Stratos offered his hand and helped the wooden woman step from the tree. Though she still appeared to be a tree, miraculously grown into the shape of a woman, rather than something carved, she had taken on a more life-like semblance. Her eyes were no longer simply knots of wood, but slightly almond-shaped wooden eyes with slowly blinking wooden lids. She did not speak, or breathe, but merely followed stiffly behind Sibyl until told to do otherwise or physically guided in a new direction.
As they parted the curtain of drooping willow branches, the ancient centaur, Starmane, looked up at them from beside his table. Aelen waved to him and received a raised hand in acknowledgement. He did not seem to bear them ill-will for entering his grove and taking this living wood from the tree he was sworn to protect. He seemed content that honor had been satisfied, his oath had been fulfilled, and he had been beaten fairly. Without knowing their names, he could not give them a proper burial, and without giving them a proper burial, he could not slay them in combat.
He had been subtle and crafty in his attempts to coax the names of the intruders from them. But Aelen Stratos, Cathica Delver and Sibyl Destiny hid behind amusements and innuendo, thanks to the warning they had received. As they put him to their backs, Aelen truly hoped that one day Starmane would know his name, would see if written in the sky.
The corridor of trees turned again and the horde of phantom hobgoblins greeted them with snarling fangs and raised weapons. The wooden girl seemed not to notice them, or anything, and again, as they had been warned, Stratos and his companions remained peaceful. Without aggression to empower them, the illusory monsters parted before them, allowing them to pass back out of the grove.
They picked their way through the dim light until the dim light took on a faint red cast. From one side of the path to the other, the roses blocked their way out. Aelen inhaled the scent of the white rose he’d laced into his armor at the shoulder, the rose they had picked on the other side that gave them safe passage through the lulling scent of the deceptively deadly red roses.
Cirrus, and Cathica’s, as yet unnamed, horse waited in the dappled hall of trees beyond the grove. He mounted in a single leap and offered Sibyl his hand while Cathica directed the walking willow to climb up behind her in her saddle. They turned their mounts towards what had appeared as a dead-end behind them when they arrived. But it didn’t matter where they had come from.
The glade where the gnomes had feasted, and had rewarded kindness with aid, lay back the way they had come. The little fey had scattered at their approach, but emerged at Cathica’s fair words, and they had offered their knowledge of the Willow Glade if they could answer three riddles.
The more you take, the more you leave behind.
Sibyl has closed her eyes, moaning and swaying as she searched for some divination. Though the druidess seemed to know very little about prophecy, she soon answered: Steps.
He has married many, but never been married.
Cathica mulled it over in silence, but not for long. Comfortable with riddles, and wrapping herself in them oft-times, she answered: A priest.
Which is correct? The yolk of the egg is white, or the yolk of the egg are white?
Stratos cocked his head to the side, looking at the gnome. “But the yolk is yellow.”
The gnomes had been delighted and had shared their knowledge of the hidden glade with their taller fey cousins, and had given warnings of the three dangers and how to defeat them. They had also listened with fearful joy to the short tale of their encounter with a gnoll hunter. He had unleashed his twin wolves on the questing companions, and fought savagely to the death. Perhaps it had been hunting the gnomes, perhaps not, but Stratos suspected that they were as happy to be rid of a threat as they were to be entertained by the tale itself.
And far off now, three-day’s ride and unknown leagues away, was Ag Gecedi – Gateway – was the seat that Lord Summit ruled, and that he had vowed to abdicate in return for the willow-body and the breath of life that would let his mountain giant-daughter take elven form to court her love. Lady Cumulus had summoned Aelen to her side at court, her sweet breath blowing in his ear as she whispered to him. He would have companions, allies from the Court of Trees, who would help. And when he had returned, Cumulus and Rowan could work the magic that would show true love the way, and open the path for new powers in Gateway.
But their path did not turn back towards Ag Gecedi yet. From the deepest glade they must travel to the highest peak, there to lure the breath that gives life. He looked at his companions, two women who had shown cunning and bravery on this adventure.
Cathica he had seen across the court the very morning that Lady Cumulus had sent him on this quest. She was as remote and cold as her silvery garments, but she was born to serve the Moon Court, lost these last fourteen centuries. She’d ridden into the deep feywild in search of inspiration for the artists she served, and had been lost. Sucked into the feywild like a leaf ripped from a branch in a storm, and like a leaf deposited in a far off field by that wind, she had been returned…over a thousand years late.
She claimed not to be an artist herself, but she carried a silver flute, which spoke as fair and sweetly as her voice. She claimed not to be a warrior, but she used her scimitar with consummate grace. She’d fended Aelen off with riddles at first, but as the moon’s face changed, she shed her demeanor and adopted a new one.
Sibyl was much less a mystery, though she pretended to it more. When asked a question, the answer did not come without her eyes rolling back into her head, her body swaying as if wind-blown, and then a whispered riddle for answer. A druidess raised by tigers in the jungles of the feywild, Aelen was not sure where she derived her preoccupation with the future. It made for a fun sort of guessing-game.
In battle, Sybil was almost another creature entirely. Well, to the point, she quite physically was. Though she could command the thunderous fury of nature, she could also shape-shift into a massive golden tiger. She struck quickly and directly, charging into the fight with feline speed and ferocious strength. If Stratos had not seen the oracular woman become the mighty cat, he would not have believed them to be the same person.
It was all fascinating. Though the sword-artists missed his old companions, he found his new allies to be intriguing and resourceful. Whatever challenges stood before them on the second half of their quest, he had confidence that they would triumph. And beautifully so.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Thursday, April 2, 2009
The Court of Winds
Aelen leapt, hurling his body parallel to the floor, strands of silk whipping around him, blades slashing the air even as he flew. He landed, flicking his swords behind him, then spun on his heel, low to the ground, his swords skimming the mirrored floor.
It was his first real battle, his first performance in the Unwild. Spiders in the Feyrun forest had been driven to attack the village of Aberholme and had carried off several mortal men and women to be cocooned and drained of their lives when the spiders got hungry. Stratos recreated the scene, leaping away from the remembered beasts, his lithe body bending away just enough to show how close the poison-dripping mandibles had come.
He heard and felt the crowd gasp in enjoyment. Baltyr Collandros was watching as well. The ancient troubadour was the most gifted musician in the Court of Winds and the current favorite of Lady Cumulus. Aelen was still enjoying her recent patronage, but he was still new to the center stage of the Skylands. Stratos had considered asking Collandros to perform with him, joining his music to Aelen’s sword-dance. But Aelen knew his status was not so great yet.
The young sword-artist cartwheeled over an implied opponent, slashing downwards as he flipped. With the patronage of the Queen of Clouds, Lady Cumulus, he had the time and resources to refine his art. The bulky iron armor that had protected him from the newborn lich now stood on a stand in a hallway of the Skyland, displayed for all to see who had missed the performance. Lady Cumulus had gifted Stratos with sylvan armor in its place. Beautiful hides and leather made from the most dangerous creatures of the Feywild; the subtle greens and browns shifting with an almost inner light. To this Aelen added fresh silk ribbons, wrapping himself in bright color. He still carried the sword that he had bathed in fiery elum, so that its blade cut deeper than normal steel. The Cloud Queen herself had imbued her favor, the could-silk scarf she gave him at the outset of his performance, with her own elum, granting him her protection as well as favor.
He had received gifts of gold and clothes, he had his own chambers in her Court in the Sky, and when she traveled the Feywild, visiting Gateway and the courts of the Eldarin and her fellow Elemental lords, he attended her, ready to perform at her whim or those of her peers.
But as dashed across the floor, blades slashing to the left and right, moving across the battlefield in his mind, he thought that it lacked something. True, this was beautiful. The courtiers looked on with admiration, and he had received praise from his fellow sword-artists as well – though there were as many purists who thought that he sullied the art by engaging in true battle like a soldier. But this performance was only an imitation of the true art that he had experienced and that the court had watched from the clouds. Could this mere rendition compare to what they had seen then? Here, the only thing at stake was his reputation and the favor of his Lady. Risking his life had added a zest to the performance that he had not felt since.
And more, there had been the camaraderie of his companions. Sasha, Leilia, and Argent. The dynamic of the group who had, by a glorious accident of fate, been thrown together into the jaws of mystery, had added a richness to the performance. Aelen thought about asking other sword artists to join him in dance, to play the parts of the Guardswoman, the Scholarly Thief, and the Humble Hunter. Perhaps he could infuse a little more life into the art.
The young artist landed after a fantastic leap, his blades freezing in the pose of the last, victorious strikes. He panned his gaze around the room, seeing each of his fallen foes and counting the dead, before he sheathed his blades in a whirl of glinting steel. He bowed deeply as the courtiers offered their applause and music lifted upwards.
There was really no substitute for adventure. Once it had only been seen as a duty to one’s patron or lord, or as the necessity of a soldier or ranger. Now seeking out trouble and danger brought glory and fame. Aelen knew that soon he would have to set out again, striving to outdo himself. Other sword-artists had already announced their intention to follow.
He looked across the court, satisfied that he had pleased his Lady, and content to let another of her courtiers take the stage for now. Perhaps someday he would replace Collandros as her favorite. But his gaze stopped on a young Eladrin woman across the room. She was wrapped in clothes of sheer white, pale lavender and soft blue-white. A scimitar rested against one hip, but her hand rested, not on the weapon, but on a silver flute stuck through the sash at her waist. She was looking at him with a troubled frown on her face.
Stratos resolved to seek another adventure. Soon the pale woman and everyone else would have a new story, a new performance, to smile about.
It was his first real battle, his first performance in the Unwild. Spiders in the Feyrun forest had been driven to attack the village of Aberholme and had carried off several mortal men and women to be cocooned and drained of their lives when the spiders got hungry. Stratos recreated the scene, leaping away from the remembered beasts, his lithe body bending away just enough to show how close the poison-dripping mandibles had come.
He heard and felt the crowd gasp in enjoyment. Baltyr Collandros was watching as well. The ancient troubadour was the most gifted musician in the Court of Winds and the current favorite of Lady Cumulus. Aelen was still enjoying her recent patronage, but he was still new to the center stage of the Skylands. Stratos had considered asking Collandros to perform with him, joining his music to Aelen’s sword-dance. But Aelen knew his status was not so great yet.
The young sword-artist cartwheeled over an implied opponent, slashing downwards as he flipped. With the patronage of the Queen of Clouds, Lady Cumulus, he had the time and resources to refine his art. The bulky iron armor that had protected him from the newborn lich now stood on a stand in a hallway of the Skyland, displayed for all to see who had missed the performance. Lady Cumulus had gifted Stratos with sylvan armor in its place. Beautiful hides and leather made from the most dangerous creatures of the Feywild; the subtle greens and browns shifting with an almost inner light. To this Aelen added fresh silk ribbons, wrapping himself in bright color. He still carried the sword that he had bathed in fiery elum, so that its blade cut deeper than normal steel. The Cloud Queen herself had imbued her favor, the could-silk scarf she gave him at the outset of his performance, with her own elum, granting him her protection as well as favor.
He had received gifts of gold and clothes, he had his own chambers in her Court in the Sky, and when she traveled the Feywild, visiting Gateway and the courts of the Eldarin and her fellow Elemental lords, he attended her, ready to perform at her whim or those of her peers.
But as dashed across the floor, blades slashing to the left and right, moving across the battlefield in his mind, he thought that it lacked something. True, this was beautiful. The courtiers looked on with admiration, and he had received praise from his fellow sword-artists as well – though there were as many purists who thought that he sullied the art by engaging in true battle like a soldier. But this performance was only an imitation of the true art that he had experienced and that the court had watched from the clouds. Could this mere rendition compare to what they had seen then? Here, the only thing at stake was his reputation and the favor of his Lady. Risking his life had added a zest to the performance that he had not felt since.
And more, there had been the camaraderie of his companions. Sasha, Leilia, and Argent. The dynamic of the group who had, by a glorious accident of fate, been thrown together into the jaws of mystery, had added a richness to the performance. Aelen thought about asking other sword artists to join him in dance, to play the parts of the Guardswoman, the Scholarly Thief, and the Humble Hunter. Perhaps he could infuse a little more life into the art.
The young artist landed after a fantastic leap, his blades freezing in the pose of the last, victorious strikes. He panned his gaze around the room, seeing each of his fallen foes and counting the dead, before he sheathed his blades in a whirl of glinting steel. He bowed deeply as the courtiers offered their applause and music lifted upwards.
There was really no substitute for adventure. Once it had only been seen as a duty to one’s patron or lord, or as the necessity of a soldier or ranger. Now seeking out trouble and danger brought glory and fame. Aelen knew that soon he would have to set out again, striving to outdo himself. Other sword-artists had already announced their intention to follow.
He looked across the court, satisfied that he had pleased his Lady, and content to let another of her courtiers take the stage for now. Perhaps someday he would replace Collandros as her favorite. But his gaze stopped on a young Eladrin woman across the room. She was wrapped in clothes of sheer white, pale lavender and soft blue-white. A scimitar rested against one hip, but her hand rested, not on the weapon, but on a silver flute stuck through the sash at her waist. She was looking at him with a troubled frown on her face.
Stratos resolved to seek another adventure. Soon the pale woman and everyone else would have a new story, a new performance, to smile about.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Curtain
Delicate, gold and silver notes swirled around the palace of Lady Cumulus. Aelen closed his eyes and enjoyed the music floating around him like a stray breeze. He heard the sound of his own boots on the polished floor and noted the difference in his stride. His steps were as measured and sure as they had ever been, they but rang on the marble with a note of confidence. His hair was washed and brushed and shone like polished gold in the daylight and bright silks wrapped his body. But the ribbons and sashes were layered over the black iron armor that had protected him in the Unwild. The long, gracefully curved sword on his back had known blood.
His silver eyes opened again and he smiled at the court around him. Warlocks, scholars, warriors and troubadours gathered around. Each Eladrin inclined their head with a smile, acknowledging him. Fey courtiers flashed smiles of their own. He saw Lord Butterfly and Lord Aspen in attendance. Aelen Stratos reached the center of the gilded room and dropped to one knee. A faint wind stirred the dangling ends of the cloud-silk scarf around his neck.
“Your art?”
Aelen smiled at Lady Cumulus. “I traveled to the Unwild and met brave companions. We fell into a mystery – a deadly threat from their recent past. There were savage beasts, horrifying undead monsters, and terrible magic. Together, we fought and triumphed.”
“Yes,” The Fey Lady said.
“Every battle was done in your name, and every battle was a test of my skill. Each cut and slice was as beautiful as I could make it.”
“Your art?”
Stratos smiled as he thought of all he had seen and done. Sasha, Leilia and Argent… There was so much more to the adventure than swordsmanship…and all of it beautiful. He felt the touch of Lady Cumulus in his thoughts.
At an invisible signal the music began again and a warm breeze feathered Aelen’s cheeks. He rose as the court began to applaud. With the patronage of Lady Cumulus there would be a position at court, and plenty of gold to pay for books and stories of the Unwild. There were other performances out there…other adventures to be had.
His silver eyes opened again and he smiled at the court around him. Warlocks, scholars, warriors and troubadours gathered around. Each Eladrin inclined their head with a smile, acknowledging him. Fey courtiers flashed smiles of their own. He saw Lord Butterfly and Lord Aspen in attendance. Aelen Stratos reached the center of the gilded room and dropped to one knee. A faint wind stirred the dangling ends of the cloud-silk scarf around his neck.
“Your art?”
Aelen smiled at Lady Cumulus. “I traveled to the Unwild and met brave companions. We fell into a mystery – a deadly threat from their recent past. There were savage beasts, horrifying undead monsters, and terrible magic. Together, we fought and triumphed.”
“Yes,” The Fey Lady said.
“Every battle was done in your name, and every battle was a test of my skill. Each cut and slice was as beautiful as I could make it.”
“Your art?”
Stratos smiled as he thought of all he had seen and done. Sasha, Leilia and Argent… There was so much more to the adventure than swordsmanship…and all of it beautiful. He felt the touch of Lady Cumulus in his thoughts.
At an invisible signal the music began again and a warm breeze feathered Aelen’s cheeks. He rose as the court began to applaud. With the patronage of Lady Cumulus there would be a position at court, and plenty of gold to pay for books and stories of the Unwild. There were other performances out there…other adventures to be had.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Offstage
Aelen thought that the performance was going well. He came to the Unwild to seek an adventure, an arena where he could use his dueling skills against real foes and dangers. Stratos had a great respect for the Eladrin army, but the art of blade dancers and sword artists went beyond their practical grace.
The young virtuoso was delighted that the Gods had delivered him a great quest. This performance went beyond mere sword dances and duels, and added a layer of mystery to be unraveled. It would be a performance in more ways than one. Of course, Stratos was trained with a blade, and he knew that he would need these companions to do more than just compliment his performance. They had roles of their own in discovering more about this necromancer and in defeating her.
In particular, Leilia was proving to be entertaining. What luck that they should rescue a person who knew her way around the great library of Perrington and who was adept at sifting parchment and pages for the knowledge they sought. And for all she professed that she was not the rival of Stratos, she took every opportunity to engage him in a duel of wits, an art she was much more proficient in than battle.
Aelen admired her. For all her great youth, she was warlock to a powerful figure in the Elemental Courts, and her magical skill was commendable. Her love of books had given her an education as extensive, if not as formal, as Eladrin schooling and her mind was keen. Her vorpal tongue and penchant for thievery and lies added spice to the adventure. And she was not at all unattractive. Stratos wondered if the teifling would consider a liaison.
But Stratos was beginning to enjoy himself even when they were not busy investigating this new necromancer, fighting her minions, or tweaking Lady Vestae’s servant. Argent had shown an unprecedented interest in the arts, perhaps inspired by Aelen’s style and eye for beauty. He found the human play interesting, especially as it was about the fall of the empire of the dragonborn. Their carved wooden masks were intricately done, with each scale carved deeply into the wood, with every fang and frill standing out. Long silken cords served as dragonborn tendrils and each mask was painted in bright colors so it could be seen by the furthest spectators. The actors voices boomed through the masks and Stratos was delighted. While masks might have muffled the voices of the players like a helmet, the dragon-like snouts were carved like horns, to enhance their voices and deepen them. With only a slight suspension of disbelief, one might be looking at real dragonborn actors on the stage. If only they had taken more care to make their blade-work uphold the drama as well.
He found the party afterwards just as intriguing. It wasn’t very lavish; they had probably spent less than one of those strange gold coins they used with pictures of human heads on them. The food, however, was new and strange, much richer than the simple fare they had been served in Aberholme, and music was exotic and exciting.
Stratos spent some time rubbing Leilia the wrong way, but for most of the evening he found himself circling Sasha like the bright flame she appeared as.
There was a gentle rapping at the door. She was here at last. Stratos looked himself over in the mirror once more. His golden-blonde hair fell down his back, a neat braid laying against the blanket of hair. He had chosen to wear a pair of loose, flowing trousers of silk in a sea blue, with a wide sash of darker blue around his waist.
“Come in,” he called.
Sasha seemed also to have dressed ready both for sport and beauty. Her leggings were loose pants, slit open on the sides with a tie at the hip, knee, and ankle, holding them from flying open, but leaving her leg visible from top to bottom. The hem of her shirt was just under her breasts, showing Aelen the familiar sight of her toned stomach, and it tied behind her neck, leaving her arms and back bare. She brought her sword with her and Aelen looked at the simple blade. It was well cared for, but plain. A long straight sword, sharpened on both sides, unadorned by etchings or any other decoration. It was perhaps two-thirds the length of Aelen’s longer, gently curved sword. Even the scabbard was plain; well oiled brown leather without marking or embellishment.
“Good evening, Sasha. Come and stand next to me and face the mirror.” He stepped aside and made room for her. They stood in front of the mirror and Stratos took a moment to appreciate the effect; Sasha in red and he in blue, their hair a matching gold. He lifted his sword in one hand to match her style and he began.
Stratos wasn’t sure why Sasha was so driven to change the perception the people of the Unwild seemed to have of teiflings. It was reasonable enough to wish that she and her people could be respected. Stratos himself had met with some suspicion from Sasha herself, because his people had little business in the Unwild, and most of what brought them here, the people did not understand. He smiled at the mild hypocrisy of Sasha’s initial reaction to him as he shifted the point of his sword to bring it into a position that both guarded him and drew a line of silver between him and his reflection. Sasha mimicked him, taking a moment longer to find the position herself. When she did, the gleaming edge made a radiant line in front of her.
Stratos slipped the point of his sword to offer his imaginary opponent an opening, a lure to draw them in. He watched Sasha, wondering why she seemed to take her quest so personally. Her goal was understandable, but she was so invested in it that Leilia’s very nature - secretive, shifty, and to hell with it - drove her to shouting. Stratos thought that the Guardsman might even throw herself at the younger girl in anger. But at the same time, when Sasha was young, she had someone cut off her tail on purpose, and even now she plated her horns in gold. At first glance it was sometimes hard to tell that she was a teifling at all. It was almost as if she did not want to be one of the people that she was so intent on elevating in public opinion.
He shrugged to himself. He wasn’t certain he would ever understand the people of the Unwild, no matter how many questions he asked.
“No, no, forgive me,” He said, as Sasha imitated his shrug. “I was only shrugging.”
“At what?” she asked.
“My thoughts.” He smiled at her, but she was looking at him, apparently unsatisfied with his answer. As she usually was. He chose not to air his sigh out loud, lest he confuse her more.
“Try this guard position, Sasha. It will make you look very bold and imposing.” Stratos held his sword over his head, tip pointing over his head like the tail of a maticore.
Aelen resolved to try to understand her motives better. He liked Sasha and the others. If she thought it important to present an awe-inspiring vision of a teifling, then he would help her.
The young virtuoso was delighted that the Gods had delivered him a great quest. This performance went beyond mere sword dances and duels, and added a layer of mystery to be unraveled. It would be a performance in more ways than one. Of course, Stratos was trained with a blade, and he knew that he would need these companions to do more than just compliment his performance. They had roles of their own in discovering more about this necromancer and in defeating her.
In particular, Leilia was proving to be entertaining. What luck that they should rescue a person who knew her way around the great library of Perrington and who was adept at sifting parchment and pages for the knowledge they sought. And for all she professed that she was not the rival of Stratos, she took every opportunity to engage him in a duel of wits, an art she was much more proficient in than battle.
Aelen admired her. For all her great youth, she was warlock to a powerful figure in the Elemental Courts, and her magical skill was commendable. Her love of books had given her an education as extensive, if not as formal, as Eladrin schooling and her mind was keen. Her vorpal tongue and penchant for thievery and lies added spice to the adventure. And she was not at all unattractive. Stratos wondered if the teifling would consider a liaison.
But Stratos was beginning to enjoy himself even when they were not busy investigating this new necromancer, fighting her minions, or tweaking Lady Vestae’s servant. Argent had shown an unprecedented interest in the arts, perhaps inspired by Aelen’s style and eye for beauty. He found the human play interesting, especially as it was about the fall of the empire of the dragonborn. Their carved wooden masks were intricately done, with each scale carved deeply into the wood, with every fang and frill standing out. Long silken cords served as dragonborn tendrils and each mask was painted in bright colors so it could be seen by the furthest spectators. The actors voices boomed through the masks and Stratos was delighted. While masks might have muffled the voices of the players like a helmet, the dragon-like snouts were carved like horns, to enhance their voices and deepen them. With only a slight suspension of disbelief, one might be looking at real dragonborn actors on the stage. If only they had taken more care to make their blade-work uphold the drama as well.
He found the party afterwards just as intriguing. It wasn’t very lavish; they had probably spent less than one of those strange gold coins they used with pictures of human heads on them. The food, however, was new and strange, much richer than the simple fare they had been served in Aberholme, and music was exotic and exciting.
Stratos spent some time rubbing Leilia the wrong way, but for most of the evening he found himself circling Sasha like the bright flame she appeared as.
There was a gentle rapping at the door. She was here at last. Stratos looked himself over in the mirror once more. His golden-blonde hair fell down his back, a neat braid laying against the blanket of hair. He had chosen to wear a pair of loose, flowing trousers of silk in a sea blue, with a wide sash of darker blue around his waist.
“Come in,” he called.
Sasha seemed also to have dressed ready both for sport and beauty. Her leggings were loose pants, slit open on the sides with a tie at the hip, knee, and ankle, holding them from flying open, but leaving her leg visible from top to bottom. The hem of her shirt was just under her breasts, showing Aelen the familiar sight of her toned stomach, and it tied behind her neck, leaving her arms and back bare. She brought her sword with her and Aelen looked at the simple blade. It was well cared for, but plain. A long straight sword, sharpened on both sides, unadorned by etchings or any other decoration. It was perhaps two-thirds the length of Aelen’s longer, gently curved sword. Even the scabbard was plain; well oiled brown leather without marking or embellishment.
“Good evening, Sasha. Come and stand next to me and face the mirror.” He stepped aside and made room for her. They stood in front of the mirror and Stratos took a moment to appreciate the effect; Sasha in red and he in blue, their hair a matching gold. He lifted his sword in one hand to match her style and he began.
Stratos wasn’t sure why Sasha was so driven to change the perception the people of the Unwild seemed to have of teiflings. It was reasonable enough to wish that she and her people could be respected. Stratos himself had met with some suspicion from Sasha herself, because his people had little business in the Unwild, and most of what brought them here, the people did not understand. He smiled at the mild hypocrisy of Sasha’s initial reaction to him as he shifted the point of his sword to bring it into a position that both guarded him and drew a line of silver between him and his reflection. Sasha mimicked him, taking a moment longer to find the position herself. When she did, the gleaming edge made a radiant line in front of her.
Stratos slipped the point of his sword to offer his imaginary opponent an opening, a lure to draw them in. He watched Sasha, wondering why she seemed to take her quest so personally. Her goal was understandable, but she was so invested in it that Leilia’s very nature - secretive, shifty, and to hell with it - drove her to shouting. Stratos thought that the Guardsman might even throw herself at the younger girl in anger. But at the same time, when Sasha was young, she had someone cut off her tail on purpose, and even now she plated her horns in gold. At first glance it was sometimes hard to tell that she was a teifling at all. It was almost as if she did not want to be one of the people that she was so intent on elevating in public opinion.
He shrugged to himself. He wasn’t certain he would ever understand the people of the Unwild, no matter how many questions he asked.
“No, no, forgive me,” He said, as Sasha imitated his shrug. “I was only shrugging.”
“At what?” she asked.
“My thoughts.” He smiled at her, but she was looking at him, apparently unsatisfied with his answer. As she usually was. He chose not to air his sigh out loud, lest he confuse her more.
“Try this guard position, Sasha. It will make you look very bold and imposing.” Stratos held his sword over his head, tip pointing over his head like the tail of a maticore.
Aelen resolved to try to understand her motives better. He liked Sasha and the others. If she thought it important to present an awe-inspiring vision of a teifling, then he would help her.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
A Commentary on the Necromancer War By Argus Tanglebeard
Though the Necromancer War lasted for less than a year, it would have a tremendous impact in, not only the Kingdom of Umberlyne, but the neighboring kingdoms as well. Indeed, ripples from the Necromancer war were felt all across our world. New species of undead creatures were loosed into the world, and terrible beings who only manifested occasionally, were now encountered with greater frequency. Even now, forty years later, the impact can be felt in many ways, not the least of which has been the birth of the tradition of cremation for the dead and the dissolution of the Necromancers Guild.
The war itself was characterized by mistaken assumptions and unpreparedness, particularly in the early battles. In hindsight, the lead-up to the war seems obvious, yet the key figures of the time missed several important warning signs.
The rise of Gavin the Fair to the seat of Guild Master was a minor scandal at the time, but had much greater import. His methods were not only slanderous, but ruthless, as he systematically ostracized and cut off the previous Guild Master from his supporters. Unsubstantiated rumors imply that during his campaign for the Master’s seat key supporters of his rival disappeared. Perhaps most foretelling was Gavin’s platform of advanced research. Until the time of the Necromancer War, their guild had performed a scholarly and utilitarian function, and had much less influence in the affairs of Umberlyne than the more powerful parent guild of the wizards, or the Guardsmen Guild.
Gavin the Fair emphasized research into necromantic powers and beings, advocating deeper research into the celestial beings governing death, the process by which undead rose in the wild, and their powers. He claimed that the Necromancers Guild was being held back. But at that time, the Guild performed its functions perfectly: Raising the dead with respect and the permission of the deceased or their family for use in hazardous mining and construction, and even defense of the city, and the study of dangerous undead which rose outside the control of the guild, offering means and ways for the Guardsmen to dispatch them and safeguard Umberlyne. What more did the Necromancers need?
Power. Gavin made the search for greater power and prestige very apparent in his campaign for leadership of the guild, yet at the time no one thought to question to what use this power would be put.
After he won the Guild Master’s chair, things appeared to return to normal. The guild continued to perform its functions and the change in leadership had no external effect on the society of Umberlyne.
But as much as four months before the onset of the war, the Necromancers Guild became suspect in suspicious activities. Over the five years that Gavin the Fair was Guild Master of the Necromancers, communications between the Necromancers and Mages Guilds dropped forty percent without notice. But if their increasing secrecy went unnoticed, the grave robbery and the rise in disappearances amongst vagrants and travelers did not. However, it took months for the Guardsmen to link these events to agents of the Necromancers Guild with even the most tenuous threads.
Finally, the people of Umberlyne had enough. Some historians argue that it was pressure on the king from the Wizards Guild to shut down their rival; that the mages were threatened by the smaller guild’s advancement and feared that the organization that was once no more than a branch of their own guild would grow to outshine them. Others cite the Churches’ outrage at the treatment of the dead. Some accounts even claim that the crackdown on the Necromancers was instigated by a group of wealthy merchants and nobles whose wives had “run afoul” of Gavin the Fair. Whatever the pressures and circumstances leading up to it, the King decreed that the Necromancers Guild would be dissolved.
Making the inn forever famous, the King and his advisors commandeered the Blazing Hearth tavern as headquarters for the confrontation. Here, Umberlyne first underestimated the Necromancers Guild. A small contingent of Guardsmen planned and led the approach, but relied on contracted mercenaries, and few of them even of the Shining Blades, as back up. Most of these non-guild enforcers would find themselves not up to the challenge, with some few notable exceptions.
The Guardsmen approached the Guildhall’s front doors to present the charges and to arrest every single Necromancer. Small groups of mercenaries and hired blades were stationed around the Guildhall to prevent the escape of anyone who fled and as backup if needed, but note that each group was only a small handful of warriors with only one Shining Blade for every five without guild training.
The Guardsmen instantly met with fierce resistance and summoned their back up. The fighting ranged from room to room and corridor to corridor inside the Guildhall. Necromancer acolytes and servitors put up unexpectedly organized resistance and the fully trained Guardsmen were given pause. An arrest that was expected to be carried out within the hour, instead took until well past dawn before all of the Necromancers were rounded up or slain.
It was during what would later be recognized as the first battle of the Necromancer War that three independent soldiers would distinguish themselves and place their mark on history. Led by the Dragonborn Palladin Rianna, one of the small groups penetrated deeper into the chambers beneath the Guildhall than the Guardsmen, who were being stymied on the first level. With Jordan of the Shining Blade and Kray Toryn, they attacked from the eastern face of the Guildhall.
All of the Necromancers resisted arrest, fighting to the death, and Rianna’s band pressed onwards, hoping to find and capture Gavin the Fair. In what seemed to be the lowest chamber of the Guildhall (another assumption by the Guardsmen, and one that would prove to their sorrow in later months), they encountered a Necromancer performing a ritual never seen before. Though they were able to kill the Necromancer and her acolytes, she rose almost instantly as a powerful undead mage, a being which would come to be known as a lich.
While Rianna, Kray, and Jordan survived the ordeal and vanquished the lich, both they, and the Guardsmen and wizards who occupied the Guildhall afterwards, failed to recognize the importance of the ruby that was the centerpiece of the ritual. Rianna and her band would come to face this lich three times before the secret of the phylactery was discovered and she was permanently killed.
After that night, the King declared that the Necromancers Guild was no more. All functions of that guild returned to the Wizards and the Guardsmen announced that the necromancers were defeated. The manhunt for Gavin the Fair, who somehow escaped the attack on the Guildhall, was considered mere mopping up by the Guardsmen.
Their ignorance would not last for long, however, and Gavin soon returned to make Umberlyne aware that it was at war.
However, out of this first battle, important lessons were learned. Though taken by surprise by the return of Gavin (who would quickly come to be known as “the Terrible”) and his undead forces, the Guardsmen learned not to underestimate him.
This first skirmish also saw the appearance of new heroes; Rianna and Kray Toryn, who would rise through the ranks in Umberlyne and lead several important battles. Their battlefield proposal and marriage has lived on in songs as well as history. Jordan of the Shining Blade would also appear again and again in the war, continuing her partnership with Rianna and Kray and establishing the effectiveness of small-unit tactics against the Necromancers. Her seduction and attempted assassination of Gavin are well-known.
But at the time of the return of Gavin the Terrible and the second battle of the Necromancer War, this trio of new heroes were still unimportant foot soldiers…
The war itself was characterized by mistaken assumptions and unpreparedness, particularly in the early battles. In hindsight, the lead-up to the war seems obvious, yet the key figures of the time missed several important warning signs.
The rise of Gavin the Fair to the seat of Guild Master was a minor scandal at the time, but had much greater import. His methods were not only slanderous, but ruthless, as he systematically ostracized and cut off the previous Guild Master from his supporters. Unsubstantiated rumors imply that during his campaign for the Master’s seat key supporters of his rival disappeared. Perhaps most foretelling was Gavin’s platform of advanced research. Until the time of the Necromancer War, their guild had performed a scholarly and utilitarian function, and had much less influence in the affairs of Umberlyne than the more powerful parent guild of the wizards, or the Guardsmen Guild.
Gavin the Fair emphasized research into necromantic powers and beings, advocating deeper research into the celestial beings governing death, the process by which undead rose in the wild, and their powers. He claimed that the Necromancers Guild was being held back. But at that time, the Guild performed its functions perfectly: Raising the dead with respect and the permission of the deceased or their family for use in hazardous mining and construction, and even defense of the city, and the study of dangerous undead which rose outside the control of the guild, offering means and ways for the Guardsmen to dispatch them and safeguard Umberlyne. What more did the Necromancers need?
Power. Gavin made the search for greater power and prestige very apparent in his campaign for leadership of the guild, yet at the time no one thought to question to what use this power would be put.
After he won the Guild Master’s chair, things appeared to return to normal. The guild continued to perform its functions and the change in leadership had no external effect on the society of Umberlyne.
But as much as four months before the onset of the war, the Necromancers Guild became suspect in suspicious activities. Over the five years that Gavin the Fair was Guild Master of the Necromancers, communications between the Necromancers and Mages Guilds dropped forty percent without notice. But if their increasing secrecy went unnoticed, the grave robbery and the rise in disappearances amongst vagrants and travelers did not. However, it took months for the Guardsmen to link these events to agents of the Necromancers Guild with even the most tenuous threads.
Finally, the people of Umberlyne had enough. Some historians argue that it was pressure on the king from the Wizards Guild to shut down their rival; that the mages were threatened by the smaller guild’s advancement and feared that the organization that was once no more than a branch of their own guild would grow to outshine them. Others cite the Churches’ outrage at the treatment of the dead. Some accounts even claim that the crackdown on the Necromancers was instigated by a group of wealthy merchants and nobles whose wives had “run afoul” of Gavin the Fair. Whatever the pressures and circumstances leading up to it, the King decreed that the Necromancers Guild would be dissolved.
Making the inn forever famous, the King and his advisors commandeered the Blazing Hearth tavern as headquarters for the confrontation. Here, Umberlyne first underestimated the Necromancers Guild. A small contingent of Guardsmen planned and led the approach, but relied on contracted mercenaries, and few of them even of the Shining Blades, as back up. Most of these non-guild enforcers would find themselves not up to the challenge, with some few notable exceptions.
The Guardsmen approached the Guildhall’s front doors to present the charges and to arrest every single Necromancer. Small groups of mercenaries and hired blades were stationed around the Guildhall to prevent the escape of anyone who fled and as backup if needed, but note that each group was only a small handful of warriors with only one Shining Blade for every five without guild training.
The Guardsmen instantly met with fierce resistance and summoned their back up. The fighting ranged from room to room and corridor to corridor inside the Guildhall. Necromancer acolytes and servitors put up unexpectedly organized resistance and the fully trained Guardsmen were given pause. An arrest that was expected to be carried out within the hour, instead took until well past dawn before all of the Necromancers were rounded up or slain.
It was during what would later be recognized as the first battle of the Necromancer War that three independent soldiers would distinguish themselves and place their mark on history. Led by the Dragonborn Palladin Rianna, one of the small groups penetrated deeper into the chambers beneath the Guildhall than the Guardsmen, who were being stymied on the first level. With Jordan of the Shining Blade and Kray Toryn, they attacked from the eastern face of the Guildhall.
All of the Necromancers resisted arrest, fighting to the death, and Rianna’s band pressed onwards, hoping to find and capture Gavin the Fair. In what seemed to be the lowest chamber of the Guildhall (another assumption by the Guardsmen, and one that would prove to their sorrow in later months), they encountered a Necromancer performing a ritual never seen before. Though they were able to kill the Necromancer and her acolytes, she rose almost instantly as a powerful undead mage, a being which would come to be known as a lich.
While Rianna, Kray, and Jordan survived the ordeal and vanquished the lich, both they, and the Guardsmen and wizards who occupied the Guildhall afterwards, failed to recognize the importance of the ruby that was the centerpiece of the ritual. Rianna and her band would come to face this lich three times before the secret of the phylactery was discovered and she was permanently killed.
After that night, the King declared that the Necromancers Guild was no more. All functions of that guild returned to the Wizards and the Guardsmen announced that the necromancers were defeated. The manhunt for Gavin the Fair, who somehow escaped the attack on the Guildhall, was considered mere mopping up by the Guardsmen.
Their ignorance would not last for long, however, and Gavin soon returned to make Umberlyne aware that it was at war.
However, out of this first battle, important lessons were learned. Though taken by surprise by the return of Gavin (who would quickly come to be known as “the Terrible”) and his undead forces, the Guardsmen learned not to underestimate him.
This first skirmish also saw the appearance of new heroes; Rianna and Kray Toryn, who would rise through the ranks in Umberlyne and lead several important battles. Their battlefield proposal and marriage has lived on in songs as well as history. Jordan of the Shining Blade would also appear again and again in the war, continuing her partnership with Rianna and Kray and establishing the effectiveness of small-unit tactics against the Necromancers. Her seduction and attempted assassination of Gavin are well-known.
But at the time of the return of Gavin the Terrible and the second battle of the Necromancer War, this trio of new heroes were still unimportant foot soldiers…
Monday, October 13, 2008
Adventure and Intrigue
Though the Unwild, with its strange customs and new experiences, was difficult for Stratos, he left Aberholme feeling pleased. They had rescued someone else, a young tiefling girl and now he felt that the cast was complete.
To welcome any more companions would dilute the performance, but each of the adventurers on the road with him now contributed uniquely to the performance. He was particularly excited about Leilia, the newest companion. She was a tiefling, like Sasha, and she provided perfect counterpoint to her. Where Sasha was noble to a fault, vigorous and forward, Leilia was furtive and timid, quick to flinch and slow to trust. She was every inch the shiftless and untrustworthy tiefling stereotype that Sasha was trying to change. Aelen was sure that the two of them would lock horns, black against gold, many times. Sasha’s intense plea to show the Unwild a better kind of tiefling and her enraged outburst were beautiful. Such drama! And all of it perfectly real and unfeigned.
Leilia seemed indifferent to Sasha’s quest, but respectful of her anger. Still, she was secretive by nature, resisting every effort to learn who she was. Aelen pried into her eagerly, excited at having another mystery. To his delight, he discovered that she was a warlock, and that her pact tied her to Lady Vestae! Lady Vestae, duchess of fire. She was known to Aelen and to most of the Feywild as an inciteful and fractious elemental. Even among the Fire Courts, she burned at the fringe. Her feud with Lady Cumulus was as famous as it was mysterious; no Eladrin knew how it began, and no elemental shared their knowledge.
The young warlock had been sent to Aberholme to investigate some matter wrapped in secrecy. The appearance of a wizard who was the descendant of Gavin the Terrible and who sought to resurrect Necromancy may very well have been her mission… but perhaps she’d been sent only to interfere with the performance of a young Sword Artist trying to gain the favor of Lady Cumulus!
Stratos walked alongside the cart towards the great Unwild city of Perringham, or something, with confidence in his stride. He had a stout and sturdy dwarf companion, perfect to provide contrast to Stratos’ grace and beauty, a noble tiefling warrior, as troubled as she was beautiful, and a new rival, to cause trouble and chaos. A mystery lay before them all, on the very cusp of mortal danger. Stratos smiled and hoped that the Necromancer would strike soon!
To welcome any more companions would dilute the performance, but each of the adventurers on the road with him now contributed uniquely to the performance. He was particularly excited about Leilia, the newest companion. She was a tiefling, like Sasha, and she provided perfect counterpoint to her. Where Sasha was noble to a fault, vigorous and forward, Leilia was furtive and timid, quick to flinch and slow to trust. She was every inch the shiftless and untrustworthy tiefling stereotype that Sasha was trying to change. Aelen was sure that the two of them would lock horns, black against gold, many times. Sasha’s intense plea to show the Unwild a better kind of tiefling and her enraged outburst were beautiful. Such drama! And all of it perfectly real and unfeigned.
Leilia seemed indifferent to Sasha’s quest, but respectful of her anger. Still, she was secretive by nature, resisting every effort to learn who she was. Aelen pried into her eagerly, excited at having another mystery. To his delight, he discovered that she was a warlock, and that her pact tied her to Lady Vestae! Lady Vestae, duchess of fire. She was known to Aelen and to most of the Feywild as an inciteful and fractious elemental. Even among the Fire Courts, she burned at the fringe. Her feud with Lady Cumulus was as famous as it was mysterious; no Eladrin knew how it began, and no elemental shared their knowledge.
The young warlock had been sent to Aberholme to investigate some matter wrapped in secrecy. The appearance of a wizard who was the descendant of Gavin the Terrible and who sought to resurrect Necromancy may very well have been her mission… but perhaps she’d been sent only to interfere with the performance of a young Sword Artist trying to gain the favor of Lady Cumulus!
Stratos walked alongside the cart towards the great Unwild city of Perringham, or something, with confidence in his stride. He had a stout and sturdy dwarf companion, perfect to provide contrast to Stratos’ grace and beauty, a noble tiefling warrior, as troubled as she was beautiful, and a new rival, to cause trouble and chaos. A mystery lay before them all, on the very cusp of mortal danger. Stratos smiled and hoped that the Necromancer would strike soon!
Thursday, October 9, 2008
An Unprecedented Performance
As he knew he would, Aelen Stratos found a road winding through the Feyrun forest. The mortals here had other names for the wood, but Aelen preferred the sound of Feyrun. He was just beginning his journey and not yet lonely for his home, but it was good not to feel as far away from the familiar discontinuity of the Feywild. He walked west, moving away from the few Eldarin cities that sometimes touched the Unwild and from the less familiar, but too recognizable elven country.
He found exactly what he was looking for, a company of mortals passing through the Unwild on some journey. Aelen joined them naturally, amused that they did not understand. Of the travelers, two interested him.
The dwarf, Argent Bristlebeard, appealed because of his normalness. He went about each day, attending to his boring duties without complaint. There seemed no wanderlust in him, no desire for adventure, no dreams of glory. Though Aelen did not spend much time in the court of Stone, who had little appreciation for art, he saw much of the same steadfast qualities in Argent. Aelen particularly liked watching him smoke his pipe, gazing as the smoke twisted away to nothingness.
The other travel that caught his eye was the tiefling, Sasha. Here was one who would turn heads even in the House of Summer. She wore armor of gold and red, baring swaths of smooth golden skin. Her horns were gilded and shined like her yellow hair. As down to earth and normal as Argent was, Sasha was his opposite, fiery and vigorous. Aelen had to duel her.
Aelen had seen art from the Unwild before, it was quite the rage in the last century among the Eladrin courts. Mostly elven work, but the most sought-after pieces were ancient dragonborn or tiefling pieces, the more ancient and exotic the better. He had a respect for their ability to create beauty in the Unwild, though he was saddened that swordsmanship was not considered art here.
Sasha’s blows were strong and precise, her shield always held before her, pushing him back. It was obvious to Aelen that she dressed for beauty and splendor, to awe and inspire in battle. There was no other reason to leave her belly and thighs not only unarmored but uncovered. Yet when they dueled her every blow was aimed to score a hit and nothing more.
They parted, neither understanding the other. But Aelen was determined to have his performance.
After more than a week in the Unwild, Aelen finally had it. A mage had gone missing, undead appearing, and fierce forest spiders were behaving unnaturally. The sword artist briefly crossed his swords over his face, wishing that these spiders didn’t lair in caves. He ran to the cocoons, helping to slice them open. Argent and Sasha didn’t seem to appreciate the grace of his cuts and how they were done at the perfect depth to shear through silk without touching what was inside.
Nor had they seemed to appreciate his dance with the spiders, flitting through the air like a butterfly, swords flashing in complicated arcs, blurred to silver streaks in the dim light. He knew that they understood the danger, that he was putting his life on the line! Why couldn’t they appreciate the beauty?
The town of Aberholme seemed to be grateful, even though they missed the performance. Aelen accepted their accolades and raises his cup of wine. It was sweet, this performance, this…victory… Perhaps the beauty was greater with the threat of death as the price of failure? He held out his cup as the jug was passed around again and looked forward to the next performance.
He found exactly what he was looking for, a company of mortals passing through the Unwild on some journey. Aelen joined them naturally, amused that they did not understand. Of the travelers, two interested him.
The dwarf, Argent Bristlebeard, appealed because of his normalness. He went about each day, attending to his boring duties without complaint. There seemed no wanderlust in him, no desire for adventure, no dreams of glory. Though Aelen did not spend much time in the court of Stone, who had little appreciation for art, he saw much of the same steadfast qualities in Argent. Aelen particularly liked watching him smoke his pipe, gazing as the smoke twisted away to nothingness.
The other travel that caught his eye was the tiefling, Sasha. Here was one who would turn heads even in the House of Summer. She wore armor of gold and red, baring swaths of smooth golden skin. Her horns were gilded and shined like her yellow hair. As down to earth and normal as Argent was, Sasha was his opposite, fiery and vigorous. Aelen had to duel her.
Aelen had seen art from the Unwild before, it was quite the rage in the last century among the Eladrin courts. Mostly elven work, but the most sought-after pieces were ancient dragonborn or tiefling pieces, the more ancient and exotic the better. He had a respect for their ability to create beauty in the Unwild, though he was saddened that swordsmanship was not considered art here.
Sasha’s blows were strong and precise, her shield always held before her, pushing him back. It was obvious to Aelen that she dressed for beauty and splendor, to awe and inspire in battle. There was no other reason to leave her belly and thighs not only unarmored but uncovered. Yet when they dueled her every blow was aimed to score a hit and nothing more.
They parted, neither understanding the other. But Aelen was determined to have his performance.
After more than a week in the Unwild, Aelen finally had it. A mage had gone missing, undead appearing, and fierce forest spiders were behaving unnaturally. The sword artist briefly crossed his swords over his face, wishing that these spiders didn’t lair in caves. He ran to the cocoons, helping to slice them open. Argent and Sasha didn’t seem to appreciate the grace of his cuts and how they were done at the perfect depth to shear through silk without touching what was inside.
Nor had they seemed to appreciate his dance with the spiders, flitting through the air like a butterfly, swords flashing in complicated arcs, blurred to silver streaks in the dim light. He knew that they understood the danger, that he was putting his life on the line! Why couldn’t they appreciate the beauty?
The town of Aberholme seemed to be grateful, even though they missed the performance. Aelen accepted their accolades and raises his cup of wine. It was sweet, this performance, this…victory… Perhaps the beauty was greater with the threat of death as the price of failure? He held out his cup as the jug was passed around again and looked forward to the next performance.
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