Eldro's Rage

High on the tall throne atop fair Udrost,
The largest of the eleven Caelis,
The celestial chain that binds Saros,
Eldro exalted sat, admiring
From afar his grand project of empire
And Finley, his instrument of revenge
Who never doubted the Law of Pure Land.

But Eldro, stirred by the thought of Karre,
For whom he, insatiate to possess
The pleasing graces of the village girl
Now a desperate goddess of pleasure,
Would remake perforce the world of Saros,
Did discern the outline of treachery,
A plot authored against him by his foes.

The Lord of Udrost scrutinized the east
And, finding nothing amiss in his realm,
Did turn his gaze to the unconquered land
West and south, to the corrupt and libertine,
And found certain evidence of Andro,
The vagrant immortal whom all confused
With the just and benevolent Eldro.

Ignonimy and shame follow this god!
How can sweet Karre return to my fold
And enjoy the founding of my Pure Land,
When ever I suffer depredation
By others' confusion of his low ways
With my honest and righteous dominion?
Eldro roared with a rage that shook the world.

This new threat, he ruled, is not casual.
This business so close to my estate,
An infernal necromancy obscure,
Must be the dark design of low Andro.
Though the opportunity be not ripe,
As Finley makes war against the cold north,
I will ruin Andro's profitless art.

More Rules Updates

I made more revisions to Chapter 8 (Magic). I also included the rules for Amazons, Necromancers, and Sorcerers. I changed some of the artwork to make the manual a little less risque (I'd like to see the game used by kids too).

Rules Updates

Check out the latest version of the Players Manual (in particular, chapter 8). I am beginning to rework the magic system.

More Maps

Check out Aaron's work: The City of Courte, Central Courte, and South Courte.

One evening in Courte.

Emma wrung her hands, pacing the portico. Damned Grozer was over an hour late, and Emma Bound did not brook tardiness.

This had to go right. Emma’s stable world had become precipitous in recent weeks, her father preoccupied and edgy, her household more or less torn asunder. Her idiot brother was westbound, ostensibly to manage the Bound affairs on the Aedoc but really so that things could blow over in his absence. Her sisters—the ones still in the civilized South and not off riding horses and drinking with the centaurs—were as vapid and preening as they’d always been, raising rich children with their rich husbands in massive estates, oblivious. Emma didn’t mind obliviousness, even though she was constantly startled by how rarely people could see what was directly in front of them. Obliviousness made things easier, and this would be a rough climb as it was. Where the hell was Grozer?

Emma supposed it was nice enough on the portico, this time of evening, the breeze coming in off the sea and the quiet murmur of the city around her. As much as she hated many of its residents, the stupid, feeble and vacuous commoners who made the city hum even as they ignored any sense of purpose, Emma did love Courte. Courte, whose commercial bustle never seemed to eclipse its floral, almost sleepy, fragrance, Courte of the perfumed nights, whose bougainvillea scent crept into one’s sleep, coloring even the most ordinary dreams with the city’s spice. Courte, with its rambling alleys choked by vine and its melange of dialect: the sailors’ patois, the foreigners, those from the desert or the far north; the serious-faced wizarding students fingering herbs at market; the companions, glowing as they floated among the crowds in the street; the hoary, nimble merchants turning copper into gold, so different from her hometown of Trowe in tone if not in composition. Where Trowe was marble, Courte was moist granite, Trowe angular and austere, Courte supple and verdant. If any city was deserving of love, it was this one—which is why Emma kept a house here in the first place.

The gate creaked and Emma spun at the sound. Twilight was beginning to fall, but she could see clearly enough to make out Grozer, leading four men who, between them, carried a tall, flat wooden crate. The wait was interminable as they made their way, slowly and deliberately, up the long cobbled pathway, through the gardens and up the long slope to the house.

“You’re late,” Emma snapped as Grozer climbed the household steps. He’d begun to sweep into a deep bow, customary to those of blooded houses, but froze at Emma’s tone. He could either complete the bow, as etiquette required, and annoy the Bound girl further, or abandon it and address her in the hopes of salvaging his fee. After a moment’s thought, he chose the latter.

“My apologies,” Grozer said. He was nothing if not seasoned, a veteran of errand-running for powerful families and all of its attendant humility. He was not proud, just greedy, and the Bound girl had been a financial boon to him. With her wealth, and with her father poised, if rumors were correct, to become Imperator, it was in Grozer’s best interests to remain humble and apologetic, even if the blonde bitch was mistaken—he was actually running nearly an hour early on his delivery.

“You have it, then?” Emma asked. “You actually found it?”

“Of course, your worship,” Grozer said, climbing the remainder of the steps. “It was exactly where you said it would be, and no worse for wear despite the journey.”

Emma’s eyes gleamed. She looked, thought Grozer, quite insane. “Bring it to me,” she croaked.

Grozer motioned to his men, and they hefted the heavy crate up the steps and onto the portico. He bowed again and waved impatiently at his men to do the same. For a time, all five remained there, their heads bowed, waiting for command. This was, thought Grozer, as petty a revenge a man can get.

“Well, open it! Open it now!” Emma shrieked, incensed by the wait.

Grozer milked his bow for a fraction of a second more, and when he did stand upright to command his men to break open the crate, he had to do so with his hand covering a grin. The blooded were so damned blooded.

With sharpened steel rods, Grozer’s men quickly dissembled their crate, leaving a pile of splintered wood surrounding a tall, oblong shape shrouded in oilcloth. They backed away, once again respectfully bowing, as Emma approached the package.

Her hand was shaking, Grozer noticed, as she reached out to clasp a fold of the oilcloth, and her eyes went wide when she, with a jerk, yanked it off.

“You found it,” she said, staring. Her voice, previously sharp and commanding, had gone dull. “You really found it.”

“Of course, your worship,” Grozer said. He’d never seen the Bound girl, generally so domineering, at such a loss. From his bow, Grozer tried to read the expression on her face.

For a few more moments, Emma simply stared. Then she spun, and snapped, “Leave. Your payment will be sent.”

Grozer nodded and, as protocol required, backed away slowly, motioning for his men to do the same. It was a long backwards walk down the steps and along the path, down the slope, through the gardens and out the gate, where Grozer and his men waited until they were out of earshot before lighting their pipes and bursting into laughter, boasting about what each of them would do with their share.

On the portico, Emma continued to stare at the mirror, as tall as her and framed in gleaming, flawless metal, beautifully worked and perfectly ovoid. Tentatively, she reached out to stroke the surface of the glass.

This would do. With the aid of the hapless Morainu upstairs, gazing uselessly into space, she would bring her betrothed to her. With this, she was on her way, despite whatever her power-hungry father or dolt of a brother—or even Cassie—could do to interfere. On the walk of life, there was happenstance, and there was destiny. Emma knew, staring at her reflection, that she had just begun to fulfill her own. There was still the long trip west to Trowe, and her father's prickliness on arrival, to endure, but Emma was, after hundreds of sleepless nights, now on her own.

The Assassins Guild of Courte

History
It’s unknown when the initial formation of the Assassins Guild came to Courte. Historians will say that there does not exist a time in recorded history of the city when a coalition of contract killers did not exist. However, the formation of the formal Guild and the school that accompanies it probably dates to shortly after the arrival of the Companions Academy and the Companions Guild, these entities being responsible for a large segment of the contracts given to the Assassins Guild and the political power of the Companions conferring legitimacy on the Assassins’ activities. Historical mention is made of a contract between Han Qing-Jao, the Companions Guild’s first matron, and one Aldus Fox, generally considered the first formal head, called the rish savid, of the Guild.

The art of politically-motivated killing is much older, of course, and has its roots in the desert region to the north of Courte. The first recorded coalition of contract killers was organized by a desert nomad known as Nizar, who profited wildly from a dispute regarding succession of tribal title, working both sides with great cunning. (The historical accounts do note, however, that Nizar was eventually exposed, strung up and disemboweled by enraged parties on both sides of the dispute.)

Whether consciously or not, Fox followed Nizar’s example and his Guild was able to make a fortune in the heavily political spheres of the South, whether through the wars between the states, internecine rivalries, wars of royal succession and merchant disputes. As its influence and affluence grew, so did the repute of its school and its practitioners.

In Southern culture
Guild Assassins are widely feared and respected, and the threat of a contract being taken with the Guild is often enough to dissuade many forms of crime. For this reasons, it is not uncommon for larger organizations, such as the Companions Guild and the Merchants Guild, to have the Assassins Guild on retainer.

Contract assassination is so widespread in the South that, in many states, it is not even seen as murder; although illegal in the technical sense—an assassin who is exposed and caught in the act would be punished—contract killing is tolerated and viewed as a method of enforcing other, commerce-based, laws. Likewise, political assassination is viewed as a viable method of looking after one’s own interests, although it is poor taste to do so indiscriminately or transparently.

Becoming a Guild assassin
Little is known about the inner workings of the Assassins Guild, as their ranks, requirements for advancement and teachings are highly protected secrets. A potential apprentice cannot simply apply for entry; rather, the Guild maintains a watch over young men or women, selecting the most skilled of them, with the proper moral flexibility, for entry into apprenticeship. Such potential apprentices are quietly and privately approached. Very few decline.

Once within the school, apprentices are given rigorous instruction in anatomy, weaponry and combat, the manufacture and application of poisons and other topics relevant to their vocation. The schooling, as well as administrative and other central functions, take place at the Guild’s headquarters, a large, if not showy, stone building on the waterfront of Courte. Access to the building, simply called the Hold, is nearly impossible for any other than Guild members; meetings with clients and contract-holders take place outside of the Hold, and few, if any, non-Guild people have ever seen the inside.

The Code
Guild assassins are subject to an extraordinarily strict system of ethics, referred to generally as the Code. The main tenet of the Code is that the contract is sacrosanct. A contract, once taken, will be fulfilled without question, to the exact specifications of the client and within the defined time. The only acceptable reason for failing to fulfill a contract is the death of the assassin—and in such a case, every coin of the fee is returned and the contract given to another Guild member, to be completed at no cost. The member who assumes the failed contract does so for a meager honorarium, and is said to be simply maintaining the honor of the Guild.

Guild assassins must furthermore adhere to a code of appropriate behavior, appearance and conduct. They are never to disrespect a client, act out or put their personal feelings above the obligations of the contract. Personal morality is nonexistent when under contract, and any action taken, violent or otherwise, must be in the service of fulfilling it; while highly skilled killers, Guild assassins are bound by the Code to only use their talents in the case of self-defense or within the service of the contract, or in Guild interests.

The Guild is a tight, highly elite brotherhood, and betrayal, either of another member or the Guild itself, is not tolerated. Once within the Guild, a member may never take a contract outside of it. This ensures the continued wealth of and prestige associated with a Guild assassin. Freelance, non-Guild assassins (Guild members call them “hempers,” after the coarse rope such assassins often use to strangle their targets—Guild members usually use a specially-made silk cord for such tasks) are viewed with outright disdain and casually disposed of if encroaching on Guild territory.

In return for following the Code to the letter, a Guild assassin is made fantastically wealthy, and most assassins are able to retire at a young age. (Although they can retire, many do not, and a large segment of Guild members live simply despite their wealth, continuing to take contracts and serve the Guild until forced retirement.) The Guild also functions as a welfare system. Injured or crippled assassins are taken care of for life, and a retired assassin is given the option to live in comfort at the Hold until his or her natural death. The Guild’s connections allow for extraordinary medical care, and those few members who chose to have families are given lavish scholarships for their children and pensions for their spouses. In this way, the Guild takes very good care of its members in exchange for their absolute devotion.

Guild-schooled assassins are not bound to Courte by any means and are scattered throughout the continent—although they’re viewed with much more animosity outside the South and seen as scum in the East. Lucrative contracts abound in Trowe, the Borderlands and throughout the world, and wherever there’s money to be made, a Guild assassin will be there.

Contract killing is by no means the only service the Guild provides, either. The Guild may be contracted for kidnapping, espionage, or simply for information, assassins being natural spies and the connections of the Guild providing a splendid information network, as well.

The Thegn, Part 2

Jarat picked up the signet and began to finger it once again. Jarat continued, “His transgressions are, however, not the greatest issue before us.” Jarat lifted a hand and nodded at a reeve near the door, who walked to the door and threw it open.

Fighting men in full kit, some twenty in number, marched into the chamber, positioning themselves behind the reeves and in front of the door. Several reeves stood and looked astonished. Others stared in surprise and horror at the Thegn. Reeve Fall barely moved an inch, while Ekin remained seated but looked uncertain.

One young reeve seated near Ekin called out, “Thegn Wayke, why do you violate the Ordinance of the Hundred in bringing arms to an Assembly of the Order?”

Jarat turned his gaze to Ekin. He then clasped his hands, lowered them to his waist, and replied, “I am not in violation of the Ordinance of the Hundred, if I find treason in the Order.” The reeves remained still and long moments passed in silence, broken only by the incidental noises made by men in armor shifting weight from one foot to another.

Ekin's expression changed from uncertainty to terror, as he turned his attention from the Thegn to the fighting men. He recognized them as the Thegn's men. Ekin's voice cracked as he replied to Jarat, “This is ridiculous! … You can't have a tribunal without an Augur, and the Sept won't agree to this travesty of justice.”

Jarat's gaze never left Ekin as he raised and lowered his hand again. Soon a man in the flowing robes of an augur of Eldro entered the room. Two of the fighting men pushed the table out of the way and set three chairs in the center of the room.

The Augur spoke at nearly a yell when he called out formally, “Reeves Ekin, Gryce, and Skaithlocke, I hereby prosecute you in the name of the Eternal Light; may his justice shine upon you. Y0u are indicted for the crime of treason against the People of Eldro, a crime for which guilt brings death.”

Ekin cried out, “You'll burn for this Jarat! You and everyone who follows the old ways will be destroyed utterly! DESTROYED UTTERLY! Finley will purge the land of your sin and ignorance!”

Soldiers siezed the three and pressed them into the chairs. In the process, one of the men delt Ekin a severe blow to a kidney, and he writhed in pain. The other reeves moved away and positioned themselves along the walls. The reeves who previously had been seated near the indicted now stood as far away as possible.

Reeve Fall stared incredulously at Jarat. He finally managed to whisper, “Why didn't you tell me?” Jarat's face remained without expression, but he replied in a low voice, “You didn't get back till yesterday. There wasn't time.”

The Thegn, Part 1

The Thegn of Sutherge, an aging man named Jarat Wayke, sat in council with his reeves and brooded on political and military matters. A map of the Sutherge region, the Borderlands, and the nearby southern states covered the massive dark wood table.

In public, he wore the attire of his collegium and rank, the golden plate of the Order of Eldro and the helm and adornments of a Thegn, but in council among his subordinates, as he was this day, he wore the austere garb that all in the Order wore in private.

Jarat absently fingered the signet of his office that lay at hand, while his thoughts wandered.

The Order of Eldro was the oldest of the state sanctioned collegia. It predated the empire. It predated the Ascendance. According to the Order, it predated even the founding of the capitol, Welland, now the seat of Finley himself.

The Order held to some of the old ways, the customs and traditions of the people of Eldro before the Ascension, and the Order was home to more than its share of the old nobility, even a few descended from those who had opposed Him, though they did not advertise that heritage.

Jarat's family had been among the first of the old nobility to bend knee to Finley, and they had been rewarded handsomely. Jarat's grandfather and father were Thegns in the Order before him. The family had fought for Finley in every war since the founding of the empire. The very idea of the Order had become inseparable from the ways of families like the Waykes.

And Jarat was perhaps the most formidable Wayke in generations. In him was combined the vigor and passion of the grandfather with the deeply analytic nature of the father. Jarat was raised to look beyond the golden plate and helm, and the blood and cries of battle. More so even than many of the elders in his order, he was taught to study the Augurs' words. When he came of age, his father gave him over to a frontier Reeve of the old customs, where he learned about sweat, tears, devotion, and the simple goodness of the Feast among the countryfolk and peasants. When he returned to the capitol to take his training in the Citadel, the center of the Order, he quickly rose to great honor, earning a command sooner even than had his grandfather in youth.

However, Jarat rose within the Order at a time when the power of the Order was increasingly eclipsed by new collegia, especially the Curia and Sept of Finley.

Jarat frowned and set down the seal. He lowered his hands beneath the table, so that the other men would not see him apply pressure to his fingers to relieve the joints. To the astonishment of those his age and the admiration of the younger men, Jarat lifted the bars every morning on the practice field, but time was taking its toll in other ways.

Reeve Ekin, a young reeve, sensing the Thegn's displeasure, sputtered to a close, “And so, brothers, I urge you to consider support for the Augur's wishes. The south isn't going anywhere, and we will gain much honor for the Order in finishing the dwarves. The court will certainly look favorably upon us, and the Sept will bend to our wishes after we have so aided them. We should should ask the Citadel for permission to reinforce the Curia and Sept in the north. Precedence for such a request is clear, and the Citadel always listens to a veteran Thegn, especially one named Wayke.”

The reeves muttered among themselves and cast sidelong glances at the Thegn. One ernest reeve banged his glass on the table, yelling awkwardly, “Down with the dwarves!”

Jarat remained silent, and a tension filled the room.

Reeve Fall, an old ally of Jarat, rose and addressed the council:

“The Curia and Sept brought about the debacle in the north. They were shortsighted in their interpretation of His words. They recklessly threw away the 3rd, 5th, 6th, and 12th armies! The Thegns of Grenesword and Slaiter were slaughtered along with all of their reeves!”

Reeve Fall looked slowly around the table at the silent reeves before continuing: “We will build the Pure Land. We will purge the land of falsehood. We know His truth. But He did not say that we will build the Pure Land tomorrow. He did not say that we will destroy the elves and dwarves tomorrow. The Curia and Sept were wrong in their interpretation.”

Many reeves stared wide-eyed at Fall. A few visibly worked to contain their mirth about the swipe at Curia and Sept. “The dwarves and elves are dying. Trapped in their caves and the deep forest, doom surely awaits them. We don't need to scurry down every hole after rats, not when the old foe in the south gathers strength.”

Fall, in his usually terse fashion, concluded swiftly, “The Citadel has directed our attention to the south, and I don't make a habit of questioning the orders of the Citadel.”

A few of the older reeves cried, “Hear! Hear!” The muttering of reeves now reached a low din, which subsided only when the Thegn stood from his chair.

He said, “Ekin, I admire a reeve who follows doctrine closely. I am a pious man, and of late too many of our brothers fail to show the proper respect to augur and pontifex. I believe that they defy the Will of Eldro. I believe that Reeve Fall is often guilty of this sin.”

Around the table, many hands suddenly gripped chairs too tightly, and a few mouths opened involuntarily. A smile was barely suppressed by Ekin. Fall sat very still.

Jarat picked up the signet and began to finger it once again.

Rules Updates

Check out the supplements for the following character classes: Companion, Fallen Angel, Necromancer, and Sorcerer. I've made modifications to those classes. Many spells for the Sorcerer, Necromancer, and Companion classes haven't been defined yet, but I have a notion for each one, and definitions will follow soon.

The Way to the Land of Eldro

By the The Way to the Land of Eldro is meant the true teaching of the doctrine of Pure Land, that is to say, the way of truth that assures one's rebirth in the Pure Land of Eldro.

Through what power shall we be allowed to be born in the Pure Land? The question has been answered in Finley's divine words, for the Will of Eldro entertains no doubt as to this point: "That pure and beautiful land of justice is for us; Eldro, the source of all justice, wishing to have us join him in the Pure Land, is ever showering his light upon us in order to make us grow in wisdom and to become conscious of sinfulness and falsehood, whereby we might come to entertain the desire of being born in the land of truth and righteousness."

It is thus entirely due to the effulgence of Eldro (the Infinite Light) that we have grown conscious of the darkness existing in the world and awakened an aspiration for a land of eternal light. Finley, who has brought our minds to this state while we were altogether unaware of his existence, is now beckoning us, saying: "Hear my name of truth and goodness, awaken your consciousness to the impurity and falsehood darkening this land, and have your destiny absolutely entrusted into my hands that will save you from sin and ignorance." Those who listen to this call of Finley and who grow increasingly aware of sinfulness, surrender themselves to the Will of Eldro. They grasp the hand of salvation with absolute confidence and are embraced in the truth and goodness of his love; they will found the land of justice and purity, they will be given infinite wisdom and honor, and they will witness the triumph of the Judge, the bringer of Eldro's justice.

But there are some who can not resign themselves entirely to the Will of Eldro; those will be destroyed utterly.

Augur Oarde

Mandala Excerpt: Goblins

"Under the general title of Coblynau or Goblins, I class the mischievous fairies which haunt the mountains, forests, mines, quarries and under-ground regions of Saros. The word coblyn has the double meaning of knocker or thumper and sprite or fiend. It is applied by Dwarven miners to pigmy fairies which dwell in the mines, and point out, by a peculiar knocking or rapping, rich veins of ore. Most often seen in the Dwarven mines, the coblynau are generally reclusive, prefering the wild forests and mountain reaches of Saros. The coblynau are described as being about a yard in height and very ugly to look upon, but extremely good-natured, and friendly to miners. Their dress is a simple loincloth and beads. In the mines, They sometimes work busily, loading ore in buckets, flitting about the shafts, turning tiny windlasses, and pounding away like madmen, but really accomplishing nothing whatever. They have been known to throw stones at the miners, when enraged at being lightly spoken of; but the stones are harmless. Nevertheless, all miners of a proper spirit refrain from provoking them, because their presence brings good luck. The coblynau enjoy stealing small objects, often replacing them with goblin food or drink having hallucinogenic properties." Daile Raice, Ethnographer at the Academy in Courte.

The October weather on the road out of Hausen was pleasant. The wind, which for six days never exceeded a gentle breeze, hinted at the coming turn of seasons, but the still lush plains and woods of the Borderlands were comforting to the party, and the unenventful days of travel set the party at ease; they were glad to put the troubles of Hausen behind them and to enjoy a smooth journey.

However, on the fourth day, for well understood and agreed upon reasons, Garrett took them onto a rocky path, and the following three days of travel were bruising and exhausting.

On the sixth night out of Hausen, the party was, therefore, greatly relieved when Garrett called a stop for the night. He arrayed the wagons in a circle nested against the steep face of a low hill, and the group quickly set themselves to eating and sleeping. Two of the drivers took the first watch.

Sometime after midnight, the party heard a high-pitched howling in their midst. They jumped to alert with weapons drawn and immediately discovered a strange site: two creatures making a great commotion in the middle of their camp. The creatures were about two and a half feet tall, green skinned, slender, with long pointy ears and conical heads.

One held Arantxe's dagger. He had golden bits of stringy hair on his head. His face was sharply featured with thin lips stretched across pointy, uneven teeth. He wore a red loincloth, and next to him lay a discarded deer skin sack, the contents of which, spilt onto the ground, included one of the mandalas and several more of the party's possessions.

The other creature, wearing a blue loincloth with leather fringe trim, was roughly of the same height but more plump in the middle. He had full pouty lips, and the bottom lip sagged and undulated dramatically. He stared, wide-eyed, at his companion and made whimpering noises.

The first creature, still holding the dagger, continued to howl and jump about, as the party members looked at each other uncertainly. Gorthag then stepped forward and grabbed the creatures by their necks and held them fast, and they immediately began to weep and bawl loudly.

Just then a third creature, taller than the others (about three feet in height), stepped into the middle of the camp. He had skinny legs and arms and a little pot belly. He wore a yellow loincloth and many strands of wood and nut beads around his neck. He was sharp featured like the first creature but with a softness to his cheeks. His teeth were yellow and decayed. He scanned the group and stopped to look at Nimh'Otar. With shaking limbs and a tremulous voice, he addressed Nimh, "Please have mercy on my little ones. We are wandering and lost."

Arantxe exclaimed loudly, "What are you doing with our possessions?!"

Nimh interjected, "Hold! Everyone calm down. These are goblins, and we have nothing to fear." To the older goblin, Nimh said, "Who are you, and who is your spirit?"

The old goblin responded, "I am Gotene and these are my little ones, Dobre and Imme, and we lived with the Great Stone Spirit, but now he is dead. We are wandering and lost, and we search for a great spirit."

Nimh frowned and said, "How did he die?"

Gotene replied, "His death came with fire and many cries of men and dwarves. It was black and bloody, and now we are lost, we poor goblins." Looking greatly agitated, he said, "Please let go of my little ones."

The first goblin began to cry sobs of agony, so Arantxe carefully grabbed the dagger away from him, and Gorthag dropped the creatures. The first curled up into a ball on the ground and whimpered, while his companion, also whimpering, pet and stroked him.

Arantxe addressed the old goblin, "Did men kill your spirit? Who did it?"

The old goblin looked confused. He shifted his gaze between Nimh and Arantxe, and then he shrugged.

Artanis interjected, "I don't think he knows. They don't see the world as we do."

Nimh told the party that the spirits to which the goblin refers are elementals. Goblins live in close symbiosis with elementals, whom they call spirits. Some elementals are minor; they inhabit small regions, a small woodland or swamp, for example. Other elementals are massive beings who inhabit a large region of a continent, like a mountain range. There are thought to be only one or two dozen of these major elementals in the world. Goblins usually inhabit areas connected with major elementals. Nimh finished his lecture by saying, "By the way, don't accept any food or drink from goblins."

The old goblin was no longer shaking, and the party heard a firmness in his voice. He turned his attention to the mandala, still lying on the ground. He frowned, saying, "That is bad magic. It binds the spirits."

The young goblins stood, no longer appearing traumatized. They whispered to each other and pointed at Arantxe. Slowly they approached her and pawed at her clothing, her arms, her legs, and her belly.

Then the old goblin turned to Arantxe and frowned, saying, "There is something wrong with you. The spirits don't go through you."

Different expressions crossed Arantxe's face in quick succession: first she looked annoyed and then troubled. She said, "What do you mean?"

The old goblin's frown was replaced by a smile and a softness in his eyes. He rummaged in his bag for a moment and retrieved a silver piece. He handed it to Arantxe, saying, "You will need this." Arantxe, after confusedly examining the silver piece, said, "Thank you," and she smiled. She gave him a silver piece of her own in turn, for she really had no need of silver. Gotene took the coin from her, smiled, shrugged, and put it in a pocket of his loincloth. She then carefully dropped the silver piece into a pocket.

Artanis asked Gotene, "Where do you live?"

Gotene pointed south. "Not far," he said. "We go now."

"I will walk with you for a little while," offered Artanis, and taking Gotene by the hand she led him and his sons away from camp.

Fire Group Photos

Check them out, courtesy of Jenny.

Fire Excerpt: On the Road

Exhausted from battle and annoyed that they killed the cleric, the party set about looking through the wagons in hopes of finding a reward worth spilling their own blood. Sionel remained unconscious and bleeding on the ground. They found tents, ropes, rations, many supplies. In the last wagon under a pile of blankets they found a cowering Halfling.

He was dressed in leggings and a soft blue tunic that did a poor job of hiding his round belly. His curly blonde hair was topped with a small blue hat. His hands were ink stained. Khiyra grabbed him by the collar. He was shaking and he cried out, "Hey, hey! hold on. You people seem to like money and adventure. I know where you can get lots of money. More money than this and maybe something even better," he looked hopefully at Richard. Khiyra suddenly looked less annoyed and more interested.

“Speak, Halfling. But we will not promise to spare your life,” lisped Richard.

"I hope you change your minds when you hear what I have to tell you. Mayor Briargate, you know, the Mayor of Markindale? Well, my brother is his accountant, which is a really great job by the way. Mayor Briargate pays really well.” Khiyra gave him a little shake. “But anyways, my brother told me that Briargate has all this gold in a vault in his basement, like stacks and stacks of it and yeah well, ok. It's actually the town coffers and does not belong to Briargate, but that's where they keep it. But he also has this other thing. My brother made me swear not to tell, but I'll tell you if you just let me go," he gulped.

Richard said, “Maybe… if your information is useful enough.”

“Oh, it is! Your going to love this, really! My brother got sick on some bad buttermilk one night when he was dining at the mayor’s manor. The mayor offered his own bed for Sammer to lie down in. When he was up in the room he saw it on the mantle: a large eye the size of my head in a glass case.” The Halfling nodded significantly. “Yep! A cyclop's eye!"

Everyone started to chuckle-- everyone but Richard that is. In grave tones he said, “Yes, Yes laugh all you want, children. Cyclops WERE real.”

Khiyra asked, “What’s the eye good for? Can it raise an undead army?”

“No,” said Richard flatly. He seemed rather annoyed. “But it can be used for other magical purposes…,” he hissed.

“Oh, come on! They sell fake ones in the market. I’ve sold them on the road dozens of times,” said Zagros, who was actively bleeding still and looking quite pale.

“My friends, I think we have good reason to go to Markindale together after all. Tell me little Halfling, do you have a potions we can use to cure our friends?” said Richard.

“Yes, yes!”said the Halfling eagerly. “In the other wagon, next to this one, in a blue box.” The frightening mad woman went to look inside. She pulled out 6 vials of pink colored potion. Richard poored some of the potion into Sionel’s mouth she stirred and moaned. Her bleeding slowed and she asked for water. He then attended to his manservant, who looked much better after drinking two doses of potion. Zagros drank and his bleeding also slowed, considerable and his wounds partially closed. The mad woman also drank and partially healed. Khiyra was hurting and very much wanted the potion, but he knew that Zagros was their strongest fighter and he gave his potion to the Centaur. The Centaur’s wounds turned to angry scars with large bruises.

Sionel rose from the ground and looked at the Halfling. “Who’s this?” But before anyone could answer, Khiyra shoved the Halfling over to Zagros. “Here, watch this guy. I think I just found a map in this wagon. Huh, and a note. Is this a map of Markindale, Halfling?”

“Yes! Yes,” said the Halfling. “Can you let me go?”

“No,” said Khiyra calmly. “Hmm. Check this out,” he hands the note to Sionel. “This caravan was on its way to meet up with Garrett’s crew.”

Sionel smiled, happy that they may have interrupted her former companions’ plans. “What will you do if we let you go?” she said to the Halfling.

“I’ll take a horse and ride on to Hausen. You’ll never see me again, I promise!” he said eagerly.

“Yeah… I have a better idea. We should take this guy into Markindale with us. We can go to his brother’s house and enlist his brother’s help in making a map of the Mayor’s manor. He’d have to keep quiet of course, or we would kill him,” Khiyra said, looking at the Halfling as he made his threat.

“Wait. Wait!” said the Halfling. “Sammer doesn’t have anything to do with this. You said you’d let me go.”

“No we didn’t,” said Richard. He turned to Khiyra. “This is a bad idea. This Halfling is known to people in Markindale. It is dangerous. What if he escapes?”

“Should we kill him?” asked Sionel, eagerly.

“No! No! Please! I haven’t done anything wrong!” pleaded the Halfling. “Here! I’ll show you where my brother lives. You can go there. Talk to him about the mayor’s place. But don’t kill him. And don’t kill me.”

“What will you tell the people in Hausen?” asked Richard.

“I’ll, I’ll tell them that the Clerics of Hro jumped us. They do sneaking underhanded stuff like that all the time,” said the Halfling desparately.

“This is an unlikely story,” Richard replied. “Tie him up and gag him. His voice is annoying. We’ll figure out what to do with him in the morning.” Sionel tied him up and then walked away pacing and angry. The Halfling was crying. She went over to a man she had killed and cut out is heart. She began to eat it.

“You should let me scare him to death.” The mad woman’s hollow voice almost echoed within their minds. Khiyra shivered, remembering how terrifying she was in the grove. What is she? he thought.

“I should just kill him. He’ll run and tell everyone what we did,” said Sionel. She did not wait for a reply, but instead walked over and casually gutted the Halfling, his tear-filled eyes bulging in pain and horror.

“Ok. Well, I guess we have to come up with another plan,” Khiyra shrugged. “Richard is right, we couldn’t have taken him into town with us.”

Sionel cleaned the blood from her blade. The mad woman came up to her. “Wicked, wicked woman,” she said to Sionel.

“I’m not wicked,” said Sionel, offended.

“But you kill innocents. They did not deserve your steel in their bowels. You are as evil as I and wield chaos,” the black-eyed woman replied. She smiled. It was almost sweet.

“I’m not evil. I do what's in my interests, and in my mind, I'm not evil. That person just needed to die,” Sionel said in a very matter-of-fact manner.

“The scary lady is right, Sionel,” said Khiyra, walking over to sit next to her. “It doesn’t matter how you justify it in your mind. The world sees it as evil. It was an evil act.” He sighed. “It’s ok. The world sucks and it doesn’t really matter what people think. Let’s go burn down Markindale.”

The mad woman began to laugh.

The Politics of the South

Pan-Southern Senate
The South, officially a loose coalition of city-states, is governed under the auspices of the Pan-Southern Senate, a bicameral body of elected and appointed officials with a nominal head.

The lower house, the Chamber of Commons, consists of 55 elected praetors—five from each of the eleven Southern States. Most praetors are moneyed elite, and the Commons represents the interests of the industrial and mercantile class. Election of the praetors takes place every five years, on a rolling basis; therefore, one praetor from each state is reelected or replaced each year. Once elected to office, however, most praetors never find themselves ousted, and many serve until voluntary retirement or death.

Above the Commons is the Blooded House, a body of eleven quaestors. Each quaestor represents his or her state’s aristocratic line, and the quaestors currently in place are that state’s most historically regal (although far from the wealthiest, given the rise of the merchant class). In the past, struggles for appointment to the Blooded House were common, with different families vying for the position, but in the last hundred years, each state’s aristocratic lineage has come to be widely agreed upon.

Presiding over the entirety of the Senate is the Princeps, a position appointed by a viva voce vote of the Blooded House members. Princeps is a largely ceremonial position and does not carry any real power, although he is officially allowed some control of Southern military forces under emergency law.

Democracy in the South
While states carry different official political organizations, the pan-South is at least formally a republic. Although requirements vary from state to state, participation in the republic is available to property owners or the learned. (Graduation from the Companions Academy, the Wizarding Academy, the Four Walls or military service in the militia of any Southern state is requirement enough to vote.) Three of the South’s eleven states allow women the vote, and nine allow any race to vote. (“Any race” being limited to humans, the rare elf or half-elf and dwarves—although a halfling business owner in Eastring was able to successfully lobby to gain a vote there. In no Southern state are orcs or centaurs allowed to vote.) As can be expected, democracy is limited to and beneficial for the merchant class and the vestiges of the aristocracy. Most residents are not considered “citizens”—citizenship being a function of access to the ballot—and most have little or no interest in the Senatorial goings-on.

This disinterest can change precipitously when residents of the South are faced with an outer threat, and the growing power and influence of the Eastern Empire, coupled with the orc and centaur threats to the western states, have brought the politics of the Senate to the attention of more and more people. Faced with such threats, the concept of a united and militarily powerful South is becoming a popular one. The praetors of Trowe, united with that state’s quaestor, Petrus Bound, have pushed for allowing the Senate more military power and to amalgamate the militias and small armies of the disparate states into a larger, better-organized Republican Army. Here, Bound was given support by the quaestor of Rygge, Turstan Leadbeater, as well as those of each of the Aedoc States. No decision has yet been made for the unification of armed forces, as such a move is opposed by Courte and by the aging (and some say ineffectual) Senate Princeps, Milo Alder—who is from Courte. Debate in both chambers of the Senate was paused when Bound, who had requested the hearing and had until now provided fiery invective on the topic, was called away on urgent family business.

—Excerpted from Notes of Interest, Nils the Recordist, the Library of the South in Sysson.

Open Call!

After a lot of talk, I'm pleased to announce that we're starting a third Saros group, to be co-GMed by me and Jana and/or Dustin. The group will be called Sub Rosa and will start out in the City of Courte. Let your friends/enemies/family know—I'm thinking that we'll institute a six-person cap.

Map: West of the Borderlands

Check out this map.

Map of the Borderlands

Check out the map of the Borderlands. A map of lands west of the Borderlands will soon follow.

The Stranger

Within the Great Cenmonoc Desert live a people who worship a god known only as the Stranger. the Stranger is a theological anomaly as far as any researchers at the Academy have determined. Unlike the gods of the Sarosi Pantheonus, whom can be distracted by the machinations of their fellow gods, the Stranger seems to be an omniscient god. Even more peculiar, the Stranger's main purpose appears to be the guidance of humans in their lifes' purposes. Or is it?

Many people of Saros view this god as fictional, a symbol of survival created by a barbaric people in harsh demanding conditions. According to the religious text of the People of One, or Sky Book, as they call it, “the Stranger feeds the mind in the storm. He sits next to you by the fire. He shares his root drink in a drought.” Is it surprising that a people so oppressed by heat, drought and hunger would create a god to cling to in moments of despair? Who may give their lives more meaning?

However, the Sky Book claims that the Stranger was here before the Sarosi Pantheonus and that, incredibly, the Stranger is able to cross between worlds freely. If the Stranger is real, What Is He? Certainly not forged in the fire of Saros. There are no tales that tell of his birth. When researchers have asked a devotee of "the One" about the birth of their god, they have been met with laughter. They report that “The Stranger was not born. He rides for eternity” or that “Your gods are born? Then surely they will someday die. This is bad for you. Your people will be lost without their guide.”

The Stranger, for all his omniscience, does not work alone. He has helpers that the People of the One refer to as Angels of Cenmonoc. The Angels physically protect the People of the One from harm. Legend has it that no rival desert tribe has ever defeated the People of the One in battle, though some Centaur tribes claim that they laid devastation to the lands of the People 200 years ago. How they managed this rout is unclear, and old Centaurs who know the story well will not reveal the secret. Eye-witness accounts of Centaurs and an ancient cave painting in the southern Cenmonoc region, depicting a great battle with winged creatures assisting the People, are the only references outside the Sky Book and the People of the One to the existence of Angels.

Of course, the People of the One live in what can only be described as a wasteland. There is no reason for them to be the target of any attack. Also, consider that Centaurs are the most unreliable historians, preferring oral histories that are prone to exaggeration. Therefore, it is unlikely that the People of the One have ever really been challenged militarily. When viewing the “undefeated” claim from this more scholarly angle, it disappears in a puff of mythological smoke.

Whoever or whatever the Stranger is: God or Archetype, is unclear. What is clear is that the People of the One survive the harshest conditions on the planet without the assistance of the Sarosi Pantheonus. Is it the power of their will or a divine hand that guides them? We may never know.

Arcturus Cowper
Professor of Religious Studies
The Academy at Courte.

The Full Story

Here you'll find a complete compilation of the recaps, including a full recap of the most recent session, the game involving both groups. The only material not included are the events after the groups parted ways. Enjoy.

Massacre in May

Increasingly reports of Orc and Centaur violence against humans are filtering into the borderlands. Many stories are now heard from the South about a massacre of humans in the west that occurred in May. The more hysterical accounts say that the Orcs and Centaurs are intent on exterminating humanity, and that a huge army is massing in the west.

The governments of Trowe, Hunteleye, Kye, Esthon, and Eastring are said to be calling for war against the Orc and Centaur tribes of the west. It is also said that Trowe is maneuvering in the senate for the appointment of an imperator. Courte and other eastern states are vacillating. Many in the east are mistrustful of Trowe, but they also fear incursions by the Eastern Empire.

Many of the western states have outlawed Orcs and Centaurs within their borders, and reports of pogroms against non-humans are increasing. Courte and the other eastern states have called for tolerance and understanding between the races.

Chariot Day

Chariot Day (or Plow Day as the peasants call it and that is closer to the truth) is a religious holiday, much like Christmas. It occurs on the last day of the ninth month. Since it is a holiday that lauds Andro over Eldro, it has very different connotations in the east. There it is considered a somber day of reflection. Elsewhere it is a festive and lively holiday for both men, dwarves and elves. It represents the day that Andro’s Plow was destroyed and his sacred cows were allowed to wander free. This is also the day that Andro threw off the influence of Eldro and became a separately recognized God.

The most widespread Chariot Day tradition is the imbibing the Drink of Sleep and Dreams, a sweet, mildly hallucinogenic drink. It is distilled by Clerics of Andro. The drink usually imparts a fantastic feeling of well being, but the Clerics say that Andro may ‘rip the veils of reality from a drinker’s face’ if he deems the person needs it. Therefore, there is a wide variation of effect. It is considered very safe and even young children drink watered down versions, which only tends to temporarily increase the imaginative element of their play and games.

In the rural areas of Saros, this is considered a very important holiday. No one works the fields or tends livestock. It is a day of rest, rejuvenation and giving thanks. In the East, Chariot Day is a somber day. People dress in black and stay at home. Sometimes hate crimes are perpetrated against temples of Andro. Of course, these are not officially condoned by Finley.

A Humorous Moment from Group 2, Session 2

Recap, Group 2, Session 1, Part 2

The Skeletons
The party descended the stone steps into a large antechamber. At the end of the antechamber was a large iron door. Etched on the door was the following:

I saw those men who many had of life and property bereft: through the breasts of those men passed strong venomous serpents.

Nim 'ohtar opened the door to this chamber with a great grinding and screeching of the hinges. Luken created light on his staff which illuminated an enormous, rubble-filled room. The ceiling was twenty feet above the floor. Ahead of them they could see four large columns and here and there, boulders and piles of rubble. Along the East wall they could barely make out the outline of a door. The far end of the room was lost in darkness.

They cautiously entered the room. As they began to walk through they started to hear crumbiling, rock grating sounds. Slowly, skeletons emerged from behind columns, boulders and rubble. They were dressed in tatters and rotten cloth, and each carried short swords. On their helms they bore the image of a serpent.

Nim 'ohtar was first to strike. He raised his giant, two handed sword and sent it crashing down on the nearest skeleton. The skeleton lost an arm and some ribs but continued to menace the paladin. Zagros, itching for a fight, charged a skeleton and brought his scimitar down across its neck, taking head and helm off with one clean stroke. Korrigidor let loose an arrow into another skeleton, taking the whole left rib cage out. The skeleton waved his sword at him in defiance. Gorthag, terrified by the supernatural, took a wild swing at a skeleton that was approaching him and missed, his mace sailing over the skeleton's head. The skeleton plunged his short sword into Gorthag's side, causing the large half-orc to swoon with pain. Luken, seeing Gorthag's plight, rushed to his aid, and laying his tiny hands over the wound he incanted, "Erring the half-orc is healed." The wound partially closed and the pain receded somewhat.

Meanwhile, more skeletons were approaching from the far end of the room. The paladin dealt an ending blow to the disabled skeleton attacking him and quickly ran to help the others. Zagros knocked off the head of another skeleton, while the ranger shot an arrow through the eye socket of his ribless skeleton foe, taking the skull clean off and pinning it to the far wall. Luken laid hands on Gorthag again, this time closing the wound. Gorthag raised his mace, but only grazed the helm of the skeleton, who then sliced into Gorthag's arm. The big half-orc started to cry for his father. With anger and embarassment, Gorthag swung again, this time smashing through the midsection of the skeleton, completely severing the torso from the legs.

Just at that moment, a figure emanating a faint light, ran into the room from the antechamber. It was Artanis. "I have been sent by the guiding light of Maida to protect you." She ran to the middle of the room and created more light.

Zagros crushed a skeleton under his hooves while sending his sword through the clavicle of another. Nim 'ohtar sent an arrow rocketing into another skeleton, exploding it in a righteous burst of fury. The centaur finish off the damaged skeleton and the group paused to listen. There was only quiet. No skeletons remained. Luken healed the half-orc's bleeding arm.

"There is great evil coming from that door to the east," whispered Luken.
"Spiders..." muttered Korrigidor.
"No. Worse than spiders," said Luken. He was shaking. "Let us not go that way."
"But we must! We need to purge this evil place," said Nim 'ohtar.
"There is a door on the far end of the room as well," called out Zagros. Nim 'ohtar approached.
"This is nearly as foul a way as the other," he said.

It was decided that the party would enter the east door. Bolstered by the calming influence and faith of Artanis, they carefully opened it and entered.

Taixali
As they entered they saw a large pool that took up most of the underground cavern. The walls were natural in appearance, except for the walls near the door. There was a sound of water flowing into the pool from a crevice on the eastern wall. On the far side of the pool, they could barely make out another door. A bridge once spanned the pool, but only crumbling stones now remained. On the far side of the pool, the party saw a cloaked woman standing. She gave off a sickly puce colored aura. About her left ankle was a shackle that was chained to the wall. The shackle sparked and crackled with lightning-like energy. Her sickly light barely illuminated a door in the wall behind her. She looked at them and began to laugh quietly, her amber eyes widening with delight.

The party felt anxious. She was like nothing they had ever seen. One by one she began to address them.

To Nim 'ohtar, “Oh, it's the little champion. Uven and the other doddering fools sent you on this fool's quest, but the gods know that the vanity and corruption in your heart will be your doom. Laying in the blood and muck on the plain of Volas, you'll breath your last.”

To Zagros, “I see you've lost your harness, centaur. You're one of the few who have ever been made to wear one. Finley will crush you and all of your kind, and shod you all with cold iron."

To Gorthag, "Aren't you a pretty, pretty picture? Your mother should have exposed you, orc, and slashed her wrists open for her folly. Of course, you couldn't know that it has crossed your companions minds to cut your throat.”

To Artanis, “Lost your daddy, little girl? And your mummy didn't want you. I know all about your mummy.”

To Korrigidor, “What? Are you nothing? You're nothing to anyone.”

To Luken, “And you, I'm sure this is too much for your little halfling brain to handle. Are you going to run back to your little hill? That's all your kind is good for.”

Suddenly, she threw back her cloak, revealing her eight arms and hands. In each hand, she twirled a ball the size of a marble. The party felt the full might of her evil and shrunk from her in fear. But Nim 'ohtar recovered and straightened himself bravely.

"That's it. I've had enough of her," Nim 'ohtar said. He shot an arrow straight for her heart.
It bounced right off.

"Who are you, evil witch?" Nim demanded.
“I am Taixali, daughter of Jatyx," She replied.
Zagros observed. "She's wearing a shackle. She must not be that tough. I say we take her on."
"Why are you shackled to the wall?" asked Artanis.
“Others thought it best that I stay here for awhile” said Taixali.
"I think the balls are some sort of weapon. Maybe I can shoot them out of her hands," said Zagros eagerly.
"Maybe you can get us all killed!" said Luken. "I knew we should not have come here."
"Let us try to reason with her. Maybe she can help us," Artanis said.
"Oh yes!" exclaimed Taixali eagerly. "Please come talk to me child of elves. I would love for you to come see me. I am the child-eater, Artanis."

"Let's leave," said Artanis, suddenly. The party turned and left the way they came, the evil laughter of Taixali ringing in their ears.

The Zombies
Shaken by their encounter with Taixali, they paused back in the Great Hall.
"What now?" asked Korrigidor.

"We must seek the key. Perhaps we will find it beyond the other door. I fear for us if we must cross Taixali again," Nim 'ohtar replied.

After pausing for a while they made their way to the other door. It opened with a grinding screech. Another pool filled room was before them. This one was much larger and the bridge across was intact. The bridge was six inches above the murky water.

"Me don't have good feeling," said Gorthag.
"Let's test the waters so to speak," Zagros said. "Let's tie a rope around one of us and let him go out onto the bridge. We can yank him back if there is trouble." Gorthag looked confused.

"That sounds good. The half-orc is useless anyways," agreed Korrigidor.
"Wait. The half-orc is a dimwit," said Luken. "We should protect him, not use him."
"Gorthag go out on bridge," Gorthag sighed, looking downtrodden and totally demoralized.

Zagros, who appeared to be enjoying the ordeal immensely, tied a rope around the big half-orc's waist. Gorthag slowly began to shuffle across the bridge. When he was about a third of the way across, human forms began to rise from the water. They were clearly undead with flesh rotting from their skins. Some of them wore metal circlets on their heads each bearing the image of a serpent. A zombie reached out to Gorthag and moaned, "Mortals! Enemies of the Serpent!" and the rest of the zombies moved toward the the half-orc.

With a powerful yank of the rope, Zagros sent Gorgath sailing back through the air and landing with a thud on the ground in front of the party. Gorthag bruised his elbow badly but was otherwise intact. Luken quickly healed his friend.

Korrigidor let loose an arrow and felled a nearby zombie. The undead were all crawling toward them in the shallow water now. Luken cast a spell of golden light and 4 zombies turned and headed for the opposite end of the reservoir. Artanis slammed her staff into the back of a retreating zombie's head smashing the skull but barely slowing it down. Gorthag, angry, confused and disgusted shot an arrow into the skull of a zombie. The zombie staggered and limped but kept coming. Zagros loosed an arrow into an approaching undead, felling him instantly. Nim 'ohtar fell the undead next to that one with another deadly shot.

Korrigidor began picking off the turned undead. He attempted to finish off the zombie Artanis bravely attacked by sinking an arrow deep into the back of the zombie's shoulder. The zombie slowed but continued to plod on. Artanis cast a spell on five more zombies. They began to turn away towards the back of the room. Zagros, with a yell of martial glee, charged into the shallow water toward three zombies, slicing the head off of the zombie he had wounded earlier in the process. Gorthag sent another arrow towards his foe and felled him with that second shot. Nim ran forward to help Zagros slicing off the arm of a zombie foe. Luken shrank against the wall, paralyzed with fear.

Zagros smashed the head of the one armed zombie with his hooves while attempting to slice another zombie nearby. He missed the other and that zombie cut deeply into his flank. Artanis cast a spell of protection around the brave centaur. Nim felt the one-armed zombie's wrath as its nails sliced into his cheek. Gorthag sent an arrow with surprising precision right into One-Arm's throat, silencing him for good. Korrigidor, annoyed with his prey's tenacity sent a final deadly arrow through the zombie, pinning it to the far wall before it splashed with a sickening squelch into the shallow water below.

A zombie was closing in on the rear of the centaur. It brushed the centaur's balls with its gooey rotting hand.

"Hands off my nut-sack, fish-rotted harpy!" Zagros yelled delivering a powerful kick with his rear legs that sent the zombie flying through the air.

Korrigidor felled another zombie with his bow and arrow, while Artanis finished off Zagros' molester with her staff. At this moment, some of the turned undead were shaking off the clerics' spell and turning back toward the heroes. Gorthag shot one with an arrow through the shoulder. Luken summoned courage to go heal the centaur a bit. The wound only partially closed. Zagros, ignoring the pain charged another zombie trampling it beneath his hooves and causing it to fall to it's knees. Nim 'ohtar caught another zombie with his bow and arrow, exploding the head on impact. He rushed to finish off another with his sword, but Korrigidor was quick and sunk another arrow home. Gorthag approached his wounded foe and smote him across the chest with his mace while Zagros severed the head from his zombie opponent. Gorthag crushed his opponents skull between mace and cavern wall. This was the final blow. The zombies were defeated. The party was left with the sounds of dripping water and their own heavy breathing.

Luken and Artanis patched up the party. There was an iron door on the far end of the room. It was locked.

Nim 'ohtar looked at Zagros. "Kick it down," he said. "I've had enough of these bitches. Whoever is behind that door is going to pay."

The Temple of the Serpent
Zagros gave the door a mighty kick and it banged open. Heat and the scent of blood radiated from the room. Torches were blazing along the walls, illuminating stone pillars, an altar, and a stone statue of a serpent. The party's eyes were drawn to the center of the room where a figure stood before the statue, swaying back and forth. He had the shape of a man, but the skin was flayed from his body. Tendons and muscles rippled as he swayed back and forth. Luken shrieked in horror. The wraith turned to the party in surprise.

"Khered!' he cried. "I smell more blood for the sacrifice! Step up, mortals, and pay respect to the servant of the serpent." He stared at Nim 'ohtar and then laughed with glee. "The Elven Champion!" He swept his gaze across the rest of the party. "The priests, the woodsman, and the beasts! The day has come! You will find the Skin of Huron in the west, and the serpent will rise and crush the dragon. Ha ha ha! It is as it was foretold in the prophecy." Turning to the statue he cried. "Thank you my Gods, for this opportunity to serve your will."

The party, confused, began to fumble and prepare to fight. The wraith said, "You don't understand. According to the Prophecy of Aniel, you will triumph today and for a time, but I am the least of six brothers. My brothers will prepare the way of the serpent. I am honored to fulfill the prophecy by your hands. Staring at Nim, he said, "May the Serpent consume me." And the wraith attacked.

The War of 516-520

Excerpted from "The Annals of the South" (522) by Christer Daye, scholar of the College of Trowe

For the past hundred years, Trowe and other southern states have been peacefully settling the wastelands in the west and turning the land into productive farmland. This progression of peace and prosperity was interrupted by the violent barbarian hordes, both Centaur and Orcish, of the western interior. Many human settlements were destroyed, their women raped, and their men put to the sword. The southern states tried all forms of diplomacy, but the hordes sometimes refused and, at other times, betrayed promises.

In the spring of 516 in the Gulf of Tompsonn, Orcish pirates attacked a ship of Trowe. The government of Trowe issued a declaration of war against western piracy, brigandry, and terror in all forms. The army liberated huge swaths of Centaur-infested land and drove out the Orcish beasts, beasts who practice all manner of blood sacrifice and evil ritual. Calm returned to the coast, and human families were able to tend to their land.

Recap, Group 2, Session 1, Part 1

The Purple Moon

It was a hot early summer afternoon at the Purple Moon. The inn was full of interesting characters. A beautiful and mysterious woman sat at the bar with a huge barbarian. A half-elf and a half-orc sat in strange congress on the other side. And at a table in the corner a party was huddled over cold mugs of ale.

This party was both fair and gruesome. A handsome elven paladin sat at the table. He was obviously unabashed about his race. Next to him sat a demure half-elf cleric with large brown eyes and light brown hair. On the other side of the paladin was a half orc, hulking and fierce, with surprisingly gentle and simple eyes. Between the half-orc and half elf a very slight of build halfling cleric sat with a puzzled expression on his face.

The Half-elf cleric, Artanis, was describing the beauty of her goddess's temple just north of town.

"You should travel to see it. It is an easy 5 mile journey. The priest is very welcoming to all,” she smiled at the half-orc.

“You pretty cleric of Maida, temple must be pretty, too,” said Gorthag.

“The temple of Maida is also near this country inn that makes really good haggus!” said Luken, the halfling.

“It has been long since I have made supplications to Maida. She is a powerful ally of Andro and it would be well to visit her temple,” said Nim 'ohtar, the paladin.

“I must stay here. I am hoping to meet a friend of my fathers,” said Artanis.

“Well, let us go and honor the goddess, Maida!” said Luken.

The Temple and the Dryad

Late in the afternoon, Nim 'ohtar, Luken, and Gorthag arrived at the temple. It was an old and venerable structure full of eroding sculpture and a sulphurous scent, so common in places such as these. They entered the temple. There were a few women and men there who had brought offerings to the goddess.

Nim 'ohtar suddenly heard a strange sound in the shadowy corners: a clopping, like horses hooves hitting the marble. He moved toward the shadows and with great indignation beheld a centaur trying to sell the priests of Maida some Western ceramic figurines. Furious, he starting moving quickly toward the scene and raised his voice, “You there, Centaur. That is sacrilege! Selling wares in the temple of a goddess!”

But just at that moment the doors of the temple burst open and a Ranger strode in carrying a beautiful dryad.

“What is this?” demanded the High Priest of Maida.

“I found her a few miles northwest of the temple. She could hardly walk. I thought you Elf-lovers could help,” he said derisively.

The priest gave the Ranger a cold look. Then he turned a gentle face on the dryad. “What has happened to you, oak daughter?”

The dryad replied weakly, “Dead things attacked my tree! Please help me; they are killing her!”

The priest shook his head and called for water. “I have feared this. There are some ruins to the northwest of here that are the stuff of ghost stories and legend. But lately there has been some reports of strange activity around them. Evil, perhaps. It is a bad time for the protective veil of Maida to be lost to us. Fair paladin from the north, will you and your companions help us?”

Nim 'ohtar answered at once. “Yes. I will go. These others are not beholden to follow.”

“I enjoy fighting,” said the Centaur. “My name is Zagros. I will join you, but I'd like first choice on treasure we might find.” Nim looked at Zagros with a scowl. He was about to say no, but then he considered the barbarian might of the Centaur. Maybe he would be useful. He nodded his head in agreement.

“Gorthag crush tree-killers!” said Gorthag.

“Let us scour this countryside of evil!” piped Luken.

“I will go as well. There may be some giant spiders to kill. Spiders make horrible parents,” said the Ranger earnestly. They all looked quizzically at him.

“What is your name, stranger?” asked the priest.

“Korrigidor, Dread Bane,” he said fiercely. Zagros snickered.

The party set off. It was a short but disconcerting journey. Korrigidor was clearly insane. He rambled on about being raised by Giant Spiders and the abuse he endured as a child. He claimed to be the son of Finley, and Nim 'ohtar had to pray to Andro to stay his hand from running him through with his sword. I should have pity on him. He is a madman.

They found the dryad's tree. There were tracks leading from the tree up to the ruins at the top of the hill. The oak was dead and so the dryad must be as well. Gorthag wiped the tears from his eyes. “Fear not, sensitive creature of Saros,” said Nim 'ohtar, reaching up and placing his hand firmly on Gorthag's shoulder. “We will avenge her death.”

The Ruins

As the daylight dwindled, the party climbed the hill to which their trail had taken them. At the top, they saw a massive stone slab in the center of stone ruins. The stones were surrounded by weeds and covered with a hardy, if spindly, species of vine. Around the stone slab, the ground around appeared disturbed, as if a massive weight had been dragged across it.

Suddenly, the figure of a naked woman on her hands and knees appeared on the slab. She was chained at the neck, wrists, and ankles. Her back was scored with deep wounds. Her eyes were blackened, swollen, and barely open. She drew breath with a deep rattling sound.

She looked up and fixed her gaze on Nim 'ohtar. She said, “Fair one, help me to return to eternal sleep. They are awakening. This place was once theirs, and they are enslaving us again. You must use the key to close the prison door.” She then looked behind herself at the empty air. “There is no time ... below you will find the way.”

Then someone violently jerked the chain around her neck, and a man appeared. On his bare chest was the tattoo of a serpent. For a moment he surveyed the party. Then he grins sadistically as he raises a flail above the woman's back.

Nim 'ohtar let fly with an arrow from his bow. His aim was true, but the arrow passed through the man without leaving a mark. The man laughed, and, as his flail descended, the figures vanished.

"There is great evil here -- below," said Luken.

"Yes. I feel it, too," said Nim 'ohtar.

The party investigated the stone slab. It was plain limestone and about 8 ft log by 4 feet wide.

"The earth around the slab is disturbed. Perhaps from sliding the slab across the grass," observed Luken.

"Let us move it. Zagros, can you help us?" asked Nim 'ohtar.

They tied rope around the corners of each slab and then the Centaur grasped and pulled while the rest of the party pushed. Their efforts revealed a stone staircase going down into the ground.

A Little Blurb about the Game

I'm writing up the recap for Group 2, Session 1. We have decided that Group 2, Session 1 is going to be open to all, so we will post the recap in it's entirety on the blog. Group 2, Session 2 will be more closed in it's content.

I also want to remark about getting from point A to point B. Keep in mind that I would like you all to use as much improvisation as you would like, so when it comes to travel, be creative. Have some time on the road? Tell a story. Get to know each other. Sing a song. Get in a fist fight. This goes for camping for the night and sitting at meals, etc. This will make things much more rich and enjoyable, allow for a breather between battles, and further character development.

Hope you all are having fun!

Is it just me...

or do I look seriously goddess-like in this picture....

The Tron shirt sort of ruins it, maybe. Next time I impersonate a goddess, I need a beaded halter.

Another Excerpt from Group 1, Session 1

Lauson's Militia

Ramsey bellowed at the Easterners, “We are free men and not answerable to you. You, on the other hand, are intruders. What is your business here?”

The leader of the group stepped forward, saying, “I am Lauson, Leftenant of the 14th company at Broadhed. You are bandits and murderers. You will drop your weapons immediately and submit to Finley's justice!”

Millicent muttered a spell and felt Lauson's mind on the edge of her consciousness. She was chilled by experiencing the thoughts of a ruthless killer. She thought, “He will slay us without a second thought.”

Drawing his sword, Ramsey roared, “The hell I will!” Arantxe let fly with an arrow and missed, while Nephon took a stone from his pocket and hurled it at Lauson. To the amazement of all, the rock struck Lauson squarely in the middle of his forehead, opening a sizeable gash.

Khiyra didn't like the prospect of a frontal assault, so he turned and fled, breaking a window at the back of the castle and leaping through it.

Acting quickly, Millicent channeled her arcane power into an incantation that felled three of Lauson's men; the men were asleep before they hit the ground.

Taken by surprise, Lauson's men were slow to the ready. Ramsey and Girt capitalized on their opponents' slow reactions and attacked. Ramsey had difficulty with his man, but Girt slew her opponent with a shattering blow.

Lauson regained his focus and dealt an injury to Ramsey. Millicent was then struck by a tremendous strike that nearly ended her. She hobbled away from themelee. Nephon withrew to attend his injured companion.

Arantxe found her mark with an arrow, while Girt struck down another opponent.

Lauson felt the battle turning against him and withrew through the front door of the castle. Lauson's remaining man, injured and seeing his captain retreat, also turned tail.

At that moment, Khiyra rounded the northeast corner of the castle, making his way to the front door. He stopped in his tracks and hid in the bushes when he saw the approach of six more Easterners.

Ramsey and Girt burst through the doorway in pursuit of Lauson and his man, slaying Lauson's henchman from behind. Lauson's reinforcements arrived and delt injuries to Ramsey and Girt, but Ramsey and Girt were not to be vanquished, slaying another two men.

Khiyra, sensing the party's impending victory, emerged from the bushes and rushed one of Lauson's men from the rear. His feeling of exhilaration was cut short when his blade glanced off the other man's chainmail.

After healing the injured Millicent, Nephon returned to the fray, accompanied by the reinvigorated Millicent. They struck blows, while Ramsey and Girt again charged Lauson's line.

Lauson felt he had seen enough of this party and departed on horseback. One of his men escaped also, while the others were cut down.

Filled with fury at the death of Thet, Arantxe, in a fit of paroxysm, slew the sleeping Easterners.

Photos from Group 2, Session 1

The players meet: Brandy the Half-Elf Cleric, Mike the Elven Paladin, Drew the Barbarian Centaur, Ian the Half-Orc Ranger, Bryan the Human Ranger. Also playing in the group as an NPC is Luken, the scrawny Halfling Cleric.
In their search for the evil that slew the dryad, the group tackles the problem of the massive stone slab.
In the dark, underground cavern, skeletons emerge from the rubble and debris and attack the heroes.Brandy, acting from divine intervention, finds the party and joins the effort to slay the skeletons. Ian the Half-Orc nearly perishes from the undead assault, saved only by Luken's channeling of divine energy.After reducing the skeletons to piles of dust and bone shards, the party meets Taixali.Frustrated by Taixali's insults and taunts (and the party's apparent inability to affect Taixali), our party turns down a different passage, only to meet zombies emerging from the watery depths. Fortunately, the centaur's phenomenal assault and the Half-Orc's excellent bowmanship carry the day (or night, as it were).Below, we see Drew's pictographic representation of the battle:And the Half-Orc re-enacts the encounter:

Photos from Group 1, Session 1

The stalwart adventurers enjoyed the evening. From left to right: the Human Companion, the Half-Elf Wizard, the Half-Orc Paladin, the Half-Elf Thief. Not pictured: the Human Cleric.
The players were perplexed by the Fox, aka Sue.
The party came face to face with a deadly foe, Lauson and his militia.
Lauson, aka John Spengler, appeared dangerous and indefatigable.

Causing Klayton, the Thief, to run away.
But the tables turned when Bettina felled several with a Sleep incantation.

And the mighty Girt, the Half-Orc Paladin (aka Jessie), fearlessly smote several of the Easterners.
Lauson turned tail and fled. Then the Companion mercilessly slaughtered the sleeping Easterners.

An Excerpt from Group 1, Session 1.

At the other end of the bar, Khiyra Greygilder carefully listened to the conversation between Ramsey and Arantxe. Ramsey seemed like a big, good-natured oaf, a personality type Khiyra was particularly drawn, not for comraderie, but for easy money.

Idiot. Talk a little louder about that purse you just acquired.

What?! That luscious woman is accepting his offer? I’m going to have to start wearing more leather…


He turned his attention to the newcomer that had sat down next to him moments ago. “What the hell? Er, I mean, hello.” Khiyra had seen some strange things in his day, some awful things, but nothing prepared him for the bizarre sight of a She-Half-Orc in plate mail with the symbol of Feix, God of Dwarves, on her breast.

What kind of strange world have I stumbled into. Confused, he decided to make the best out of a weird situation. He slowly sidled over to try a hand at lifting the big man’s pocket.

But just at that moment, Ramsey turned, “YOU!” he boomed.

“Er, me?”

“Yes. You. You look like you know how to handle yourself in a sticky situation. You heard my proposal to this magical midnight flower?” Ramsey said.

“What a kind and gracious description, Ramsey. I thank you, but I believe you are mistaken about my capabilities.” She touched his arm pointedly.

OUCH. She’s really amazing, thought Khiyra. “Uh, so yeah, what’s in this adventure for me?”

“300 gold split 3 ways, 4 if your tough-looking orc friend would like to join us,” Ramsey said.

“300 gold?” scoffed Khiyra. He tossed his head causing his sleek black hair to shimmer in the firelight.
What a strange sight, thought Arantxe as she looked at the two sitting across from her. Khiyra was a shifty looking character, and something about him, told her not entirely human. There was no question about the female next to him, she was a half-orc, an oddly introverted and demure one at that.

“My name is Arantxe. What is your name?” she asked, politely.

Startled to see she was being addressed, the Half-Orc knocked over her beer. “Girt,” she said. “I’ve come from Dwarven lands in the west and I’m seeking the Order of Feix so I can continue on His path.”

What the f---?, thought Khiyra. He decided to put the bizarre tale out of his mind. “Well, I think you’re getting taken for a ride, big guy. I wouldn’t have done that job so cheap. But this journey has some potential to expand my horizons, somewhat.” He looked pointedly at Arantxe.

“Done! I will meet you at dawn. Supply yourselves well! I must take my leave. I only sleep under the stars.” And with that Ramsey departed.

There was some small talk between the three at the bar. At one point, a stunning barmaid placed a bowl of berries in front of Arantxe, whispered in her ear and walked away.

Damn, do I have to compete with everyone in the inn! Khiyra, thought.
“So, you have a room for tonight?” Khiyra said.

“Yes,” said Arantxe.

“Well, since we’ll be working together it would be best if we slept together, too. Do you think I could share your room?”

“I suppose that would be fine,” I must tread carefully with this one. “Girt, May I also extend my hospitality to you as well?”

Girt, observing the situation carefully, consented.

“Excellent.” Arantxe suppressed a sigh of relief.

Yeah. She wants me, thought Khiyra.

The Fox and Her Beloved

The party awoke at the break of day and assembled in the bar. Arantxe generously shared some of her rations with Girt and Khiyra. Ramsey recommended that Girt and Khiyra purchase their own rations for the journey. Girt stocked up. Khiyra, who already carried rations, decided to continue with his opportunistic feeding strategy.

The party set out shortly after. They traveled quietly. The land around them was well cultivated plains with a patch of trees here and there. They passed farms surrounded by green seas of new wheat and here and there a vegetable garden. At midday they managed to come to a small copse of trees and here they saw a strange and disturbing site.

The corpse of a man was seated with his back propped up against the tree. He wore rough spun robes. His cowl was pulled back revealing a golden and curly beard. Stranger still was the fox that was sitting next to him.

“Anyone ever had fox meat?” asked Khiyra. Then, “Anyone mind if I shoot this fox so I can see what’s on this guy --- I mean see what could have possibly killed him?”

The fox growled, bared her teeth, and addressed Khiyra, “Why is one of the fair race here? What do you want of my Omadan that you would disturb him from his rest?”

Khiyra held his hands up and stepped back. “Whoa, talking fox. Not good.”

“This is a Druid. I can tell by his dress,” said Ramsey.

“What happened here?” asked Arantxe, who was a little nervous about a talking fox.

“Men came, terrible men with steel. They killed my Omadan. Oh, the noise was terrible!” Her ears quivered and she shook with the memory.

“When did this happen?”

“Three days ago.”

“Yeah, I’m really sorry about that. So, does Omadan keep anything of value with him? Can you move aside so I can look?” Khiyra asked.

“Back away from my Omadan!” shrieked the fox.

“Thoughtless!” boomed Ramsey as he threw Khiyra a menacing look. “Druids are well respected by my people. I would not have this body desecrated. Fox, may we give this body a proper burial?”

“Yes. If that’s what his people would do,” she replied.

“Then you won’t mind if I search the body?” asked Khiyra.

“I mind!” said Ramsey.

Arantxe was puzzled. These were mysterious circumstances. A fox guarding a druid? “Tell me why you are here with the druid?” She asked the fox.

“Yes,” Girt chimed in. “This is something I have never seen.” I can’t wait to tell this tale when I reach the Dwarven stronghold in the North!

“Omadan is mine and I am his,” said the fox dreamily. “He is my beloved.”

“OK,” said Arantxe. “How is that possible? It seemed strange that a fox would love a man.”

“And, uh. How does a fox LOVE a man?” asked Girt. A battle? Fox-man sex? I could be destined to win the annual Orf Stonehand Storytelling Tournament.

“Karre granted me a human body at night so Omadan and I could consummate our love,” explained the Fox.

“Interesting,” Arantxe said. Arantxe felt sympathy for the fox and wondered at Karre’s purpose. She pet the distressed creature’s soft red fur.

Ramsey was busy digging a grave. Khiyra was pacing and looking impatient. “So what are you going to do now?”

“I must stay with my beloved,” the Fox said.

“Won’t you starve?” asked Girt.
“I must stay with my beloved,” the Fox repeated.

Arantxe, not sure what to do, handed the Fox some rations. “I would like to walk off alone for a bit and offer a devotional to Karre. She is my Goddess.”

Khiyra suddenly looked interested. He watched Arantxe move off into the woods. Ramsey called out to him, “Help me place the body in the grave.”

The body was buried and Arantxe returned. Ramsey said a few clumsy words about tree worshippers.

The Fox curled up on the grave and tucked her nose into her tail. The party was readying to move on when they heard a rustling in the trees. Everyone tensed.

Out popped a man in plain robes. He carried little with him. He did not seem surprised to see them.

“Stand behind me, little lady. I will protect you from this ruffian,” said Ramsey. Arantxe moved behind Ramsey and placed her hand coquettishly on his shoulder, peeking around his big bicep at the scene in front of her.

“Who are you?” growled Ramsey. “Are you responsible for this man’s death? What happened here?”

“I do not know, barbarian. I’m just going down this road.” Said the man.

“Likely story,” said Ramsey. “Tell me. What happened here?”

“Honestly, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Foxes happen all the time in the woods. You see a fox, you think, “Hey, I’m like in the woods, man.” Why should this be strange, barbarian?” he said.

“What is your purpose here, then?” asked Ramsey.

“I told you. I’m just going down the road. Apparently in the same direction you are. We should travel together,” said the man.

“What are you about? We have every right to be suspicious. A man was killed here,” said Girt.

“I’m a cleric of Andro. I just came from a village a few miles away where I was preaching. My name is Nephon.”

“Sounds harmless. Let’s get out of here. The fox creeps me out,” said Khiyra.

And so the party went on, the scene with the fox weighing on their minds…