The Winding Road: Dancer Bellany Mendel

By Frank Gori

A rough calloused hand missed Bellany’s bottom by an inch. The hand belonged to a Minotaur who, despite appearing to have recently gained lucrative employment, proved to be a poor tipper. An inch would be as close as he came, though she enjoyed teasing him with missed opportunities. Amateurs could display graceful movement, but it took a true professional to control their every motion while seeming to lack grace. Life was a dance, and dancers were ever aware of inches. Inches were vital, inches were life. Inches were death.

The painful cost of imprecision was written in Bellany’s memories, if not her flesh. The lessons served her well: she had once dodged a mage’s bolt of lightning by an inch before opening his throat with an inch of steel. She had avoided her death by poisoned arrow, naked steel, claws, and magic by minding every inch. Her devotion to the inches made her a favorite tool for her sometimes lover and guild master Jax.

Tonight she was just a “little birdie,” waiting tables with her eyes and ears open to tonight’s dance. Later she’d sing what she had learned to Jax. She already had tidbits for his ear and they were just appetizers for the main course. Soon the Chaos Man would arrive, the meeting would begin and secrets would become hers to trade.

The bar was overfull of sweaty workers, practically buzzing with emotional energy. Someone stirred up the beehive tonight and the honey would be sweet to opportunists. Shenanigans would soon be afoot and Jax would be pleased at the news. Bellany could always count on a lot of work when Shenanigans was called, a corpse or two in the chaos was hardly remarkable. She’d feel the exhilaration of dancing with death once more.
 

Another useful tidbit she’d already gathered was that there appeared to be a new employer in the Workmen’sGuild. Roughly a dozen carpenters of various trade levels were carrying blue hand axes in the employer loop. Must have been a rich one too; from the looks of those hatchets, they were all masterwork quality. The men hired all had a desperate air to them. Each was mindful to protect their food and drinks and all shared that hard look.
 

Bellany swayed in graceful inches toward her next customer.  The bad-blood Orc Caravaneer was a bit of a disappointment thus far. His tips were generous and he was pleasant to look at, but he seemed immune to Bellany’s flirtations, which was just plain insulting. He was clearly distracted by his thoughts and frustrated with the predictable tardiness of the Chaos Man. He’d be easy to kill if she desired, though his bodyguard would likely be trouble. The lizardman had the aura of menace that comes when a man has befriended Daras. His deadly confidence was practically palpable and his predatory gaze constantly swept the room for threats. Not a simple bodyguard but a Sunder then, a true pro.  Bellany left him a drink, a smile, and moved on.

 

As Bellany moved on to her next customer, her thoughts linger a moment longer about the bad blood. Caravaneer Malleck’s attempt to blend in was comical, for starters his workbelt was out of date. Having an out of date belt meant you were either a fraud or you weren’t up on your guild dues. Whoever set him up with that belt from the merchant guild was either incompetent or spiteful. While lacking ornamentation typical to high ranking merchants, his clothing was unmistakably fine, which marked him as a phony to anyone who bothered to pay attention. Wearing that he was in the very least asking for a bar fight, and with tonight’s charged climate it could easily escalate to something much worse.

To her eyes every inch of him displayed a man accustomed to wealth and power. Those with money never understood. There is an assortment of little habits and assumptions made by the rich, behaviors painfully obvious to the poor. He was drinking the bar’s best beer while everyone else was drinking the cheapest, he tipped casually and often while everyone else tipped once and usually minimally, and his posture was too straight, a dead giveaway. Those who labored hard for a living didn’t have great posture. When your shift is over you relax and lean into your chair, and if you have to stand, you slouch. If Malleck was badly beaten and mugged no one in this bar would intervene. Heck, with the energy in the air tonight the workman would probably care less if an outsider was killed.

 

The thought hit her like a cudgel to the face, it’s not a coincidence. To many elements were awry, the belt being wrong, the Blacksmith bodyguard on a night where the buzz was on a rumored price increase, and the blue hatchets. A group of apprentices wearing the hatchets kept glancing at Malleck, she knew that he was a target. They must have wanted the Chaos Man too, or they’d simply act.

 

Wasn’t much of a logistical leap for Bellany to realize her presence in such a potentially hazardous environment was unlikely a coincidence. Jax lingered after their last dalliance, he left allot of pregnant pauses as though he held great news or expected some. Sending her into a deathtrap as a way to break up would not be out of her lover and guild master’s character. If he had someone tail her to the herb woman last week he might have cause.
 

Life was lived an inch a time, so she timed her “clumsy spill” in a way that doused one of the hatchet men in whiskey, and threw her into the arms of another. He wouldn't notice the prick or the poison until he took a few more steps, nor would his companion. She dealt with three of five, the sunder had to handle the rest.
 

The ring of a crossbow bolt striking drawn steel chimed a perfect beautiful note before someone yelled “Shenanigans!” and the bar erupted in chaos.

Surviving the night would be fun. Bellany vowed to herself she’d takes it an inch at a time.

Secrets of Desylinn: The Divine Index (Part 1)

Divine Index

Ariga: (“The Earth Mother”, “The Broken Hearted”): One of the Firstborn of Chaos. Her appearance changes with the seasons, though she always looks like a human female in a perfect, 'goddess' form. In spring she is a young girl. In summer she takes the form of a beautiful maiden. In fall she is a new mother, and in winter she is a crone. Apart from these guidelines, her actual physical appearance varies with the year she appears in. She created the humans and put them on the islands to the south, shaping them in her own and Mar's image. She was the betrothed of Mar, but he fell in love with Ishari, and broke her heart. She gave new life to the Wild Ones from the pieces of Derrick. During the Fall of the Empire it was her blessing (in the form of her everchanging hair) that created and imbued the Voice of the Changeling with power. This led to her and Bjord Halffoot becoming romantically entangled after his Transcention.

Badblood: (“The Transcended One”): Goddess of Magic and Self Sacrifice: First of the Five Glorious Transcendants. She was the only one of the Five to self-transcend. She bore the Orb of the Forbidden, a nexus of bizarre powers given form by Nhoj. Her mixed orcish/elven heritage drove her towards her destructive destiny. She died siphoning off enough power to level the Sentinel City of the Empire. The power she gathered made her subject to the power of the Seal and ejected her from the mortal plane. Each of the five became representative of one of the Firstborn; Badblood is connected to Nhoj.

Bahu: (“Greatest of the Dragons”, “Father God of Dragonkind”, “Life Breather” “Mountain Maker”): God of the Mountains, Chief God of the Dwarves, Husband of Tiamet. He created the mountains by sowing the earth with his scales so that his children would have homes. The dwarves he created by breathing life into dolls fashioned by Tiamet. He is the sire of all dragons and the father of Ishari, Tlal, and Daikado. He rules the universe in the role of steward because his father (Nhoj) never wanted the job.

Bjord Half-Foot: God of Music and Altruism: One of the Five Glorious Transcendants. His task in the final battle was to inspire those around him and to distract the golem army that protected the elven capitol. His song made the stones of the city wall weep. Once the Golems stood before him during the siege of Salastria, such was the power of his music that it freed them from the control of Arcadia. This magic allowed for the creation of the Unbroken. In the days after the fall he was instrumental in the creation of both the city of Hub and the surrounding proto-nation of E'artlan. Bjord is connected to Ariga; through this connection, they fell in love.

Chaos: The formless void of infinite potential that the Firstborn spawned from. Ssita and Nhoj are the only of the Firstborn who still have any direct contact. All others both mortal and god are protected by the Chaosgate that the two lovers maintain. Ssita draws substance from it to sustain creation, while Nhoj draws the excess order and returns it to Grandmother Chaos. In the mad ramblings of the Prophet, it is said that the love of King and Queen shall falter and all shall return to the Grandmother's terrible embrace.

Daikado: (“King of the Burning Mountain”, “The Hell Toad”): God of Earthquakes and Volcanoes. The twin brother of Tlal. He hates his brother with the deep burning rage only found in the molten heart of the planet. Their constant war with each other forced Ssita and Nhoj to lay down the limitations on god mortal interaction, and create the Seal. As punishment, he and Tlal (as well as Mar’ies) were used as the three points affixing the Seal to the mortal plane. His followers speak of a time when the egg of the world will crack and loose the Hell Toad to devour his enemies.

Daras: (“The Gentle End”, “Queen of the Last Breath”): She is one of the Firstborn of Chaos and bound in marriage to the Oldest. As the Goddess of Death, she brings souls from the world. She is pictured as a skeletal dragon with huge white wings and one black claw and one red claw dripping with gore. She uses this form to carry the souls away from large battles. For more personal deaths she takes the form of a pale maiden with black hair in a white cloak. One hand is black, the other red and dripping. In either form her black hand is used to sever the soul from the flesh (a painless and rather soothing process to the recently slain), and her red hand severs the flesh from the soul. This red hand is reserved for those that try to impede her in her work. The spirits severed with the red hand remain on the mortal plane until the madness brought by the pain of the severing is gone. For some this is a few years, while others have still yet to fade. The manifestations of Daras (of which she can have as many as needed) are drawn to dying things. Violence, decay, disease, and famine are signals that will summon her manifestations. Daras is one of few gods that mortals can actually see (with the exception of occasionally the Wild Ones, and the three that are trapped on the plane for punishment). Those that are close to death will be able to see the manifestations of Daras. The closer they are to death, the more clearly they will be able to see the goddess. Only those that are truly dead have ever seen her eyes.

Derrick: The god that burst from the Nameless One’s genitals. He was a short-lived changeling god. He/She/It was pestering Nhoj and in a fit of annoyed rage, Nhoj tore Derrick into three pieces. These pieces were later picked up by Ariga and transformed into the Wild Ones.

Ishari: (“Marsh Maker”, “Great Protector”, “Sal Iba”[Eye Mother], “Beautiful Mother of Mar’ies”): The Goddess of Truth and Running Waters. Daughter of Bahu and Tiala. Mother of Mar'ies and the Nameless One. She married Mar, but after the Fall of her Unnamed son she left the god of Law. The grisly death of the Nameless One was defended by her husband and so soured her love for him. She hasn't spoken to either Mar or Mar'ies since then. She created the lizardwomen and the great Geato marsh by mixing her tears with the blood of her murdered child, the Nameless One. She created the krishtog when her joyful sigh mixed with her tears. Each of those races worship her almost exclusively.

Mar’ies: (“Beloved Father of Elf Kind”, “King of the Infinite North”): God of Ice. He is the arrogant and beautiful ancestor of the elves. He threw his nameless brother to earth because he thought that his beautiful mother shouldn't be near something so ugly. He was cast down to the mortal plane for this action. He created the Northlands by freezing the sea water around the place he landed. He shaped this mass of ice into a beautiful and dangerous realm. When the Seal was put into place he was used as one of its affixing points, and as such cannot physically use his powers to influence mortals. He is allowed the use of his voice, however, and so dictates his will to those that remain in the Northland. However, he has no true power to enforce his edicts.

Mar: (“The Father of Mar’ies”, “The Shining Protector”, “The Beautiful Tyrant”): The god of Law and Son of Daras and The Oldest. His appearance is that of the perfect human male. He fought with Nhoj for the hand of Ssita to become king of the universe. His loss in the First War is perhaps one of the most defining moments in this universe. Briefly betrothed to Ariga until Ishari was born wherein he married the wildly beautiful River Goddess. He loved his first son more than his wife. He is the model for the human physical appearance because of Ariga’s loneliness and betrayal by him.

The Nameless One: (“Lord Tomorrow”, “The Deformed King”, “The Burning Gatekeeper”, “The Smoldering Judge”): The God of Fire. He is the son of Ishari and Mar, and the younger brother of Mar'ies. He gave life with his death. The Kindred were created from his teeth and brains and the Geato Abira from the mix of his blood and his mother's tears. His loins were what made the Fertile Lands fertile and his genitals became the changeling god Derrick. He is worshipped as the god of the afterlife amongst the Kindred. He judges each soul before they are sent to their afterlife. He grades each Kinfolk as one of his teeth, those that are worthy are placed back in his mouth. Those that aren't are sent back to the world. Those that have some great sin on their souls are eaten and sent back once they have been purified within him. He is also used as a boogieman by the elves.

Introduction to Desylinn

By Frank Shaw

Welcome to a world where the gods of chaos have beaten out the gods of law. Where they have not aligned themselves to good or evil, and have created a Seal to protect the world from their meddling. Desylinn is a world where ancient ruins were created by the gods, or are remnants of the first, and only great empire the world has known. Desylinn is a world where magic is a raw force that permeates everything and can be affected by raw emotions: From the rages of the barbaric Kindreds, to the alluring songs of the Krishtog bards, magic affects all things. Politics are still in their infancy, the Mariean Empire spanning the continent during the First Age of Mortals was overthrown by slaves and vassal states six centuries ago. The political vacuum created by the Empire’s fall is just beginning to be realized. It’s a world where one can lose their mind in a strange temple just as easily as being backstabbed in an alley.

The gods made the Seal in order to prevent each other from directly causing the world harm, also as a prison to punish three gods whose crimes even the inexperienced gods can recognize. At the North Pole, sealed on a throne of ice the god Mari’es holds court with his children the elves, giving council and hatching plots with his voice, they only thing he has free. At the center of the world the god Daikado sits like an enlarged toad, belching hot fire, sending it with his servants the Kado to make the mountains and plains tremble. At the south pole the god Tlal is trapped at the center of a permanent hurricane, his tail churning up smaller storms that are carried north by his servants the Lalt. Anchoring the seal are the Elemental Temples, each one carrying the pure essence of its element, each being in a place where its opposing force is most powerful.

There are those that worship the gods, embracing their tenants, and following rituals that have become tradition. There are those that swear allegiance to strange things in the chaotic Soup of Fate, and are given a small living manifestations of that bond to give them power. Then there are those that desire to transcend the Seal, effectively becoming gods themselves. Using the example of the Five Glorious Transcendents, the five heroes who helped to overthrow the Empire, and who later became “gods”, the aspirants try to walk the paths of those heroes, or seek to make their own.

Magic permeates the world itself, the seven elements integral to the physical and the spiritual being of every person. Those that learn to harness magic are rewarded with great power and the euphoric “Bliss” as a side effect that comes from channeling magic. Those that struggle to harness it, or strive to go beyond their capabilities are inflicted with “Despair”, a painful agony that is both a punishment and a warning not to overstep their capabilities. It’s easy to fall prey to the pleasures of magic, becoming enslaved by it, seeking only the powerful effects of “Bliss”. Magic is a raw force often triggered by emotions, and only a small group of spellcasters aspire to understand its complexity. These wizards hope to tap into magic by understanding the emotions that help channel it, recording their results on vellum scrolls, clay tablets, and papyrus sheets.

Over six centuries ago the Mariean Empire fell, overthrown by races the elves of the Empire considered savage. The new world built in the wake of that collapse is now just coming into its own, and those same savage races have laid claim to the world their struggles created. West in the Vol-kyn, the races of orcs, goblins, ogres, trolls and minotaurs seek a meritocratic society, where each individual is valued by his contributions and not by virtue of his caste or race. In the Dragon Mountains the dwarves have reconnected with the powerful dragons that help rule and created their clans. In the swamps of the Geato Marsh the lizard-women interpret visions those with the “sight” see in their temples of Ishari. In the Dragon Sands, the snake people’s council of Old Ones plot for wealth and power, creating deals that will ripple throughout the lands. While those that serve them wait for old age, so they may take their place on the council. And in the city of Hub, at the heart of the continent, the Five Great Guilds vie for power, seeking to control the city. And ultimately anything else they can.   

The Winding Road: Wizard Lazeron Pi of the Mage's Guild

by Frank Gori




Lazeron tried to ignore the numbers, but as he circled the bar a third time, he couldn’t help but notice them in the cobblestones. The pattern was Chaos to an untrained eye. Along the route he walked every few cobbles had a sparkle of glass in the stone, three, then one, four, one, five, perhaps the pattern is over… Nine, two then six, five, and three again what did it mean! He checked for a tail but wondered once more of the numbers and their hold on him.

Lazeron closed his eyes and counted to five, then took nine measured steps outside of the path he was on and toward the door. The numbers and their meaning served a purpose but they could wait. Within the bar was the Caravaneer he was to meet, and all the wizards in the Mage’s Guild were counting on him not screwing this up.

To his knowledge, he was the first non-sorcerer to play the Chaos Man for an outsider. Of course he didn’t know about playing the Chaos Man until he was asked to, so his knowledge was regrettably limited on the subject, but it stood to reason he was the first. Wizards were a relatively new phenomenon regarded by most sorcerers to be dangerous and possibly unstable. Lazeron wondered if the real Chaos Man shared that opinion, if he indeed existed anymore. Knowing he was to play the role shook the foundation of what Lazeron thought he knew of his own organization. One thing was certain, whoever did run the guild ran a far more restrictive and controlled regime then outsiders perceived, the pressure was on to perform well tonight.

The dominant line of thinking was that magic was inside everyone, it was simply easier for sorcerers and the like to access magic then it was for the average person. The power was wild, mind altering, world altering, and addictive as hell. Usually to use magic was divine, it felt indescribably good, but the more you used the less that was until despair as deep and indescribable as the bliss overtook the magic user. In the depths of despair even raising a blade to kill oneself was like climbing a mountain, not worth the effort.

Wizard’s fought that. Lazeron truly felt by the force of his will he could control the raw powers of creation itself. To him that secret laid within the numbers and when he used a spell he could connect with the numbers. He no longer felt bliss or despair, but that was limited, his mind was limited and magic was really unlimited. Even the numbers seems to stretch out into infinity.

Every wizard had their own way of imposing a semblance of order to the bliss, letdown and despair. Lazeron could safely use the protective magic of what he called abjuration. His numbers were somehow related, but the highest form of their unending pattern was on his right hand, where twenty two was over seven.

Tonight the numbers needed to wait; he was going to follow protocol to a tee. He was to be within two hours late, he was to impose some sort of game with the subject, and give the Caravaneer whatever he wished within reason for a price. He brought dice, he found comfort in the feel of his dice. A comfort. Numbers were sometimes the only thing that made sense.

Calling the memories held within the amulet Lazeron was issued washed him over in a moment of bliss. He reveled in it a moment longer then he should have before using the numbers like a mantra to stave off the effect: three point, one, four, one, five, nine, two, six… The rationalization of an irrational number, that paradox was magic. Then numbers balanced the bliss and then came the tide of memories about Caravaneer Malleck. Some were from previous assignees, others were from observers, one particularly unnecessary one came from a high end courtesan. Malleck’s identity from dozens of perspective came to fruition in his mind all at once.

The heady addictive rush of the bliss was something he expected. Better than sex, drugs, food, even the joys of love fell short. Magic was life piled upon life. Life without it was too little, too small. The air he breathed was less necessary.

Mixing that rush with the sudden power and intimacy of new knowledge was an intense new spice. He found he knew Malleck, like an old friend might, and he found he rather liked the bad-blood. Continuing the farce had been hard on the last few stand-ins, he suddenly understood the reasoning for using a wizard. Lazeron might seem crazy but he was accustomed to dealing with that and concealing it from others. In a way his numbers were both his greatest weakness and strength.

Still, Lazeron circled the block round the bar a fourth time.He needed to separate the memories and emotions of the amulet from his own. With more time Lazeron was fairly certain he could use the amulet to strengthen his control over magic. The potential was there to bolster his will. He let that thought slide away, he had to be professional.

He had come down enough to observe that there was a Workman’s Guild leader stirring up a crowd of workmen. Something about the cost increases on tools needed for their trades, and outrage with the Blacksmith’s Guild.

Lazeron’s stomach started to knot up, someone was using magic in the bar. It was a rare gift to sense magic, rarer still to discern things from the sensations. He could not place why but the disturbed nature of this magic was somehow familiar. It took him a moment to realize the magic was fueling the temper of the crowd. The ugly undercurrent in the crowd of the bar would not need much of a spark to lash out like an inferno.

If Lazeron failed his duty tonight the guild might strip him. The Chaos Man could never fail, which was made clear whne Laz was assigned his role. Should he make the Chaos Man look weak he'd forfeit the lives of all witnessess and he'd be forcable stripped of his magic and left into a permanent despair.

Lazeron ran in the bar hoping it wasn’t too late, the magic he sensed felt finely controlled and nauseatingly impure. It was like tasting a fine wine then getting a sour and rotten aftertaste.Somewhere a bell rang and a trace of magic came into fruition above the third booth to his left. The magic was a contingency, this was a trap. A basso voice rang out with the call “Shenanigans,” and The Sawhorse erupted into absolute chaos.

Secrets of Desylinn: The Creation of the Gren

By Frank Shaw

In the days before the Seal, while the Brothers waged their war across the lands of Desylinn the Wild Ones – Shala the Wild One of Beauty, Daros the Wild One of Desire, and Kuro the Wild One of Passion- played their games with the mortal races openly without interference from other gods. They roamed far and wide teaching their knowledge to the people of Desylinn and reveling in the strange world that was open to them. One day they travelled far to the North to the seat of Mar’ies who held court with his children the elves in a great palace of ice. Shala, the Wild One of Beauty suggested they present themselves to the stern god, and ask a boon of him. The three gods debated and after a time they decided to ask Mar’ies for a keg of ice wine, made by the elves as a gift to the god from ice lilies which only grew on the Ice God’s continent.

They arrived at Mar’ies’ palace to find a great line of elves waiting for audience, each bearing gifts for the cold god. The elves formed orderly lines and presented themselves to him. He would grant them a boon, showing his pleasure. Send them away to seek out improvement if found lacking. Or freeze them with his breath and shatter their remains if they incurred his wrath. Kuro, who had taken the form of a fat bloated ogre, rushed forward impatiently, knocking elves out of the way as he did. When he arrived at the front of the line he exclaimed “Here We are!” to Mar’ies. The god’s cold disapproving glare froze those who came under it except the Wild Ones. Shala and Daros, who had taken the forms of elves, arrived shortly after Kuro and bowed low to the cold god and greeted him in a manner befitting him.

Mar’ies, with a dreadful scowl, asked them what they wanted. Before Shala or Daros could respond to the cold god, Kuros shouted: “Wine! Strong drinks of course! Women and Men! Music! We shall make merry!”

Mar’ies, angry at the outburst cursed the gods. Kuro jested at him: “Uncle aren’t we equals on this world? Your curses are nothing to us when we’re together” He said gesturing back to Shala and Daros.

Mar’ies rose from his throne piled high with gifts from the elves, and bid them leave in a icy voice. Shala and Daros, not wishing to incur the cold god’s anger any longer, made to withdrawal. But Kuro, who was disappointed with the response to his call for merrymaking, turned to address those elves not frozen by the cold god’s breath: “Children of Mar’ies, do you not have any life in you? Are you all so meek that this frigid god on his throne of ice can forbid you from revelry? Let’s fill his halls with song! Let’s fill his halls with dance! Let’s fill his halls with love making and heat his cold dead heart!”

Kuro picked up a keg of ice lily wine near the throne tucking it beneath his arm. He began to sing an orcish love song in a deep booming voice. Mar’ies, in his great stature, gathered up the Wild One who he towered over. Taking him in hand he flung him, the keg still tucked gently under Kuro’s arm, out of the palace and back to the mainland of Desylinn.

Shala and Daros found Kuro sometime later. The god had drunk more than his fill of the ice lily wine and had passed out in the wild Fertile Lands. Seated atop of their slumbering brother Shala and Daros discussed Mar’ies, and what they had seen while in his lands.

“The elves adore him, yet he does nothing for them.” Shala pondered. She had taken the form of a sinewy Lash-ti-nowish and had to play in a puddle of mud her sleeping brother had awoke for a moment to create.

“This is true. He punishes them without thought and rewards them without care. I could see neither rhyme nor reason for his judgments.” Daros said. He had changed his sex, but still held the form of an elf.

Shala began to make figures from the mud and twigs lying nearby. “We have been in all the lands of this world, welcomed by all. Teaching each peoples the things we know and all have welcomed us, but the elves.” She smiled. “If they will not welcome us then we shall make them. “ Shala studied Daros and begun to fashion a tiny statue from the muck she had absentmindedly been playing in. She created long ears, longer than an elf’s, and sharp ridges to define the brow. The cheek-bones she made angular, and a sharp chin, nearly pointed. She gave the doll a slender frame, and grasped the nearby shadows from a pine tree turning them to thread to bind the doll.

Daros delighted at his sister’s sculpture. Taking the keg of wine out of his sleeping brother’s fists he took a swig and offered some to Shala. He took the doll and examined while Shala drank. “This little man is almost like an elf. Make a few more so he is not lonely.” He then let out a loud tumultuous belch, blowing it at the doll and gifting it with life.

Shala, now drunk off the wine began to make more dolls. She created seven more, all of them female, while Daros breathed life into each with great belches between drinks of wine. Soon eight of the creatures stood around the gods curious and confused, seven women and a single man. Daros noted the discrepancy. Shala laughed and responded “Why should it matter?

It was then Kuro awoke with a great start and a bellowing roar. The children of the three gods huddled in fear around Shala and Daros. He laughed at the little creatures, taking delight in their fear of him. He laughed at his sister’s and brother’s antics in creating them. He laughed in delight and gathered them up still cowering. Running to the northern shore he shouted across the sea to the cold god on his throne. “Mar’ies! Ol’ frozen heart! We’ve made our own elves to play with!” The Ice God peered across the sea with cold angry eyes to see what the God of Passion spoke of. There on the shore Kuro had surrounded his self with the eight little creatures who made an obvious mockery of the elves. The cold god spoke: “May those with seed burn too hot to plant it. Let those in who it would quicken feel their fury.” His curse fell on the lone male amongst the little creatures.

The Wild Ones, laughing at the anger of Mar’ies, gave their children a bit of wine, saving most for the male to cool him of Mar’ies’ curse. Seeing this Mar’ies bid his elves to seek out and destroy all the ice lilies in his land. However a few seeds of the plant were stuck in the cracks of the keg stolen by Kuro, and soon found a place to grow on the cold beaches of the Fertile Lands.

The Winding Road: Caravanner Malleck

by Frank Gori

The Sawhorse Tavern was crowded tonight. The Workmen’sGuild had a meeting, so it wasn't just A-shift stragglers and B-shift regulars; the whole guild was out tonight. The place reeked of sawdust, sweat, and sour beer. More than a few eyes found Malleck, despite his hooded cloak and shadowy corner booth.  This made him uncomfortable. The Chaos Man chose this venue for that very effect, to throw Malleck off balance.

There was a buzz of agitation in the room. The workmen were riled up about something, so it was a dangerous night to be an outsider in one of their establishments. Had Malleck been meeting another, he would have simply veiled himself with magic. The Chaos Man, however, would be offended if he did, and Malleck would rather not wait another three months for a meeting.

A group of young orcish apprentice carpenters belonging to one of the more radical sub-guilds kept sizing Malleck up with quick glances. Sooner or later, one might get drunk, call him Tu’rid, and mockingly challenge him. The Workmen’s Guild made it easy to read a member’s affiliations by a quick glance to the tool belts they all wore. The white leather belts told him they were apprentices, the painted red hammer worn on the left hip loop their profession and sub-guild, but the blue-handled hatchet was a newer insignia tool he didn't recognize.

The story of Malleck’s mixed blood was there to read in his face. His tusks indicated orc blood, but the small size and lack of under-bite revealed that he was not a full blood. His surname, “Smallbite”, was given to half-orcish bastards for this very reason. The elegantly pointed ears and the slightly-canted, severely green eyes both indicated elvish blood, which was always the problem. Kindred races were generally blasé of racial intermingling, except of course for the stigma associated with badbloods. To the ignorant and intolerant, his very face was an insult to the Nameless One, who died of treachery at the hands of his brother Mar’ies - the first elf.  From the Nameless One’s body were born theKindred.

This dive could be trouble for Malleck, which is why he brought a Sunder. The Blacksmiths Guild hired out mercenary bodyguards, called Sunders, to the Merchants' Guild all the time. Malleck always hired the same one: a lizard man named Zool. Malleck had never seen Zool’s wares as a smith, but the man was a virtuoso with his strange array of scimitar, spiked buckler (which he strapped to his sword arm), hand crossbow, and what Malleck suspected was a dash of magic. Zool was giving the orcs a look that killed their curiosity, for the moment.

The Chaos Man was over an hour late again, making Mal wonder when he would arrive. What game the Chaos Man would play this time was the next question? No matter what face he wore (if indeed the Chaos Man was just one individual) there was always a game of some sort during their meetings. When he first wore the face of a horridly scarred minotaur, the game was questions: he would ignore each statement that wasn't a question, and only answer questions with another question. It was a terribly irritating way to negotiate, but the Caravanner didn't earn his position in the guild by lacking the ability to adapt. On the second meeting, the Chaos Man was a Dwarf with mismatched eyes who wished to play an elaborate version of stones that required drinking. Though the Chaos Man never appeared to be the same person, he always remembered prior conversations and business, always played games, and was always late.

Theories in Mal's files back at the guild varied widely. Some said he was one man who wore a thousand faces.  Others insisted that the Chaos Man was actually just a title, a position that was in a near constant state of flux. Whoever he was, he always maintained the deadly sort of confidence that comes from the power to kill. As long as Malleck could get the deal he came to make, he didn't care who he was dealing with.

Despite the passage of centuries, there were outlying villages close to the frozen heart of the North that still maintained loyalty to the Empire. Reputedly one, Tribute, had ore so fine and pure that the Blacksmiths Guild would pay triple per shipment. If the Caravanner could establish a route, he’d likely be elevated; such discoveries and dealings made careers within the Merchants' Guild. Most importantly, Liara would be proud of him.

Liara rarely showed emotion, but Malleck believed she held a mother’s love for the adopted orphans she took into the guild. Behind her whispered orders and small tight smiles was a woman that cared deeply for once discarded-children. She herself was discarded, in a way. She adopted from the orphanages frequently, and many of her orphans rose high in the guild. While more cynical minds might think she adopted and raised orphans to ensure the guild's upper ranks were filled with the fiercely loyal, others said she saw something special in each adoptee. Malleck chose to regard Liara as his true mother, as opposed to the woman that left him on the steps of an orphanage without so much as a note. To Malleck the guild was family, and family was everything.

To make his family proud, Malleck needed the deal to go through. Liara would not risk a caravan north unless Malleck could secure additional security from the Mages' Guild. Trading with the loyalist mining town was a risk, but the potential reward was high.  The journey was perilous, particularly if the frozen elves decided to attack. Fire magic could serve as a deterrent, but...

The ring of a crossbow bolt striking the rapidly drawn blade of Zool less than half a foot from his face reminded Malleck of Liara’s 12th rule: “Never disregard the present situation.” Someone screamed “Shenanigans,” and the whole bar erupted into chaos. Except, of course, for the group of five orcs who were calmly approaching with naked steel.