Random Fantasy

Zilyana Irithyl Part 2

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Zilyana felt pressure on her face and realized she was laying face down on the table in her cabin.  Whatever poison the treacherous Forcythe had used hadn’t finished her off, but it was making her limbs feel as though they were made of dead eels.  Struggling to her desk, she fumbled and finally managed to press the three pieces of carved wood that opened one of the secret drawers.

She grabbed one of the antidote potions she kept there for just such an emergency and downed it.  The alchemical mixture cleared her head immediately.  Plucking her hat from where it had fallen, Zilyana closed her eyes and incanted a spell.  The rest of the world seemed to slow down and she invoked another spell, vanishing from where she stood and appearing on the deck of her ship.

It was a scene of chaos; at least a dozen men were bleeding on the deck, a mad struggle between her crew and a bunch of people in dock worker’s garb.  Worse yet, an entire god rotting platoon of soldiers was moving down the deck at speed with weapons at the ready.  Moving with speed that made the others seem to stand still, Zilyana sprinted down the deck hacking through the thick hemp ropes that kept them secured to the dock.

“CAST OFF YA CRACKBRAINED RATS!” She shouted and her crew rallied at the sight of her.  A flight of arrows streaked from the approaching soldiers and swept the deck.  Zilyana wove through them easily to hack the last of the mooring ropes free and planted her feet on the deck.  Raising her blades, she wove them in intricate patterns, scribing runes in the air and shouting words of Power.  The water between the pier and her ship obeyed her commands and rose in a massive wave, heeling Wavebreaker over and moving him away from the pier.

“Prepare to lower sail, get to your positions and keep your damn heads down!  We’re running!”  She yelled, “Lindrix, take the helm I have to focus!”  Without looking to see if her First Mate had obeyed, Zilyana bent her will to force the water to create a wave that swept the smaller craft out of the way as it shoved Wavebreaker out of the harbor against the wind.

Cries of anger came from the dockside as her ship surged away from the shore, gathering speed as it went.  Wiping sweat from her brow, Zilyana gritted her teeth and looked ahead.  A warship, King’s Ransom was raising its anchor.  Shit.

Letting go of the force that kept pushing Wavebreaker forward, she pointed and gestured at the water on the opposite side of the Ransom and a vortex of swirling waters began to form behind it.  The enemy ship spun lazily, turning away from them and foundering in the water.  As their enemies were swept out of the way, the force of the whirlpool shot Wavebreaker out of the harbor into open sea.

With a grimace of effort, Zilyana hurled a wave back toward shore, knowing it would swamp the smaller boats and founder the larger.  With any luck it might even sink a few of those bastards who had come to arrest them.  Releasing the spell that gave her power over water, she focused on a more familiar friend and called upon Nordji, the North Wind to send them on their way.  A private gale, just for them sprang up before her outstretched palm, filling Wavebreaker’s sails and sending them speeding from the city and their enemies.

–

“Another one?”  Zilyana rubbed her arm over her pained, red eyes.  When had she slept last?

“Aye Captain.”  Lindrix said, lowering his spyglass.  “We ain’t gonna be able to dock here either and if we don’t get out of here fast they will likely catch us.”

Gritting her teeth, she reached out for the power once again.  Pain flashed behind her eyes but she forced the winds to her will again and sent Wavebreaker back out to sea.

“We can’t keep doing this.”  She said, “I can’t keep doing this.  Lindrix, I have to rest.  The instant we lose that sail you need to take over the helm.”

“Of course.”  He said, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze.  “We’ll be fine for a time.  You’re the only one who hasn’t rested.  Go on, we can handle this.”

“Come rouse me in an hour.”  She said, and stumbled to her cabin.

–

It had been many decades ago that she had discovered her brother’s strangeness.  Her beloved grandmother, seven centuries old had died, old age claiming her at last.  Zilyana had wept for days, inconsolable in the grief of losing the first person in her family who had discovered her magical gifts and nurtured them into a thing of deadly grace and beauty.

She had thought that Korikk shared her affection for the ancient woman, but he had been more interested in finding out if she had anything interesting in her personal effects than anything else.  He hadn’t even wanted to attend her Final Rest ceremony.  This hurt almost as much as her grandmother dying.

“Why doesn’t he care momma?”  She had asked, sobbing into her mother’s shoulder.  “He should care.  Grandma was wonderful and I will miss her.  Why doesn’t he feel sad?”

“You know how when you were very little your hair did not grow like the other children’s at first?”  Verrona had said, smoothing her hand over Zilyana’s back.  “It just took longer for your hair to begin to grow.  Korikk is the same way, but for him it’s his emotions that are taking longer to grow in.”

This explanation had mollified her for years.  She had waited for her older brother to understand things that she had felt for as long as she could remember.  Gradually it seemed to happen.  Korikk cried when their pets died.  He laughed at jokes and went through several phases of romantic entanglements with different girls, being suitably morose when the relationships ended.

Zilyana thought at first that her brother’s emotions had finally started to develop just as Verrona had promised, but after a few years she became certain that he was perpetrating a carefully concocted lie.  He was always sad for the same number of hours after each setback.  He laughed for the same number of seconds and always started laughing after everyone else had begun.

“Mother, I am worried about Korikk.” She had said, approaching Verrona in her study where she knew they wouldn’t be disturbed.  “It’s like he is just pretending.  Like he is simply imitating the feelings we all take for granted.”

Verrona sat quietly for a few moments, then quietly walked to the door and closed it.  The air tightened around them for a moment and Zilyana realized that this room wasn’t just private; it was magically warded against any kind of eavesdropping.  Elves were folk whose emotions ran deep, and the thought that someone could be an elf and not feel was frightening.

“It must be hard for him.” Verrona finally said.  Zilyana blinked; she hadn’t thought of it from that perspective before.  “He knows we all feel things; joy, sadness, love, hatred… and yet he stands in the stream of Elven emotion as still as a stone.  It all flows around him, gradually wearing him down and he doesn’t understand it.”

“Oh.”  Zilyana said, “I never thought of it.  Not like that anyway.  I just see him looking at a situation and instead of reacting emotionally to it it’s like he calculates what the expected response is.”  She shivered, “I saw him in a fight last week.  He was just going through motions, he could have been punching a practice pell.  It was like he was a monster, and he only stopped when he noticed that others expected it.  I think he would have beaten that boy to death.”

“There is that.”  Verrona agreed, the picture of calm.  “He is a monster sweetheart, but he is our monster.  Our family has come through dark times before you two were born.  I fear we have some dark times ahead.  There are many monsters in this world, I think it would behoove us to have one of our own.”

Zilyana stared at her mother in shock, and Verrona continued.  “Zil I need you to help him.  He needs coaching if he is to blend in and you know that he isn’t completely without feelings.  They’re just subdued in him.  He needs our love and understanding as well as our coaching or else we will just be ‘a’ monster instead of ‘our’ monster.”

“I understand mother.”  Zilyana said, her mouth dry.

–

After what seemed like moments, Zilyana jerked awake to the sounds of combat.  As she leaped to her feet, she could see that the day had passed and the moon had risen.  That bastard Lindrix had let her rest too long, but she should have known better.  He always tried to look out for her health and wellbeing, claiming it was his job as First Mate.

She had to grudgingly admit that feeling fully rested and magically recharged would be undeniably helpful in the fight though.  Bursting from her cabin she saw they were flanked by two ships.  Snarling in anger, she leveled a sword at one and sent a blast of flame towards it.  To her shock, an answering weave of power dissolved her lance of fire into motes of light.  Shit.  They had a mage too and he was good.

Their arcane duel made the air hum with power as they employed elemental forces and sheer waves of destruction against one another.  Spells that would have burned either of them to cinders or frozen them solid were deflected and countered.  An arrow from the other ship slammed into her shoulder and Zilyana’s concentration wavered for just an instant.

That instant was all her opponent needed.  He leveled a staff a pace long with arcane symbols on it and bolt of dark energy lanced out towards her chest.  Zilyana was roughly shoved aside and a cry of anguish came from her mouth as she saw Lindrix falling to the deck with half his torso missing.  It was just gone.

With a scream of fury and sorrow, she flung her will into the depths of the ocean.  A wall of water fully twenty feet high rose between their ships, nearly capsizing the enemy vessel.  After it washed over the deck, she directed it to fill the hold.  Again and again she threw wave after wave and shouts of panic began to sound as the ship started to sink lower in the water.

The second ship broke away, its crew fearful of similar treatment.  Zilyana did not stop until the ship that had carried the enemy wizard had sunk beneath the waves.  Turning to the remains of her crew she set her jaw in a hard line.

“Make for open sea.  I know Wavebreaker is a coastal vessel, and so do they.”

“Captain, this is madness!  We can’t possibly survive so long at sea!”  One of her crew protested.  Others nodded in agreement.

“The next time which one of you will throw yourself in front of the death spell?”  She asked, bitter tears streaming down her cheeks, “I wouldn’t ask it of any of you, but I know there are some who would.  Next time they might bring several mages.  We have a hold with food, medical supplies and a few other assorted things that should see us through the voyage.  That combined with my magic will see us through.  My life on it.”

She saw their attitudes chance when they remembered that they had never unloaded their cargo.  More than a few started to laugh and joke about her luck and a few more began to sing a chanty when they remembered the substantial shipment of rum that was also on board.  Zilyana stood rooted to the spot for a moment, amazed at the trust her crew had in her.

‘Our chances are maybe one in a hundred.  If we’re lucky.’ She thought to herself, ‘But they’re better than if we keep losing men to enemy ships. A war of attrition is one we will lose, and quickly.’  Wondering idly if Norjdi was going to eventually stop responding to her demands, she once again summoned will, words and gesture that filled Wavebreaker’s sails and sent the ship on the course she had chosen.

Zilyana Irithyl Part 1

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Had a character die in a fairly high level Dungeons and Dragons game, so I’m back to the drawing board.  That’s what happens when your party sells you out to dark, demonic forces to save their own bacon!  Good news is, I get to write another back story.  I hope you enjoy.

Zilyana barked orders even though they weren’t necessary.  Her sailors knew their jobs and they were good at it.  They wouldn’t be working for her if they weren’t good.  The shipment of medical supplies she had … liberated … from its rightful owners needed to be delivered to this minor settlement.  The outbreak of pox here might be fatal if the cure and vaccine weren’t given after the outbreak that had happened in the last month.  She realized that this was the year anniversary of her splitting from the life of a normal merchant and slipping into the Privateering business.

Some people called her a Pirate, but Deep Sashelas frowned on piracy.  She kissed the pendant of a dolphin riding a cresting wave that hung around her neck.  Not pirates, she and her crew were freedom fighters.  The noble elite had been withdrawing from the public eye before they made this decision.  Punishments, even for minor infractions, had been harsh.  The common folk had begun to feel the effects of the ambivalence of the wealthy and powerful who were oathsworn to protect and provide for them.

It was when she heard a group of Lords speaking casually about ‘redistributing’ a shipment of food and supplies that was destined for an outer Holding that was suffering from drought that threatened to become a famine to an area that would pay handsomely for it instead of taking it as their due that Zilyana had made her decision.  That night, she sat with the crew she trusted and they made a blood pact.  They would undermine the oathbreakers by any and all means necessary.

They passed the light house and she tipped her tricorn hat to the Harbormaster.  She had known Forcythe for years and they had always had an amicable relationship.  He had a fondness for Klandran rum, and she had a contact who knew how to obtain the illegal rum laced with narcotic spices from the desert.  Her ship Wavebreaker rolled slightly as her crew furled the sails.  The bow wave rebounded off the wharf and she spun the wheel with the practice of decades, bringing him to gently nudge the pier.

“Every time I see you do that I just can’t believe you’re a girl.”  Forcythe said with a villainous grin.  It was a long standing joke between them.

“If you didn’t have children with that same ugly nose, I wouldn’t believe you’re a man.”  She retorted, tipping her hat at a jaunty angle.  “Coming onboard for the inspection?”

“You know the drill better than I do.”  He responded and clomped down the gangplank and she led him to her cabin.  Pouring them each a measure of rum they sat and chatted about the trip for a few minutes.  She almost thought she caught him slipping something into her wooden mug when she had turned to take her ship’s manifest from her desk, but she trusted him.  After all, they had been doing business for years and the bribes and drink she provided would be difficult to replace.

She sat again, feeling a tad unsteady.  This wasn’t unusual, with the ship tightly moored to the pier and barely rocking in the swell it took a bit of time to adjust to the lack of motion.  Forcythe looked over the manifest, nodding and smiling.  The list of legitimate goods was lengthy and would make for good trading in the city.  As Harbormaster he would be granted five percent of the value of the cargo for the honor of having him inspect and clear said cargo.  Zilyana frowned at him, his face was shifting or maybe it was just her eyes playing tricks on her.

“You rich whelps.”  He muttered, “You think we’ll do anything for money.  Does it demean you to lower yourself to being a merchant because you’ve got noble family?  Yeah, I know all about your supposed lineage.”

Forcythe spat to one side, the glob of phlegm splattering onto the polished wood floor.  “Elves.  Dealing with you for the last ten years, I know when something’s not right.  I’m gonna just stroll below and check your cargo.”

Zilyana knew she should get up and follow him, that she should stop him, but her mind was hazy.  She found herself dreaming of decades past.

–

“You must be taught to control that temper Zil.”  Her grandmother chided, “You will do someone grave injury elsewise.”

“I am NOT angry!”  She shouted stamping her foot.  Several delicately carved wooden figures fell off nearby shelves.  “Korikk won’t stop calling me Zilly and I HATE it!”

“Darling, I want you to take a deep breath and let it out slowly.”

“I don’t wanna breathe slowly, I want him to STOP!”  All the candles in the room went out.  Zilyana blinked.  “Grandma, why did you put out the candles?”

A perfect sphere of light illuminated the room, her grandmother’s crystal pendant glowing with the brilliance of the desert sun.  “That was you child.  The temper of a child of power like yourself is a dangerous thing.  You must leash it.  You must bind it to your will.  If you do not, you will hurt people and possibly yourself.”

Zilyana shivered.  “What if I do?  Won’t magic give me the power to hurt people too?”

“It will.”  Her grandmother replied softly, “But if you control it you will have the choice of whether or not to hurt people.  Do nothing and that choice will be denied you.  It is not only violence child, the dance is subtle and wonderful, full of beauty and life.  I know you will come to love it.”

–

She stood on the deck of Wavebreaker next to her older brother.  Korikk had mellowed out over the years, at least as far as his treatment of her was concerned, and she had realized that his teasing was his way of showing affection.  That affection did not run very deep into his character however; she was suspicious as to why he had requested that she be his first mate.

Being here was a dream come true though.  She had always loved the sea and her family’s holdings included stake in a shipping company.  Now, her brother was designated to be captain of the ship and she was going to sea for the first time.  Zilyana had spent years training, first with the sword and then adding her strange arcane gifts into the martial discipline.  The result was a dizzying mixture of sword and wizardry that was as deadly as it was beautiful.

She idly patted the tiger carved hilt of the scimitar thrush through her sash.  It was the only artifact her grandmother had passed on to her specifically when she had died and therefore was Zilyana’s only keepsake from her.  The secret of the sword’s ability to split into a pair of identical blades was another reason she treasured it.

“You’ve studied boats right?”  Korikk asked, breaking her reverie.

“Well, yes.  Of course Captain.”  She said, although internally she wondered if he was testing her somehow.  Boats?  This was a ship, only the least knowledgeable land bound fool would call it a boat.

“Good.  I hate these damn things Zilly and I don’t have any interest in learning.  Your job is to use that old magic trick of yours to tell me what in the hells I’m supposed to be doing.”

She bristled at her hated childhood nickname, but nobody else was within earshot.  Either he was truly using it as a term of endearment or else he was smart enough to know she’d skin him by inches if he used it around other people.  Maybe both.

“You still remember that do you?”  She had always been able to send messages into other’s minds.  It was a bit of the Wild that all Elves had, although their gifts varied.  Her parents said she had nearly driven them mad with her silent crying; she had learned to mind speak long before she had learned to vocalize.

“I never forget anything that could be useful.” Korikk said, not seeming to notice or care that he had more or less just called her a fancy tool.  “Now get on it.”

“What’s in it for me?  If I let you make an ass of yourself, maybe they’ll give me command of Wavebreaker and I won’t have to put up with your foolishness.”

“Do this for me for a year and then I’ll come clean.” He said, “I’ll tell mother and father that you have really been running the show.  If you do well by me, they won’t have a choice but to give you command because I’ll tell the crew too.”

Zilyana’s mouth dropped open before she could stop it.  “You’ll what?”

“I know you have always loved the sea.”  He said, “I hate it.  I hate the salt, I hate the stink of dead fish and unwashed sailors, I hate the spray, I hate the sunburn and most of all I hate the boredom.  It’ll be a perfect victory.  I’ll get to shove a thumb in father’s pompous eye with all his claims that captaincy is a man’s job and a woman would just get in the way and I’ll get out of this dreadfully boring task at the same time.”

“Deal.”  She said, holding out her hand for him to shake.  “We might want to make it two or three years though.  I don’t know how good I’ll be at it in the beginning.”

“You’d better learn fast little sister.  I think I’ll hurl myself off a cliff if I’m forced to do this for more than a year.”

The Effects of Ghost Ale

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As the others converse with the Djinn at the top of the tower, Ioz stares in wonder at the marvelous brew before him.  He has heard of Ghost Ale before, but has never tasted it.  Licking his lips, he unstoppers the flask and takes a delicate sniff.  The nose is rich and earthy with a hint of flowers.  Brightstar flowers unless he missed his guess and he was rarely wrong when it came to alcohol.

‘What wonders might this reveal?  I’ve oft pondered my heritage as I never knew my family.’  He thinks to himself.  Unable to resist, he takes a deep drink.  Images flicker before his vision and he finds himself sitting around a low stone table.  Six forms appear, sitting in chairs identical to his.  Although he hasn’t ever seen them before he instinctively knows them to be blood relations.

“I am your grandfather twice removed.  I am Storgar Wyrmslayer of the Caverstorm Clan.”  One of the figures said with an inclination of its head.

“I am your grandmother twice removed.  I am Brenlena Greatblade of the Deepdelver Clan.”

“I am your grandfather.  I am Durrak Diamondthrone of the Caverstorm Clan.”

“I am your grandmother.  I am Belladin Herbweaver.”  Ioz started at this, for this person was a human, not a Dwarf.

“I am your mother.  I am Noranna Bitterbrew.”  A sweet voice that hovered between the rich registers of a Dwarf and the sweet timbre of a human said.  “Oh my dear little gemstone what have they done to you?”

“I am your father.  I am Chara the Hammer of the Brightforge clan.”  A gruff and rumbling Dwarven voice said.  “You bear the marks of power, the sigils of pain and the scars of battle.  You do your ancestors proud, or at least you begin to my son.”

“I – I am unworthy of any praise.”  Ioz said, “Anything I have accomplished has been by accident.  Any accolades you give me are not earned but are mere happenstance.”

“And yet you have been chosen by The Lady of the Lost Ones.”  His great grandfather said, leaning forward to give him a bushy eyebrow.  “Don’t you think perhaps she might know better than you?”

“Don’t be so hasty to trust the Gods.”  Durrak said, his voice severe and morbid, “The do not care for you in particular, only their games and their own power struggle.  What they want from you may not be in your best interests.  They might even be lying to you about what you are doing or why they want you to do it.”

“I don’t really even know what I’m doing or why though.”  Ioz said, a bit chagrined.  “I honestly thought I was going to have more time to figure that out.  Wait, gods lie?  Wait, that kobold was a god?”

“Don’t judge everything based on Durrak.”  Noranna said, “He is still angry at Moradin for what he did to us, even though those actions may well have saved the world.”

“Beware of the warnings given by any Oracle.”  Said Storgar, “Even when they prophecy your success they rarely encompass all that should be taken into account.  Follow your own instincts.”

Ioz barked a laugh, “My instincts tend to tell me to drink whatever I can and pummel things into submission afterword.  While that’s gotten me this far, I think the stakes have been raised slightly now don’t you?  Besides, it was my instincts that got my friends killed.”

“No.”  Belladin said in calm reproof.  “You did not kill them.  You were but a child, how could you be expected to defend them and yourself?  Your memory is judging you harshly for things beyond your control.”

“I could have-“ Ioz began.

“The fault of the killing rests solely with the killer.”  His father said in his basso rumble, “You tried, fought with everything you had and failed.  We all fail, but do not allow your failure to mold who you are.  Instead you must grow from your failures, and I can see that you have grown from them.”

“You have the tools you need.”  His mother said in a voice that brought back dim memories of warm arms circling protectively about him.  “Now you must gain the understanding of who is convincing you to employ them and to what end.  Your companions seem trustworthy enough, however simple talk of a balancing act and the promise of a good fight shouldn’t be sufficient for you to risk yourself thus.  None of us realizes how precious life is until it has slipped through our fingers.”

“You’re a good lad.”  Brenlena said, speaking for the first time since introducing herself.  “Don’t allow your pride to interfere with your duty.  My pride was my undoing, led the destruction of our ancestral home and was nearly the undoing of the world.”

“Small chance of that.”  Ioz muttered.

“Fare well.  Our time grows short.”  They said in unison, “Find your Purpose, complete your Quest.”

“Wait… I feel like I should be asking something more.”  Ioz protested, not sure what he wanted to say, but wishing the encounter to continue just a few moments longer.

“You have forged yourself into a weapon child, just as your destiny dictated you would.”  Chara said, “Remember that you are meant for more than destruction.  We will speak again; this I promise you.”

The last sensation was his mother’s arms holding him in a warm embrace.  Then Ioz was unceremoniously deposited back into reality once more, surrounded by his companions on the Seventh Floor of the Tower of Mineral.  The sparkling blue words on his forearms twinkled mockingly at him; their runic for “Purpose” and “Quest” an ironic reminder.  What had possessed him to attempt to assimilate that thrice cursed weapon crystal?

With a sigh, Ioz took a large drink from his mug, thankful that at least one thing was constant.  His cup was ever full.

Id Om Zagod (Stone Crushing Fist)

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Id Om Zagod sat in the Wandering Wyvern Inn, watching the adventurers come and go.  The fat, chisel pointed Dao with its long double grip handle sticking intimidatingly out from over his shoulder.  He glared at the patrons, a massive pewter tankard in one hand and a tiny crystal shot glass in the other.  Setting the empty shot glass down, the Dwarf carefully poured a measure of the thick brown liquor from the stoneware jug on the bar next to him.  A small drop spilled on the bar and began to eat its way through the oak, sizzling and burning.

“Hey little guy, what’re ya drinkin?”  A tall and massively musclebound human sat down next to him, the impact of sitting knocking the bottle off the bar.  Ioz, as his friends would have called him if he’d had any, moved as fast as a striking snake, catching the bottle a finger’s breadth from the floor.

“Did you just call me… little?”  He asked, his voice gravely and deadly quiet.

“Oh come now, I don’t mean nothin by it.  Pour me one a whatever that is.”  The human slapped him on the shoulder hard enough to shift him a finger on his stool.

“Fenris, leave Zagod alone!  By the Mother Goddess, that crazy gobshite is drinking Purple Hippogriff!”  Another human had noticed his friend and had intervened at perhaps the worst possible moment.  “If he don’t kill ya th drink will!”

“This is th Stone Crushin Fist everyone’s been on about?”  Fenris asked incredulously, “Canne be him, he’s got a bloody sword don’t he?”

A fist the size and shape of a summer ham smashed into Fenris’s cheek, even as Ioz drained his tankard.  The huge human staggered back, drawing his sword and swinging it in the same motion but Ioz stumbled three steps to the left, then three to the right seeming to accidentally stumble out of the way.  Fenris was only barely able to stop his stroke before the blade struck his friend.

“You little-“  Fenris began, but Ioz had woven his way back into range, draining his shot glass as he came.  Fist, elbow, forearm, knee and foot struck in rapid succession hitting solar plexus, collar bone, temple, nose and then chin as the Dwarf unleashed unarmed fury upon his would be opponent.

“Nobody calls me little.  Nobody spills my drink.  Nobody doubts my fists.”  Ioz sat back on his stool as though nothing had happened.  The human on the floor was groaning and holding his broken nose with one hand and his stomach with the other.  Calmly, he reached out and poured himself another shot of the muddy brown liquor.  Purple hippogriff.  It ain’t purple and it ain’t a hippogriff.

“Very easily managed.” An accented voice said in common.  “I can see that your reputation is very well deserved.”  The second human had retreated, hand on the hilt of the Greatsword over his shoulder and a diminutive figure in a blue robe with the cowl pulled low over its face had stepped forward.  It extended a gloved hand.

Ioz did not take it, instead tossing a pair of silver coins to the Minotaur behind the bar who refilled his mug with frothing ale without comment.  The Dwarf took a long drink and sighed in satisfaction.  Reaching into a belt pouch, he took out a long stemmed pipe and a pouch of tac.  With careful deliberation he packed the bowl full and lit it with a practiced stroke of flint and steel.

Finally, after blowing a perfect smoke ring he turned to the figure where it stood patiently waiting.  “What you want Kobold?”

The human guard flinched and took a step backward, but the cloaked figure didn’t so much as twitch.  “I am offering you something.  An opportunity.  The Mother Goddess has brought all us forgotten here for a reason and I believe yours goes beyond carousing and fist fights.”

Ioz grunted. “Naw.  That’s pretty much all I’m good for.”

“Very well.  Then I challenge you to a fight.  The stakes are-“  The figure broke off as Ioz drained his tankard and took a pull directly from the bottle before leaping at her, his arms spread wide.  She easily slid to one side, tapping his foot with hers as she did so.  Her touch was just enough to spin him around, a motion which he turned into a vicious roundhouse that had the power to sunder a stone wall.

She leaned backward and slapped his heel as it flashed past her face, causing his motion to carry dangerously close to the bar.  Only by pulling his foot in and spinning twice in a circle did Ioz avoid kicking his bottle from the bartop.

“That ain’t right.”  He rumbled, unleashing a mad blur of punches, kicks and other less gentlemanly strikes.  The small figure glided out of reach every time and as was her wont, tapped him in just the right spot to put him off balance, this time sending him crashing into a table laden with food and drink.

Ioz rolled easily to his feet, ignoring the bits of broken pottery jammed into his flesh and the pottery, coming to his feet with an un-spilled tankard from the table which he promptly poured down his throat.  This time when he approached, he wove in an unsteady rhythm, feet crossing over themselves in an unintelligible tangle of stuttering steps.  His upper body wove in a nearly impossible sinuous weaving motion.  Instead of fists, his hands cramped into uncomfortable looking claws, knuckles splayed at wild angles.  A wide, unsteady grin was plastered across his face.

“Now we shtart to shee jusht how good ya be lassh.”  Ioz slurred, and stumbled forward three quick steps.  His foot came down hard where hers had been a moment before and he stumbled into her, his elbow smacking into her temple with force that should have been impossible from that angle.  She neatly turned a sideways cartwheel, turning most of the force of his blow into motion and lashed out with a foot as she did.  The motion flipped her hood back and he could see that her scaled skin was the white of driven snow.

Ioz wobbled back a half step and evaded her strike entirely before weaving back into the fray his arms, elbows and knees a blur of fluid, yet somehow erratic motion.  She retreated, awkwardly countering his blows, ducking and blocking.  Finally, she fetched up against the bar and in the blink of an eye was holding a pair of nunchaku.  Weapons in hand, she launched a furious counterattack.  Steel flashed as she battered at him, attempting to wrap the chains of her weapons around his arms or legs and settling for striking ferocious blows instead.

As he passed the bar, Ioz snagged a bottle at random and downed it before rolling backward out of reach and coming to his feet with his massive Dao in both hands.  The weapon whistled out, the wickedly polished edge shining in the light coming through the tavern’s window as he used it to block his opponent’s deadly assault.

He stepped back, grounding the chisel tip of the sword and bowing slightly from the waist.  “You are good.”  He said without rancor or the slurring speech and slumped back into his seat at the bar which just happened to be where he had retreated.  “You forced me to draw steel… What do you want?”

She stepped forward and poured a shot for each of them.  He raised a bushy eyebrow skeptically but downed his while she did the same.  Impressed, Ioz waited patiently.

“You’ve seen exactly what happens when you cannot maintain balance.  You are defeated, and by a mere Kobold.”  She said the last with irony in her tone.  “That is why I wish you to assist in a little project.  I can promise many strong opponents and a few staunch allies as well as the chance to do something a bit more… meaningful with your existence.”

Her eyes took in the now empty bar, the destroyed tables and crockery and she raised an ironic eyebrow.  “If you don’t have something more pressing in your schedule?”

The doors slammed open and the city watch tramped in.  Ten of them.  Even though he had never resisted, they sent more every time.  They circled him warily and the guard captain came forward with a pair of manacles.

“Zagod.”  He said with a frown on his face, “Don’t tell me that this tiny person over here somehow forced you to destroy the bar.”

Ioz saw that the Kobold had flipped her hood up again.  He looked at the guard captain and snorted in derision, “You know I don’t judge folk because of their size Darious.  You also should know I don’t resist arrest when I’ve broken the city’s laws.”

Ioz turned to the hooded form, “I accept your offer.”  He said, inclining his head.  He paused, noting that its shoulders shook with silent laughter.  Narrowing his eyes, he asked, “What is so damn funny?”

“They call you Zagod.”  She choked out, “They are literally calling you ‘fist’ or ‘punch’ and they don’t even understand it!”

“Punishment for a bar fight is payment of damages and a night in the lockup.”  He said, keeping his face straight.  “So you’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”

“You’re going to actually go with him?  You’re actually going to spend a night in jail?” She sounded skeptical, “Why?”

Ioz shrugged.  “It’s the law.  Part of following the law is acknowledging when you break it and serving the time required.  I’m bad at following the law but I try and atone for those failings by serving my sentences without causing trouble.”

“There is much more to you than it would seem Ioz.”  She said, using the name he had chosen.  The name he had taken for himself.  The name that had no hidden meaning.  “I will ensure someone is there to collect you upon your release.”

With that rather cryptic and unsettling statement, she turned and left.  They all watched her for a minute before Ioz sighed.  “Can I finish my drink before we go at least?”

“We’d be here all night, I know better than that.” Darious said.

Ioz sighed again, deeper this time.  “Damn.”

–

Sitting in the cell that smelled of vomit, sweat and piss, Ioz admitted that he’d had better accommodations.  Still, it was his own lack of self-control that had led him to this place.  Again.  He leaned back and let the memories of old pain wash over him.

He had been too weak to protect anyone.  Too small to defend those who he cared for.  Too stupid to notice until it was too late.  He had relied on his weapons, hadn’t trained his body to the fullest extent possible, hadn’t honed himself to a razor’s edge… and his friends had paid dearly for it.

After his failure, he had simply walked away from his life or what was left of it.  He had left everything behind and just walked until he could no longer put one foot in front of the other.  Until nothing mattered and it felt like death would be a comfort, a balm, a welcome release from the suffering of continuing to live.  And then he had run.

When The Mother Goddess, Landria Mother of the Lost, Keeper of the Forsaken, Finder of Things that Shone in Darkness found him, she wept at his despair.  She took some of his pain into herself.  She offered something other than the endless darkness that he wanted to give in to.  She gave him the escape he craved without demanding the end of his existence.  It had been a temptation too sweet to resist.  He had regretted it for every day thereafter.

Once he had accepted her salvation, Ioz had discovered that he was no longer able to forsake his own life.  He couldn’t change who he was when the very stones of this place demanded that he live.  That he serve the Mother’s purpose.  That he follow this land’s Laws and obey his set destiny.  He wept bitter tears as he saw the treachery of Landria’s forgiveness.

So he tempered himself in the forge of pain and strengthened himself on the anvil of despair.  He had years, decades, centuries to live.  Without the release of suicide, he simply tried to die by fighting the strongest person he could find in every place he traveled.  Over the years, decades, centuries, he had come to a simple conclusion.  He was the strongest, or else the Mother would not allow him to perish in such a trivial fashion.

Dorda.  Randar.  Shrav.  Terkin.  His friends who had been murdered because he hadn’t been able to fight without a weapon stood always over his shoulder.  Always reminding him of his debt to them.  Constantly exhorting him to greater effort.  And now, this Kobold… a person who hadn’t even had enough respect for him to grace him with her name… now she held the strings of his fate in her clawed, white hands.  She held them and he was too much of a coward to deny it.

Or perhaps this was his chance to redeem himself.  Closing his eyes, Ioz allowed sleep to claim him.  Tomorrow, the true testing would begin.  A test of balance that was sure to strain him to his utmost limits, or so he hoped.  Perhaps it would even break him.  That thought was the first comfort he had felt since Landria, the Mother of the Lost had claimed him.  The jailers found him sleeping with a smile on their nightly rounds and shuddered at the sight.

Gaming Cinematic #3

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Luag drew a deep breath.  The tattered cloak of Razach, the Orcish Blood Shaman in his hand seems to pulse with a heartbeat.  Deciding it would be better for it to perish with its master, he uncorked a vial of holy water and soaked the garment before reluctantly letting it fall over the edge of the platform and into the building inferno below.

“What a waste of knowledge… but perhaps some things are better left unknown.”  He mutters to himself.

The staff with its polished, engraved Elf skull leers at him knowingly as he wraps it in cloth and tucks it into the band of his pack.  Activating his belt, he fires the grapnel to climb after his companions, trying to escape the heat and smoke that rise from the blaze in the roots of the Forever Tree.  The others were deep in discussion, trying to plan their next move.

“We cannot simply allow this Scalran to escape after what she has done.”  Kaladin said, his arms crossed.

“I don’t know how we will find her, but I agree that she should be found and stopped.”  Korikk said, all the while wondering if possibly Scalran might have an insight into the mysteries of the map he was searching for.

“Just follow her trail.”  Chiva said with a shrug.  “She was using these tube things for something.  If she hasn’t flown the coop entirely then she’s probably at the end of these.”  He pointed at the iron piping over their heads.

“No, I think we should go outside.  I hate this place.”  Alorah says, managing to make her tiny piping voice grumble.  When the rest of the party headed off, she followed, landing on Kaladin’s shoulder.

Following the twisting tangle of superheated steam pipes, the party finally discovers the lair of The Machinist.  They squeeze through a small hatchway and into a cramped room.  Chiva glances out of the only other door, replacing the bar after seeing a hallway that looks long abandoned.

Stacks of parchment with notes jotted on them are stacked in disorganized piles written in a mixture of common, gnomish and dwarvish.   Sketches of various pieces of machinery in various stages of assembly litter the multiple tables and spill onto the floor.

Many of them are now a mess of sodden, smeared ink but some are written in pencil and are still clear enough to be deciphered.  The extreme temperatures of the burning Forever tree appear to vaporize everything other than whatever alloy she was using to line the iron pipes that lead into this room.

After discovering nuggets of Adamantium in the caverns below the strange anti-magic field, she began forging an army of mechanical monsters.   She got around the anti-magic runes by stealing human children and cramming them inside and controlling them with her mind.  Her psychic powers transforming them into the perfect controllers for her machines.  Scalran powered her machines with insanely powerful Adamantium springs instead of magic, using the steam engines running on the fires of the burning Forever Tree to wind them.

A mess of lined iron, copper, brass and steel tubes extend from a large mainline that covers three of the walls and connect to a wide variety of different vessels, machines and gauges.  The intense pressure and heat from the explosion below has ruined much of the writing and destroyed most of the machines, but a few still flail about in a parody of functionality.

Also disturbing is a table with an outline about the size and shape of a six foot tall humanoid with a few flakes of impossibly hard, very dense metal around it that seem to have dripped from some kind of casting.  It doesn’t take much deduction to identify it as Adamantium after what Scalran’s papers revealed.

After a few minutes of searching, it becomes obvious that Scalran had fled without taking anything other than the suit of armor or whatever it was that had been on the table and perhaps some notes regarding it as there is nothing here that reveals what it might have been.  It appears she escaped through a shaft that leads straight up through the center of the room.

The sound of hammers smashing into the door and muffled shouts stops the party short.  Luag looks up from sketching notes although his spectral magic third hand continues writing in his tome. Chiva pauses as he is attempting to shove a large, complicated machine into his pack.  Kaladin closes the pouch of gems he found sitting in a drawer.  Korikk carefully stows the book he had been reading, wrapping it in a heavy leather case.  Alorah spreads her dragonfly wings and zips halfway up Scalran’s escape shaft.

“Come on!  We don’t wanna get caught here!”  She squeaked, frantically beckoning to the others.

“I need more time.  Just a little more time.”  Luag said, “I think I’m close to understanding this.”

“We can’t take on the entire city.  What I don’t understand is how they found us.”  Kaladin said, moving to look up at Alorah.  “Where does that lead little one?  Can we escape through there?”

The fairy flew up in a cloud of glittering dust and returned mere moments later.  “Yesyesyes it goes out!  Out!  Sunshine and rooftops!”  She said, laughing gleefully.  “Fresh air and clouds!”

The sound of hammering grows louder and the party begins scaling the narrow shaft out of the room.  Luag takes an agonized look around the room and stuffs a handful of papers into his bag, hoping he was able to get enough information to complete the research he had begun before following.

Chiva scrambles up last, turning to cast an illusion over the opening before following his companions to the roof.  The sun is just setting as they perch on the tiles, their backs leaning against the huge gilded dome of the library.  Below on the street, they can see smoke roiling from sewer grates thick and black.

Soldiers and citizens crowd the streets, scanning every alley, nook and cranny of the city.  Several stand over the corpses of dead Dwarves and Orcs.  As they survey the chaos, they can also see small knots of fighting here and there as well as a few groups running and leaping from roof to roof.

“This isn’t good.  This isn’t good at all.”  Kaladin mutters.

“It’s OK.”  Says Alorah, “We can just fly away!”

“We can’t all fly you little fool.”  Korikk says, giving her a dark look.

Luag begins taking furious notes as he surveys the city, muttering about the good vantage for making a decent map.  Chiva just watches Alorah flitting around and chuckles as she sticks her tongue out at Korikk.

“Well guys, what now?”  Chiva asks.  “I, for one, say we get the hell out!”

Devglar the Serene

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This is just a bit of back story I wrote for an upcoming D&D 5th Edition play by post game, so I thought I’d throw a little Fantasy fiction on my page since it’s been lacking over the last month or so.

Devglar sat in the tavern, enjoying the soft harp music that flowed through the air.  He leaned back against the wall and relaxed; today had been a blessed day indeed.  Every day he was able to brew and maintain his absence from the battlefield was a blessing.  In his one hundred fifty years, he had seen a lot of fighting and, Bahamut willing, he had finally seen the last of it.

In his youth, he had been victim to a hot headed streak that led to mistakes.  It was important to remember that once a life was lost, it was often lost forever.  The Gods rarely saw fit to restore a spirit to its mortal coil and the dead even less often wished to come back to the pain and struggle of life once they had experienced what waited for them in the beyond.

He’d worked hard in the army, having sworn to save one hundred lives for each one he had taken in his younger days.  It had been a long, arduous task but with the blessings of the Dragon God Bahamut, he had come through it with his sanity and a feeling of peace.  It had been a relief to turn in his shield and armor, retiring to brew the ales for the tavern Moradin’s Beard.  Long hours spent slaving over different brews to produce the exact flavor he wanted were so… fulfilling.

Packing his pipe full of tobacco, he lit it from a candle on the table before sampling a pint of his latest brew.  A commotion outside jolted him from his reverie.   The door burst open, and a frantic girl ran inside, looking around with wild eyes.

“Please, there’s been a terrible accident!  Is there a healer here?”

“Calm yourself child.”  Devglar said, “I am versed in the healing arts.  I can heal anything short of death itself.  Please, what has happened?”

“My brother, he was run over by a carriage!  I think his leg is broken!”

“Ah, a broken leg is no trouble child.  I will have him up and his usual self in but moments.”  Devglar said, “What is your name?”

“I’m called Mel, please sir, my brother!”

Devglar smiled, taking his holy symbol from beneath his shirt. “Take me to him.”

When he followed Mel outside, the scene was far from what he’d imagined it would be.  A group of men stood in a circle, arguing in loud voices.

“He ran in front of me, I’d say he and his sister were trying some thieving scam!”

“Clearly you were going too fast you crude bastard!”

“Oh my leg, MY LEG!”

“Shut up you brat!”

“Thieving rats!”

“Arrogant bastards!”

Devglar walked through their angry, shoving forms without apparent concern.  “Young Sir, will you allow me to see to your wounds?”

The boy nodded, tears streaming down his face.

“I warn you, this will hurt.  I have no way to deaden the pain and I must set the break before I can heal you.”  He said, “If you can bear with the pain, I will be able to make your leg as good as new. Are you strong enough?”

“Yes sir.” The boy said, his voice dulled by pain.

“Well done young Sir.  Well done.”  Devglar knelt and set the leg with a swift tug.  The sharp crack the bone made as he pulled it straight was enough to finally attract the attention of the men surrounding him.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?”

“Obviously I am assisting a young man who needs immediate medical attention.”  Devglar replied easily, “Please stand back and allow me to heal the wound now that I’ve set the bone.”

“What?  Who is going to pay for this?”  A man in fine robes demanded, “I certainly hope you don’t expect compensation from me!”

“That’s between me and the boy Sir.” The Dwarf said, narrowing his eyes, “Why would I assume you would be responsible for the cost of his healing?”

“Uh.”  The man seemed to crumple before the question.

“Well, that’s no worry of mine.  Please stand back.”  Devglar took the worn steel symbol of Bahamut from beneath his shirt and held it forth, chanting the divine words.  The boy’s tears ceased and the onlookers stopped their arguing.

“Please mister Dwarf, what’s your name?”  The boy grabbed Devglar’s arm as he turned to go.

“Ah, young Sir.  My name hardly matters, but if you insist on knowing, it is Devglar.”

“Thank you.”  The boy said, vanishing into the crowd without a backward glance.  Devglar turned, frowning and looking for Mel, but she was gone also.  Even the merchants and wagoneers who had been standing around arguing seemed to have vanished like morning mist.

“Well.  That was odd.”  Devglar stumped back inside, relit his pipe and sat once again.  Just as he began to relax, his wandering eye landed on a large shape covered by rough sack cloth leaning against the wall just inside the door.  Grumbling idly to himself, he levered his heavy frame up from his comfortable spot and stumped over, pulling the cover off.

His pipe fell from his open mouth.  It was his old shield, and with it he could smell the distinctive steel and oil scent of polished chainmaile.  Devglar retrieved his pipe with shaking fingers and took the time to tamp fresh tobacco in it and get it burning before confronting the problem of his armor once again.  Who could have brought it here and to what purpose?

Devglar reached out a hand and traced the sigil of Bahamut that was blazoned on the front of the massive shield.  Was this a sign from his God?  Was trouble coming again?  The shield rocked slightly at his touch and a small parchment fell to the floor.  Wrinkling his brow, Devglar smoothed it out and read.

‘The Faithful gather.  The Cult stirs.  Stand ready.  Remember your Oaths.’

Running his fingers through his thick hair, he leaned back and blew a cloud of smoke up toward the rafters.  Vaelian, the Elf harpist returned from the kitchen where she had gone to get a glass of wine and a plate of cheese and fruit.  She quirked an artful eyebrow at him, noticing the shield and armor sitting next to him.  The shield was fully as large as he was, therefore hard to miss.

“Reminiscing are we?”  Her honey smooth and sweet voice grated on his last nerve as usual.  “I thought you had left all of that nasty warrior business behind?”

“Sometimes the past catches up with you, even if you try to avoid it.”  He responded, “At least they have respected my wishes in some ways.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”  She asked, “I thought you had hung up your shield.”

“Ah, well… the shield isn’t what I gave up Vae.  I will always protect folk… the ax is what I have forsaken and as you can see, whoever decided to bring me my armor was at least kind enough to not to add injury to the insult.”

“Do you deny that you will have to kill again if you answer the call of your God?”  Vaelian asked, amusement coloring the words.  “Oh come now, surely even a devotee such as yourself doesn’t believe he can be a pacifist in the face of impending battles.”

“I am not a pacifist Vae.”  Devglar said easily, refusing to rise to her mocking tone.  “I merely see violence and killing as last resorts.  The best battles are won without blood spilled.  I do wonder at the method of delivery however.  Why the secrecy?”

“They probably wanted to shock you with it.”  Vaelian shrugged, “Looks to me like they succeeded.”

“That they have Vae.  That they have.”

A pair of customers entered the tavern.  Vaelian began to play, filling the air with the liquid gold of her harping and Devglar served beers and platters of salty cheeses and sausage.  As the afternoon progressed, the custom picked up and although his hands were busy, Devglar’s mind still pondered the mystery.

Finally he came to his decision.  If the Lord Bahamut required his service again he could not refuse regardless of the cost.  If war was coming, it was his responsibility to attempt to minimize the killing.

Another Gaming Cinematic

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Raddinal paced the corridors of the Burning Keep, casting nervous glances at imagined shapes in the shadows that now seemed to be reaching at him with unfriendly fingers.  He had finally emerged from the library after what seemed like a year of research, but was probably only a month or three.  Nothing unusual about that really.

The Keep was colder than it usually was… which is to say it wasn’t causing his ring of eternal ice to activate in order to keep him from slowly roasting to death.  Something was certainly not right, and he intended to find Solflame and inquire as to what was going on.  Severe fluctuations in the heat matrices of the Keep could have dire consequences, not just for some of the more delicate experiments being performed either.

He rounded the corner and came to the bridge over the vast flow of lava and stopped aghast.  Standing in the center was a figure wreathed in blue light so bright it was painful to look at.  “Did you know that you can be burned by cold Raddinal?  In spite of being opposites, heat and cold share many of the same properties.”

The light vanished and Solflame stood there, wearing his customary red robes with embroidered gold, silver and platinum flames climbing the hem and sleeves.  Even this close to the lava, Raddinal didn’t feel the slightest bit warm, nor did his ring react.

“Where have you been all this time Raddinal?”  Solflame asked, fixing him with a piercing gaze.

“Researching the … thing that was stealing Lady Xyrella’s powers my lord Sage.”  Raddinal said, figuring a little flattery wouldn’t hurt.

“Ah.  Did you find anything?”

“Only a few references to undead that drain arcane, divine or mortal strength.”  Said Raddinal, frowning.  “But that can’t be what is happening here.”

“Of course not.”  Solflame said, “We would never allow such to infest the Burning Keep.  Xy wouldn’t ever let me hear the end of it.”

Raddinal flinched from the deep laugh that erupted from Solflame to echo around the chamber, overpowering the quiet rumble of the lava flow below.

“Oh come now Raddinal, you have nothing to fear from me.”  The great mage turned and smiled at him, “Let us ajourn to the library, you can show me what you’ve learned and that way we can ensure that none of it is a threat to us here.  After all, one cannot be too careful.”

With a feeling of relief, he turned and led the way back to his beloved books.

–

“Try it again.”  The gentle voice and calm demeanor of the monk would normally have made Xyrella more relaxed, however this time it grated on her last nerve.  She had been here for months and felt no closer to regaining any of her strength or former vitality.  Only the calm, implacable presence of Jolokar next to her kept her from screaming in frustration.

She breathed slowly in through her nose, trying to empty her mind of thought and open herself to the divine.  An old exercise of thinking of the sun slowly warming her skin as it rose easily came to mind from her years of study with her mentor.  Ralishka was a dragon, and dragons had little patience for the foibles of students, even if those students had been blessed with the dubious gift of immortal blood.

Xy felt her body relax into peaceful meditation even as her mind struggled to stay active.  For just a moment, she could feel the glow of Bahamut’s divine love touch her spirit.  In that instant, all her longing to be whole was briefly brought into focus before those hopes were once again dashed.  A tear fell from her eye and burned a searing track down her face before falling to smolder on the ground.

The pain was nearly unbearable, but the reality of what had happened made her smile in spite of it.  One of the ‘gifts’ of her divine blood was tears that burned, although when she had still been immortal it hadn’t hurt.

“Oh.”  She managed, “Oh I was so sure I was never going to feel the life giving power of My Lord Bahamut ever again.  I doubted Him and I doubted myself and this has been my punishment.”

Jolokar frowned, an expression she had grown used to over these long months.  He reached out to touch the painful burn on her cheek with a hand that glowed with divine healing power, but she stopped him.

“No.  I want this one to remain lest I forget this lesson.”  She said, and when his frown deepened, she smiled sadly.  “I needed this reminder.  It will make me stronger.”

“But that burn will scar.”  He said, the power still glowing in his hand.

“I have many scars.”  She said with such an air of finality that he let his arm drop to his side.

“I will never understand you.”  Said Jolokar, shaking his head.

“You’re still young.  Never is a long time.” Xyrella reached out a hand and touched his shoulder briefly before turning back to the monk.

“Master.  May we begin again?”

“No.”  He said, looking at her with dismay clear on his face, “You must see to that burn before it becomes infected.  To turn down the healing of one so blessed…”  His voice trailed off in unbelieving dismay.

“For just a moment, I felt a great disruption in the natural order of things.”  Jolokar said, still frowning at Xy, “Master, I fear we may not have time to waste.  Something looms on the threshold of this world.  The door is open and it merely must needs step inside.”  He shuddered, “It is being… invited.”

“Who would do such a thing?”  Xy asked, aghast.

“I do not know, but whoever it is must be stopped.”  He put his clawed hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes, “We need you My Lady Xyrella Kra’Alin.  I go to see what I can, for the world cannot stand on its own but you must follow as swiftly as possible.”

“Wait!”  She said, and the pleading in her voice stopped him even as he stood on the edge of the balcony with unfurled wings.  “I can’t do it without your strength.  The suffering is too great without your encouragement.”

“Oh you are so wrong.”  He said, smiling fiercely.  “I have seen you stand against foes that were sure of their victory.  You defied the Dark Queen to her face.”

“And here I am broken and powerless in recompense.”  Xy said bitterly, “I do not regret my choice, I merely mourn my loss.  Jolokar, I can’t even remember what it was like…”

“Even as a mortal you are a force to be reckoned with.”  The monk’s voice startled the two of them, “I have found myself doubting your mortality over these months.  Your endurance and perseverance are a sore trial for all of us.  However, we have sworn to obey the Lord Bahamut and so we shall.”

“I feel I need to return to the Burning Keep.”  Xyrella said, “But I dare not until my former power returns, at least in part.”

“You dare not?”  Jolokar asked, turning back from the edge of the balcony with blazing eyes.  “You DARE NOT?”

Xy stared at him, hurt and disbelief written plainly on her face.  “What do you mean?”

“What has happened to you?”  He demanded, “Where is the fearless warrior who stood in the face of evil without flinching?  Where is the woman who fought for the innocent, never questioning herself or her duty?  What happened to the priestess of the most holy Bahamut who defeated our Lord’s greatest enemy with a defiant smile on her face?”

“I didn’t defeat anyone.”  Xyrella said in a small voice, “All I did was delay one single plot.”

“Well at least your modesty is intact.”  Said Jolokar, his anger draining away.  “Don’t doubt yourself, don’t doubt Bahamut.  Remember, our Lord Dragon helps those who strive to help themselves.”

“I’m trying!”  She all but wailed, “It’s not working.  I feel so weak and powerless.”

“He will not let you down.”  Jolokar said fiercely, “And if he does I will travel the planes and demand an answer from him in person.  Just swear to me that you will keep fighting!”

Xyrella lifted her chin defiantly, “I haven’t ever stopped fighting, I’m just less effective as of late.”

“Then we have a chance.”  He responded, turning to fling himself from the balcony before she could say any more.

“Well.  Shit.”  She said, sitting down in a plain wooden chair. “I guess I have my work cut out for me.”

–

The wind stirred dust that swirled around Verda’s feet.  She shuffled uncomfortably, shrugging her shoulders beneath the heavy hauberk of plate and maile.

“Weird weather lately yeah?”  The other sentry, she thought his name was Devon, said.

“What?  No.  Seems normal enough to me.”  She said.

“You ain’t from around these parts are you?”

“N­­o.  I’m from the city.”  Said Verda, giving him a harsh look.

He winced, knowing that not being from the city made him of a lower caste in the eyes of the One. He hadn’t known she was of the privileged class.  “My apologies Mistress.”

“Yes.  Well.”  She rolled her shoulders uncomfortably again, still pinning him to the spot with her glare.  “What is strange about the weather?”

“It’s far too cold.”  He said, and then hastily added a belated.  “Mistress.”

“Ah.  And that is bad?” Verda asked.

“Well, no Mistress, simply strange.”

“In that case keep your mouth shut and your eyes open.  I don’t like this place.”  She snapped. “Having to work with these Dwarves makes me sick.  They stink and this temple to their heathen god disgusts me.”

With a rumble of wheels and the clatter of hooves, the long awaited supply train came into view.  The mule teams they had to use in order to traverse the harsh terrain were unruly, but that was hardly an excuse for this degree of tardiness.  They should have been here days earlier.

“What is the meaning of this?”  She demanded, as the lead waggoneer came into view.

“Trouble on the road Mistress.”  He said grimly, “There has been no game, watering holes have been fouled and this cold weather makes everyone nervous.”

“Fah, again with the weather.  What’s the matter with you all?  Too thin skinned to endure a touch of a chill?”  Verda said acidly, “Are all you outsiders afraid of catching a cold?”

“Cold summer is a bad omen Mistress.”

“Did you at least bring what I asked?  Did you get that right?”  Verda asked.

“Oh yes Mistress.” He said, gesturing toward the last two wagons, high cages stuffed with small figures.  “I brought the children, just as you asked”

Verda smiled in satisfaction as she surveyed the small, sullen eyed forms crammed inside.  “Yes, this should serve nicely to quell that last little spark of rebellion.”

From his place of concealment in a nearby tree, Korrik stifled a sigh.  Great.  More of the short and stinky Dwarves.  These idiot humans were continuing to get in his way.  The cartloads of gold and jewels they had been carrying off were well enough for some but there was real treasure and true knowledge to be had in there.

It was a good thing he knew about the back door. With a smirk, he waited for the fools to unload their cargo.  Soon he would attain his goal.  Soon he would have his answers.  This anticipation was what made living worthwhile again.  The anticipation and the thrill of finding ancient things of power that no eyes had seen in centuries.

He twisted the ring on his finger and smiled to himself.  This was going to be his biggest one yet, but with the number of guards and slaves here he was going to have to get a few more swords.  Where the devil was he going to find more willing cutters out in the middle of nowhere?

Thinking of the trouble the wagon driver mentioned, he wondered if perhaps there was more than just bad luck involved.  He decided that a brief investigation could yield some decent results.

Yet another new RPG campaign looms

/ thebenraven / Leave a comment

Soon, I’m going to be running a Shadowrun game and… well I haven’t played Shadowrun in quite a few years so, being me, I had to write an intro.  Not sure if this is going to be used or not but some of the terminology is borrowed from one of favorite dystopian future novels “Snow Crash” by Neal Stephenson.  So… whatever.  Enjoy 🙂

Afternoon Rush

XO was in trouble.  Those goddamn gangers were more tenacious than the usual crop and they’d followed her down this alley too.  They usually gave up after a couple dozen blocks, but not this time.  Even though she’d ‘Pooned a ride to make her Board go faster than if she just kicked or relied on gravity, they had been riding Scorpions.

That last Rig she’d ‘Pooned had shook off her magnet and she’d had to corner hard to avoid a smear.  She looked around, wondering what kind of drek she’d gotten into this time.  For the first time in a long time she began to really sweat.  This alley was a dead end, and for her that really meant a Dead End.

After grabbing her Board and strapping it firmly to her pack, she moved deeper into the alley, looking for a door, a window a foothold… anything.  The street level here only had Guardian roll up delivery doors and even though she could see the glow of the Ident1 panels there was no way she would have the time to hack one.  Not with those fuckers being so close behind her.

“Lil bitch run down here!”  Their lead tracker… Ork… probably sniffer… shouted and XO snarled silently at the sound of their combat boots stomping over the Ferrocrete of the street that replaced the rumble of the Harley’s engines.

“Let this meeting of the Student Council come to order.”  A beautiful female voice chimed from above.

XO looked up, on the third floor one of the windows had been opened.  That was against code she was sure, but she didn’t have time to wonder who had managed to hack the building’s HVAC system to prevent the alarm from going off.

A tall Elf boy with long golden hair sat on the window ledge staring out into the distance.  To XO’s surprise, he dumped a handful of breadcrumbs on the window ledge and a flock of noisy pigeons landed to peck at them.

She twisted the end of her arm and ejected the nanowire MagNeato Harpoon from its forearm sleeve.  The RepliPendage robotic replacement arm was a cheap piece of drek, but it was all a roach like her could afford.  XO aimed the ‘Poon and hit the release.  The polarity on the magnets violently reversed and the end of the ‘Poon flew out to smack into the window sill, there was just enough metal there to get a good connection.

The pigeons exploded in a clatter of wings as she flew upwards, the Elf looking around in irritation and then surprise as she rose toward him, the whirr of her ‘Poon drowned by the sound of the birds taking flight.

“Oh shit!”  The elf boy shouted, falling backward into the room.

“Sorry pretty boy, maybe I make it up to ya laters if ya got the stones!” XO said, running through the room, “Ya best get yer ass movin if ya don’t want them fucks ta get ya!”

“What?”  The boy said, scrambling backward as she ran to the opposite door.

The sound of the Gangers in the alley below grew into a roar.  “Lil BITCH I have your GUTS on STICK!”

“Laters cutie boy!”  XO blew him a kiss and tore the straps loose from her Board.  As she threw it down, the NanoTech wheels reached out to adjust to the terrain.  She jumped aboard, flying out the door and ‘Pooning the door so as to take the corner at speed.

“Close the damn window!”  The elf girl said as XO blew out the door.

XO laughed, cruising down the hallway and gaining speed as she went.  It was a simple matter to navigate the hall, fly down the stairs, the NanoTech wheels extending their spokes to make the trip down nearly level and, more importantly, fast.

An Ork boy in a rumpled school uniform barely got out of her way as she carved the wall, tearing a poster that was hung there and leaving dirty tracks on the paint.  He threw up his hands in a boxer’s fists.  She slapped one hand, pretending he was giving her a ‘high five’ and only barely dodged a jab.  Yup.  Boxer.  Enhanced too if she knew her shit, and she did.

At the bottom of the stairs, she ‘Pooned the door open, using the extra force from the pull to increase her speed just a touch and standing sideways on her Board to squeeze through the opening.  Some dork was opening the door to the outside and she flew through it fast enough to spin him twice around, jumping the stairs and landing hard on the sidewalk in spite of her NanoTech’s absorbing some of the shock.

Carving hard, she leaned almost parallel to the ground, reaching out to touch the Ferrocrete with the metal ends of her fingertips.  XO was laughing in exhilaration when the fuck rutting Rig pulled out of a side street, opening the door so when she smeared, the ended up inside, slightly rattled from the impact.

“Damn it you stupid gixie, this ain’t no time ta be fuckin’ round!”  She recognized Jack’s voice and quit trying to wrestle her holdout from its hiding place, laughing in relief.

“Fuck you mean?”  XO grabbed her Board’s tether and yanked it inside the Rig.  “What’s with tha scrap heap drecknob?  Where’s tha van?”  She’d liked his battle van.

“Goddamn poxy rat Gangers blew it up.”  He said, punching a button on the dash to rattle the door closed.  “Them fucks after ya?”

XO looked out the window of the Rig, frowning as the Gangers swarmed around the front of the building, revving their Scorpions and throwing rocks at the entrance.  Jack pulled away from the curb, nursing the engines of the Rig along like an old lady.

“It’s a school, they ain’t gettin in.”  She said with a grin, “Awful nice one too, lotsa noses in the air lemme tell ya.  I got lucky, found a window…”  Her narrow escape still thrilled through her blood, making the XCite strands of her Mohawk flare hot pink and electric green.

“Yer a reckless gixy, but fuckit, yer too young ta give a rats dreckhole about it.”  Jack grumbled, “Allright… ya got what I sent ya for tho? “

XO grinned wolfishly and held her hand out.  He passed her a couple of cred sticks and she jacked them into her scanner, checking the balances before handing over the Microdrive she’d lifted from the Gangers.  It was so old only a seriously outdated piece of graka would be able to read it.  Why anyone would want such old dreck she couldn’t fathom.

“Well I’m out boss.  Gotta Kourier run in forty and I wanna stop by Dan Chang’s ta nosh.”

“You know that meat is probably rat doncha?”  Jack asked, “Ain’t no way real meat can be that cheap.”

“Hell yea!”  XO said, “Rat’s good if ya cook it right.”  She slammed the cargo bay button and stood on her Board, waiting for it to open.  When Jack turned the next corner, she glided out, ‘Pooning a passing microvan for a few blocks.  It had been a good afternoon.  It was gonna be a better night.

Random Gaming Fiction Part 1

/ thebenraven / Leave a comment

“I can’t understand it.”  Solflame says, leaning close and inspecting Xyrella’s body.  “The dress is still here, but I can’t remove it and I can’t figure out what was making it like flame.”

“I’m not worried about the damn dress.”  She snaps, “Why am I mortal?”

He takes a step back and looks at her.  She is closing the thick woolen robe back around her body and the faint outline of smoke or cinders that used to be a wonderful dress of Ethereal fire.  Mortal she may be, but she was still amazingly beautiful.

Hair that had once appeared to be spun gold now was merely blonde.  Eyes that had been solid violet were now sky irises with whites, like normal human eyes.  Although they were covered now, the long gashes on her back where her wings of fire and light had once sprouted were troubling in that they refused to heal completely.  Her shadow was a normal looking shadow, not moving on its own and her clothes no longer seemed to move in an unseen wind.

“I don’t know that either.”  He says, “Tiamet must have somehow distilled the Celestial qualities from your blood and removed them or contained them somehow.”

The room was hot enough that Solflame had needed to sheath himself in magic to keep his skin from blistering.  Xyrella, on the other hand, had donned a silk shift and was wrapping herself in wool but still shivering.  “Are mortals always this cold?”  She said, teeth chattering.

“My dear Lady Xy, it is hot enough in here to cook meat.  The fact that your skin isn’t blistering and that you are instead cold is as puzzling to me as the rest of this mystery.”  He replied, “Perhaps Jolokar will be able to tell more when he arrives.”

At this she brightened visibly, “Jolokar is coming?  I’ve missed him… much more than I anticipated if truth be known.”

“Would you miss me if I was gone?”  Solflame said, half-jokingly and she smiled at him.

“Of course I’ll miss you once you’re gone.”  She said, smiling sadly.  “I miss all my mortal friends after they die.”

Solflame opened and closed his mouth a time or two, not having an immediate response, but Xyrella was already curling back under the thick blankets on her bed.  The translucent magic of the wall showed the lava flow that surrounded the chamber she had chosen to be her room.

“I can be immortal as well.”  He said softly to himself as he climbed the ladder.  “I know Orestain had found the means to extend his life long enough that he was as near as immortal as makes no difference.  There must be something in the library.”

–

Jolokar approached the Burning Keep on the wing, circling once and sending a short Arcane message to the guards to avoid any unpleasantness as he landed at the front gate in a rush of wind.  Xyrella’s magical protections slid over his skin like a lover’s caress as he walked into the front gate.

She had created layers of protection on the Keep, especially at the front entrance, that would greatly discourage anyone who was evil or attempting to deceive the Keep or its denizens with magic.  Feeling them touch him was like a welcoming embrace.

Gorblam was waiting for him when he entered the Keep proper.  “Jolokar.  I need ta speak with ya.”

“Certainly Gorblam.”  Jolokar said, “I will be happy to meet with you as soon as I’ve had the chance to check in on how Lady Xyrella Kra’alin is recovering.”

The Azer nodded curtly, “She’s in tha Lava Research room.”  He said before going back to his beloved forest of brass trees and the forges of the Keep.  Jolokar made his way to where Xyrella rested, activating his heat resistance aura as he crossed the thin catwalk of stone and descended the ladder into the chamber.

Xy was sleeping and he took a moment to look at her.  She looked terrible.  Her cheeks were sunken and she had dark circles beneath her eyes.  Well, that and she was still mortal.  The dishwater blonde hair and pink skin wasn’t unattractive, but it was a far cry from the flawless alabaster and metallic gold her Celestial blood had granted her.

In spite of the magic protecting him, Jolokar still felt the heat.  Xyrella shivered beneath plies of wool blankets.  He leaned forward to put a hand on her forehead and was shocked to find it cold.  Her eyes opened and she stared up at him.

“Oh!”  She said, surprise and happiness in her voice, “Jolokar, it’s wonderful to see you.  I’m sorry you have to find me like this…”

“You feel chilled to the bone.” He said, looking at her in concern, “How can you be this cold?”  Jolokar felt the unaccustomed grip of fear in his chest.  He knew this woman as the Righteous Flame of the Dragon Lord personified on the Prime Material Plane, and now she was as cold as ice.  Even in this fortress, with its direct connection to the elemental plain of Lava she shivered.

“I do not know why.”  Xyrella said through chattering teeth, “I just can’t get warm.”

Jolokar used his divine power to feel her body and her spirit.  The moment it touched her, he felt the power drain from him as though being devoured by a ravenous beast.  By the time he was able to pull away he staggered and almost fell from exhaustion.  His Auras were even depleted and the intense heat of the room made him dizzy.

“Fang and Scale!”  He gasped, “What was that?”

Xy was shaking uncontrollably now, convulsing with cold.  Frost formed on her eyelashes and her breath was ice crystals.  Jolokar nearly lost himself to panic, but mastered his fear with pure force of will.

“I’m going to get Solflame and Raddinal.”  He rasped, “This is beyond me.”  He was barely able to drag himself up the ladder.  When he reached the top he saw Solflame already hurrying toward him.

“I felt something… what was that?” The mage asked, his thread of gold embroidered robes billowing as he hurried up, “Whatever it was, I think it was… hostile!  How can something hostile have gotten into the Keep without my knowledge?”

“It was Xy.”  Jolokar said, still shaking from exhaustion.  “She almost killed me.”

“She… WHAT?” Solflame exclaimed, “What did you do to provoke her?”

Jolokar began walking toward the rooms he had claimed on the other side of the lava flow.  “I tried to delve her with healing magic.  To see what was wrong.  Something inside her tried to take my energy.  All of it.”

“Did it warm her up at all?”  Solflame asked, not even seeming to notice Jolokar’s enfeebled state, “She’s so cold no matter what I do…”

“No.”  Jolokar said, his voice harsh with worry and fatigue.  “It made her colder.  Much colder.”

“Maybe because you have ice powers.  Maybe she stole your ice powers and it only increased whatever’s building inside her.”  Solflame mused, “Damn, I need a priest with the power of flame to test… Of course!  I’ll go and get Gorblam!”

“Be careful.”  Jolokar warned, “She was shaking so hard I was afraid she was going to hurt herself.  If he makes it worse…”

“I’ll make sure to have him be very delicate, ready to break free at the first sign of a problem.”  Solflame assured him, “Now you get some rest, you look like shit.”

Jolokar took a deep breath, sending a prayer to Bahamut and felt his trembling cease as the strength of his God support him.  “I’ll be fine.  The Dragon Lord has work for me yet this day.  I would be with her when we try this experiment.  I do not know if I can help if anything goes wrong but…” He trailed off, not knowing how to express the dread that threatened him when he thought of Xyrella dying.

“Yeah, sure.”  Solflame said, his mind already trying to unravel the puzzle.  “You go back to her and I’ll bring Gorblam.”

Jolokar returned to find the room where Xyrella was huddled foggy and strange.  He couldn’t see all the way to the bed where she lay.  He beat his wings twice, the motion of the air circulating clearing most of the fog and he saw Xy’s bed was covered in rapidly evaporating ice.

Running to her side, he pulled the blankets from her, sending a shower of ice to splatter against the walls with a hiss of steam.  Jolokar picked up the freezing form with a cry, lifting her so that he could hold her close to the wall of lava and the waves of heat that emanated from it.

Gradually, the heat from the lava seemed to begin to thaw her.  In spite of his immunities and protections, Jolokar could feel the frostbite on his arms and chest where he cradled her as well as the blistering on his skin where the heat was burning him.  He didn’t care.

“You can’t die on me.  Not like this.”  He said, voice shaking.  “Not after all we’ve been through.  We won damn it.  We defeated the Dragon Queen and it was you that banished her soul back to the pit where it belongs.  You can’t….”

“Easy laddie.”  Gorblam’s rough voice was surprisingly gentle, “Lemme have a look here.  Put tha Lady on tha bed over here.”

The intense heat of the room had cleared the bed of all ice; not even water remained.  The Azer looked around, a slight frown on his face, “Why’s it so damn hot in here?  This ain’t right.  Not right at all.  Solflame I thought ya said she was cold!”

“She’s freezing.”  Jolokar said, “The heat in here is too much even for me and yet she’s freezing.”  He set her on the bed, thankful that some of the deathly pallor seemed to have faded from her skin.  Her lips were still blue and her short, shallow breaths still had puffs of ice crystals in them.

Gorblam lay his hand on Xyrella’s forehead and drew it back almost instantly with a hiss of alarm.  “This is bad.  Very very bad.  Solflame, I want you to look with your truesight and tell me what you see.”

“My what?”  Solflame asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The spell you have that allows you to see all things as they are.”  Gorblam said impatiently.

“I have done so already, it didn’t reveal anything to me.”  He said, but Gorblam gestured impatiently and the mage incanted the spell.  His eyes began to glow with a dull red fire.  When he looked at Xy he gasped aloud, “It’s consuming the power… I must not have been able to see it before because it was so small…”

“What is it?”  Jolokar asked, looking at the other two.  “What’s eating the power?  What power is it eating?”

“I’m not sure what it is, but it’s feeding off the power of the Burning Keep.”  Solflame said, “It uses that arcane energy to convert her power over fire into cold somehow.”

“We need to fly then.” Said Jolokar, “The power of this place only extends so far.  Once we are outside its influence perhaps this evil inside of her will die.”

“Or perhaps it will begin to do worse.”  Solflame warned, “I haven’t ever seen anything like this before.   Raddinal and I will do research.  I will make sure to contact you if I find anything.  Make sure you watch her carefully for signs of worsening.”

Xyrella’s eyes fluttered open and she stared around the room in bewilderment before settling on Jolokar.  “You’re not leaving are you?”  The note of uncertainty and fear in her voice was almost as unnerving as her condition.

“This can’t be the same woman I saw threaten Tiamet herself with banishment and then dismiss her like a petulant child.”  He said, managing to make himself sound confident and sure, “I’m leaving and you’re coming with.  Think of it as a well-earned vacation.”

She smiled, looking more like her old self and sat up.  He took a small Sandalwood box from his belt pouch, offering it to her with a flourish.

“What’s this?”  She asked, looking suspiciously at him.

“It’s not a replacement, but… it’s something.” He said with a smile.

She withdrew a dress of jet black material that flowed like woven water and sparkled as though it had diamonds woven into it.  She laughed in delight, “Jolokar, it’s beautiful!  It will be like wearing the starry night sky.  Thank you.”

Without any hint of modesty, she took off the thick wool robe and silk shift which fell to the floor with the tinkle of breaking ice.  The dress fit her like second skin, and for the first time since the Battle of the Adder Peaks, she almost looked like herself again.

“Thank you for all you’ve done Solflame.  Take care of the place with him Gorblam.”  She said, and turned to smile up at Jolokar, “Lets go.  I’m ready.”

Gorblam watched the two of them leave and then glanced at Solflame.  The wizard had a strange, troubled look on his face.  It was a mixture of regret, hope and a twinge of jealousy.

“Well.  I have some research to do.”  Solflame said, with a decisive shake of his head. “Let me know if you need anything.  I’ll be in the library.”

More Random Fiction

/ thebenraven / 2 Comments

This is a little piece I wrote for a Dungeons and Dragons campaign… it started out with an intro for a character that spiraled out of control and into a full blown court case.  Hope you enjoy…

The waiting room outside Diege’s court is full, several men and women are pacing up to look at the bronze plaque posted next to the door.  The bell tolls the noon hour and a man in chainmaile with the livery of city guard steps out, announcing the first case.  While Owin, Khaladin, Rohk and Chiva all wait, Luag’s complaint is listed second on the list, they take in the scene.

The plaque is new, and engraved upon it are the following words.  ‘When you enter here, the power of the Dragon Lord Bahamut will encourage your words to be true and the Flames of Truth shall reveal falsehood.  Speak no word that is a lie and you shall find justice.’

The bailiff comes out and speaks their names in turn, calling the four of them to come present their evidence in the case of Luag Seitheach vs Fredrick Tornbarr.  When they pass through the door of the courtroom, a shiver runs down their spines as they feel the power of the magic surround them.

Sitting on a high backed chair of carved and polished walnut with purple cushions behind a desk of graninte, Diege Hamira holds a silver gavel in her hand.  She wears the embroidered purple and gold mantle of Magistrate.  To right stands an imposing figure in gleaming gold washed platemaile armor, the surcoat of Knight Captain Commander over the top, and the battered, leather worn hilt of an Orcish Greataxe over his shoulder.

His helm is clipped to his belt, and his jutting lower tusks, coarse black hair and greenish cast to his skin make his Orc heritage quite apparent.  This is the first time some of you have seen the city’s Battle Commander, Gerad Skullcrusher and his visage is, to say the least, a shock to Owin.  The Dwarf wisely keeps his mouth shut, but even so, as Gerad’s eyes sweep over the group they linger on him for just a moment and Owin jerks a bit when the massive Half-Orc meets his eyes and gives him a deliberate wink before turning his attention back to the room.

“We are here to discuss the incident that occurred during the Battle of Adder Peak on the afternoon of the Seventeenth day of Eleint, Year 1489.”  A voice from Diege’s other side says crisply and a man in a black scholar’s robe with purple and gold embroidery around the cuffs and hem steps forward.  He is almost completely unremarkable, and most find themselves feeling trust for him without any real reason to do so.

“Now then, first we call the accuser, Luag Seitheach forward to give his accounting and make a formal accusation.”  The black robed man says.

“Thank you Dethnar.”  Diege says, motioning toward Gerad who exits through a side door, returning after a moment.  On one side is Fredrick, dressed in simple green velvet.  On the other is Luag, still wearing the flag of Bahamut as a kilt and using the broken battle standard as a staff.  Upon entry, Gerad takes the staff and leans it against the door.

“Please approach and give your complete account of events.”  Diege says, her eyes taking in the flag with a twitch of annoyance.

“When shall I begin?”  Luag asks, coming to stand before the three.  A tattoo of the White Stag of Oberon shines on his skin, glittering like moonlight on calm waters and a wreath of Brightstar flowers grows and twines through his flaming red hair.  Covering his arms and torso dark, almost iridescent blue tattoos form wild patterns.  The pseudo dragon perches on his shoulder, her head peering around the room in interest.

“At the beginning of the time relevant to this event, and up to where your accusation has been made please.”  Dethnar says, pulling an eagle feather quill from a drawer and turning a roll of parchment that scrolls over his desk, allowing him to write a great deal of information without changing paper.

Luag puts his hands behind his back, clearing his throat before beginning. “On the afternoon of the 17th day of Eleint year 1489 DR, I was fishing on the banks of a small tributary of the River Ashara.  I had caught several trout and was cleaning them when I felt a pain in my chest the likes of which I had not felt before.

“My vision was obscured by blinding light, and then all sensation left my body.  I knew somehow that I was traveling, but was unable to ascertain how or where I was going.  Within moments, I was looking down on a battlefield and my vision was drawn to two figures, a man and a half-dragon.

“A white flash blinded my eyes and I found myself in front of the half-dragon, the man at my feet and the half-dragon’s weapons covered in his blood. I could tell that my body had sustained wounds that brought me in danger of perishing, and using my gifts sought to put the creature to sleep.  I did not see the weaker troglodytes behind the hulking figure filling my vision, and my magic affected them first instead of my intended target.

“The people I now know as Khaladin Flameblessed Dohrohk uanye ehricherdir (Green Knight), Chiva, and Terrivangian dispatched the creature with ease and the dwarf Owin Stonebrew ministered to my wounds with great efficiency and care.  The immediate danger past, I then examined myself and noticed the outline of a circle on my chest above my heart… and felt the arcane connection pulling me toward Lord Frederick.

“Lord Frederick was unconscious but alive, so I did a quick examination and found an identical circle on his chest as well.  I was able to determine that these rings were the catalyst that brought me 1500 miles across the sea of stars and away from my home, and fishing rod.  Realizing I was on a battlefield once more and against troglodytes and half-dragons, I joined my rescuers in the battle.

“After victory was achieved, I quickly sought rest after a promise of a more thorough examination of the link between Lord Frederick and myself in the morning.  Upon awakening Owin Stonebrew and Khaladin Flameblessed attempted to remove the ring from my chest by cutting it out, which we learned is impossible.

“With Owin and Khaladin I went to question Lord Frederick, and after persuading him to cooperate he confessed to meeting my mother 46 years ago and conceiving me… and when my mother came to him with the baby he convinced her to allow this shackle to be placed in my chest.  It was then that I called for him to be bound by law.”

Dethnar’s pen scratches on the paper for a few more moments before he glances at Diege who nods.  “Thank you Luag.  Are you aware of the import of these charges?  What the punishment for such a thing in these lands would be?”

“I have read your laws, and find them adequate with regards to slavery and compulsion against an unwilling person.  The punishment does give me pause however.” Luag says,  “If Lord Frederick is deemed guilty by Lady Diege and the punishment is carried out before I am able to get the offending artifact removed from my person what I have been able to discern about the nature of these rings causes me to believe that the bond would first kill me, before finally ending his life.”

“Beyond that, he also has a family and while his sons…” Dethnar pauses with an apologetic shrug of the shoulders, “His legitimate sons, are of age to inherit there is still the matter of their care and the title.  You don’t seem to me to be the type who would take to the life of a Lord.”

“Nor do I seek it, I feel sympathy for his family… and in a way for him as well.  I do not excuse his actions, for they pain me more than you can know… but the state of a man that is driven to do that to part of his own flesh puts a sadness in my heart just thinking of it.  When Lord Frederick decided to use magic and an enchanted item in a negative way to try to protect his life in the future he became subject the threefold law; that I cannot change.”

“I do however find myself across this continent with little idea on how I would return home… or if that is my best course of action at this point.  Well do I know the myriad and twisted path a life walks before it is done in this world, perhaps there is something I am meant to learn here…But without a way to sustain myself easily any course of action I would choose to take seems daunting, I am a cub left in the bushes with no one to care for me, naked and alone.”

“Interesting metaphor.”  He mutters, writing some more with his pen.  “I have no further questions.  Lady, please call in the next witness.”

“Sir Khaladin, please approach and give your account.”  Says Diege, taking a drink from a water glass on her desk.

Khaladin glances around the room when called upon, looking for Jolokar and not seeing him here.  Ignoring his feeling of unease, Kal walks to stand before the desk, giving a sharp salute.  Diege waves it away, and bids him be at his ease.

Standing at Parade Rest Kal begins his prepared recitation.  “On 17th day of Eleint year 1489 DR I, Khaladin Flameblessed, Knight of the Order of the Flame and Green Knight of the Methwood, was attached to the Third Corps, Second Division, Fourth Brigade, First Regiment as Squad Leader of Wolf Squad.  Our mission was as reserves and a tactical support team in the event of breaches in the line.

“We were placed under the command of Lord Frederick Thornbarr along with the other Tactical Squads assigned to Fourth Brigade.  At approximately 1030 in the morning the Army of Engelstad, and her allies, arrived at the Winding River where my Squad and other advanced elements crossed the river ahead of the army to repel any potential threats to the crossing.  No assaults happened and we advanced upon the mountain.

“We then marched with the army and the opposing army was sighted at approximately 1400 hours by advanced scouts.  At approximately 1530 hours battle was joined.  We remained in reserve and after battle was joined with the army of Troglodites the Half-Dragon abominations they had hid in reserve began to fall upon our rank and file, disrupting the lines.

“First Regiment was unmolested by the Half-Dragons.  Lord Frederick had observed a Half-Dragon land among the ranks of Second Regiment and they had broken and started to retreat before its’ powerful breath weapon.  Lord Thornbarr charged the beast and cried out for a charge which alerted us to its’ presence.  He was well ahead of us when I lead my squad along with Terrivangian in a charge at the Half-Dragon.

“As we attempted to catch and overtake our commander in his brave but reckless charge we urged the fleeing troops to mount a counteroffensive and after much urging Rohk Stonebrew was able to rally them behind us.

“Lord Thornbarr reached the Half-Dragon well before us and using the battle standard as a spear attempted to slay the beast.  He was unsuccessful.  Lord Frederick Thornbarr was then nearly decapitated by the foul spawn of Tiamat and fell at its feet.  I assumed he had surely perished.

“There was a blinding light then and a naked man, Luag here, (points to Luag) appeared and disrupted a charging line of Troglodites with a well-placed spell.  I observed the newcomer appeared to be grievously wounded, blood coming from wounds on his body. Miraculously, Lord Thornbarr’s neck wound was healed and he appeared to be breathing.  I called for a medic and ordered him removed to the casualty tents.

“As we charged the Half-Dragon to avenge our fallen commander an restore the integrity of the battle line my Squad worked with amazing efficiency and it did not have a chance to so much as raise a finger before it was slain.

“We then returned to our Regiment and provided aid and support in the battle line and behind until the day was won.  The next morning Owin Stonebrew, a camp surgeon, and I attempted to remove the ring grafted under Luag’s skin in a surgery tent.  We were unsuccessful.

“Luag confronted Lord Thornbarr about the magic of the ring and I heard him admit he had placed it under Luag’s skin when he was but a babe and that he was Luag’s father. I filed a written report with my order that evening and have supplied copies to the court.”

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, meeting Diege’s eyes.  “Is there anything else your Ladyship requires of me?”

“You were present when Lord Thornbarr admitted to being Luag’s father?”  Dethnar says, finishing his sentence and looking up from his writing.

“I was sir, and I must say it was as much of a shock to me as it likely was to you.”  Kal says, shaking his head slightly.

“Interesting.”  Dethnar says.

“Thank you Sir Khaladin.”  Diege says and he steps back.

“It is my understanding that one Terrivangian, has given a written testimony as he is unable to attend.  Is that correct?”  Dethnar asks.

Gerad lets loose short snort of laughter before composing himself.  He hands Diege a piece of folded parchment.  On the back is an army shipment manifest.  Diege’s mouth turns up slightly at the corners and she reads aloud.

“That Fredrick coyote should be hamstrung and left for the ravens, however I understand that might hurt the one he made his slave.  Cage and muzzle him, but by the Hart do not allow him on a field of battle again.  Courage without ability is suicide, he fights like a newborn pup chasing a grasshopper and is as likely to bite his own tail as not.  The fight was disappointing, the Alpha knows what happened.  Alpha’s know how to deal with cowards and idiots.”

“Colorful.”  Dethnar says, “May I see that please?”

Diege hands him the note and he looks at both sides.  When he reads what Terr has written his brow furrows.  “I do not understand all of his diction, but his penmanship is quite precise.  Who is this ‘Alpha’ he refers to?”

Kahladin clears his throat, appearing slightly embarrassed and opens his mouth to speak, but is interrupted by Gerad.  “It is just his word for leader sir.”  Kal glances at him, grateful not to have had to try and explain his strange relationship with the man.  Gerad meets his eyes and quirks first one, then the other eyebrow at him and then throwing him a mirthful wink.

“Very well, since we cannot question this Terrivangian, perhaps we can continue?” Dearth sets the paper down on his desk.

“Owin Stonebrew, please come forward and give your account.”  Diege says, glancing between Kal and Gerad.  Gerad’s face is as implacable as a stone, and Kal manages to look fairly innocent, however a slight bit of color rises to his cheeks.

Owin approaches, looking around with apparent unease.  “If this do be a zone of truth and the magic shows the truth, why do you ask us. Ask them. I heard a tale from Lord Fredrick, but I would like him to testify on his own actions. In battle he led our troops. I saw a man fall dropping our banner and he picked it up and led the charge”

“Owin Stonebrew, your question is not without merit.”  Diege says, sighing and running a hand through her short cropped red hair.  She looks tired.  “The protocols and laws for a proper trial were established long before the Lady Xyrella Kra’Allin blessed us with this spell and they will remain after the magics she has placed upon this courtroom fade.”

She sits up straighter, and her face lights with passion, “Laws are not designed around such fleeting things as a magical enchantment, they are structured around what is Right and Just!  Each accused has the chance to defend themselves and each accuser has the right to bring witnesses.  The Arbitrator presides and I, as Magistrate listen to the evidence and make my decision based upon the laws I am sworn to uphold.  If your testimony is complete, please step down for the next witness.”

“Well said my Lady.”  Gerad says, looking at her.  Owin is the only one close enough to see the expression in his eyes take on a look of fondness.  Owin is shocked even more when Diege returns his look and her gaze goes well beyond fond.  She’s in love with a Half-Orc! His skin crawls.

“Ah.  Well.” Owin hesitates, “I did try an remove the ring an it did seem like it was killin him.  So, ah, if it was put there against his will by someone then ah, they’re probably not very nice.”

“Thank you Owin.” Dethnar says, “If that is all?”  Owin bows awkwardly and returns to his seat.

“Rohk Stonebrew?”  Diege says, “Please approach.”

Rohk walks up to stand before the table looking even more nervous than his brother.  “Well…I was kinda hoping I could talk about this without Luag and Fredrick right there lookin’ at me and judgin’ me but, alright.  I hate bein’ forced to say things in front of people that might make them hate me but looks like I have no choice in the matter.”

“I can promise you that no harm will be allowed to come to you based upon your testimony here.”  Diege says, “Please continue without fear for your or your family’s safety.  If people were unable to testify because of such threats our system of justice would fail to work.”

Rohk nods, looking slightly less nervous, clears his throat and begins to talk, “Let me paint the scene for you…

“There we were…middle of the battle field and this large, scaly monster of a half dragon jumps right in our midst, spreading devastation about with his large swords and fiery breath.  Many lay dying in one fiery explosion from his maw…people were scared and started running away in terror.  Ser Khaladin and I immediately looked at each other and started to rally the troops to gain strength and not run as we charged the beast.  It seemed that our incredibly brave attack rallied the troops some, as many began to gain heart and turn around and follow us back into the fight.

“Ser Fredrick also charged the beast with us and got to him before we did, jamming his spear right into the beast.  It was a brave attack, but the dragon…half dragon…promptly turned and gave Ser Fredrick what we thought was a fatal blow.

“Unfortunately my little dwarf legs weren’t fast enough to get to the dragon in time to hit it meself.” A small tongue of flame curls around his feet and he hastily adds, “With my hammer that is… I didn’t have a crossbow to use.”

He looks down for a moment, visibly sweating before continuing, “By the time I got there it was dead from Chiva’s daggers and a massive beating by Ser Khaladin and Terravangian.  That’s when there was the strange flash of light…imagine it…dead dragon, destruction all around…our squad leader dead in the dirt…suddenly Fredrick is standing up and there’s a d’rn naked man sittin’ there!  What the hell I say!

“I didn’t know what to do at that point…so natural I proceeded to loot the half dragon’s weapons and went and got me mule.

“That’s all I know other then what I been told by others.  I can say I don’t trust Fredrick OR Luag.  It’s a little disconcerting to me that that Luag fella latched onto my group so fast, asking and expecting us to just buy him supplies.  Who does that?  Who immediately meets new people then asks them to buy him stuff and expect no questions?  Somethin’ seems suspicious about the both of em.”

“So, your natural inclination on the field of battle is to start collecting spoils of war even when the battle rages around you?”  Gerad’s eyes narrow, but before he can press for an answer Diege cuts him off with a chopping motion of her hand.

“That point is irrelevant to this hearing.” She says shortly.

“It seems that your brother was charitable enough to offer him healing.  Perhaps he assumed you would share that charity.”  Diege says to Rohk.

“Now you say that you are suspicious of Luag because he was needy after arriving on a battlefield clad only in his skin?”  Dehtnar asks, “I don’t think that sounds… unreasonable.”

“He gimmie a list like a mile long!”  Rohk protested, “And it weren’t stuff like food an whatnot, he put a house on there!  A HOUSE!”  He looks around as though expecting to hear a chorus of Dwarves harrumphing through their beards, then remembers where they are.

“Thank you, no more questions.” Dethnar says and Rohk gratefully retreats.

“Chiva, if you would come forward and give your account?”  Diege says, and the Halfling bounces up, looking interestedly at the parchment roll Dethnar has been using before starting.

“Thanks!  I mean, this is interesting, very interesting.  Ah yes, the battle, I’ll make it short.  Incompetent dumbass who should never have been in leadership charged recklessly.”  He gestures at Fredrick.

“Dumbass then gets eviscerated by nasty dragon guy.  Bright light.  Naked tattoo guy appears. Dumbass is back alive.  I luckily get a dagger into the dragon which is then railroad spiked by Terr and then finished off by Kal. Any questions?”

He glances at Dethnar who is scribbling madly to keep up with his tirade, an amused look on his face.  “I lost my favorite dagger in that beast too.  I don’t suppose there’s any chance of recovering it?”

Diege unstraps a sheathed dagger from her waist and tosses it to him.  Chiva catches it out of the air, feeling its perfect balance.  He doesn’t react to but notices Gerad tense at the presence of an armed person within leaping distance of Diege.

“I – ah, thanks?”  He says, not sounding sure.

“Not at all.”  Diege says dryly, “That’s my favorite dagger, wield it well.”

“Now it’s time for the last bit of testimony.”  Dethnar says, “That of the accused.”

“Frederick Thornbarr.” Says Diege, “You are called to defend yourself.”

Frederick comes to stand before them, his shoulders slumped.  He looks quite different from the man who ran defiantly into the teeth of a half dragon.  “All I have to say in my defense is I was just a boy of fifteen.  The witch who gave me the rings said they’d protect me.  I was young and ambitious.  I didn’t think about what it meant…

“I’ve seen … “ He shudders, “I’ve seen what awaits me after I die.  I know I can’t change it, but I mean to try.”  Tears fall from his eyes.  “I am sorry Luag Seitheach.  I plead for the court to have mercy on my family, this was none of their doing.”

“I have heard bits of this testimony before.”  Diege says, “And I have had time to give this some thought.  What you all have told me today has only strengthened my decision.

“Frederick Thornbarr, I hereby strip you of your title.  You shall be kept under house arrest until the day when Luag Seitheach is able to remove the ring from his chest.  In consideration of your youth, your family and the condition of the ring’s enchantment you will not be sentenced to death.  Instead you shall be insulated from harm, not allowed to do anything dangerous and will be required to put whatever skills you may have to use helping the less fortunate.

“Luag Seitheach, in recompense for what you have lost and in lieu of the punishment that cannot be meted out to you, I award you Frederick’s share of the treasure from the battle.  In addition you will be offered travel back to your homeland at the expense of Frederick’s estate.”  She crosses her arms, and looks him over before continuing.

“From all reports, and I’ve heard a few, you conducted yourself quite well.  Not just on the battlefield either.  It seems you have a bit of talent and ambition, and we could use some more of that around here… as long as you can keep the latter in check.”  She glances at Frederick who flinches.  “So I’m offering you a second option.”

“The Thornbarr estate owns a large parcel of land outside of the city.  I have made some negotiations, they are willing to part with forty acres.  They border on the Mephwood on one side, and apparently have been some rumors of issues with the forest lately.  If you wish to make a life for yourself here, you would be welcome.”

She smooths a rumpled sheet of paper on her desk, and raises an eyebrow artfully at him. “You seem to have begun to make plans already, but I will leave the decision up to you.”