Monday, September 30, 2013

Geato Abira: Tari Dar, the City of the Blue Stones



By Scott Bingham

The Creation of the Lizardfolk and Tari Dar

Through the bloody and violent death of the Nameless One at the hands of his disgusted brother Mar’ies, the tears of Ishari over her broken child’s form caused the birth of the Geato Abira. It is said that Tari Dar marks the place the Goddess of Truth knelt over the torn body of her child as she wept. As the goddess’s tears fell and mixed with the blood of the Nameless One the lizardfolk were created, taking shape and first breath beneath the mutilated corpse of the fallen god. They emerged from the soil and discovered Ishari in anguish over the murder of her child. Owing their creation to Ishari the lizardwomen erected the Grand Spire to honor her and to please her, trying to assuage the torment the great Goddess dwelt in. Looking upon the lizardwomen, Ishari loved them and blessed them, leaning down to kiss one among their number. Legend says that this was the birth of the first Sala-ma, for when the lips of the Goddess of Truth brushed the eyelids of the lizardwoman, her mind became clear and her eyes could see beyond the mortal realm. Being now divinely connected to their goddess the Geato Abira cultivated and protected this gift, seeking to pass such a blessing down through their daughters to further honor Ishari. From these first few lizardfolk sprang the Geato Abira and in that place was Tari Dar built.

The Grand Spire and the Core

At the heart of Tari Dar stands the Grand Spire, the very same said to have been raised to appease the Goddess of Truth. Built by Geato Abira hands the Grand Spire is massive in size and reaches toward the heavens, symbolic of the source from which the lizardfolk came to be. Though simple in design the Grand Spire is a wonder to behold, rising above the marshland and visible from nearly everywhere within the Geato Marsh. Travelers wandering the marshes often use the Grand Spire as a point of reference, using the shining light reflecting off of its surface as a central point while navigating the mazelike wetlands. Due to the sacredness of Tari Dar and its closed borders none have gotten close enough to fully inspect the Grand Spire but outsiders speculate that the spire was constructed from vast amounts of sapphire, the only known use of the massive vein running beneath the city of Tari Dar. For those who have entered the secluded way stations of Tari Dar it has also been determined that long and winding branches wrap around the spire with a lover’s embrace, symbolic to the Geato Abira of their love and connection to the Goddess of Truth. 

Beneath the Grand Spire lies the Core, a small network of caves that is entirely insulated from light and sound. To the Geato Abira this is the most sacred of all for it was within the Core that the first lizardwomen were conceived. To them the Core is the very womb that they were birthed from as they first came to be. The Core’s interior is pitch black, soundless, and a seemingly impossible labyrinth despite its limited expanse beneath the earth. When the Talos Bak Sal wish to add another sight sister to their ranks the Core plays a crucial role in determining her worthiness. The Sala-ma will be placed within the Core alone and the Talos Bak Sal will wait for her to emerge. If the lone lizardwoman can navigate the Core and successfully return to the land above she is considered to be loved of Ishari and worthy of being one of the goddess’s high priestesses. This sacred initiation is also a proving ground of a Sala-ma’s command of the seer-sight which plays a critical part in the Talos Bak Sal’s role in Geato Abira society.

In times of need that concern the entirety of the Geato Abira the Sala-ma of the Talos Bak Sal will meet at one of these holy places to govern the Geato Abira using the great gift of truth, the seer-sight. Inside the Core, the very womb of their existence, the Talos Bak Sal ponder the world within, seeking the answers to what course the Geato Abira must take to better themselves as a people and what changes should be made in their interactions with one another. Round the base of the Grand Spire the Talos Bak Sal ponder the world without, determining their relationships with outsiders and those who are not Geato Abira and examining how to better their strength and influence outside the borders of Tari Dar. 

Guarding these holy places at all times but never entering within is the ever vigilant and outward facing Gale Sal or the Watchful Eye. Members of the Watchful Eye consist of Sala and Sal-Talon warriors who have proven themselves and are deemed the most worthy of their post. Whether through battle or personal achievement these warriors have demonstrated to all Geato Abira that they are the strongest, most capable, and above all cunning warriors to be found throughout the marshlands. To be among the Gale Sal is considered by the Geato Abira to be the highest honor a warrior can achieve. The Gale Sal seem tireless in their vigil over the high priestesses and sacred places of Ishari but on rare occasion the Gale Sal have been known to send one of their number to resolve a dispute between the various tribes. Even scarcer than this is the involvement of a high priestess accompanied by a contingent of Gale Sal for though they are the highest authority among the Geato Abira they seldom leave the safety and sanctity of Tari Dar.

The City of the Blue Stones

The City of the Blue Stones is so named because of the massive natural vein of sapphire that the city rests upon. The unique clarity of the water throughout the marshland has also led outsiders to refer to Tari Dar as the City of the Pure Waters though the Geato Abira rarely use such an allusion. The Geato Abira will claim that both phenomena are because of Ishari’s tears which had not ceased to fall even as the first lizardwoman rose from the Core. Holding such a place as the very center of their creation the Geato Abira feel that it was here that they could feel closest to their goddess. Tari Dar is a holy city, dedicated to Ishari and closed to any who are not Geato Abira with the exception of a few designated areas that are strictly supervised and enforced.

Multiple temples dedicated to Ishari spider web across Tari Dar and all entrances to the city are underwater and effectively guarded at all times. The few areas that are open to those who are not Geato Abira are limited to above ground way stations on the very borders of Tari Dar. Each of these possess a strong warrior presence and to enter even these one must be cleared by a Sal Abira. Visitors can stay as long as they wish with the understanding that they will enter no further into the City of the Blue Stones. Many who make the journey do so to experience the culture of the Geato Abira, to seek out the counsel of their priestesses, or to honor the goddess Ishari. Many of the Kindred and Krishtog frequent these fringe stations and still others of Desylinn’s peoples have visited these open areas.

Tari Dar is a wonder of a city in its ability to be self-sustaining. Although many merchants and traders make the journey and peddle what they can at one of the many way stations, a majority of Tari Dar’s economy comes in the form of offerings and donations by the thousands of tribes throughout the marshland. It is not uncommon for a Sal Abira to make a pilgrimage to the City of the Blue Stones to pay homage to Ishari and to seek guidance for their individual tribe, bringing with them an offering to Ishari or gifts for her priestesses the Sala-ma. They may take a small contingent of priestesses and warriors with them or travel alone to Tari Dar. It is rare to find a Taresal within Tari Dar as the gender as a whole is looked down upon. The gift of the seer-sight is believed to belong to the divinely chosen females of the Geato Abira and any male possessing this gift is seen to do so wrongfully and to spite their goddess. Taresal with a respected command over the seer-sight however have been known to be permitted within city limits, though they are often closely monitored.

Thursday, September 26, 2013

The Winding Road: Fire and Ice



by Frank Gori

Bellany knew enough to almost prefer the dragon to the sewers. Music Guild contractors referred to taking a sewer escape route as Plan D, the D being for desperate. Below the streets of Hub was a realm, it was a place where men and women were twisted and misshapen by magic, where the vermin cooperated and seemed too intelligent, and where dead men walked and spoke retaining the semblance of life. It was home to a mad king with potent magic.

There was an arrangement between the guild and the Sewer King, but he always exacted his own semitone and it was notoriously the one a guild rogue held most dear. Bellany was unaccustomed to fear. Yet today she was afraid, prices are more dear when you have something to lose.

Mel shouted orders, and he picked a direction but it was little better than running blind in the dark. He had the wisdom to advise everyone to be careful where they step and to harm no creatures in the sewer. At least he knew enough to advise that; trespass was an opportunity for the sewer king. Harm any creature and you went from being an opportunity to being a source of meat for his minions. 

The guild file on the Sewer King was extensive and frightening. He could petrify organic matter with a touch and he had a potent batch of necromantic spells at his disposal. The man was mad and tended to gibber, but most importantly he was extremely territorial. All objects and creatures that dwelled in the sewers were under his protection, harming them was harming him and he took a pound of flesh for every ounce of harm.

Eventually the raging sound of the dragon became distant and the 80 or so survivors found themselves at the bank of a wide underground river. The water was clean, the sewers themselves were cleaner than most of the lower rung Workman neighborhoods. The Sewer King was Mage Guild and the sewers were perhaps the one true contribution they had made to the city. Bellany had never taken “plan d” and was somewhat surprised.

It wasn’t long before the Sewer King’s undead boatmen came. Through the eyes of his mongrelmen spies or the vermin that skittered around the sewers, the king knew of their presence and had taken an interest. “Don’t deal with death, Mal,” Laz managed to mutter before losing himself once more into the delusions of deep despair.

The first Gondola landed on shore and its zombie pilot extended his hand in a greeting about six hundred years out of date, Mal moved forward. He pricked his palm and bled two drops of blood for the boatman; it was an archaic gesture of Mariean courtesy. It was an oath to negotiate and pay the Sewer King, or forfeit one’s lifeblood.  A gesture that he was dealing in good faith.

Given the number of passengers and the importance of several members of this particular party, Bellany anticipated that the price would be a steep one. The cold logic of her Elvish ancestry appraised the situation quickly and concluded a sacrifice was going to be required.

Feelings that were not her own, feelings that burned like fire, threatened to break the mask of stoicism Bellany had maintained her entire professional career. Fear and rage blossomed at the prospect that she might be the price the Sewer King demanded, for Jax would pay dearly for her return. With effort she compartmentalized those feelings to deal with later. It cost her.

Bellany’s thoughts turned to the belt pouch holding the herbs that could solve her problems. Another riot of emotions rallied against her. It was to be expected, the life inside her was filled with Jax’s fire and it very fiercely wanted to live. Still, Bellany could chew the herbs, or brew them into a foul tea and her Jax problems would become more manageable. He’d simply try to kill her, as opposed to capturing her and having her returned to him.

The threat of Jax wasn’t the real temptation though. Ballany didn’t like that her emotional control was slipping. Between the hormones of pregnancy and the sheer turbulence of the magical life growing inside her, Bellany was worried about surviving this pregnancy with her sanity intact.

The passions of the life inside her and the inferno of Jax’s love would consume Bellany if she allowed it. The music Jax made was often described as primal, passionate, and frenzied. Those that knew Jax privately knew that his music was restrained. Being alone in a room with Jax was like standing on a beach in a hurricane. His emotions were palpable and threatened to overcome all but the most stalwart.

 The life inside Ballany’s womb was barely more than a month old and its emotions were potent. The child inside was going to be a powerful sorcerer, she already felt its magic, she already knew she would not take the contents of the herb pouch. It meant her life in Hub was over, she’d have to run and run far. The guild reached far.

A single tear welled in the corner of Bellany’s eye, Mal was the only one that saw it and he nodded sagely as though he could possibly understand. The boat ride was over and an armed escort waited on the other side. 

The mongrelmen guardsmen would take them to the Sewer King’s court. If he demanded Bellany as a price she’d slay him, consequences be dammed. The cold logic of the kiss and the fire inside her finally agreed on something.

Monday, September 23, 2013

Secrets of Desylinn: The First War

By John Belliston


First there was Grandmother Chaos. Great and infinite and beyond the capacity of comprehension.

Then, born from Her womb came the Oldest, bearing his Stewpot of Fate and having no Name beyond his title. Then in a wave of light and glory came Ssita, whose love shapes the universe. Then came Ariga, whose joys and sorrows create the seasons. Nhoj burst forth half formed and hungry to claim the name his siblings had uttered. And finally in the loud wake of her brother Daras came, like the gentle whisper of an end; so distracted were her siblings she ended up naming herself.

When Nhoj and Ssita first saw each other they fell into a love so vast no poetry or song could hope to grasp it, so deep its roots formed the foundation the universe. In this time before time, Ssita pulled her gaze from her beloved and looked upon her siblings, and upon the universe beginning to congeal around them. Then she looked upon her mother, and she shuddered.

Grandmother Chaos, as the mortals would come to call her, hungered for creation and destruction. If an entity’s mind were to ever look back upon the budding universe, it would not survive Grandmother’s attention. So Ssita reached into the core of her being and tapped into the limitless love which resided within her. With infinite care and terrible speed she formed her own essence into a magic strong, flexible, and powerful enough to hold back the tides of transformational power. She would act as the font for that energy. Her will and love would take the energy of Chaos and turn into the substance of the universe. She had become the Chaosgate of Creation. For this act her siblings named her Queen.

During this phase, Daras and the Oldest succumbed to their profound attraction to each other. Their coupling was like the glacier and the wildfire, destructive, restrained, cold and yet burning, and from their cosmic crossing came Mar, the God of Light and Law.

Though Ssita’s love and power held back the full force of Grandmother, the Chaosgate itself remained incomplete. Though his love for her could consume him from within, Nhoj refused to take that place. He had no interest in rule. He sought to feed his hunger for secrets and hidden knowledge. Kingship would just waste his time.

However the young and ambitious Mar saw the lack of a king as a profound affront. So, without delay he began to court Ssita. She resisted his advances out of respect for her love of Nhoj, but the needs of the universe outweighed her desire.

So lost in his studies of the forming universe Nhoj knew nothing of the young gods advances. Daras came to him and told him of the foolishness of her brother and of the blind ambition of her son. At this news, Nhoj screamed, a deep and primal howl which vibrates through the dark places for the rest of time. Without logic or strategy the God of Knowledge hurled himself at the God of Law. Claws, teeth, and infinite divine force strengthened past the point of madness by the fierceness of Nhoj’s love.

The younger god was caught unaware. Great chunks were torn from his essence and he stumbled right into his father, The Oldest. His Stewpot spilled over and the Stew of Fate cooled and congealed into the mortal plane. Seeing the fury in Nhoj’s eye’s Mar fled down to the new creation to close his wounds and prepare for the next attack.

Using his spilt blood and the materials of the new plane Mar crafted an army. The Truths of Mar were gleaming creatures of Light, Ice, and Will. They moved forth in a terrible wave. They defined all they touched. They bound the still warm stuff of fate into weapons and servants for Mar. They shaped everything around them into unbreakable and terrible chains. When Nhoj followed after, the Truths jumped up and tried to contain the full might of God of Knowledge. The binds cut into his flesh and tore out great chunks from his form. But there was always much Chaos in Nhoj, and this he used to slide, twist, and warp his very essence to escape.

Nhoj retreated then, surprised and unprepared to face the relentless nature of the Truths. He delved into the dark places, the deep places. There he sought and looked. He delved into this strange new mortal realm. He ran and while he ran he bled. The chunks of his flesh and bone merged with the plane and formed, by accident, the strange maelstroms' bedlam which became his army, The Secrets of Nhoj.

For each thing the Truths defined the Secrets tore apart, or made irrelevant with their own wild creations. Each side fought with terrible force, but Nhoj’s army tried a thousand tactics. They hurled themselves into battle as a distraction for others to sneak on past.

As their armies made slow and terrible war across the face of creation, Mar and Nhoj fought with raw force. Hurling powerful spells, the likes of which would never be seen again, they became so lost in the fight that at times they forgot the reasons for their mighty battle.

After shaping and tearing apart the new plane a thousand times, the tide turned. Mar flinched at the assault and Nhoj’s Secrets sealed away his army in what would become the Blackfire Mountains. Bound by defeat and his own honor, Mar waited for the terms of the new King’s Victory.

Though it was meaningless to Nhoj, he asked Mar to kneel before him and swear fealty for time eternal. For Mar would be bound by his word. He would no more try for the Throne, and Nhoj could have both his study, and his love.

He became the Chaosgate of Void, taking the excesses of order and returning them to Chaos. He would rule by the side of Ssita, and it was their love that held Grandmother at bay.

There are many echoes of the First War left in the world. It is said that Nhoj had his servants craft a great city that served no other point than to witness the submission of the God of Law. Some say that those that fear the dark can still hear the reverberations of that first and terrible scream. And in the deep and forgotten places the Remnants of the First War remain to be unearthed. Magic unlike any other. Things unlike anything after.

Things better left forgotten.



Monday, September 16, 2013

Kobolds: An Overview


By Frank Gori

Kobolds were first created when a pair of warring dragons (traditionally told as a red dragon and an iron dragon in a deadly lover’s quarrel) dueled one another across the Fertile Lands. When dragon blood mixed with the seeds of the Nameless still in the soil, the firstblood Kobolds were born.

Kobold elders remind younglings that Kobolds dwell in the earth because it is from the Earth they came. Dragons are their mother-kin and Kindred are their brother-kin though both are flawed.

The firstblood tribes were powerful half dragons and soon began a campaign of sneaking into dragon lairs and taking their eggs. The eggs were hatched and the resulting hatchlings killed and bled into the soil making yet more kobolds of every color. The Kobolds of hatchling-blood were smaller and less dangerous then their first born kin and soon subjugated.

A generation of dragons saw their clutches stolen and united briefly to destroy the Kobold race. Dwarven clans still see it as their duty to kill any kobolds who trespass Dwarven lands. Kobolds in turn slay Dwarves above any other foe. The Great Slayer War succeeded, to a point. The firstbloods, who killed hatchlings, were destroyed, but the hatchling blooded generation proved to be more adaptable then their siblings. They bred fast and in clutches, matured rapidly, fled from battle, and learned to master stealth and traps. Those who hunted kobolds soon came to regret their chosen profession and the hostilities eventually ceased, for a time.

Knowledge is a tricky thing, though and the secret of creating Kobolds was not forgotten. Eventually an arrogant gold dragon called Midarious carelessly spent the lives of her dwarven servitors in a destructive war with a blue. She managed to capture her rival after a year-long siege. Midarious coveted her rival’s keep but had no dwarves left to defend it, thus she decided to get creative.

Midarious bled her rival carefully and flew to the Fertile lands. Another tribe of kobolds were born. Realizing she needed servants more loyal to her she bled herself, creating another tribe to rule the first. She enjoyed watching her blood rule her rivals and decided she wanted more. 

Midarious’ Kobolds went forth and gathered hatchling blood kobolds and interbred them making a hybrid race from her offspring and the hatchling kobolds. As their numbers swelled she began enslaving dwarves form other dragon clans and driving her rivals out of an ever increasingly wide swath of territory.

Weaker dragons, dissatisfied with their lot in life, soon swore in to Midarious’ banner and made more kobold firstbloods. They instructed them to mix with hatchlings until the present Kobold race was created, over the course of a score of years. Kobolds have elaborate tales about each of these dragons and their individual blood ties to them. 

A short brutal war followed that saw the Dragon elders gathering most of dragon kind against the Midarious Rebellion. The social order of dragonkind was threatened as Midarious twisted her blood and magic to make all manner of horrors from tatzlewyrms and drakes to peludas and hodogs.
Midarious was defeated and her minions slain or scattered. The Rite Of Dra-keth was her punishment which weakened and tormented her for hundreds of years. It is sometimes whispered that her vanity and arrogance pleased Maries and he sent one of his clerics for her to consume. The sacrifice bestowed his kiss and soothed her suffering behind the icy chill of indifference.

Sometimes referred to as The Revenge Rebellion, Midarious came back to her senses during the millennial hibernation which was also during the rise of the Marian Empire. She no longer had her wings; her magic and breath tormented her with Bliss and Despair, but she was still strong  and powerful. She helped the elves conquer when it pleased her, but mostly she gathered kobolds and had them scour the land for draconic keeps to assault killing dozens of sleeping dragons in thirst for vengeance.

Before the Kindred rose up, and before the dragons reawakened, she bounded north. Some say she found Maries’ icy embrace and is frozen with him, at his feet. Elves sometimes refer to her as the subjugated lover, others as Maries’ favorite pet, neither of which sits well with Kobolds.
Chieftains of Kobold tribes sometimes carry a wing scale of Midarious. Warrens often have a golden shrine to her, and a shrine to the Nameless. They are regarded as mother and father to the present race of Kobolds. Those Kobolds born with golden scales are treated as rulers and trained by the ruling caste.

Present day Kobolds are widespread but insular and rarely interact with the other races, sticking to their warrens. The social structure of most warrens is caste based, with scale coloration being a determining factor in one’s social standing and occupation. Each warrens has slightly different castes based on the oral traditions of the tribe therein, which occasionally leads to intertribal warfare.
The resulting offspring from Kobold that breed across caste lines are called Mudscales and are the lowest caste and generally only fit to clean the night-soil of their betters. Those that dare leave the tribe and warrens to strike off for the greater world are splinterscales and regarded as little better than mudscales.

Splinterscales generally head for Hub and attach themselves to Kindred neighborhoods. The transition is often difficult as the population diversity and attitudes of outsiders is extremely strange to the newly emerged splinterscale. Hiding remains an instinct and Kindred reactions are highly individual.

Reptile races like the Lash-ti-nowish and Geato Abira are given a measure of trust and respect. This is especially true of the lizard-women for whom most kobold men find attractive, though unattainable. Lizard-women for their part recognize the value of Kobold allies. Lash-ti-nowish enjoy the kobold sense of humor which is generally derogatory to mammals. The Lash also enjoy price gouging the insular tribes which won’t likely look for an alternate trading partner. 

Kristog and Kindred are tolerated. Kobolds like the song of the Krishtog and at least they aren’t mammals. Kindred and Kobolds share a father in a way, and are therefore a minor exception to the Kobold's general distrust of mammals.  Humans and Gren aren’t to be trusted. Humans try too hard to adapt, and Gren, while properly sized, try to control the Fertile Lands which the Kobolds regard as their fatherland. Dwarves and Elves are the Kobold's blood enemies. Dwarves actively try to purge the Kobold race from time to time.  As to the elves, Maries took away their mother and slew their father, his children are not friends.


Thursday, September 12, 2013

The Winding Road: The Despair of Pi

by Frank Gori

Lazeron Pi heard the voice of his teacher Morte Bisset, “We share the ability to do magic with many others. Applying that magic with knowledge is a wizard’s greatest weapon, and makes us stronger then sorcerers.” Master Bisset was a harsh tutor and his tastes and desires still brought bile to Lazeron's throat, but Morte was right about knowledge.

The guard with a deadman’s lever was standing in the key to a wizard’s spell trap. The design was thought to be a secret only known to a handful of wizards and its purpose was solely to contain living spells. 
 
Wizard magic was mind over matter in the extreme. Manipulating the ambient energies of creation and bending them to one’s will meant imposing order on inherently chaotic energy. The mind needed to be a little broken to achieve such a feat, though some wizards called this enlightenment. Lazeron was more honest about the situation, it was the price wizards paid for power.

 Sorcerers achieved the same effect by calling on magical energy inherent in their blood. This subjected them to magic’s chaotic rules and at anytime the bliss or despair could come. The breaking protected wizards to a limited extent.

Lazeron was both a wizard and sorcerer, though the magic in his blood alone would have made him a middling mage at best. With time Lazeron would be a very potent wizard, assuming he survived the next five minutes or so. Gifted wizards learned to combine the discipline of wizard magic with the raw fueled power of sorcery into something greater.

Lazeron stole a glance at Dab. The numbers were a little quieter in the presence of his childhood friend. Before Laz bloomed into his power he shared a summer with Dab. They faced bullies, told one another trivial secrets of childhood, and on occasion shared a quiet moment in a simple brotherly embrace. The memory of that helped Laz get through some of the less innocent affections that soiled Laz’s childhood a few years later.

The irrational power of the numbers was Pi’s secret knowledge and the foundation of his wizardly might. Pi was also a sorcerer and could call on his emotions and blood to fuel his power. Combining the two was powerful but dangerous. Laz had little choice, he watched the living spell infuse itself into the guard and it was a form of the dragon spell. It would enact a transformation that would result in a creature not quite as powerful as a normal dragon, but powerful enough.

Calling on his fear and worry for his friends was easy, channeling that into the cold reason of the perfect equation 22/7 was harder. He began by associating each digit with a face, three for Mal as Malleck struggled with three identity roles around his patron son, subject, and suitor. One was for Dab as Dab was the only friend from Laz’s childhood who had survived his mentor’s envy. Four he associated with Zool because four was a number about balance and a feminine male who was both a consummate professional and comrade at the same time took extraordinary balance. One, again for Dab, five for Bellany as she was as much a star as Lazeron ever encountered, nine for the surviving female prisoners they liberated, and two for himself a caster arcane of both wizardry and sorcery.
The wall or iron and stone were up. A wall of force was his next objective, his mind associated six with his mentor as that was the number of times… Laz lost focus a moment and felt the gut wrench of despair. He was tired. Desperate really, this prison was clearly designed by a Mage and he was outclassed. The guards were a sham, they were there to force him to use his magic, his master always said his desire to show compassion to outsiders would be his death and only now was he being proven right. They needed the wall though so six dam it. Six was for Morte Bisset as six was the number of time he… the world slipped away.

Six… six was something.

Lazeron felt strong arms embracing him, lifting him up. Then they went away, six.
A maze was before him there were six paths. All seemed wrong, he knelt for some time there and wept. Then he felt the eyes of something malevolent and angry on his back, it was a lion and a serpent at the same time, and Laz had to run down a path or be consumed. Instinctually he took the fifth path a path that made him want to dance. The path was beautiful and vibrant and he smiled a moment despite the danger. He had to find Dab, Dab would be in the labyrinth and Dab would keep him safe.

The fifth path ended at another juncture of six branches but he could hear Mal giving orders down the third so the third path he took. He sensed Bellani in Mals path which meant they’d probably be lovers but there was an infinite amount of potential within Bellani if she chose to let it flourish. Laz had a brief moment where he could almost hear her discussing the death path with one of the nine. It made him scream.

Was that his scream? No, it was not.

Death came in the form of a boatman, he had but seven fingers and the life of one of the nine would be his toll. Mal didn’t know that so he accepted the bargain. 

“Don’t bargain with Death, Mal,” Laz tried to call magic to fight it but couldn’t latch onto the number enough to do so.

Ballany’s unborn baby giggled and Laz returned to the maze. This was confusing but then it all became confusing after his apprenticeship as a wizard. 

Zool was there at the maze; he raised his hand and smacked Laz six times. Once again Laz’s mind drifted to Morte, his debased love sometimes involved striking. In tribunal his defense was that he needed to break Laz’s mind and abuse was the fastest way. Something stopped another round of smacks from Zool, Mal, the unborn infinity and Pi would dance forever in the maze but something stopped it.

Something was important…

The arms were still there. Had they always been there? Propping him up and keeping him from being eaten by the serpent? Only in the moment of their absence did he notice they were gone.
“DAB,” Lazeron screamed it and the world came rushing back.

They were in the court of the self proclaimed sewer king, the boatman suddenly made sense. Lazeron briefly missed the comforting insanity of Despair. The sewer king was a potent Mage and would exact a heavy toll for passage.

Lazeron opened the sight and glanced toward Bellany confirming his fear, the life within her was strongly magical. He wondered if she knew. The Sewer King would surely notice.

Thursday, September 5, 2013

The Winding Road: Desperate Measures

by Frank Gori

Mal ordered everyone to retreat down a floor, and anyone who was foolish enough to stick around to listen to the guard-turned-dragon hammering away at the palisade deserved to die. In Zool’s assessment, the best current option was to run, hide, and try to sneak around this thing when it came for them.

Dab had to carry Laz down, meaning the team’s magical heavy hitter was tapped. The glazed , confused look to Laz’s eyes indicated Despair had taken hold. As a magus, Zool had pushed that envelope before and reality bended itself in a confusing array that was just too much to handle. Only time and rest would bring Laz back, assuming they survived.

Against a dragon a number advantage meant very little. It couldn’t be a true dragon, the walls and gates wouldn’t even slow a true dragon that size. It was a trick of magic perhaps, though if it was as fierce as it looked the difference was perhaps merely cosmetic. The numbers would only matter if they could get the dragon in a tight space and swarm it from all sides. Considering that roughly half the prisoners were useless in a fight, running was the best call.

“We need another option,” Mal mused aloud. That was bad, Zool had worked with Mal almost five years the man always kept the veneer of being in control of a situation. If he let a comment like that slip, he was close to losing his composure and without real leadership the group would be fucked.
Zool put a hand on Mal’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. It was a quick silent conversation, amounting to “You are not alone. I have your back.” It was enough. Mal took a deep breath before turning away and signaling everyone to gather round.  

“Listen up. I’ve learned something today and that is that we’re dealing with competent professionals here,” Mal seemed to meet each eye, Zool smirked a little as a few of the prisoners muttered. “That means they didn’t leave something as dangerous as that dragon-thing without a plan if it got out.” Mal looked to the prisoners, “one of you knows something… One of you has heard something we can use.”

The elderly blacksmith cleared his throat and every eye turned toward him as he spoke, “well, there was a rumor.” His tone was reluctant and almost betrayed a hint of embarrassment; “ they used to say that there was a secret sixth basement and it has access to the sewers.”

Mal straightened, “we’re going to find out. I want everyone to the fifth basement looking, on the way down grab bunks tables anything we can use to barricade the way behind us. Anyone with enough magic to provide light, pair with the humans. Everyone else knock on the floor, listen for a hollow spot, check torch sconces for latches… get moving… Zool you’re with me. There’s something I want you to try.”

Zool followed Mal off to a private corner. 

“I know you don’t like to discuss your abilities but I know you can manipulate metal. I’m betting the way into that sixth basement is reinforced just like the other floors so I want you to try and sense it,” Mal said this in a hushed tone.

Guild secrets are guild secrets. The abilities of the Lodestone Blades weren’t to be shared. Zool gave Mal the tiniest hint of a nod before walking away. He’d try it.

Even from the fifth basement Zool heard the dragon’s triumphant roar as it tore through the palisade. Soon the sound of hammering was back as it reached the wall of iron conjured by Laz.

It took only a few seconds for Zool to compartmentalize that distressing clamor away to a different part of his mind. He stopped moving and closed his eyes. The familiar feel of the steel at his side and pressed into the rings of chain he wore as a shirt came first. They were as familiar as any part of his body, the weapons carried by his companions was next, then the locks and reinforced portions of the doors, then he felt the floor. He felt the door in the floor and far above the shattering of iron.

Moments later they were in the sixth basement, an armory with a sewer exit.

Monday, September 2, 2013

Humans: An Overview

by Frank Shaw


Created by Ariga in memory of her love for Mar, humans have found their way across the world of Desylinn thanks to the Lash-ti-Nowish and the slave trade they created for the Mariean Empire. The bulk of humanity live in two regions: the Southern Islands just off the coast of the main land of Desylinn and the chains of islands called the Tears of Ariga, which are a vast distance south of the continent.

On Desylinn most humans integrate into the dominate societies around them. Humans in the Red Clan city of Shinkyuden adopt the Red Clan’s culture as best they can, while in Hub they play the games of the Great Guilds vying for power and prestige among the ranks. In the Free Cities humans plot amongst and with the nobles of Tarn Modeshi, serve as cult leaders in Chaido, barter and trade in the markets of Q’lazz and exemplify their marshal prowess in Bann Tordech. However a majority of mainland humans belong to the Kindred, having taken Khan marks.

While it’s rare to find a predominantly human village on the mainland, other than on the southern coast, they are a few to be found in Eart’linn and the Fertile Lands. These villages borrow heavily from the nearby cultures as most humans are generations removed from the Southern Islands or the Tears of Ariga. The only practice still commonplace is ritualized tattooing on the arms and torso.

The Southern Islands:

The Southern Islands are heavily influenced by the Lash-ti-Nowish and have a large influx of non-humans living on the larger islands. Islands nearest the coast have small Lash-ti-nowish cities which served as outposts during the height of the Empire. It was common for humans on more distant islands to raid and capture other villages to trade with the Snakes for weapons and tools from the mainland. Prized by the elves for their hardiness, appearance and the ease with which they could break their wills, humans made valuable slaves. The slave trade has since stopped though prisoners are still taken, typically women and children, who are used to tend fields and unsavory jobs. Most are eventually integrated into the village, either when they come of age or when they marry their abductors.

Villages are ruled by chieftains. With a strong emphasis on hunting and fishing the culture is male dominated, leaving women in a second class role. All men are considered warriors, though a distinct hierarchy exists. The chieftain is typically an elder warrior who has gained notoriety through his prowess and cunning. This can be contested by battle, but it is rare for the role of chieftain to go outside a small circle of warriors and their children. Those who have proven themselves often act as the chieftains honor guards. In addition to guarding and advising the chieftain, they also help train thier young sons, allowing them to gain significant martial prowess over the other villagers.

Tattooing is common. Large facial tattoos are worn by the men with the best warriors bearing the largest tattoos. Arm and back tattoos are common as well; keeping record of raids, hunts, foes defeated, or even life debts. It is rare to meet a human from the Southern Islands without some sort of tattoo. Women will often have magical tattoos to aid in their work, grant them fertility, or a symbol of Ariga which bestows a small boon when touched while praying.

Several nearby villages will often form confederacies ruled by a high chieftain. The high chieftain is typically voted on by all the villages’ men. Typically the chieftain with the most intimidating honor guard will win, being better able to garner favor with those outside his village. Villages that are in allegiance to each other are typically united by common enemies or threats and can be relied upon to come to one another’s aid.  There are usually no more than three to seven villages united in this way and typically no village is further than two days by boat.

Only the most “tested” warriors own boats, small catamarans, typically crewed by the owner and two or three others. Primarily used for fishing, there are typically enough boats in the village for every man of age to take to the water for raids. Occasionally the men will travel inland to hunt larger game, typically massive beasts which are dangerous to hunt, but yield great amounts of meat.

Women cultivate fields of taro and yams, tend to small herds of goats and boars and raise children until they come of age. Their only real form of power comes from tending the family shrines to Ariga and Mar often serving as the village shamans. When spiritual matters arise it is to the women that the men typically turn. There are villages that have abandoned the worship of Ariga. These villages worship one of the Brothers -typically Daikado- or one of the darker aspects of Nhoj. The villages practice violent rites of passage, blood sacrifices and whole sale massacres of any nearby neighbors that refuse to join in their debauched practices.

 The Tears of Ariga:

The Tears of Ariga are dominated by humanity, as they are far from the mainland and difficult to find. The first of the archipelagos are many weeks travel from the southern shore of Desylinn while the farthest islands require months of travel. The archipelagos are made up of dense chains of islands broken up by large expanses of ocean. The largest of the islands, Go’Arig, is surrounded by dense clusters of islands, making navigation difficult. Roughly about a tenth of the size of the mainland to the north it is here where the second significant human culture exists.

Go’Arig is not fully homogenous, nomadic humans live in the eastern mountain ranges while tribes of vicious hunters live in the dense rain forests on the north western shore. The southern shore has many small violent villages that worship Tlal.

The predominant culture of Go’Arig is the “Oki’aki Humaruk’arig” or the Princes of Mar and Ariga. A society of 4 distinct castes: The Oki’aki or The Princes, Muamaro or the Priests, Koa Huki’aki or the warriors and Loamo la or the Vassals. Each bears a caste tattoo except the Oki'aki.

Controlling the island as a series of principalities the Oki’aki rule as a council where deft politicking garners considerably more power than simple wealth. Even so, outright aggression and war is not uncommon either. The Oki’Aki have absolute control over the land and demand regular taxes and tributes from the vassals, using the warriors to excise the taxes and quell revolts.

All priests bear their caste mark on their forehead. The more elaborate the tattoo indicating their power and respect with in the caste. It’s the only caste where women may hold power. The religion of Go’Arig focuses on the highly ritualized worship of Mar, only paying lip service to Ariga and the other gods. Acting in a specific role that commands some respect and influence it isn’t uncommon for an Oki’aki to install a “Priest” into a particular position in order to execute an agenda. Priests serve as councilors, historians, and bookkeepers to the various Princes and occasionally as generals in times of war.

Professional soldiers have become common as many of the Oki’aki are willing to wage wars for territory and influence. Unlike the upper castes, where power and influence is gained through bribes and deceit, the Warrior caste is meritocratic. While some politicking does occur among the leaders of the warriors, promotion through the ranks is the reward for valor and service. Given land to farm, the Warriors are taxed little and often raise their sons to follow in their footsteps. Each bear a small tattoo on their cheeks, the Warrior caste mark, which becomes more complex as the warrior rises through the ranks.

At the bottom are the vassals bearing tattoos on their hands and forearms they toil away in the fields of rice and soybeans, raise livestock and fruit and live their dreary lives with little to no change. Their only hope for true social mobilization is by joining monasteries or the ranks of the Warrior caste. Those that join the monasteries find their lives not significantly different from before. Many excess children are given to the monasteries to ease the burden on their families.  Those that learn the art of politics may however find themselves gaining power and favor in the monasteries until gaining a Priest Mark. During wartime vassals act as fodder for the Princes, and survivors of large wars are few and far between as vassals typically do not receive sufficient training. While most survivors opt to go back to their dreary, yet somewhat safer lives, those that receive recognition will often take the warriors mark.

Well over a month’s travel from the mainland Go’Arig only has a single nonhuman city, Gutua’oki or City of the Snake Princes. Independent of the Oki’aki, Gutua’oki is controlled by the Lash-ti-nowish, who are the only race with ships that regularly travel the open ocean. It is here where representatives of the Guilds may be found in small numbers. The Merchant’s Guild has the largest presence, hoping to gain a strong foot hold on the island. Seeking ways to influence the Princes, very few have been successful, some relying on magical means and deceit to sway the Oki’aki.