died in an attack from Morghese. Feeling strong anger within himself, Besouro screamed with his mouth and with his soul. His pain was so strong, that at that moment he split in two: he had been struck by the changelings' disease: the second persona. At that moment, a second personality took over Besouro's body: an incarnation of the Bard. Every once in a while, the Bard takes over Besouro's body, he changes his appearance and attains to the most strong characteristics of the bard: arrogant, short-temper, stubborn, and most importantly: addicted to gambling and women. He also becomes much more lovely, charismatic and seductive, contrasting with the monastic and incredibly patience of Besouro. Also, he gets the proficiency in playing the Berimbau, the ancient musical instrument of the Capoeira Monks, which he uses to entertain the crowd.
In one of the missions, the Shadow Capoeira Monks sent him, to spy over the brothers, he got arrested. It was a beginners mistake, he could not control his temper when hearing bad things about the "stupid dancing monks, that jump like monkeys and are useless as worms". The Bard came out and started a big discussion. His sudden change, from the frightened and silent villager he was transformed into the opulent, noise and very angry bard had called the attention of the guards, which had no trouble in arresting him, while in his Bard form, and threw him in a prison cell. Once in prison, the bard gave up, and he could resume his capoeirista form. The guards knew about his identity, but not the nature of his mission. Yet.
True nature: In his natural form, Besouro is slender and pale, with colorless eyes and silver-white long hair.
Bard nature: Human, around 60 years old, white hair, strong features, round body, seductive voice.
Capoeira nature: Black skin, long black dreadlocks, no shirt, long green pants, green, yellow and blue cord around his waist. Very silent.
Besouro is a changeling, and his parents died during the war against Queen Morghesa. No one exactly knows where the changelings come from, but due to their abilities, they usually lived hidden among human villages. One of the villages close to the monastery was attacked by the forces of the seven dwarves, and Besouro's family got killed when he was just four years old. He was saved from starvation by Master Bimba, who brought him to the monastery. There, he trained hard and quickly raised on the ranks as a Capoeira Monk. Due to his changeling nature, he was approached by an inner section of the Capoeira Monks to be trained in the Way of Shadows. The Shadow Capoeira Monks are responsible to provide intelligence for the monastery and their allies. They train to become true shadow dancers. Only a few of the high-rank monks know about the true identity of Besouro's race. To the others, he appears as a normal human.
During his training, Besouro got close to a bard that once lived in the monastery. Since Besouro was the only changeling on the entire monastery, he got quite lonely. The bard's songs and tales about changelings was the only source of knowledge he ever had about his people. The bard was old and very wise, had seen the world, he told Besouro. Besouro loved his master, but the bard was the family Besouro never had.
In his young age, the bard had been very famous. He wandered the entire continent, he was a friend of kings and queens. He was very smart, very charismatic and with a strong character. He was super stubborn, and because of the success of his deeds, put himself above everyone else. Albeit his success, the bard lost everything he had, even before the war of Morghese, due to two big problems: he was addicted to luck games, and to women.
After he came back from a very long mission, Besouro found out that the bard had died in an attack from Morghese. Feeling strong anger within himself, Besouro screamed with his mouth and with his soul. His pain was so strong, that at that moment he split in two: he had been struck by the changelings' disease: the second persona. At that moment, a second personality took over Besouro's body: an incarnation of the Bard. Every once in a while, the Bard takes over Besouro's body, he changes his appearance and attains to the most strong characteristics of the bard: arrogant, short-temper, stubborn, and most importantly: addicted to gambling and women. He also becomes much more lovely, charismatic and seductive, contrasting with the monastic and incredibly patience of Besouro. Also, he gets the proficiency in playing the Berimbau, the ancient musical instrument of the Capoeira Monks, which he uses to entertain the crowd.
In one of the missions, the Shadow Capoeira Monks sent him, to spy over the brothers, he got arrested. It was a beginners mistake, he could not control his temper when hearing bad things about the "stupid dancing monks, that jump like monkeys and are useless as worms". The Bard came out and started a big discussion. His sudden change, from the frightened and silent villager he was transformed into the opulent, noise and very angry bard had called the attention of the guards, which had no trouble in arresting him, while in his Bard form, and threw him in a prison cell. Once in prison, the bard gave up, and he could resume his capoeirista form. The guards knew about his identity, but not the nature of his mission. Yet.
True nature: In his natural form, Besouro is slender and pale, with colorless eyes and silver-white long hair.
Bard nature: Human, around 60 years old, white hair, strong features, round body, seductive voice.
Capoeira nature: Black skin, long black dreadlocks, no shirt, long green pants, green, yellow and blue cord around his waist. Very silent.
New Slaves
Siegfried look out through the gaps in his window blinds at the carts slowly moving past. Another five large cages with people rolled towards the old castle. Almost every day, carts with prisoners moved towards the stronghold set against the mountain that once belonged to Lord Baldor, before the dark forces overran this land north of the mountains and butchered the old elite. Now two brothers ruled this land with an iron fist. Bront and Lolwin, two people who could not be more dissimilar. The first massive, brutal, and dull. The other of small build, agile, evil, and intelligent. They commanded a large contingent of equally brutal forces, mostly human and recruited from the local area.
Siegfried's eyes caught the gaze of a horned, sad looking creature in one of the cages. Maybe he would be one to be killed or beheaded at the weekly "tournaments", where the soldiers liked to fight against already tortured and weak prisoners for fun. Or they would be transported further, into the mountains, apparently to the seat of Queen Morghesa who would eat them alive. Or so the stories go in the pub.
Things have changed in the last 40 years after the queen's goblins, hobgoblins, and undead went through on their way north. Siegfried and his two suns have to work the smithy every day until they drop of exhaustion, just to get enough food to survive. His daughter killed herself 2 years ago after being repeatedly raped by Bront's "neighborhood protectors". The little bit of resistance that was there, in the beginning, has long stopped. You can only lose so many sons and daughters.
He looked after the carts a while more before going to bed. They will bring them to the prison, a large area filled with cages and pits. He can look at the new arrivals tomorrow, on his way to the furnaces again.
Siegfried's eyes caught the gaze of a horned, sad looking creature in one of the cages. Maybe he would be one to be killed or beheaded at the weekly "tournaments", where the soldiers liked to fight against already tortured and weak prisoners for fun. Or they would be transported further, into the mountains, apparently to the seat of Queen Morghesa who would eat them alive. Or so the stories go in the pub.
Things have changed in the last 40 years after the queen's goblins, hobgoblins, and undead went through on their way north. Siegfried and his two suns have to work the smithy every day until they drop of exhaustion, just to get enough food to survive. His daughter killed herself 2 years ago after being repeatedly raped by Bront's "neighborhood protectors". The little bit of resistance that was there, in the beginning, has long stopped. You can only lose so many sons and daughters.
He looked after the carts a while more before going to bed. They will bring them to the prison, a large area filled with cages and pits. He can look at the new arrivals tomorrow, on his way to the furnaces again.
Mornië utúlië
Dirin-Gal was astonished. She had expected to take part in a desperate but hopelessly futile attempt to stop whatever was going on. Stopping an evil ritual. Saving her own life. Getting revenge on the dwarfs for hunting her down. And she had run around the corner after these others with the full expectation of a quick and maybe even painful death......
And now just after the fight started, the elven assassin had taken the first dwarf down, maybe even their main spellcaster. She could see the dwarf go down after the first attack and the elf delivering a swift coup de grace. The elven woman was already onto the heavily wounded barbarian and the body of the girl on the stone altar just started moving, which meant the invisible sorcerer might have reached her to disturb the magic flow. Things did not look so dire as they first seemed. There might be a chance to get out of this alive.
Just as she loosened another bolt at the barbarian, who by now looked seriously wounded but would not yet go down, she saw movement at the far door. Two caragor riders appeared, immediately joining the fray. She could see the elf moving against another dwarf. Why does he not turn invisible again? He would not get an advantage like this with the other dwarf already moving towards him! With all her training, Dirin-Gal made a quick assessment of the situation. She could see one of the caragors ignoring the elf. This could only mean they also spotted the moving body of the girl and the wavering beam of light. In one smooth motion, she turned her hand towards the beast and shot again. She would not be able to save the elf, but she could give the sorcerer more time. The body was almost out of the beam. If only she could get the beast's attention long enough. And suddenly the body moved upwards and vanished. They did it.
Outside on the green field near the spire, Thoravil looked at the beautiful woman in his hands. He had rescued the damsel in distress. He had single-handedly disrupted whatever ritual it was that needed the body as a channelling ingredient. He was looking up, whether he could already see the first signs of a disruption of the beam and thus his victory. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the eyes of the woman opening. What beautiful eyes. Deep. Captivating. He looked straight at her and said, "I saved you, don't worry, you are save now!". He could see a flicker of what must have been confusion in her eyes. Surely the poor girl did not know what was happening. Nothing he could not handle. "I got you out of the grasps of the evil dwarfs and their magic. You are in the hands of the mighty wizard Thoravil. I'll protect you! Don't you worry!" She lifted her head and smiled. What a beautiful smile. What a soft and melodic voice. "Let me kiss you then my hero!". Finally, after all these years, things seem to have turned out well! He moved his face towards hers. As the lips touched, the world stopped. Her eyes suddenly turned from a sapphire blue to a dark burning red. His extremities turned cold and he could feel his life force being sucked out of his body. But the eyes. He loved those eyes.
Morghesa could feel the arcane energy flowing through her body. The ritual had worked and this fool had just given her the last bit of energy she needed. Over the last weeks, all the magical energy from the surrounding country, collected by this age-old magical lens, had flowed into her body, together with all the life. She was immortal. Invincible. The strongest spellcaster in eons. And she could feel it. The land. The creatures. The ebb and flow of arcane energy around her. The fight inside her new palace. Yes, the fight....
The tide had changed. Dirin-Gal saw the body vanish, just as an army of goblins and hobgoblins stormed through the far door. From behind she could see a group of black-clad men rounding the corner, chased by two more dwarfs and another army of hobgoblins. They were surrounded. Just as she braced herself for her last stand, time seemed to stop. The room suddenly was filled with a bright white light and a figure appeared on the slab of stone. First she thought Thoravil had cast a spell, but the shape hinted at a female with a long flowing dress. "STOP!" All fighting stopped and all heads turned towards this massive discharge of energy that all could feel. The voice seemed to come from inside Dirin-Gal's head. "I AM MORGHESA, YOUR QUEEN. BOW TO ME OR PERISH!". As the goblins and dwarfs dropped to their knees, one man from the group of black fighters charged forward towards the queen, shimmering blue in, what Dirin-Gal guessed, was a protection sphere. The queen's head turned and she slowly lifted her hand towards the attacker. A beam of light hit the magical sphere and for a second it stopped before the sphere collapsed and the body of the man started to glow red from within. Within two steps, the body turned black, cracked, and disintegrated into smaller, black parts that became gray ash when hitting the ground. Within seconds, only small ash clouds were all that was left. Two other men started to run shouting "Faron!" and went up in flame after a short glance from the woman. After this everything turned quiet. The queen slowly turned her head and started to walk towards the few people still standing. "Anyone else who disagrees with me taking control?". Dirin-Gal went down on her knee as the queen looked at her and she could see Vrael and Ashara do the same. "Good, this seems settled then. Where is Kort?" "Dead, my queen", one of the dwarfs answered looking up, "Killed by him!", pointing at Vrael. The queen had a curious look on her face that quickly turned into a smile. "Killed? Stand up and come to me my champions and see that, as my eyes, ears, and arms, you too shall be immortal!". As six dwarfs stood up and moved towards the queen, she reached down to the 7th dwarf, violet light engulfing the body. The dwarf opened the eyes, looked around confused, but very quickly saw Morghesa and stood up to kneel. "My queen, it has worked! I'm at your service!" "Yes Kort, it has worked. Thanks to you and your brothers, this world is now ours to grab!" Her eyes moved from dwarf to dwarf while she walked slowly along the seven, again kneeling, dwarfs. "You will be my champions, leading my armies, guiding my swords, governing my empire. Together we will shape this world anew to our liking. Rise, my generals and counselors!" As the seven stood up, one of them turned towards Ashara and Vrael. "What about them? They have tried to stop us and have killed Kort!" "They have tried indeed. I would not like to see good talent go to waste, but since it was Kort who suffered, it is his decision and I trust his judgment." With these words, she turned and walked up to the slab of stone again, which started to glow and turn into a throne made of sapphires and white marble. She gracefully turned around, sat down, slowly looked up towards the sapphire dome above her and closed her eyes. "It is time to call forth our army and introduce ourselves to the world!"
Mornië alantië
And now just after the fight started, the elven assassin had taken the first dwarf down, maybe even their main spellcaster. She could see the dwarf go down after the first attack and the elf delivering a swift coup de grace. The elven woman was already onto the heavily wounded barbarian and the body of the girl on the stone altar just started moving, which meant the invisible sorcerer might have reached her to disturb the magic flow. Things did not look so dire as they first seemed. There might be a chance to get out of this alive.
Just as she loosened another bolt at the barbarian, who by now looked seriously wounded but would not yet go down, she saw movement at the far door. Two caragor riders appeared, immediately joining the fray. She could see the elf moving against another dwarf. Why does he not turn invisible again? He would not get an advantage like this with the other dwarf already moving towards him! With all her training, Dirin-Gal made a quick assessment of the situation. She could see one of the caragors ignoring the elf. This could only mean they also spotted the moving body of the girl and the wavering beam of light. In one smooth motion, she turned her hand towards the beast and shot again. She would not be able to save the elf, but she could give the sorcerer more time. The body was almost out of the beam. If only she could get the beast's attention long enough. And suddenly the body moved upwards and vanished. They did it.
Outside on the green field near the spire, Thoravil looked at the beautiful woman in his hands. He had rescued the damsel in distress. He had single-handedly disrupted whatever ritual it was that needed the body as a channelling ingredient. He was looking up, whether he could already see the first signs of a disruption of the beam and thus his victory. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the eyes of the woman opening. What beautiful eyes. Deep. Captivating. He looked straight at her and said, "I saved you, don't worry, you are save now!". He could see a flicker of what must have been confusion in her eyes. Surely the poor girl did not know what was happening. Nothing he could not handle. "I got you out of the grasps of the evil dwarfs and their magic. You are in the hands of the mighty wizard Thoravil. I'll protect you! Don't you worry!" She lifted her head and smiled. What a beautiful smile. What a soft and melodic voice. "Let me kiss you then my hero!". Finally, after all these years, things seem to have turned out well! He moved his face towards hers. As the lips touched, the world stopped. Her eyes suddenly turned from a sapphire blue to a dark burning red. His extremities turned cold and he could feel his life force being sucked out of his body. But the eyes. He loved those eyes.
Morghesa could feel the arcane energy flowing through her body. The ritual had worked and this fool had just given her the last bit of energy she needed. Over the last weeks, all the magical energy from the surrounding country, collected by this age-old magical lens, had flowed into her body, together with all the life. She was immortal. Invincible. The strongest spellcaster in eons. And she could feel it. The land. The creatures. The ebb and flow of arcane energy around her. The fight inside her new palace. Yes, the fight....
The tide had changed. Dirin-Gal saw the body vanish, just as an army of goblins and hobgoblins stormed through the far door. From behind she could see a group of black-clad men rounding the corner, chased by two more dwarfs and another army of hobgoblins. They were surrounded. Just as she braced herself for her last stand, time seemed to stop. The room suddenly was filled with a bright white light and a figure appeared on the slab of stone. First she thought Thoravil had cast a spell, but the shape hinted at a female with a long flowing dress. "STOP!" All fighting stopped and all heads turned towards this massive discharge of energy that all could feel. The voice seemed to come from inside Dirin-Gal's head. "I AM MORGHESA, YOUR QUEEN. BOW TO ME OR PERISH!". As the goblins and dwarfs dropped to their knees, one man from the group of black fighters charged forward towards the queen, shimmering blue in, what Dirin-Gal guessed, was a protection sphere. The queen's head turned and she slowly lifted her hand towards the attacker. A beam of light hit the magical sphere and for a second it stopped before the sphere collapsed and the body of the man started to glow red from within. Within two steps, the body turned black, cracked, and disintegrated into smaller, black parts that became gray ash when hitting the ground. Within seconds, only small ash clouds were all that was left. Two other men started to run shouting "Faron!" and went up in flame after a short glance from the woman. After this everything turned quiet. The queen slowly turned her head and started to walk towards the few people still standing. "Anyone else who disagrees with me taking control?". Dirin-Gal went down on her knee as the queen looked at her and she could see Vrael and Ashara do the same. "Good, this seems settled then. Where is Kort?" "Dead, my queen", one of the dwarfs answered looking up, "Killed by him!", pointing at Vrael. The queen had a curious look on her face that quickly turned into a smile. "Killed? Stand up and come to me my champions and see that, as my eyes, ears, and arms, you too shall be immortal!". As six dwarfs stood up and moved towards the queen, she reached down to the 7th dwarf, violet light engulfing the body. The dwarf opened the eyes, looked around confused, but very quickly saw Morghesa and stood up to kneel. "My queen, it has worked! I'm at your service!" "Yes Kort, it has worked. Thanks to you and your brothers, this world is now ours to grab!" Her eyes moved from dwarf to dwarf while she walked slowly along the seven, again kneeling, dwarfs. "You will be my champions, leading my armies, guiding my swords, governing my empire. Together we will shape this world anew to our liking. Rise, my generals and counselors!" As the seven stood up, one of them turned towards Ashara and Vrael. "What about them? They have tried to stop us and have killed Kort!" "They have tried indeed. I would not like to see good talent go to waste, but since it was Kort who suffered, it is his decision and I trust his judgment." With these words, she turned and walked up to the slab of stone again, which started to glow and turn into a throne made of sapphires and white marble. She gracefully turned around, sat down, slowly looked up towards the sapphire dome above her and closed her eyes. "It is time to call forth our army and introduce ourselves to the world!"
Mornië alantië
Tuesday 25 September 2018
Word Play
"Words?" Dera'nah looked at the rune in front of her. "Yes, words. What did your folks teach you about words?" "Well, words transfer information and can change people's minds." "Yes, quite literally!" Nuella chuckled as Dera'nah raised her eyebrow. "Seems that we have to start from the beginning my dear. Yes, words can be used to pass on information and can change people's minds through argument, and everybody knows that. But even arcane users have figured out long ago that words can be used to summon and change energy patterns. Words have power if spoken right, and have already been used through the eons for showy wizardry." Dera'nah thought about this. "You are talking about creating fire and lightning bolts?" "Yes! Exactly! Sorcerers and wizards have it all figured out, they think!" "But they are powerful!" "Actually, my child, the most powerful wizards know about their shortcomings and have long tried to study old texts, to find out where they went wrong!" Nuella chuckled again "Good that we don't write things down, don't you think?"
"What they don't understand is why words have power. They think they command reality and reality bends to their will!" Another impish laugh. "Oh my, I have seen many a powerful wizard try and fail to even command the simplest animals or elementals!" She looked up at the sky and closed her eyes. "No, my child, words have power because many of them resonate with the melody that created the world. The Great Song that creates our reality is a complex symphony and many words, even by accident, come close to resemble small parts of it, creating a small change in The Song and thus a tangible effect. " Dera'nah looked at her unbelieving. "You mean..." "Yes, child, the Great Song that creates all and everything, the song that is all around us and within us, can be changed. By words." Nuella smiled and Dera'nah fell back in her chair. "That is what grandmother always hinted at. She always said I have to tune in, to concentrate on the melody of life." "Yes, that ability is the secret of all druids and gives us immense power and responsibility! Wizard and sorcerers luckily use the wrong language. They created their own arcane languages, capturing only parts of the important melodic components. The old languages came into being when The Symphony could still be clearly heard and thus naturally resonate strongly with the tunes of life and reality. Druidic is one of the oldest and is so close to the base melody that it has to be spoken carefully to not disrupt reality and create dissonance and disaster."
Dera'nah silently formed the words of known spells in her mouth, feeling for their melody. "Yes, the better you hit the intended melody, the stronger the effect will be. This is why you have to meditate each morning to tune yourself to the Great Song again, to feel the melody. Once you get better, you will feel the song in your body and all around you and it will become easier. You will be able to intuitively correct or cause dissonance and change the melody to mold reality around you. But we are getting ahead of ourselves, are we!" Dera'nah traced with her finger the outline of the rune that was etched into the wood. "What happens to the words once written down?" "Oh, a good question my child! That is where it becomes interesting! Sorcerers write down their spells just to be able to remember them. Little they know! All living things, and even things that had once life in them, can retain a memory of a melody. After all, they only exist because of The Song and so by remembering a tune, they can constantly change the Song by adding their little chords into it." "Oh, so the words don't have to be written?" "They can! It often helps the creator of the item to focus their thoughts, but the melody of those thoughts impressed into the item is what counts. The clearer and more focused the melody is, the stronger the item!"
Dera'nah looked at her pendant. The little piece of wood somehow had come to her mind. Nuella looked at the pendant with a knowing smile. "The piece of your mother already contains memories of The Song, since she was born when the Great Symphony was still young. It would be easy to imbue it with some extra tunes. Why don't you try to store some strength in it? You remember the words of the spell I taught you today?" "Bull's strength, sure!" "Then sing the words in your head. Try to align the melody of the words as closely as you can to The Song inside you and then include the piece of wood in your melody as well." Dera'nah closed her eyes and repeatedly spoke the words, listening to the tune they created. It sounded wrong in the beginning, but after a while, and some changes in intonation, it somehow felt better, more fluent, and she could feel strength flowing through her. She touched the pendant and could feel a second faint melody joining into the first. She tried to weave it into the first and after some reprises, the melodies slowly converged to form a new small tune. The melody filled her mind, blocking everything out. Slowly, she could feel the strength not only coming from within her, but flowing into her through her arm. Startled, she looked up and could feel the pendant in her hand pulsating. Nuella smiled. "Well done! Still weak, containing many small discords still that hurt my ears, but a start!" Dera'nah looked at the pendant in awe. It felt as if energy was flowing from the pendant. She could feel the strength. "You created your first magical item! But be careful, each creation drains you and a small piece of your own melody is always staying behind to act as a bridge. Create too many too fast and you create disharmonies in yourself. But now, let's eat! Even watching you work magic has left me peckish! You must be starving! And tell your pony, if it nibbles at my roses again, I will literally root it to patch where only dry grass grows!"
"What they don't understand is why words have power. They think they command reality and reality bends to their will!" Another impish laugh. "Oh my, I have seen many a powerful wizard try and fail to even command the simplest animals or elementals!" She looked up at the sky and closed her eyes. "No, my child, words have power because many of them resonate with the melody that created the world. The Great Song that creates our reality is a complex symphony and many words, even by accident, come close to resemble small parts of it, creating a small change in The Song and thus a tangible effect. " Dera'nah looked at her unbelieving. "You mean..." "Yes, child, the Great Song that creates all and everything, the song that is all around us and within us, can be changed. By words." Nuella smiled and Dera'nah fell back in her chair. "That is what grandmother always hinted at. She always said I have to tune in, to concentrate on the melody of life." "Yes, that ability is the secret of all druids and gives us immense power and responsibility! Wizard and sorcerers luckily use the wrong language. They created their own arcane languages, capturing only parts of the important melodic components. The old languages came into being when The Symphony could still be clearly heard and thus naturally resonate strongly with the tunes of life and reality. Druidic is one of the oldest and is so close to the base melody that it has to be spoken carefully to not disrupt reality and create dissonance and disaster."
Dera'nah silently formed the words of known spells in her mouth, feeling for their melody. "Yes, the better you hit the intended melody, the stronger the effect will be. This is why you have to meditate each morning to tune yourself to the Great Song again, to feel the melody. Once you get better, you will feel the song in your body and all around you and it will become easier. You will be able to intuitively correct or cause dissonance and change the melody to mold reality around you. But we are getting ahead of ourselves, are we!" Dera'nah traced with her finger the outline of the rune that was etched into the wood. "What happens to the words once written down?" "Oh, a good question my child! That is where it becomes interesting! Sorcerers write down their spells just to be able to remember them. Little they know! All living things, and even things that had once life in them, can retain a memory of a melody. After all, they only exist because of The Song and so by remembering a tune, they can constantly change the Song by adding their little chords into it." "Oh, so the words don't have to be written?" "They can! It often helps the creator of the item to focus their thoughts, but the melody of those thoughts impressed into the item is what counts. The clearer and more focused the melody is, the stronger the item!"
Dera'nah looked at her pendant. The little piece of wood somehow had come to her mind. Nuella looked at the pendant with a knowing smile. "The piece of your mother already contains memories of The Song, since she was born when the Great Symphony was still young. It would be easy to imbue it with some extra tunes. Why don't you try to store some strength in it? You remember the words of the spell I taught you today?" "Bull's strength, sure!" "Then sing the words in your head. Try to align the melody of the words as closely as you can to The Song inside you and then include the piece of wood in your melody as well." Dera'nah closed her eyes and repeatedly spoke the words, listening to the tune they created. It sounded wrong in the beginning, but after a while, and some changes in intonation, it somehow felt better, more fluent, and she could feel strength flowing through her. She touched the pendant and could feel a second faint melody joining into the first. She tried to weave it into the first and after some reprises, the melodies slowly converged to form a new small tune. The melody filled her mind, blocking everything out. Slowly, she could feel the strength not only coming from within her, but flowing into her through her arm. Startled, she looked up and could feel the pendant in her hand pulsating. Nuella smiled. "Well done! Still weak, containing many small discords still that hurt my ears, but a start!" Dera'nah looked at the pendant in awe. It felt as if energy was flowing from the pendant. She could feel the strength. "You created your first magical item! But be careful, each creation drains you and a small piece of your own melody is always staying behind to act as a bridge. Create too many too fast and you create disharmonies in yourself. But now, let's eat! Even watching you work magic has left me peckish! You must be starving! And tell your pony, if it nibbles at my roses again, I will literally root it to patch where only dry grass grows!"
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