Secrets of Desylinn: The Fall of the Nameless One

by John Belliston

Ishari, Goddess of Truth and Running Water, married Mar, God of Law. Their courtship was a clap of thunder, shattering Mar’s love for the Goddess Ariga. Though each regretted it, the two gods' attraction drew them together stronger then than any previous promises. Like a great and beautiful clock, exact in its motion and intentions, they coupled on the night of their wedding. From their love came the beautiful Mar’ies, God of Ice.

Mar doted on and spoiled his son. Every desire that crossed the young god’s mind he immediately met. Mar’ies returned his father’s affection a hundred fold, crafting grand creations of Ice and Cold. The pride of the father blinded him to the flaws in his son. Mar’ies’ arrogance grew to dangerous levels, eventually leading him to challenge the king of the Gods, his great grandfather Nhoj, God of Knowledge and one of the Firstborn of Chaos. Nhoj’s face became the hungry mask of the Destroyer as the whelp of a god challenged him for kingship.

The sweet voice and charms of Ishari stood between her son and her father’s father. They alone calmed Nhoj enough to prevent Mar’ies’ unmaking. The young god didn’t understand the danger he had brought on himself, and Mar refused to chastise his son. The debate between the God of Law and the Goddess of Truth lasted long and eventually their fury turned to passion. This coupling roared across the Realm of the Gods like a war of fire and screeching metal, and Ishari was once more with child.

After a time, she gave birth to her second son. Unlike the beautiful Mar’ies this babe was terrible to behold. His face was a mass of fangs and deformations. His body swelled and shriveled at random with each shuttering breath. His loud wheezing stank of ash and brimstone. Behind his ill formed eyes a great and hungry flame burned. This broken creature reached up with it’s gnarled hand and touched his mother’s cheek.

She wept. Her voice choked in her throat as she thought to speak. No name could comfort such a creature. No offering of her voice could portray the deep and mournful love she bore this child. She merely stared into his eyes as her tears bathed his flesh.

Elsewhere, Ishari’s mother Tiala, Goddess of the Sea, was giving birth as well. Her twin sons Tlal God of the Angry Heavens, and Daikado God of the Angry Earth burst forth from the womb deeply engrossed in their own hateful conflict. They screamed and howled and tore at each other and all of creation shook with the furiosity of their War. So terrible was the battle of her new brothers that Ishari left her newborn child unattended to help stop them.

Mar’ies looked upon his brother, filled with terrible bile and rage. No creature so hideous could have come from his beautiful parents. Before him lay an abomination that could not be, should not be. While the other Gods fought and wrestled with his uncles he cast his brother high and flung him down to the mortal plane.

The Nameless One’s twisted body struck the earth, breaking into three great, bloody pieces. His legs and loins fell and created the FertileLands, filling them with vibrancy and life. His torso landed in the heart of the Geato Marsh his blood creating dangerous fire-swamps deeper within. His twisted limbs and bloated head fell on what would become the lands of theKindred.

He fell with such force that when his head struck the ground his teeth were knocked from his head and buried deep in the earth. His blood and brains dripped from his shattered skull and watered the buried teeth. The ground shuttered and from each hole burst an Orc, Troll, Goblin, Minotaur, orOgre.

By then Ishari had noticed the fate of her child.

It is said there are parts of the Stew of Fate that still vibrate with the horrible sound of that scream.

The Goddess of Truth rushed to the broken body of her child and wept. The tears fell down her face and down onto the corpse of the Nameless One. Where each tear touched the mix of blood and marsh and water an Abira, the Lizardwoman children of the Marsh, rose up and scrambled to comfort her.

Ishari looked upon all the life her son's death had created. The many peoples created by his death and she sighed at the beauty to be found in this horror. Her sigh mixed with her tears and so were born the Krishtog frogmen. With a laugh and loving smile she blessed each of them, and returned to the Realm of the Gods.

Mar’ies was cast to the mortal plane for his sin. But that is another tale.

Secrets of Desylinn: Liara Rosetongue

by Dominic Ford

Entering the dark room, Machi’s heart pounded, filled with dread. Although the market this morning had been one long catastrophic event, he couldn’t believe it had warranted a meeting with the renowned Lady of Whispers. A lamp in the corner flickered to life, and his heart skipped. He had expected a hag, but this woman was so far from that. His tongue dried in his mouth. Her elegant face, unmarred by the slender scar covering her Imperial origins, was smiling. Her neck, decorated with a delicate rose tattoo, led his eyes to her silvery gown, which however modest couldn’t hide the woman’s majestic beauty. Machi swallowed hard and forced his eyes upward, looking into her inviting green eyes. She began to whisper.

Although born into the frozen Elven Empire, Liara had her heart warmed at a young age by the life and music of the Transcendent BjordHalf-foot. Instead of embracing the cold, Liara turned to music. Liara was among the first to scar herself rather than continue to carry Kady’s Kiss, the mark left on all Elves upon the death of Empress Arcadia. Her fame as a Bard spread beyond Hub, and her tours took her across Desylinn, from the Kindred’s tents and the Gren's Wagons to the Dwarves' distant forgehalls. Her career took an abrupt turn when a jealous performer snuck into her home one night and slit her throat. Luck, or the Transcendent Bjord’s blessing, was with her, and she survived the devastating injury.

Left with an ugly scar on her throat, her was voice utterly destroyed. Liara turned her back on her career, her magics, and her previous life. She took a vow of silence and maintained it for over a decade. Seeking understanding of the nature of the Gods, of life in Desylinn, and a new purpose for herself, she searched within for answers. The first answer she found in Transcendent Bjord’s second teaching, Altruism. A servant in the Temple of the Five, she became a silent bringer of hope, dedicated to alleviating the endless suffering of the world. One day, deep in meditation, inspiration struck. She rose, collected her wages, and left the temple. She went straight to a tattoo artist, and whispered the design for her rose into his ear.

Her new life bloomed with the rose. She took her money and invested in small shops, independent merchants, and desperate yet skilled craftsmen. Slowly these investments expanded and grew, and with them so did her influence. The small shops grew into flourishing businesses, the merchants into significant caravanners, and the lowly craftsmen advanced as masters of their respective arts. Finally, the collected organization began to fray, too large and unwieldy for any individual to manage, and Liara knew that a change had to happen at once. She petitioned the Council for official status and her organization became the Merchant’s Guild.

Within the Merchant’s Guild, Liara’s word is final. She has advisors and bodyguards, but once she whispers instructions they are carried out immediately, to the best understanding and ability of her followers. She considers her people to be a powerful machine, and modeled it after Transcendent Bjord Half-foot’s famed artifact, the Voice of the Changeling. She trains her people to be perpetually flexible, and empowers them to make decisions in the moment, from the bottom level up to the highest caravanners. Her organization stretches almost as far as her fame once did, and few dare cross the Merchants for fear of bringing a single whisper against them.

Liara has not allowed this power to go to her head, however. She spends her time praying and meditating, trusting her followers to do as she has asked. She never forgets the second half of Transcendent Bjord’s teachings, and instills the value of Altruism into her entire organization. She demands loyalty, trust and honor, and in return ensures full wages, adequate reward and proper punishment for any in the Merchant’s Guild. In spite of this, her understanding of both business and mortal weakness ensure that she is increasingly profitable. She passes most of this back to the Guild, and the rest to the Temple of the Five, choosing a life of humble honor for herself.

Gren: An Overview

by Frank Shaw

The Gren are perhaps the smallest of the peoples of the lands of Desylinn. Traversing the lands in great wooden wagons pulled by the massive hounds they call c’hulla, they are either welcomed as joyful entertainers, makers of elixirs and troubadours or turned away as suspicious thieves and scoundrels. Standing on average just a little over three feet and being generally slender of stature many of Gren slip into the “scoundrel” role easily. It’s only one of the many talents and abilities the Gren possess. Gren men are skilled hunters and woodsmen, some mastering animal husbandry. Gren women have honed their ability to craft potions and elixirs, as well as looking into the depths of magic. The wisest, of these women - called the Maitre - lead the clans of Gren in their roaming, and guide their individual tribes on their journeys throughout Desylinn. 

Gren can be found across the lands, from all male gangs lurking in the alleyways of Hub to lone rogues in the employ of the Lash-ti-Nowish as trade brokers. Most Gren are found in the Fertile Lands where the earthy soil bursts forth with bountiful fruits, vegetables, and grain all year round. Here the game is so plentiful even a Troll's appetite could be sated. The Gren wander the land, burying any raw and uneaten wild yams and tubers at the start of each journey and scattering seeds from each meal along their path. This plentiful land aides the Gren in their seemingly carefree lifestyle, but it is rare to find a lone wagon in the Fertile Lands, and rarer still to encounter the same Gren in any given caravan more than once. 

Createdby the Wild Ones during the early days of the Empire of Mari'es, in mockery of the Elves, the Gren carry a startling resemblance to the facial features of the Elves. With oval shaped faces and large almond eyes, prominent cheek-bones, long slender noses and tapering ears, the Gren have honed perception and the ability to see as well in twilight conditions as in daylight. Favoring practical clothing, with splashes of color during their day to day activities, the Gren swap out their practical garb for garish costumes for their myriad and varied festivals. The only thing the Gren might love more than singing and drinking is the lure of magic.

Magic holds a special place in Gren life; most women are Oracles or alchemists. While many men are fighters and barbarians, there are sorcerers among them, feeding on their powerful emotional spectrum to cast their dazzling magic. These sorcerers generally leave clan and tribe behind, making their long pilgrimage to the larger cities along the old Elven roads, to seek their fortune in Hub, or to the heart of the Blackfire Mountains, following rumors of mysterious spell casters hiding in the rocks and crannies of the great peaks. 

Compared to the rest of Desylinn the Gren are a peaceful race, but it is wise not to cross these seemingly passive people. Although outright battle is unheard of between the Gren Families, both men and women are trained in how to use weapons and the fearsome c’hulla can go from docile hounds to ravenous beasts in the blink of an eye. Most importantly every Gren wagon has a stockpile of wands, potions and other items created to sell and barter to other races that they can use in a pinch for preservation and protection. Those clans wandering outside the Fertile Lands are trained in mounted combat as well, and usually keep several c’hulla unharnessed for when they need to mount up and defend the clan. 

If crossed by an individual, the Gren are typically less lethal. Stealing is not part of their cultural identity, but taking something to right a wrong, or even better, leaving something nasty behind in its stead is a common practice for the Gren. Cheating on a deal, humiliating a Gren, or even standing one up for lunch could lead to some unpleasant ramifications for a member of another race. Most of the time the vengeance is only as bad as the perceived crime. Some Gren, especially lone males or gangs of males, may take vengeance to the extreme, permanently harming those foolish enough to cross them. 

Gren may be the smallest of the Desylinn races, but are rarely the most overlooked.