The Burning of Markindale, Part I

The party awakened at dawn. They had camped about two miles outside Markindale on a low hill that overlooked the town and surrounding area.

Sionel sat up and brushed the dew off her clothing. “I think we should go to the Purple Moon. There is something underneath the inn, a dungeon or secret tunnel or something. That’s where Raul takes his addicts. I want to know what’s down there.”

"Why?" said Khiyra, lazily. "What difference does that make?"

"I know that caravan was connected to the drug trade and Raul deals Xain," she said. Ever since her conversation with the mad woman, Sionel had been trying to justify her actions. They were drug traders. They deserved to die. And that little halfling would have turned us in anyways...

"It sounds as though you may be known in Markindale." The voice came from the other side of the large tree they were camped under. Richard came out from behind the tree casting his thin shadow on Sionel's face.

"Yeah, word has probably gotten around by now," Khiyra said. "We're wanted." He shrugged. What else is new?

"I guess I won't be selling any crappy curios in the Markindale market anytime soon," said Zagros, who did not sound disappointed in the least. The past several days had been strangely more to his liking than life as a traveling peddlar.

Richard squatted down by Khiyra as he worked on a breakfast fire. "It would seem that someone with a more refined appearance should enter Markindale first."

Khiyra considered this. "What's your plan?"

"My manservant and I ride ahead and seek audience with the mayor as a traveler from a family of good reputation. I would be proposing to do business with him, perhaps. This would allow me access to the town hall and the Mayor's living quarters, since he would likely insist on putting me up himself, rather than have me stay in some filthy small town lodging. You could follow a while later and investigate this inn you speak of, though it sounds like a risky proposition," Richard finished.

Khiyra was uncertain about how much he could trust this man. He was likely to make off with the gold and the cyclops eye and leave himself and the others to hang. He said, "Tell the mayor that you would like to build a central sewage system for the town of Markindale." Zagros started laughing. Khiyra smirked. "It's no joke. That will give us access to everything in the city," he explained.

Richard gave Khiyra a look of disgust. "A person of my stature does not dig holes and trenches. I rather envisioned discussing the trade of rare magical artifacts with him."

"But do you have enough coin to convince the Mayor that you are a serious collector?" asked Sionel. Khiyra thought, Yes. How much is this man carrying with him?

Richard scoffed and then laughed. "I have enough. YOU do not need to know how much."

"Are you going to use your manservant on this mission? His skills could be quite useful to me in Markindale," said Sionel.

"Pearson comes with me," he said bluntly. "This will successfully get me into the Mayor's residence and Town Hall. If you place yourselves in the town after my arrival and stay low, I can send Pearson with messages and we can formulate a plan."

"Sounds good. Khiyra, you want to come with me to the Purple Moon?" asked Sionel.

"Yeah. I need to find this Ramshaw guy. He owes me money," said Khiyra.

The group set off towards town and continued discussing their plans. It was an very quiet morning in the borderland countryside.

"Ahhh, the day after Chariot Day. When Saros nurses her hangover..." said Zagros.

"So what do you all want out of this?" asked Khiyra. "Obviously, this cyclops' eye interests you very much," he said to Richard. "What do you want?" he asked the mad woman.

"Nothing. I follow him," she said twirling her fingers in Richard's stringy hair. He batted her away, scowling. She laughed. "Actually," said Richard, straightening his cowl, "I want to raise an undead army and destroy the world."

"Works for me," said Sionel.

"It is very important that I am not associated with the carnage of yesterday," urged Richard. "So no discussion of it from this moment forward."

"I need leeches," said Khiyra, ignoring Richard. "I need some blood leeched out of me, so I can be healed."

"I will visit the herbalist and see what potions I can obtain for healing," Richard offered.

"It's gotta be leeches," said Khiyra. "I can go myself."

As the party walked the mad woman walked in circles around the group. She seemed lost and uninterested in the conversation.

"What about you Centaur? Are you going into Markindale?" asked Khiyra.

"I'm Equus non-grata in Markindale, at the moment. I'll wait here with the crazy lady," Zagros replied.

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.