Secrets of Desylinn: The Elemental Alignments

by John Belliston and Frank Gori

Alignment works a little differently in Desylinn. Here's an introduction:

Alignment

The world of Desylinn is much too new for Law and its opposite Chaos to have codified as other worlds know them. The world does not divide along the same ethical and moral lines but along elemental ones. More than just the fundamental building blocks of creation, the seven elements pulse and surge through all of creation. The effects of the seven elements are most commonly seen in the array of magic that course through the world: from the sorcerer’s vicious fireball, the clerics healing shadow, and the witches’ harmful light. The elements however go much deeper than that, making up each individual’s very being and influencing their personality.

In game terms this means that each Character has two “Soul Elements” one taken from their race and one chosen by their personality. The seven elements, as well as their sub elements and personality descriptors are as follows:

Fire- Ash, Flame, Smoke

Amorous, Destructive, Gluttonous, Passionate, Warm, Wrathful

Wind- Gust, Breeze, Vacuum

Adventurous, Flighty, Hopeful, Manipulative, Needy, Transitive

Water- Ice, Steam, Water

Adaptable, Emotional, Perky, Pliable, Temperate, Volatile

Earth- Metal, Stone, Wood

Balanced, Fortitude, Generous, Stable, Stubborn, Unyielding

Light- Beam, Glare, Corona

Aggressive, Intellectual, Inquisitive, Inspiring, Relentless, Truthful,

Shadow- Rejuvenating, Consuming, Deceptive

Deceptive, Empathetic, Nurturing, Passive, Private, Quiet

Magic- Soul, Arcane, Sympathetic

Creative, Impatient, Madness, Mysticism, Unpredictability, Wisdom

During character creation players may select which of the two racial elements is dominant and which element is the character’s soul element, which can be any element. The soul element cannot be changed once selected, and is the core of the character. Racial elements can be changed with time and focus, which is represented by leveling. How the two alignments interact to help define the character is up to the player, though the soul element tends to be dominant. From the list of both elements pick two personality descriptors from each, which will be the dominant traits you roleplay. Players can change the descriptors anytime they and their GM feel is appropriate.

For example: Jim decides he wants to play a Krishtog Bard. Krishtogs have the racial elements of Wind and Water. Jim feels that Wind aligns more with the adventurous spirit he wants to portray with this character and writes down the two descriptor words he feels most appropriate (Adventurous, Manipulative.) He may now select any soul element he wishes. Jim feels Fire is most appropriate and selects that as his soul element again transcribing two descriptor words for roleplaying focus (Destructive and Passionate.) As Jim sees it his bard takes to the road a lot and doesn't really look at the long term consequences, always trying to live life to the fullest.

While using this system a player cannot change their soul element, they can change their racial element and what descriptors are dominant based on how the player wants to roleplay the character in a scenario and through level progression.

For example: Jim’s Bard is now 5^th level and the campaign is settling in Hub and becoming an urban campaign. Being Adventurous and Destructive has put the Bard in jeopardy often and led to some near death experiences. Jim decides he wants his Kristog to evolve and learn from his mistakes by changing his alignment. He starts by changing the dominant descriptors of his soul element of Fire to Amorous and Warm. Jim also wants to change his racial element from Wind to Water but cannot do so until he levels up! For now he changes the descriptors to Hopeful and Needy feeling they align more closely with where he is going with the character.

Detect evil, detect law, detect good, and detect chaos are replaced by detect soul.  This spell functions like detect evil, except that it detects the auras of a specified element (chosen at time of casting), rather than evil auras, and you are vulnerable to an overwhelming aura if it shares your soul element.

Here is a list of suggested Soul Elements for the Pathfinder Standard Races:

Dwarf: Earth, Light

Elf: Water, Magic

Gnome: Wind, Water

Half-Elf: Shadow, Water

Half-Orc: Fire, Earth

Human: Water, Fire

The Winding Road: Old Friends

by Frank Gori

Bellany released her bowstring a couple of seconds before the seemingly innocent carpenter expertly turned into a throwing motion. The arrow struck just above his collarbone just as his arm started forward.

Bellany already had another arrow knocked as she scanned the street for the other three Tradesmen. From the peripheral she saw Dab’s massive form charging the assassin carpenter down, just as she noticed the gardener’s hedge trimmers were actually double edged. She fired another arrow in his direction just before she felt a sting then telltale cold numbness on her right shoulder blade.

Without hesitation Bellany leapt off her third story perch and twisted around midair for a look at her assassin. She almost missed placing her feet correctly at the first intervals as she repelled rapidly down to the street.

A scream from the street confirmed the Tradesmen struck while she was distracted but the poison in her shoulder wasn’t the only thing making Ballany feel numb at the moment. Jax sent Galladee after her!

Galladee was a Krishtog female with an unfortunate singing voice. She could dance in a manner that would take your breath away and she was one of the most skilled infiltrators in the guild. Galladee took her natural talents and developed her skills as sharp as any blacksmith. She was one of the guild’s top earners and invested that income right back into her craft.

Bellany and Galladee trained under the same guild masters. They learned the art of dance and the 

precision of inches together. Theirs was a friendship forged by sharing the same kind of scars and succeeding in the same demanding difficult trade. They cried together as girls, shared drinks and contracts together as adults. Bellany felt stung by the betrayal, she’d never have taken a contract on Galladee.

Bellany locked her rope harness about a floor short of the ground and dropped her bow. It landed in the net Gallade had enchanted invisible. Galladee was one of the few people Bellany confided in, she knew Bellany’s tricks and Bellany knew hers. Unfortunately they were somewhat evenly matched under normal circumstances, but hanging from a rope with her right arm rapidly going numb Bellany had the unsettling feeling she was out matched. It left her with one play.

“Really Galladee, you’re going to side with my ex,” Bellany kept her voice casual, despite the rising heat she felt from her womb. Her son to be had a temper.

“I’m going to take you in Bell, you can make it easy on both of us and just give up,” Galladee replied in her croaking tones. Three limbs casually braced the roof top ledge and she had one of her javelins in her free hand.

Bellany did her best to tune out the commotion on the street. Without her spotting, those Workman Guild hack assassins called the Tradesmen were going to take a toll. Unfortunately, Bellany had her own problems at the moment.

“You shadowed them, Bellany nodded toward the street. Followed that quad knowing I’d set up to cover,” Bellany didn’t have to try hard to sound impressed. “Why’d you take the job, I thought we were friends?”

“Couldn’t resist, Bell. You were always the favorite, and I wanted to know who was better. Besides 

it’s a non-lethal, boss wants you alive. Now give up, I got you lined up for a good throw, dart poison has you down an arm, you’re dangling on a line I can cut, and that net there below you is made of enchanted spidersilk. Face it you’re caught.” Galladee was confident, even pleased with herself. Bellany wondered if they had ever truly been friends or if she was just too isolated in her old life.

“Yeah, seems like you got me, but you forgot about something,” Bellany smiled a tight malice laced smile at her old friend.

“What’s that,” she replied.

“I made new friends,” Bellany replied.

Galladee turned just in time to look her death in the face. Bellany felt some of the warm splatter of her old friend’s blood as Zool’s blade struck true. Her head fell into her own net trap, and Zool caught the body and dragged it onto the roof. The fire of emotions swept over Bellany for a long moment. She felt angry at the betrayal, worried about the poison and if it’d effect the child in her womb, but mostly she felt the shock of loss.

Bellany wept as Zool pulled her back up the building, her tears mixing with the blood splattered across her face.

An Announcement

Readers and friends we here at Clockwork Chaos have had something very exciting happen recently. We've negotiated an arrangement with D20pfsrd.com to produce original 3rd party content under their new banner!

This will mean that in the next few months we will be slowly releasing the crunchy rules details we have otherwise been holding back.

We'll be starting with a series of Classes of Desylinn books and going from there. Be prepared to see our alternate Alignment and Magic systems being posted up on this very website in the next few weeks as well as continuing our Iconic line.

We'll also be extending our Open Call and looking to give new blood the chance at playtesting work and exposure.

Watch us closely.

Things should get interesting.

-John R Belliston Old One of Artistic Direction

Iconic Bard: Tog'gin

by Frank Gori

Tog’gin

The Mage was waving his hands and speaking some nonsense when Tog’s thunderstone bolas hit him. They swiftly entangled his arms and clapped together in a percussive sound that in all likelihood left the ears of Tog’s target ringing. The quad of brute squad bruisers that accompanied the two hired Mage’s Guild security specialists ran in Tog’s general direction. They managed to trip on the well placed wire and set off the smokesticks and land in the caltrops that the Krishtog had scattered a few minutes ago in stealth.

Tog murmured a few choice phrases and gestured with his palm towards his foes and gently blew over them. Glittering motes of irradiance fanned out and stuck true to the brutes that dared pursue him. Another gesture commanded the small air elementals he had summoned to attack his enemy caster. Tog had about a dozen more loud and flashy tricks to draw out all the security for the warehouse and the local watch after him. He had set traps and hired a few locals to do seemingly simple tasks that would confound and draw attention away.

Tog loved nothing more than the thrill of a crowd, or in this case a blood thirsty mob. He is leaping, climbing, swinging, gliding, and swimming and tonight would, with any luck, test all his abilities and skills. He’d prove himself worthy of his own crew and score a nice cut of tonight’s take, it made him feel like singing.

On the surface the Music Guild is about entertainment: to those in the know it’s a den of spies and thieves. The truth is less delineated than all that, some like to be both performer and thief, taking in the admiration of the crowds by day and robbing them in their sleep.

Tog’gin grew up in the anarchy of the Krishtogalog like most Krishtogs. He had a natural gift of song that was hopelessly average in his community and considered a fine and rare gift anywhere else. Unlike most Krishtogs Tog craved both a sense of structure and the thrill of being the center of attention. He was lucky to be noticed by a Music Guild talent scout.

Now Tog’gin has the honor of being one of the opening acts for Jax, and he’s well on his way to earning the right to run a crew in the evening. Leading a double life is easy when to the outsider all Krishtog pretty much look alike.

Tog’gin is a bit of an adrenalin junkie and seems to like to take big risks, trusting his planning and varied skills to get him out of tight spots. The few times that hasn’t worked magic and the natural charms of being a bard have.

On one hand the guild sees Tog’gin as a liability having a public face and taking such risks can only be effective for so long. On the other hand Tog’gin has repeatedly brought in highly profitable scores and earned a reputation among his peers as being a shrewd and wily planner.

Recently Tog has begun opening for Jax, some say it’s because Jax’s advisor wants a closer look at the up and comer. Others have speculated that Jax might be fostering some professional jealousy from the diva like bard.

The Winding Road: The Ambush

by Frank Gori

Dab tried to stay alert this time.

It had been a rough week of ambushes and assassination attempts just trying to acquire the necessary supplies for their journey. Bellany and Zool called the assassins The Tradesmen. They were great at blending in, striking, and fleeing, causing the caravan damage in their wake.

Dab was learning that the great guilds of Hub were more interconnected then one might otherwise perceive. While the Merchant's Guild itself was supplying the majority of the personnel and physical goods for the journey, Malleck still needed various jobs performed by the Workman's Guild, tools from the Blacksmith Guild, and the Mage's Guild was for the most part necessary for magical supplies to ease the road.

One moment a group of roofers were working on a building across the street, then the next they were shooting at you with poisoned crossbow bolts. Malleck tried sending intermediaries unaffiliated with the caravan, but The Tradesmen always struck anyway. Malleck tried disguising people, again the Tradesmen struck. They targeted anyone going on or helping with the expedition and Dab had yet to spot one before they struck.

Clearly the Merchant's Guild had spies within, but that was hardly Dab’s department. He was guarding this transaction which was the only thing that somewhat worked. Malleck was resolved that if the Tradesmen would not cease the attempts to harm the caravan then they’d pay a blood price for every attempt. Even expecting trouble the bastards were hard to spot.

By the time it was sorted out who needed killing, most Tradesmen ran. They used smoke sticks, flash powder, and caltrops but still Dab usually got a hold of one. The Tradesmen always worked in a group multiples of four, or quads (which apparently was the term even when there was sixteen of them.) Losses didn’t seem to daunt them, despite having traded an equal number of lives from their ranks to the losses they inflicted the kept coming. It was a bloody week roughly two dozen people didn’t see the end of and Dab was getting weary of it.

Mal, Zool, Bellany, and Snook were the only reliable spotters they had. Everyone was on alert, but being alert didn’t seem to be enough. 

Despite his resolve, Dab found himself reflecting on Laz. Laz seemed preoccupied and edgy lately. Perhaps understandable given the circumstances, but there was something akin to the skinny boy that helped him stand up to the street toughs despite clearly being terrified. Laz was the kind of guy that threw his best punches when he was scared to and if Laz was scared there was good reason to be…

An arrow interrupted Dab’s thoughts, “Dammit,” he said aloud in exasperation. The carpenter with the arrow perforating his throat was the obvious target, which Dab found himself charging. This time he took a moment to focus and noticed a customer in the grocer stand not very far behind the carpenter reaching into a canvas bag. The customer was too calm in the face of violence, Dab squared his shoulders and lowered himself further in the run.               

In the last second he pulled wide of the carpenter and pushed with all his bulk and muscle. The shopper had raised a crossbow out of the bag and lined it to someone in the caravan.

“Not this time,” the carpenter flew into the field of fire just as the bolt flew clear of the crossbar. If the carpenter survived Bellany’s shot, he’d likely not survive this one. Dab made eye contact with the crossbow woman just as a stream of Marta’s energy bolts twisted around the obstacles of the grocer stand and slammed into the would be assassin.

Dab followed that up with a throwing axe, before turning around to see who was next. A gardener had an arrow through his eye and some attention was further ahead of the wagon at some fleeing foe making it four.

Dab’s eyes swept back to the caravan, one of Zool’s Blacksmith’s had a bolt in his buckler. That made this attack three of them for none of theirs, perhaps the next Quad would think twice.

The scuff of boot on cobblestone to his left was Dab’s only warning. On instinct he punched out to his right before dropping into a roll to his left. His fist connected and he managed to trip his other attacker into a tangle with the first. They set up in his flanks invisible, likely from a potion or some dust.

Dab managed to get back to his feet before his attackers which afforded him a few seconds to scan the area and get a lay for the battlefield. Aside from the two, the shopkeeper held a wand over the not quite dead crossbowman and she had already apparently used it on the carpenter who was downing a potion and had already retrieved his weapon. The five on one would for a short time wouldn’t be so bad, but a glance over at the supply wagons now shrouded in mist, indicated a caster focused on cutting off reinforcements.

They used magical resources to isolate him and get the advantage of first strike. They counted on that being enough, they counted on taking him down, but they didn’t count on a loose cobblestone ruining their stealth. That was their mistake.

Dab touched his new ring and said the command word that would make his skin stone hard and enhance his already impressive ability to take a beating. In all likelihood they assumed they had the advantage with numbers, the reality was they were outnumbered and attrition favored Dab. Laz would be annoyed he used the charge up already but being captured or killed was probably worse. It also made his priority to take down the casters as the other four would have a hard time damaging him.

Dab ran at the shopkeeper first. Barreling past his assailants allowed them to take swings on him and were he not protected he’d have paid a blood price. As it was the minotaur barely felt the blows. A crossbow bolt bounced off his chest before he closed on the wand wielding shopkeeper who now had a blue disk of energy in front of him.

Dab let go. Let go of the dozens of half remembered beatings in the course of a battered life, let go of the frustrations of a lost career, let go of the anger of being separated from his only childhood friend, let go of being tortured. He let all of that go in a raging flurry.

When the fog cleared a few moments later they found Dab covered in blood on his knees. Five foes lied broken and dead.

Iconic Fighter: Lialla Ki-lal

By Scott Bingham

The raucous and wild cries of the celebrating men did nothing to faze the despondent Lialla. She stared into the depths of her drink and lost herself in the swirling mixture. Uncertainty plagued her and the lizardwoman longed for the peace of Tari Dar and the security of the Grand Spire at her back. So far from home, so far from her spear-sisters, Lialla again wondered at the wisdom of the Talos Bak Sal in sending her before berating herself. Ishari Eye-Mother would not require Lialla in any place beyond where she now sat, hundreds of miles from the marshes and alone in a loud and strange tavern. The men’s shouts intensified and Lialla was pulled into consciousness as she listened to their words.

“Damn lizard. I bet the brute can’t communicate beyond grunting and pointing.”

“I’d wager she doesn’t even speak!”

Lialla remained silent as their taunts and laughter grew increasingly louder. Many of the other patrons looked over at the stoic lizardwoman nervously, wondering if she would respond. Finally having enough of their cruelty the barkeep attempted to silence the men but was immediately beset upon by their malevolence. One man drew back his arm to throw his drinking glass and in an instant Lialla was on her feet. She didn’t attack and she didn’t bellow a battle cry; she didn’t even look over at the men. Silence reigned throughout the bar as the lizardwoman simply stood. Rising to her impressive eight feet of muscle and sinew Lialla commanded the eyes and attention of every soul within the vicinity. Placing a handful of coins upon the table top the Gale Sal grabbed her spears and made her way for the door.

“Thank you for the drink.” The quiet that followed her departure lasted long enough that those who entered after soon left in confusion, seeking a livelier atmosphere.

Few lizardwoman outside the Sala-Ma of the Talos Bak Sal ever set foot at the base of the Grand Spire and the high priestesses alone are ever permitted within the Core. Those who have the responsibility and blessing of standing guard over the most sacred sites of the Geato Abira make up the elite warriors of the Gale Sal, the Watchful Eye. The Gale Sal are tasked with the protection of both the Talos Bak Sal and of the sacred sites of their people, a duty undertaken by only the most tested and proven of their number.

Lialla Ki-lal remains one of the youngest lizardwomen to join the ranks of the Gale Sal and though she is not the strongest nor most cunning among all of the spear-sisters of the Watchful Eye she is among the most courageous. Lialla showed her strength of spirit early in life when she lost her way among the marshes. Separated from her tribe the young Lialla survived for nine days alone in the wilderness and when searchers finally found her the child showed no signs of distress at having seemingly been abandoned. Rather Lialla seemed as calm and centered as she ever had been, a trait that would only grow more noticeable as she grew older. Such an attribute earned Lialla her surname and nickname Ki-lal, Geato Mar for Quiet Heart.

As Lialla grew in body and mind she learned the spear with ease and soon proved herself to be a capable warrior. While on the hunt with her sisters she would show no signs of fear when facing down the beasts of the wild and at times would stand alone when all others had fled for safety. Considered reckless by some her quiet courage was instantly recognized and praised by the priestesses of her tribe. Lialla was frequently called upon by the Sal Abira when a challenging task needed done. No matter the difficulty or danger involved Lialla would see any charge through to its completion.

Her unwavering obedience and silent fearlessness impressed the spear-sisters of the Gale Sal while Lialla was overseeing the transport of an offering for the Talos Bak Sal in Tari Dar. After sufficiently testing the young lizardwoman in their own ways the Gale Sal happily extended their order to embrace Lialla Ki-lal. The Quiet Heart now follows the mandate of the Talos Bak Sal directly, her unshakeable spirit seeing her through any challenge the goddess Ishari desires to test her with. Lialla will not falter and will not fail, the expectation of the Talos Bak Sal and the promise of the Gale Sal.

The Winding Road: In Blood

By Frank Gori

Lazeron Pi pulled his mind from the darkest shadow of despair. With his voice and mind he called out to Dab and the world came rushing back. Laz’s love for Dab was the one thing he could never reason away, it was an anchor. The minotaur was the brother Laz didn’t have, and the father he never knew. Laz’s memory of his boyhood friend Dab was the only time from childhood Laz could recall feeling safe. Dab’s protective embrace made a circle of protection that Lazeron Pi’s mind could take shelter in when the darker memories came like a storm.

Lazeron found something else within that darkness, an awakening of sorts. The number that entranced him was a mathematical expression of his desire to be safe. Twenty two over seven wasn’t just a ratio, it was Dab. Being a normal wizard and trying to impose order on it was like trying to swim against the tide, fueling that ambition with the magic within your blood was like sailing with a tail wind. It was insane. Some Wizards referred to the process of training another wizard as “the breaking”, because of that insanity.

Lazeron suddenly understood the source of his breaking and his ability to shape the chaotic energies of creation without risking despair. Lazeron understood now that the number wasn’t needed, he had heard of the True Mage before, the kind of magical practitioner that could interweave and marry the magic of sorcerer and wizard. Understanding the source of his insanity meant understanding himself, which also meant understanding that the true source of his power, which was also self. If magic was a fruit tree, wizards were taking from a different branch than sorcerers, the fruit was the same.

The blood was like fire. Any brute can use fire as a weapon, it took know how to use the fire as a tool to create. From fire the tools on which civilization was built were made, it was the same with blood and magic.

As Mal began negotiating with the Sewer King, Lazeron kneeled over, faking a bout of sickness, snatched a rat and put it in his pocket. He looked up at the Sewer King and noted the slightest tilt of the head. The act was acknowledged and permission granted.

Lazeron put his hand inside the pocket with the rat and allowed it to bite him, drawing his blood inside of it. The connection was shockingly fast, the blood of Lazeron’s magic connected immediately with the arcane bond the Sewer King extended to the vermin.

The connection allowed Lazeron a glimpse of the power The Sewer King controlled, what he really was, that glimpse nearly overwhelmed Laz. Every life had a connection to magic, even the vermin. Somehow a portion of all the magical potential of every vermin in the sewer was donated to its king, every creature that decided to call the sewer home paid a sliver of power to him and all that potential together was stitched together like a cloak around his soul. He would be a potent sorcerer without the mantle of power augmenting him, with that power Lazeron would be a torch against a river.

It was a two way street, the Sewer King would understand the source of Lazeron’s power as well. With his power and understanding of necromancy he could be slain but would reform as his mind and power would spread to all the vermin in the sewer then reshape him a new body over time. To Lazeron it was familiar and disgusting.

The Sewer King’s presence in his mind was like having a film on the back of your teeth that you couldn’t quite scrap off with your tongue. The presence touched the number Lazeron wielded like a shield and lingered a moment before retreating respectfully. “Impressive, you have become a True Mage, I hope your Caravanner trades you,” the Sewer King projected.

Goading never worked on Laz. Mal wouldn’t sell him off and if he did Lazeron would bring this misbegotten hole down on their heads. “That’s the spirit, you’d make the Chaos Man proud if you did, well if you haven’t turned traitor.” Laz saw the Sewer King’s mouth moving in conversation with Mal, it wasn’t as impressive as you might imagine. Of course the Sewer King could carry on multiple conversations his awareness was divided constantly among thousands of beady little eyes.

“You understand,” The King projected. It was a statement, he could follow Laz’s thoughts not just what he projected. “Yes,” The Sewer King replied.

Laz used the mental exercise of calculating more portions of the great number to focus. It helped him cope with having that terrible power in his thoughts. Laz then mentally gathered and presented what he felt was a compelling case that he did not in fact betray the Mage’s Guild. It was his old mentor Morte Bisset setting him up, gaining revenge.

The prison had spell wards to contain a living spell, and a release mechanism to unleash it, that was Wizard work and there were very few wizards. The floor with the undead was another tell, Morte was the only wizard in Hub who specialized in Necromancy. The only problem was that Morte had been executed for his crimes against his students and the Mage’s Guild.

The blacksmith was evidence in a way. Morte wanted the secret of soul forging to make himself a new kind of living death. It would be a unique brand of immortality that would suit his twisted desires. In undeath Morte couldn’t feel the things he wanted to feel. If Hodge could teach him soul forging he could create new bodies for himself, it was not dissimilar to what The Sewer King had done. 

This was a theory, but to Lazeron it had the ring of truth. He knew Morte Bisset in a more intimate manner then he desired. The elderly wizard was fascinated by the line between life and death and in that fascination he crossed lines. He was obsessed with youth, living magic, and delighted in torture. The prison was his, Lazeron knew it to be as true as the number he held sacred, the circle that failed to protect him from his master’s repellant lust.

Morte had devised a method to steal some of the magical potential from his students. Lazeron was fortunate enough to discover and expose this before his power was taken. It was another form of abuse he justified in the name of power. 

The Sewer King projected, “I see the reasoning on your theory and your conviction in evidence that is circumstantial at best. Still your fears have enough foundation in reality that I cannot discount them and I will bring this forth in the next meeting of guild lieutenants. You did not trust us when you were in trouble, you fled with the others to the Merchant Guild rather than your family, of this you are guilty and you have forsaken us and are banished from our company. If your old mentor somehow survives as you believe he does then only bringing proof of his destruction will reverse your banishment and restore you to the guild.” It had a ring of finality and the presence left.

Lazeron’s defection would stand, the choice was irreversible, but how the Mage guild regarded him was still salvageable. Lazeron would rather be viewed a friendly to his old colleagues than regarded as a traitor and enemy. Sometimes outsiders enjoyed a status near that of a guild member, it was about as much as Laz could hope for if he ever wanted to call Hub home again.

If Lazeron Pi was right about Morte Bisset the truth is he’d end up confronting the bastard sooner or later anyway. There was enmity enough between them that Morte would pursue Lazeron which was why Laz would be happy to leave Hub with Mal’s Caravan, the road would be an equalizer.

Laz could still feel the rat in his pocket without touching it. With little will he could smell with its, no her, nose and see with her eyes. It was the arcane bond, like what Laz had with his ring. A whisper on the wind carried The Sewer King’s gravelly voice which matched that oily presence, “a gift.”

The Winding Road: Zool’s lesson

By Frank Gori

Zool felt like he had been struck by an arrow. Hodge was alive and offering to soul forge a weapon for the Sewer King as payment for their escape. Every apprentice Blacksmith dreamed of rebuilding the great fire-forge of Hodge. Finding out Hodge was alive was like hearing The Nameless God was reborn.

They say Hodge lived among dwarves for fifty years and studied a great red dragon to build the forge. The forge was based on the dragon’s breath chamber and could make a flame so hot it would melt diamonds. It survived only long enough to forge “Hallow-shard” the great sword held by the Blacksmith Guild high general. “Hallow-shard” was made of an alloy no Blacksmith has seen before or since, as the great fire-forge 

 

Yet Zool believed the elderly orc when he claimed to be Hodge. Something inside of Zool understood immediately the elder orc’s quality and were he not in the literal bowls of the city in hostile company, Zool would kneel before him.

Soul-forging was beyond the comprehension of most. Hacks used it as a shortcut to magic, discarding parts of their own experience cheaply. In the hands of a master, one who had honed a soul of worth sacrificing a piece of such a worthy individual made for a potent item worthy of legend. Such an item in the Sewer King’s defiling hands was like swallowing shards of glass, it just didn’t sit right in the gut.

The bargain was struck quickly, and Zool barely recovered from the shock before it was time to go. Hodge walked up to Zool and the Lizardman could not keep a tear from forming in the corner of his eye. Hodge took his hand in the clasp of brotherhood and drew Zool into a mentor’s embrace. In Zool’s ear he whispered, “you are more than a sunder, Zool Swiftblade. I have seen the quality that lies inside you. It just needs to be tempered by a steadier hand.” Hodge’s grasp burned like molten steel then cooled like the quench, “I’ve given you a gift and I forbid you to pass it to another until you have learned the secrets of soul forging.”

 

The moment would haunt Zool. As Hodge drew away Zool knew that he intended to die. They had not broken Hodge in that cage. Whatever the fools from the Workman Guild sought, they had not taken it. Hodge was trading his life for the lives of seventy eight other souls and he was resolved to do so.

Zool could feel the new mark on his forearm, Hodge’s mark. In a saner world Hodge would have passed that mark to his finest apprentice before he died, and with it a measure of his skill and power would live on. For the first time since his apprenticeship Zool yearned to work at the forge, for the first time in over a decade he yearned to be a maker. His master told him he lacked the talent, but for the first time Zool didn’t believe it.

As everyone else filed out of the Sewer King’s receiving chamber, Zool lingered. The mark on his arm was imbued with strong magic and the guild would want it passed on to a more worthy hand. Forbidding Zool to do so until he learned the secrets of soul forging would make things complicated. Yet it all felt like… providence.

Dab’s meaty oversized hand roughly clapped Zool’s shoulder, “Come on, we got to go now.” Zool pondered drawing his magic and steel against this Sewer King for a moment, but the mark seemed to gain weight with the thought.

A last glance toward Hodge was all Zool could afford because in the end he had work to do. The boy who daydreamed of rebuilding a forge that mimicked dragon-fire had another calling to answer. Zool afforded himself a second to salute Hodge, so he choose the salute of a student to his master.

In that moment Zool understood that it wasn’t his master’s assessment of his worth that held him from becoming a maker, it was his own acceptance of it. Another time soon Zool would stand before the forge and follow the instructed work of a new master but for now…

Seventy seven backs needed watching.