The Winding Road: The Ambush

by Frank Gori

Dab tried to stay alert this time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Winding Road: King's Ransom

By Frank Gori

Caravanner Malleck found negotiating with the Sewer King disconcerting. It was the lack of eyes, he decided. Normally a person’s eyes betrayed much of their inner workings for those who knew what to read. Eye movement could indicate truth and falsehood, dilation indicated surprise or fear, even the speed at which someone blinked could provide a skilled negotiator like Mal with information.

The Sewer Kings eyes were torn from his skull with claws, and in their place were orbs of green amber within which flies had been trapped. Perhaps most disconcertingly, Mal would swear they fluttered their wings from time to time.

The elderly dwarf that claimed kingship of the sewers was also clearly insane.

The King demanded not only monetary tribute but that Mal surrender over either Lazeron, Bellany, or himself to the king as a prisoner. Lazeron was without doubt in trouble with the mages guild, he had not only defected which was a rare and dangerous act to begin with but he had also brought the majority of his gang with him, which could be construed as an act of war unless he left Hub entirely. The Sewer King was in the mages guild. Mal could understand why he’d not want to allow Laz to slip through his fingers. 

Mal could even understand his own value. Liara would pay a handsome ransom for him, or one of the other guilds would pay more and kill him just to wound Liara. If it came to it Mal felt he had no choice but to surrender himself.

What Mal could not comprehend was Bellany’s value to the Sewer King. She was comely, and as deadly in her own way as Zool. But Mal and Laz had value to the heads of two guilds, Bellany was nothing to that.

“If you tell me why you want Bellany, I might consider it,” Mal bluffed. He had no intention of handing anyone over but he needed more information, he needed a better look at his opponent's ivory. The Sewer King clearly believed himself negotiating from a dominant position. The tiles he concealed had to be strong ones, and this was a game of scrim Mal had best not lose.

“I smell Jax’s seed has taken root in her, he would pay handsomely for her, or you,” the elderly dwarf smiled showing that some of his teeth had also been replaced with amber. It was an unpleasant sight. Mal could feel hundreds of tiny eyes on him as the room darkened and the patter or tiny claws scraped and scratched creating a menacing buzz of background noise.

Mal understood that the Music Guild was far more than a bunch of entertainers, that they were the criminal element of Hub. The Music Guild was powerful and inevitable, if Liara were to destroy it it’d simply infect the other guilds. It was like beheading a hydra; leaving the Music Guild intact was a wise decision. But Jax was just their chump figurehead, a preening bard they used as a distraction for the real business of the guild. He could and would pay something for Bellany, just less than the Sewer King might expect.

A fight in these tight quarters in the Sewer King’s home would end poorly. A few of them might escape, but it was just as likely they’d all die even with Laz back up. Mal had painted himself into a corner and surrendering himself was the best option available.

“Let them go and I’ll soul forge you a weapon of your choice, on my honor,” a gentle even voice from the huddle prisoners spoke. It was the elderly orc Blacksmith.

There was a collective gasp. As good a negotiator as the Sewer King was, he failed to hide his surprise at the statement. Mal had probably betrayed his shock as well, soulforged weapons were extremely rare and valuable, it cost the Blacksmith something of what they were to make one, and the smith that knew the secrets to such craft were rare and in high esteem.

The practice of soul forging was common during the Marian empire and some say was part of the cause of the fall. Today it was used sparingly and with consequence, offering it to the Sewer King was a measure of profound respect and required tremendous skill or foolish bravery.

“What is your name smith?” the Sewer King demanded. The rats and other vermin buzzed and squealed now into what could well be described as a dull roar. It was the Sewer King’s tell, he wanted to take the offer. If the offer was genuine he’d be a fool not to.

“My name is Hodge, you been around long enough to know it. I speak the truth, on my anvil and my hammer.” Hodge kept his tone even and his eye rose to meet the amber orbs of the Sewer king. His pose was one that spoke of a man with deadly know how and defiant courage. Mal judged this was no bluff.

“Once he finishes your sword he is also free to return to his guild with an escort,” Mal added. The Sewer King’s face twisted into a grimace then returned to a disconcerting smile. It was enough to tell Mal he had hoped to keep the Blacksmith. Still, the deal was too good to pass.

“Bargain struck,” The Sewer King extended his hand toward Mal to seal it. No doubt he’d sell information on them but Mal saw no other way to get everyone out safely and shook on it.

The Sewer King touched his pinky to his jugular and drew it across the apple of his throat. It was a Marian gesture which meant: I’ll yet have your blood. Mal spit between his feet which was a gesture of violent contempt to Marian sensibilities, or a gesture of respect for one’s martial prowess to the kindred.

The Sewer King let it pass and they soon left. Hodge and Zool shared a moment before departing and something passed between them. Hodge was a familiar name to Malleck and the Sewer King exacted a steep price indeed, the man was thought long dead, a soul forged blade from his hand would be a powerful symbol for the Sewer King to claim.

The bargain was the least bloody one he could strike. Mal had a sinking feeling it was a bargain he’d one day regret.

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…”

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.

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.

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.

Regional Overview - North Central

The Dragon Mountains

The Dragon Mountains traverse the continent of Desylinn from the north-central coastline to the south-western coastline, with a split near the center by a large plain that connects the Vol-kyn with Eartlinn.  The chain was first claimed by the Dragons and by extension the ten dwarven clans, which divide the region up between them. The Northern Dragon Mountains are ruled by the Gold and the Silver clans. The largest city of the region is the Gold Clan’s city of Jinjia. It’s a massive edifice going deep into the mountain’s heart. It has intimidating golden walls that act as an impenetrable defense against attack. Located on the south end of the northern range, bordering the territory of the Lead clan, it is the only city of the Gold Clan that an outsider may see.

The central Dragon plain is claimed by the Copper and the Lead clans and acts as the bread basket for the dwarves. Small farming and mining villages dominate the foothills to the north and south of the region. Villages elsewhere in the region are often impromptu short lived affairs and serve as staging areas for the boar and rhino cavalries of the two clans, which raid deep into the interior of the Vol-kyn to attack the Unkhan tribes. Occasionally they are joined by Kindred warriors who hope to quell the threat of their violent cousins.  

The Great Imperial Highway divides the Dragon Plain, meeting the Snakes Highway from the south at the Black Clan’s city of Kagejo. With massive towers soaring hundreds of feet in the air, Kagejo makes an easy landmark for travelers. The city is home to the Black Clan and is the center of trade in the region. It also gives the monastic Black Clan a central location to administer healing and curative medicines to other dwarves (and all seeking succor).

The South Dragon Mountains are home to Red and Iron clans. The Red Clan’s city of Shinkyuden sits on the border of the Vol-kyn. A sprawling and chaotic place, it is the only dwarven city with a significant population of Kindred. Urban fortress, originally built as a first defense, are now lost in the chaos of the streets, hidden by the ramshackle houses and buildings that sprawl off the central walls.

Far north, in the foot hills of the western side of the mountains and slowly progressing south is the White Clans wall Bai Qiang. Meant to protect and isolate the dwarves, it is the White Clans goal to have the massive edifice span the length of the mountains and the Dragon Plain as well. The wall has reached the Dragon Plain causing poor relations with the Kindred of both the Vol-kyn and Eartlinn. The situation is made worse by the foundations of a similar wall being laid on the eastern side of the mountains. Hidden away in a long desert valley in the southwestern part of the mountains, near the Dragon Sands is the Zhen Tanzo, or True Forge, this is where the newly born dragons first came to worship their parents Bahu and Tiala, and is the holiest of places for the dwarves.

Eartlinn

Sandwiched between the Northern Dragon Mountains and the Geato Marsh, Eartlinn is a land of rolling hills, meandering rivers and small forests. Idyllic and one of the safest region of Desylinn, it is also the most populous. Much of the region is given over to farming and raising cattle, though some mining and forestry enterprises do exist. No formal government unites the regions many small towns, villages and cities though those along the Great Imperial Highway often have a common benefactor. The most prominent city, Hub, sits at a major crossroads only maintaining control of the immediate area.  Many villages and cities act as way points along the highways, with trade pouring through going from the Fertile Lands and the Free Cities in the East to Kagejo, the Vok-lyn, Old Mariea and the Dragonsands to the West. It’s along this route that the Merchant’s Guild has the most control, and many towns were built as stopping points for the great guild’s caravans. It’s also here where Gren can be found in most abundance outside the Fertile Lands, their clan caravans plying the highway and side roads of the region.

The region has no obvious boundaries, though frequent raids by the Copper and Lead dwarf clans on Kindred’s Pits let them know where they can and can’t build. Most consider the abandoned dwarf village Daara’uul to be the western border. The Kindred Pit village of Mudpit marks the southern boundary and the Free City Q’Lazz the eastern boundary.  Some towns off of the Imperial highway have begun to band together for mutual protection. This is particularly true for those that have settled nearest the western edge of the Blackfire Mountains.

Hub

Tucked away in the rolling hills of Eartlinn is the vast sprawling city of Hub. Home to thousands and thousands and thousands of residents, the city is the center of civilization in Eartlinn and the northern part of Desylinn. Founded by Bjord Half-foot and Wargog, two of the Glorious Transcendents, in the days after the collapse of the Mariean Empire it has grown massive, stretching beyond the original foundations Bjord anticipated. The city is divided into five districts, each controlled by one of the Five Great Guilds. The center of the city, controlled by the Church of the Five, serves as a neutral territory for the Guilds. The five districts are distinct, though no walls divide them.

The Merchant’s quarter is the most organized and the wealthiest. The streets laid out in a rough grid shape, are clean and guild patrols regularly keep the peace. The Workman’s and Mage’s quarters are a ramshackle of rough temporary housing built next to (or on) more permanent structures. In the Mage’s quarter particularly the streets are apt to change due to fights between the Mages Schools. Neither quarter is safe, though more people tend to disappear in the Mage District. The Blacksmith quarter is dominated by five large monastic compounds that make up the Blacksmith’s Guild. Housing and shops line the streets between the monasteries, and the Blacksmith’s maintain tight control over the area. The Music Guild’s quarter appears as a mass of chaos, with winding mazelike streets. It’s easy to get lost and end up someplace that you didn’t know you wanted to be.

The city hums with a life all its own, and on quiet nights the hum can be felt. Whether this is the sound of the “sewer beasts” processing the filth of the city into fresh water for the aquifers, or the sound stone and metal constructs that speed along tracks that circle the outskirts of the city none can say. Less than a league away is The Circle of Bad-Blood. A miles wide region completely void of magic, save for the small bare stone in the center that has enough magical energy to warp reality around it. It was here, in the Circle, where Bad-Blood destroyed the Imperial Legion and their fortress Ashasalva. The center “Bad-Bloods Footprint” is where she last touched the ground before ascending beyond the Seal.  

The Geato Marsh Plateau

The Geato Marsh was created by the blood of the Nameless One and is shaped like a great shallow bowl. Sitting on a large plateau south of Eartilinn marsh catches most of the run-off from the Black Fire Mountains to the east and the Dragon Mountains to the north and west. South a large escarpment surrounded by a lip of boggy hills along the edge prevents adequate drainage into the Kristog lands beyond. Peppered with shallow lakes, winding waterways and teeming with strange abundant wildlife the marsh is known to have a vast array of curative plants and a multitude of poisonous ones. The Geato Abira (lizard-folk) maintains and controls temples to the goddess Ishari and rules over villages throughout the swamp.

Three cities dominate the region: Tari Dar (The City of Blue Stone), the largest of the Geato Abira cities, is the center of worship for Ishari. The population is dedicated to feeding and housing the Seers of Ishari and maintaining defense of the city from some of the more aggressive beasts in the swamp. Access is restricted to outsiders to a few small areas. Gol Dar (The City of Bridges) is at the southern edge of the swamp and built on a series of small islands. The city acts as a way-station for travelers journeying to the city of Qynjb in the Kristogalog. The third major city is Kaza Dar, and while a Geato Abira city it’s significant in that it has a temple to the goddess Daras instead of Ishari. The rulers of the city are warrior priests and unlike the temples of Ishari, they allow non-Geato Abira and all genders to join the temple as long as they are dedicated to fighting for the death goddess.

Religions of Desylinn (Part One)

The Church of the Five:

The Church of the Five Glorious Transcendents, or the Church of the Five, is usually found under a single roof. The five separate cults share a common theme, the idea that through glorious acts even mortals can ascend as godly beings. Most of the clergy follow a single cult, though a small group of the clergy follow all Five Transcendents. They are usually in charge of overseeing the church as a whole and act as ambassadors for the church in other lands or to the Great Guilds. They also mediate between individual cults when there is conflict. The majority of followers live in Eartlinn, primarily Hub, where the church was founded and where it has a major influence on the city. The cults are as follows:

• The Cult of the Beloved (God of Music and Altruism): The followers of Bjord Half-foot (the Beloved) know the path to transcendence comes from aiding others. Adherents strive for the same level of compassion that bard Bjord had during his life. The clergy are usually musicians, even if they are poor ones. This isn’t a strict requirement though, and any are welcome who are willing to give of themselves. Always striving for the easement of others through selfless acts, the only true sin is watching another suffer and doing nothing, particularly if that person is a child. 
• The Cult of the Slayer (God of Justice and Destiny):  The followers of Omoshiroi Renga (Slayer of Tyrants) follow one of two paths: The followers of the path of Destiny are usually disappointed to discover they are not destined for great things. Only those destined to become divine can truly excel in the Destiny aspect of Renga’s portfolio. Most adherents are followers of Renga’s aspect for Justice and come from the ranks of the Blacksmiths Guild. The Arbiters are the clergy of this branch and are considered the fairest judges in Desylinn. Their verdicts are rarely opposed and their judgments are oft times profound, reaching the level of prophecy.
• The Cult of the Strategist (Secrets and Revolution): The followers of Talasia (The Strategist) seek out secrets like thirsty men seek water. The cult’s primary goal is the acquisition of forbidden or suppressed knowledge. Using that knowledge to rout corruption makes this path a tricky one to follow. Followers are warned that knowledge can corrupt as easily as it enlightens. The clergy of this cult tend to be secretive, only keeping a token presence in any Church. Set up as small cells, they are treated with mild suspicion by outsiders especially because many members of the Music Guild are adherents. 
• The Cult of the Self Ascended (Magic): Those that follow Bad-blood (the Self Ascended) all have the spark of magic running through their veins. Of all the Cults of the Five, the worshipers of Bad-blood seek raw power as a means to transcend. Shrines are found in nearly every Mage’s School, as well as in the Churches of the Five itself. Anyone with the ability to cast some magic will find themselves whispering a prayer to Bad-blood to bring about the Bliss or relinquish them from Despair. While widely worshiped her clergy are barely organized compared to the other Cults. 
• Cult of the Kindred Father (War and Dance): The most popular cult among the Kindred, the followers of Wargog (The Kindred Father and The Wardancer) consider themselves a brotherhood. The clergy of The Kindred Father hope to guide the followers of Wargog through trials teaching that life is a great Dance. Also a god of war, the cult places more emphasis on the idea of sound strategy before the glorious battle. When battle must be engaged the Church teaches the worshipers to embrace it, it’s all part of the Great Dance.

The Churches of the First Born of Chaos:

The First Born of Chaos created the world of Desylinn. This does not make them “good” however.  While some, like Ariga or Ssita could be considered beneficent, they are most often indifferent to the world at large. Being more interested in studying the outcome of their experiment than they are in being worshiped. Even so many of the races praise the names of the First Born  and their cults are an important part of everyday life throughout Desylinn. Their worship is more informal than that of the Church of the Five, or the Chantries of Mar. The churches are as follows: 

• Church of the Oldest(Fate):  The one requirement of the Church of the Oldest is that all clergy  must be able to cook. The priests learn to cook to gain knowledge of the subtle interplays of flavor. They parallel this with Fate, which is also subtle and easy to miss. The faith’s goal is to seek out knowledge to help understand intricacies of Fate. Unlike the Cult of Strategist, the knowledge the Church of the Oldest gathers is open to anyone. The clergy are eager to learn all things but place a particular emphasis on history and natural events. This church is not widely popular, but does have some followers ranked among spell casters, members of the Ogrekhan and the Shards, the latter worshiping the Old Man despite their inability to taste their own cooking. 
• The Church of Ssitta(Creation, Sun, Moon): The most commonly worshiped of the Firstborn, Ssitta (The Chaosgate of Creation) is both the goddess of creation, as well as the goddess of the sun and moon. Her adherents follow many paths and her church is much less a church than it is a series of cults. Regarded as a benevolent goddess many crafters follow Ssitta, shrines existing wherever there is creation being done. Travelers also pay homage to the goddess, seeking her guidance as she looks down upon Desylinn. The Lash-ti-Nowish have organized their worship of her, placing shrines at regular intervals in the Dragon Sands. They have solemn ceremonies that have become common to the entire race. 
• The Church of Ariga (Farming, the Seasons): Worshiped by farmers, lumberjacks and even miners, Ariga is respected by all who work the land. Closely tied to the seasons as well, every town, village, enclave or outpost will have a shrine to the goddess. Her church is simple the clergy hold ceremonies seeking the goddess’ blessing for the growing season, harvest, or even for a safe winter. While honored all over Desylinn, she’s most widely worshiped by humans in the southern islands, where her church has become central to the Kingdom of Arigunta. 
• The Churches of Nhoj (Magic, Knowledge, Chaos): Nhoj’s (Chaos Gate of the Void) cults, while not forbidden, are regarded with suspicion. The cults are often linear in their worship. While one cult may embrace the pursuit of learning to the point of self-deprecation and asceticism, another may endeavor to meaningless destruction. The most predominate cult of Nhoj, The Cult of the Unmaker, is discussed below.  Most who worship the knowledge aspect of Nhoj do so in private. The exception to this is the Shards who venerate the god as a creator. It was his interference that prevented Daras from collecting their souls making her blind to their deaths and allowing the creation of the Unbroken. 
• The Cult of Daras (Death): All mortals know Daras, the Gentle End, for all must die. She’s is rarely worshiped directly, but all will see her. One of only four gods able to penetrate the Seal, she’s the only god every living creature will meet. Although those around death will see her as she comes to collect the souls of those who’ve just died. She does not approve of worship, but she does tolerate a small cult that aides her in the gathering of souls, typically by summoning her manifestation. These manifestations are summoned to gather spirits that have not moved on or have become lost, or to punish those who have tried to escape her embrace.  

(Part 2 Here)