Thursday, August 29, 2013

The Winding Road: A Compentent Guardsman

by Frank Gori


From the moment Lazeron opened Dab’s door and an alarm filled the building, Malleck had been scrambling. He gave orders while his mind wrestled with the situation. The group needed him to give orders, to keep the illusion of control. Panic was something they could ill afford.

Mal rattled orders instinctually: “Free every prisoner on the floor and gather any weapons and uniforms you can find. Capture any guardsmen that look like officers and kill the grunts.” The prison was the kind of trap you didn’t see coming until it was too late. Extra prisoners were extra bodies. Bodies that could provide the group with more force and bodies that in all honesty were expendable.

Dab was in the lowermost basement of the five in the facility. Access to each basement was secured with an iron-barred, reinforced door with stout braces. The ground floor had a portcullis, and the whole facility had about double the expected guardsmen.

The new guards proved to be a double edged sword to Mal’s plans.  The extra bodies employed by the enemy made getting in without opposition possible. New faces weren’t suspicious, and the honeypot trap set by Bellani the night before procured the team uniforms. Now however, those new faces were going to be trouble on the way out.

The liberated prisoners proved to be both a help and a hindrance in getting out. Several of the prisoners were prominent members of other guilds, or foreign visitors. There came a point where Malleck expected a scandal in every cell.

Malleck found and freed an elderly Orc Blacksmith who had been imprisoned for over a decade, a Kristog bard who had once filled taverns and concert halls in the city, a lizardwoman cleric, and they were even insane enough to have another Mage. Malleck had found at least half a dozen possible sparks for a guild war, which told him something else as he captured level by level: this was too easy.

Even the trap on the third basement which released over a hundred zombies and skeletons in relatively tight quarters wasn’t quite deadly enough. Of the seventy souls he liberated, about two dozen fell to that trap. Without Lazeron’s magic there would have been many more dead, but it was still too easy.

The guardsmen fell back too quickly and orderly. The men must have had orders to merely delay the escape. Aside from the trap the guards only seemed to commit to stopping the prison break at a couple bottleneck choke points. Zool and Bellany made those encounters costly to the guards, the design of the prison made those choke points costly to Mal.

When they reached the portcullis at the top Mal understood.

Perfect spot to set up archers or a magic user, or they could have rigged a deadfall to bury everyone. Instead Mal found a lone guardsmen with  resolved look on his face and his hand on a lever contained in an opened lock box.

“Listen, you don’t need to die today. Just let us out and you’re free to go or you can join us, but I warn you: Try to pull that lever or act against us, and I’m going to order Laz here to immolate you,” Mal stated in a calm voice.

The guard looked at Mal and smiled a half-hearted smile, “I pulled the short straw.”

Mal calculated the situation a little differently in the moment the guard spoke. Based on his posture, the man was holding the lever up. This was a mechanical trap of some sort, already triggered. Killing the guard would set it off.

The guard was also standing inside a circle half inscribed on the floor half up the wall. A simple act of will revealed strong warding magic.

“Whatever that is, I can tell that you will die as well. That doesn’t need to happen. I can prop that lever up,” said Mal, adding a touch of magic to his words. Alas, the guard’s eyes remained clear, and he seemed to shake off Mal’s words.

“I pulled the short straw: Make peace with your favorite god. We’re all going to die soon,” the guard replied.

Mal pressed forward, “I can tell you don’t want to die.”

The guard replied, “Of course I don’t! But I believe in something… I pulled the short straw so I’m going to do it.”

Mal queried, “Then why haven’t you?”

 Another alarm went off and the guard smiled as he replied, “I was waiting for my friends to get out.” He let go of the lever as a purple fire enveloped him. The mechanical noise of shifting gears strained and plates in the floor shifted breaking the circle.

A dagger darted through the air, jamming the lever, but the dagger snapped right out almost immediately. Magical missiles of force energy slammed into the guard to seemingly no effect.

“Run,” Mal shouted as he turned away and followed his own order.

The guard screamed, as his features began to rapidly shift. Bones cracked and flesh was torn, revealing scales the color of polished iron. The man’s body contorted grossly as he gained size and mass. Within a matter of seconds, the man was twisted into a rather large dragon.

Mal had spent those few moments running, as did his immediate companions. Some of his liberated prisoners had not, and were subsequently caught in the first blast of fire. A blast of cold soon followed, and then a hammering sound.

A quick surveying glance told Mal he had lost another seven or so men, but none of the folk he had come in with.

“Laz, tell me you can do something here,” Mal said in a pleading tone.

“I can buy us time,” Laz said, and began casting.

A wall of iron, a wall of stone and a wall of force followed.

Laz made the motions of casting something else, but twice seemed to fall into a violent and confused haze. Mal knew despair when he saw it; Laz had been pushed too far.

Laz bought them time, it was going to have to be enough. They’d have to find another way out.

Roughly forty pairs of eyes were on Mal. The dragon guard’s hammer-shaped tail was smashing away at the portcullis in a steady rhythm.

“I’m open to suggestions…”

Monday, August 26, 2013

Dwarves: An Overview

by Dominic Ford

Carved from stone, forged from metal, the Dwarves are the first truly mortal race born to Desylinn, and their civilization and culture reflect this most ancient heritage. Guided by Dragons for millennia, the Dwarven religion and philosophy involves a unique combination of ancestral honor and formalized rituals for seeking advice from the divine Dragons who live and work among them. The Dwarves built upon the schisms and division of their Draconic leaders, evolving into ten different clans, with five dramatically different cultures between them. Between their complex culture and the vast swaths of land their empty continent allowed them to settle, the Dwarves are a force to be reckoned with in Desylinn.
Fundamental Dwarven Culture
The most critical element of Dwarven culture is their uniqueness. The Dwarves understand that their systems would be ineffective or useless among other races, due to their unique heritage. Most of the clans have extreme gender divides, with males strictly forbidden from working with Stone and females equally forbidden from dealing with metal, to the point that female merchants keep husbands or brothers around for the express purpose of dealing with their metallic currency. Most clans also have some degree of racial purity expressed through this belief. The most extreme clan is the Silver clan, who believe that any sexual relationship with a non-dwarf is an offense deserving extreme punishments, including death if the union results in a child. They also frown on inter-clan marriage, something the White clan disagrees with entirely, as their women often attract suitors of other clans. The Red clan is the most dramatic exception to this idea of racial purity, as they have begun to accept the ideas of equality expressed by the Kindred and believe that this racial identity is part of what made the Mariean Empire so particularly unpleasant.
The clan forms the most critical element of identity for Dwarves, with their first loyalty belonging to their clan. Each Dwarf has the same clan as their mother, regardless of what clan their father is from, and their hair color matches their clan. While some clans, such as Red or Blue, are easily distinguished by outsiders, few can distinguish between Silver, Iron, Lead, and White, making many of the finer points of clan interrelations difficult for others to understand. Dwarves have eyes the color of their Father's clan, making inter-clan marriages more obvious. Although there is technically a caste system among the Dwarves, the Mariean Empire wiped out the actual differences and the bulk of the clans evolved into a primarily meritocratic society, focusing on Family instead. Family honor has taken on even stronger connotations since the fall of the Empire, particularly among the more martial Red and Silver clans who feel the need to prove their Families were coerced by the Empire to serve as their agents.
The Ten Clans and Five Alliances
The Dwarves, just like their Draconic deities, are composed of ten different Clans. Each clan has its own agenda and ideals, their own laws and politics, and their own goals and methods for achieving them. Each clan is closely allied with another clan, and in many cases hair color is the primary distinguishing factor of the two allied clans, as their cultures are fundamentally similar and tend to be strongly entwined. Understanding the Five Alliances is critical to understanding the Dwarves as a race.
Silver and Gold - These two clans are the most inclusive and most firm in their own superiority, particularly over other races but also over the other clans. They have strict ethical codes and are firm believers in tradition and maintaining all the old religious traditions. They abhor the lax moral values they see among the other Dwarves, particularly among the Red clan. The Silver clan specializes in martial prowess, and proudly served as special forces units for the Mariean Empire. The Gold clan specializes in music and strongly advocate the powerful ties a shared musical experience help to create.
Red and Iron - These clans couldn't be more different than the Silver and Gold, believing in the fundamental equality of the individual and that earning your position means more than family, caste, or even clan. Half-breeds with the Kindred and the Humans are becoming increasingly common, and hundreds of Red Dwarves have turned their back on their Clan by taking the marks of the Kindred upon themselves. The Red clan specializes in sheer physical strength. Against their will they were used as shock troops by the Mariean Empire, and they are have been scattered across Desylinn, making them the most commonly seen clan of Dwarves outside their own territory. The Iron clan specializes in all kinds of Smithing and metal work, and their clan has the weakest gender taboos, with many women taking up the hammer and learning their father's or brother's trade.
Copper and Lead - Located in the valley between the Northern and Southern Dragon mountain ranges, these two clans are among those most often seen by outsiders. The Copper clan is composed of two different groups, the central farmers and the fringe herders and outriders. Hunters, farmers, and highly expansionist, the Copper clan controls significant territory and the bulk of the food supply. The Lead clan specializes in mining, and are also divided into two groups, the Northern and Southern branches. Living in the foothills of the ranges, the Lead clan is slowly turning the mountains into valleys, as they level whole mountains to mine critical metals and build mighty structures of stone and metal.
Blue and Green - These two clans are by far the most secretive of the Dwarven clans, and both were hunted by the Mariean Empire. Although they possess very little territory of their own, the clans are important in their own right. The Blue Dwarves are the most powerful magic users, with strong and powerful spells few outside their circle have even heard of, much less mastered. They have vowed to never allow their enslavement again, and are willing to die in order to prevent it from happening. The Green clan has even less territory than the Blues, and instead live amongst the other clans, dyeing their hair and integrating themselves into the clans, often so fully and effectively that their closest friends remain unaware they are from different clans. They thrive on learning secrets, and gather information on the hidden ways of others.
Black and White - Both of these clans claim to be neutral in the feuds of the other clans, and have gone to great lengths to ensure that their neutrality is firmly established. The Black clan has the strongest healers in the world, and will give succor to any who find their Black Shrines, Dark Temples, or the Black Tower. The White clan took a pledge to protect the holy places, and somehow managed to hold out against the worst the Mariean Empire could throw against them. They have determined that in spite of their success they could have done better, and have begun to build a massive wall along their Western border. Half complete, they have just begun construction on a similar wall along the Eastern side. The andBoth walls are meant to prevent anything like the Mariean Empire from ever conquering Dwarven lands again. White clan took a heavy toll under the Mariean Empire, and have rejected standard Dwarven gender norms entirely in order to build and grow more effectively.
The Clanless
Two different kinds of people form the Clanless - those who were exiled from their Clan (and their descendents), and the unlucky few who are born outside a clan in the first place. Born with wild hair, mismatched eyes, or other genetic confusions, they are never accepted by their clan and are typically driven out before they reach adulthood. The clanless wandered for many years, but a large contingent have found their way to the Free Cities, where they have begun to unite together, far from their tormentors. Many of the exiles have chosen to embrace a wider vision of themselves, embracing less typical trades, practices, and ideas, most commonly men working with stone and women working with metal. In addition, most exiles have embraced alternative religious traditions, vastly different cultural norms, or even a new racial identity.
The Empire and Draconic Schism
When the Elves landed, the Dwarves initially ignored them, assuming that they would be entirely unable to defeat the barbaric tribes, much less breach the mighty Dwarven fortresses. By the time they realized their mistake, it was far too late and the Dragons slept. During this time, the Dwarves began to understand their own mortality better, as they no longer had access to the oracular Dragons. When the Dragons were finally awoken, the Dwarves had gone without divine response for two and a half millennia, and had become used to simply acting instead of demanding divine advice. As a result, a rift has formed between the Dragons and the Dwarves, leaving many to wonder if they will continue to consider each other as allies.
The Future
As the Dragons have all awoken and the immediate threat of the Empire has been quelled, the Dragons have once again resumed their petty squabbling. Although the Dwarves also engage in this, many have begun to wonder what the future holds for them. How long can Red and Silver disagree on everything without resulting in the death of innocent Dwarves? How long can the feuds continue before another force like the Mariean Empire steps in to intervene? What will happen if the Dwarves stop treating the Dragons like divine beings? Can the rest of Desylinn avoid being dragged into the intrigue and machinations of the various Dwarf clans?



Thursday, August 15, 2013

The Winding Road: Circles

by Frank Gori

Dab’s cell was about the size of a closet. His Brute Squad jailors from the Workman's Guild had to wait for him to hunch a little in order for them to shove him in. Hunched he had to remain or his horns would get caught in the ceiling.

Dab licked his lips and tasted the copper of his own blood. They left his hands manacled or he’d straighten his nose. Dab’s shoulders ached from being suspended by the wrists.  His captors alternated between asking questions and using him as a heavybag.

Dab had to breathe through his mouth because his nose was a mess, and he spit blood periodically. His two lower right ribs were broken and he was for the most part as battered and bruised as he’d ever been.

It was all too familiar.

Dab had a ring through his tongue that the brute squad missed that helped speed up healing. Unfortunately, the ring didn’t do anything for pain while he was waiting, nor would it reset broken bones. A few of his tattoos and some of the engraving in his horns also served to protect him which in this case just extended the period of his interrogation.

Having been a pit fighter by trade for the past decade, Dab could handle a beating better than most. The questions he was asked were beyond his ability to answer at the moment anyway. He wasn’t sure why he helped the mage, or why he trusted the man, or why even now he expected that the mage would mount a rescue, he just did.

Dab pulled hard enough to slough off some skin and break some finger bones as he roughly jerked a hand free of the manacles. The pain was so intense he could see stars for a moment.The ring started kicking in and he knew he’d be fine in under an hour.

Dab used his newly freed hand to straighten his nose and a few of his other busted bones best he could. He learned to patch himself up before he even learned to fight. Master Ergan believed in pain as a teacher, and Dab was a slow learner. The beatings by his master were nothing to the beatings he took on the streets. His master made him go out between work and dinner, leaving Dab to the streets and the envy of other boys. Later in life Dab would come to understand what those boys felt, having no future or trade to look forward to.

Master Ergan was a bit too fond of the bottle and made poor decisions which put him in debt. Egan used his craftsman reputation to get a cushy guild job only to embezzle his way out of the debt. Egan got caught before Dab could take the journeymen’s test and his time in apprenticeship was ruled null.

Dab took day labor jobs with the same kind of people that used to treat him like garbage on the streets. Like them he saw the ones with trades get all the benefits while he and his co-workers lived on scraps and he understood the hatred they felt. The Workman's Guild is a corrupt and at times unfair system and those at the bottom are kept down.

The kids that bullied Dab when he was small and his fire was low were just as petty and jealous as his peers. Dab was strong because he so often had only himself to depend on and himself to protect. No one claimed him, and no one stood by his side - with one exception.

For one summer Dab had a friend stand by him. It was a scrawny human kid everyone called Circles because he was also drawing circles everywhere and rattling off numbers no one really understood. One day Dab got surrounded by a group of bigger kids, and he was down getting kicked by about six boys. Dab had cried for help but no one seemed to want to get involved until this scrawny kid came along and started throwing rocks at his attackers. The bullies chased the kid and left Dab there in the alleyway.

For the rest of that summer Dab had a friend and ally. Odds didn’t matter; if Circles needed help Dab charged in and vice versa. After a while the bullies seemed to at least hesitate before starting things. It was too good to last, eventually the same seven boys got Dab and Circles cornered, but this time something happened, Dab found his fire and Circles found his magic.

One of the boys died and Circles was taken away, Dab never saw him again…

It struck Dab like a bolt of lightning. If there was one good thing about pain, it shut out all the other noise in life. For Dab pain was a tether, something about the pain let him think straight and when that happened he realized who the mage was and why he trusted him so much. The beating brought it all back. 

When the door swung open and the mage stepped in, Dab smiled, “What took you so long, Circles?”

Monday, August 12, 2013

Elves: An Overview

By Dominic Ford

Directly descended from Maries, the Elves claim their divine lineage passionately, and his influence in their bloodline shines through. Beautiful and delicate winter flowers, the Elves are elegant and refined yet brutally cruel and vain. The Kindred warn, "When an Elf smiles, flee." Unfortunately for the Kindred, the entirety of Desylinn couldn't simply move away when the Elves landed their ships from a distant Northern continent. Under the harsh rule of the Mariean Empire, the old barriers were broken down and replaced with roads and trade routes, walls and citadels. The Elves, convinced of their own superiority, attempted to reforge Desylinn in their own image, to tame the rough and wild land. Their failure was marked by the death of the Empress Arcadia.
In the world today, there are three kinds of Elves: the Northern Elves, who make their home in the far North, beyond Desylinn; the Imperial Elves, who once ruled across Desylinn and now suffer as shadows of their former selves; and the Human-blooded Elves, born of parents who were Half-Elves themselves. Although these three groups are all the same race, they are culturally distinct from each other.
Imperial Elves are the most common to find throughout Desylinn, as their rule over the continent was almost total. With the Mariean Empire fallen, these Elves have been forced to cope with their own inferiority, something that is rare for the race as a whole. Some of the survivors have sworn loyalty to local barbaric tribes, while others have become born again among the Kindred, serve among the Dwarves, or risen to power in the burgeoning city of Hub. Many simply wander from town to town, itinerant beggars who had once been courtiers, money changers, or poets. Deep in the Northern Dragon Mountains, though, a large group of Imperial Elves has begun to gather, attempting to rebuild and establish a mighty Empire once again. The city of Tarn Modeshi has a significant Imperial Elven population, primarily composed of Elves who were minor nobility or with mercantile interests. The Modeshi Elves have utilized the collapse to gain power for themselves.
All Imperial Elves bear Kadie's Kiss, a small star-shaped mark on their cheek which appeared as Empress Arcadia died. Those who remain loyal to the Empire (or at least the idea of the Empire) wear Kadie's Kiss with pride, although they have great difficulty doing business, or even buying bread, throughout most of Desylinn. Most Imperial Elves destroy the kiss somehow, from tattooing over it or slicing it off with a blade to searing it with flame or taking Orckhan marks when they join the Kindred.
Human Blooded Elves, born of Half-Elf parents, are seen as corrupted and lost souls by the Imperial Elves. During the Empire these offspring happened occasionally, as human slaves had children who had children, but the Fall of the Empire has increased the potential dramatically. Hub in particular is home to a high number of Half-Elves, as the red light districts are frequented by many Imperials seeking escape from their misery. These Elves do not see themselves as corrupt or lost souls, they see their luck as a divine blessing directly from Mar, proving their worth in his eyes. As a result, they often abandon their families even before their inevitable orphanhood takes place, joining brutally violent street gangs which control vast portions of Hub's underbelly. Organized, calculating, and elaborate, these gangs are hindered primarily by their inability to work together, as their memory's are long and their grudges never go unpunished.
Beyond Desylinn, far to the North, above the frozen form of Mar, live the Northern Elves. Very little is known about these Elves, save for the stories told by the Imperials. Long ago, there was a great council to determine what should be done about the continent of unruly barbarians they had discovered to the South. One group sought to establish trade outposts in order to acquire luxury items they couldn't grow in their frozen city, while another wished to simply ignore them. A third group, led by an oracular prophetess, claimed Maries wished them to conquer the foreign lands and claim them for the Ice. The council failed to make a decision due to internal corruption. The prophetess left the frozen city in a rage, gathered up her followers and sailed south. The Imperial Elves believe the Northern Elves are still arguing today, unable to find consensus and unwilling to simply act, lost in their corruption and folly.
Immediately after landing in Desylinn, the Elves began to expand rapidly. Their capital, Salastria, was constructed in a few short years of hardship and hunger, but the Elves immediately sought for solutions through their oracular prophetess Chaliki. Her animal sacrifices were pathetic and the augurs they brought led to dim prospects, so Chaliki immediately called for a true sacrifice, the pure warriors of a Vok-lyn tribe to the south. After draining their blood into a mighty cauldron and reading their souls in their intestines, Chaliki poured a cup of bloody life force for each Elf, and together they drank. The Elves began to conquer the Vok-lyn rapidly, pitting them against each other, sowing mistrust, using mind control to manipulate whole clans, and buying the loyalty of weaker tribes. They expanded rapidly, swallowing up their barbaric enemies. The great Prophetess Chaliki died before Desylinn was conquered, but with her last breath she taught her commander, the first Sorcerer King, how to send the Dragons into eternal slumber. Given to her by Mar, the Draconic slumber was a critical key to the success of the Mariean Empire.
The Imperial Elves continued to practice bloody auguries, profane magic, and harsh, demanding slavery, particularly for the Vok-lyn. They spread across the remainder of Desylinn rapidly, conquering the Dwarves, the central plain, and the Fertile Lands with ease. The Elves built great cities, including Salastria and Icehome in the frozen North, and innumerable towers, fortresses, castles, strongholds, and outposts, all to project the martial and mercantile interests of the Empire. The Elves conquered most of Desylinn, with a few exceptions: First, the land of the Snakes, whom they allied with instead. Second, the Blackfire Mountains, deep in the East, which was too unpopulated and full of bizarre oddities to be worthwhile. Third, the Great Southern Forest, where the Elves suffered their greatest defeat before the fall of the Empire.
Once a strong and mighty culture in Desylinn, the Elves are now a broken and shattered remnant. With only six hundred years since their fall, many older Elves remember the Empire as it once was, and despair. The rest, fueled by stories and their still strong sense of superiority, long for the Golden Age of the Mariean Empire.

Thursday, August 8, 2013

The Winding Road: Honeypot

by Frank Gori

Ballany paused in front of a conjured mirror for a moment. She was still adjusting to being a brunette. Men sometimes missed noticing her as a brunette which was never a problem as a blonde. Her normal high quality cosmetics wouldn’t do tonight so she simply applied a very inexpensive khol and some cheap red lipwax.

The shirt Bellany wore was a slightly too small men’s button up strategically buttoned and torn. The belt she wore above her wrinkled and somewhat worn skirt was about two weeks from being retired. If the brutes even bothered to consider things, she’d look the part of a pretty half elf girl out of work who was about to wash out of the Workman’s Guild because she hadn’t paid her dues in nearly a year. That kind of girl turned to tricks commonly enough.

The tavern she picked was close to the jailhouse and had a few rooms for rent upstairs. Today three of the dozen or so human guards came into some lucky money. Malleck proved to be talented at disguise work and shockingly adept at the sleight of hand needed to properly deck stack. A hummingbird would be hard pressed to catch the caravanner’s work!

It was roughly a five minute walk to the tavern from the jailhouse. B- Shift ended about five minutes ago. Meaning one of her three possible targets was extremely likely to walk into the bar soon with a pocket full of easy coin and hopefully a taste for brunettes.

Being half elf always added a little spice to this routine. Some men just wanted to hurt anyone with elf blood even if she was born long after the empire crumbled. For other men it was a turn on, they had a fascination with the idea of melting a heart made of ice, or they got turned on by pointed ears. Whatever it was she could always see a perverted gleam in the eyes of that sort.

Bellany was no stranger to the honeypot routine. Being with Jax earned her no special privileges when it came to using all her assets to complete an assignment. She was an excellent actress and she had a pretty enough face to bolster or tone down. Without any of her arts she was the type of girl next door pretty that men convinced themselves they had a chance with regardless of their looks.

Tonight Ballany’s sob story would put bad men in the mind of how they could take advantage of her and good men in the mind of how they could rescue her. Either way one of her targets would end up in her room and in a compromised position. Men were men inside no matter if they packaged themselves as kind or cruel.

Bellany was intimately aware of dozens of way to incapacitate or kill without arms or magic, not that she was ever without either. Unlike some of her peers, Bellany took no pleasure from taking lives. She enjoyed challenging assignments but not the act of killing in and of itself. Her mentor Pesh took pains to avoid killing the same way twice. He felt each death should be unique and to repeat the same circumstances would be disrespectful to the victim. She knew others that killed with a signature so that each death would add to their reputation.

When Bellany killed she did so in the fastest most effective way available. She chose detachment: a job called for dancing death or it did not. Her victims died quickly, and mostly without pain. Death was business.

It was Jax who decided to go and mix business with pleasure. The thought of what she had to do almost brought a tear to her eye but she shoved that thought deep down to her torn insides where it belonged. If she had any doubts about allowing Jax’s seed to take further root he quashed those doubts by setting her up to get killed. Such thoughts were… unprofessional at the moment.

Two of her three possible marks arrived together with a third guardsmen, a thickly muscled ogre.  It took all of Bellany’s art to sway her hips as inexpertly a she did while she approached the trio. The humans smiled: the ogre didn’t. Her human marks had already ordered strong drinks the ogre just a light beer. Her assessment the ogre was on duty.

At the last moment Bellany changed course and fluttered her eyelashes at a half orc mason instead. From the corner of her eye she saw the two human’s body language shift. Playing hard to get was the right play since the boys apparently had a chaperone. For once the Workman’s Guild was being competent. Sending an extra guard to make sure the off duty guys didn’t lose their heads at a bar was a smart move.

“Well what can I do for you little lady” said the half orc with a gruff voice.

Well aware she was dressed like a cheap harlot, Bellany played at demure. She began to relay her story, knowing full well the humans were listening in.

The price on her belt renewal was of course out of the mason’s pay range as his belt identified him as a mere third year apprentice, and she knew the guards had it. The mason surprised her by politely offering her some coin but did not press the advantage, said he wished he could do more and carried on. Bellany didn’t expect such a reaction. She expected a fight and to the victor she would have gone, the odds being in favor of her targets three to one.

Bellany felt a brief moment of shame, some folk were simply good people. Her work had made her jaded and she’d return the mason’s money later if she could.

When the half orc walked away, another took his place dropping a goodly portion of the money she mentioned. “Let’s go upstairs whore,” even looking for it Bellany almost missed the subtle toss as Malleck sloppily lurched forward and cupped her breast. “Ya got some fine teats, let ME take you upstairs,” he slurred. Her brave brutes rose to their feet at last, the ogre downed the remains of his ale in one long pull.

“Unhand her at once you oaf,” the darker prettier one said as his hands reflexively slipped down to his baton. “Get out of here before we have to teach you a lesson in manners.”

The ogre then rose to his feet presumably to support his brothers-in-arms. Instead he lurched forward a bit and vomited. Were he not in such a revolting disguise Bellany would have been tempted to kiss Malleck in that moment, but as it were he was about to get “bounced” out of the bar.

With the exception that both men escorted her upstairs the rest of the night went predictably. With just two of them mostly in their cups the odds were very much in Bellany’s favor. Two prisoners to tell them the layout and two guardsmen belts, three if Malleck managed to sneak back in and take the ogre who was passed out on the floor. All in all a good night’s haul indeed!

Monday, August 5, 2013

Krishtog: An Overview

by John Belliston and Frank Shaw

                Below the Geato Marsh Plateau and before the Great Southern Forest is a strip of land called the Kristogalog. Dominated by Krishtog trees which soar into the sky hundreds of feet this marshy land is home to the race of frog people who share their name with the trees dominating their home.
                The Krishtog are a lithe race who appear smaller than they actually are. Looking like bipedal frogs, their skin varies, from yellows to greens with occasional reds and extremely rare poison-skinned blues. Their faces, lacking the muscles of many other races, usually appear to be smiling, which puts most of the other peoples of Desylinn at ease. Light on their feet, their strong legs allow them to hop through the thick branches of the trees they call home with ease; evading larger predators such as the catoblepas and hydra while confusing smaller ones like the zoogs, who don’t share the frog-peoples agility.
                The Krishtog do not live in permanent settlements, with the exception of the Elders, who look after the giant breeding trees, and the very young who also live in the trees. Most Krishtog live as semi solitary nomads, hunting and gathering food on their own or in small hunting packs. These hunting packs vary in size, but usually do not grow more than about ten individuals, and rarely last longer than a rainy season. Hunting packs are usually made up of siblings -those from the same hatch of a breeding tree- or cousins -those from different generations of breeding trees. At night the hunting packs will retire with the catch, which will often include fruits and greens as well as wild prey and feast around small fires where they sing their songs.
                The musical aptitude of the Krishtog is well known throughout Deyslinn. Their language is sung and lends itself to songwriting with relative ease. The Krishtog’s mastery of pitch and rhythm make even the least talented among them potential bards.  Most of the frog-people who are found outside of the Krishtog have gained notoriety for their music. They sing their songs in taverns, amphitheaters and the dens of the rich and powerful. The songs of the Krishtog usually detail great hunts, the migrations of beasts, or the rare heroic tale in which several Krishtog will give voice to individual characters. It is these songs that are the most popular with those outside of Deyslinn because of the beautiful harmonies and complex rhythms. The frog-people rarely employ other instruments other than their voices, though they will occasionally accompany themselves with bow shaped lyres that the most passionate singers carry. Called the Mishtomatigato (Tellers of Tales), their only distinguishing features are the lyre’s they carry. They are typically self-appointed and only garner respect from other Krishtog when their virtuosity with both voice and lyre is significant, causing others to fall silent and listen instead of joining in.
                The breeding trees of the Krishtogalog are beginning and the end of the frog-peoples. The largest of the Krishtog trees often hold ample pools of water that are continuously replenished from the roots and the frequent rainfall. It is in these pools where the Krishtog lay their eggs. Spending the first several months of their youth as tadpoles, the life of a baby Krishtog is harsh. The tiny taddlings feed on their brothers and sisters as well a vast array of insects and smaller fish, who also feed on the taddlings. When arms and legs begin to appear the babies cease feeding on their siblings and begin to periodically emerge from the water.
                Upon their emergence from the water they are greeted by the Elders. The oldest of the Krishtog, are tasked with raising the young and guarding the Breeding trees. From the Elder’s the young are taught the musical language of the race, and the songs the Krishtog are known for. They are also taught the arts of bow making, weaving, hunting and gathering, trap making and tanning. Other small crafts are taught by various Wisest including the art of making and playing the lyre, as well as jewelry crafting. The Elder’s nurture those Krishtog who survive the breeding pools, only allowing them to leave the trees once they have passed a series of tests displaying their ability to hunt and survive on their own.
                The most important weapon of the Krishtog is unarguably the bow. Every frog-person is proficient with the bow, having made their own to suit their personal preference. Some favor short compact bows, others favor long bows for better range. Every style and design one could think of exists in the Krishtog and no two bows are ever the same. Some may employ spears, flint knives, or even short copper swords for those that have come into contact with races outside of the Krishtog, the bow however is a constant.
                The single city in the region is Qynjb. Built at the base of a dead Krishtog tree, and overflowing over and inside, the branches. The city was originally an outpost of the Music Guild from Hub, who sought a permanent base in the Krishtog to help recruit both those frog-people with musical talent, and non-musical talent. A vast majority of the Krishtogs outside the region are members of the guild, even those who don’t sing. While still firmly controlled by the Music Guild, there is a small Merchant’s Guild presence in the city as well, leading to occasional street fights between the two factions. There’s also a Red Clan presence in the city, the Dwarves reaching out to their neighbors in the east, maintaining the only reliable road through region. The majority of the population is migratory, as the Krishtog only come to trade their trinkets, meat and occasionally lyres and bows. And many of the other races are passing through on their way to the Great Southern Forest to the south, or in caravans back north either to the Geato or Hub. The majorities of the permanent population are those banished from their societies, or are in hiding. The handful of “settled” Krishtog that do live in the city are Elders who still feel the need to guard the tree, despite it being dry, or the small handful of youth who’ve settled for an unfulfilling but easy life.

Thursday, August 1, 2013

The Winding Road: New Boots

By Frank Gori
Zool heard the crackle and crash of lightning, which conveniently masked the sound of him kicking in the backdoor. The door crashed hard into whoever was on the other side, which was fine by Zool.
He rushed in buckler forward, with his sword held in a menacing guard across his body, pistol crossbow ready in the other hand. Magic was the wrong play against mages, hitting hard and fast was better.
Sides weren’t hard to figure, the School’s hideout was a repurposed warehouse with a second floor addition. This meant the first floor was mostly just one huge room with columns. A Half-Elf male with a bow, an Ogre female with a shield spell and a two handed axe, a Gren girl with a wand ready standing in front of an assortment of children, and a couple elderly on one side. About half a dozen crazy eyed sorcerers, all young males, still standing on the other. Another eight or so bodies littered the ground.
Three things become clear in the seconds it took Zool to cross the ground between him and his first target. First, the old folks and kids were all counter-spelling the magic-crazed sorcerers, which is why the addicts were losing. Second, bees were enveloping a couple of his targets toward the front, and finally his enemies had no idea he was behind them.
It was over in two sword strokes and a quick crossbow bolt. Bard-songs make battles sound fancy and romantic, but in Zool’s experience battle was always like this, short, brutal and bloody. The men were barely winning against the ragtag assortment of folk to begin with; flanking surprise attacks in rapid succession were all it took to turn the tide. The fellow with the bow knew how and when to shoot, so this wasn’t his first dust up. Ogre girl had some power, just lacked some sense, and singed Zool a bit with a poorly placed fireball.
Fight being over meant the hard part. The part that Zool elected to skip when he could. Lazeron could do the talking, Laz could sort out the aftermath and count the dead. Zool muttered a few words and gestured. As he suspected, a number of the dead had items that glowed a soft blue. With a smile, Zool went to work stripping them of anything of worth.
The archer kid racked up a few kills despite the baby-face. Always was hard to tell age with elf bloods. That kid could have five decades on Zool. Deadly with a bow, but he was watching Laz talk like sons watch their fathers when the father was still a god to them. Zool made sure to retrieve his arrows as he worked.
Laz was in full speech mode, explaining that the folk that wanted to follow him could but they’d be leaving everything. In Zool’s estimation there really wasn’t a choice, from what he could see about half the gang was either dead or already left to join rival schools. This neighborhood was about to get split up by neighboring schools and there’d be blood over who got what. Laz’s strays didn’t fit neat into that, they’d come with or become fresh meat in a turf war.
Zool didn’t like to go to his kills right away. He liked to build anticipation while gauging exactly who had what that he didn’t kill. Made it more exciting when he had clues but no real evidence of what he’d find. As it stood the dead here clearly raided an arsenal of gear or Laz was an overly generous leader. Fourteen dead, counting Zool’s three and a half. He was about half through, the anticipation was really building.
Sun would be up in an hour or so and Zool really wanted to be out of the mage controlled district by then. Only a fool wouldn’t take Laz’s offer, so the question and answer session was just wasting time. But now Zool was done with the others he could make claims on his three.
The two wands were obvious enough, but the wandless mage had a silver ring with a stylized rams head that soon graced Zool’s crossbow finger. Another had a pair of emerald earrings that didn’t glow blue but would fetch a nice price. A nice silken cape and shirt on one of the wand fellows along with a belt buckle and an exquisite set of boots. Zool was pleased in particular with the boots. They glowed strong and a good sunder always had to mind their feet.
A quick riffle through the purses got Zool about 2 months pay and a tiny ebony fly. Even trying on his new gear, Zool was done in just a few minutes and people were still arguing. Fuck it, there was no time for this.
Zool closed the distance with a blur his sword clearing the scabbard silent and swift as a breath. He drew a single drop of blood from the cantankerous one’s throat as everyone gasped in shock at his speed and audacity.
“Each word you speak wastes time we don’t have. If you don’t want to come then perhaps I should do you the mercy of a swift death,” Zool spoke the words calmly and softly, his gaze was hard and met all that dared. “Lazeron is kind, he cares for your well being. I, on the other hand, can care less. I’ve been paid to get him in and out safely with or without you, so choose now. We have about forty minutes before the dawn and I do not want to be anywhere near here when that happens.”
Zool withdrew his blade and turned his back on them. “I piled the useful items from the dead over to the left, I recommend you take a moment to arm yourselves better, and then fall the fuck in,” he said as he walked out the back.

Everyone was ready about five minutes later. Zool hated the talking part.