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*Aquaria delivers a parchment with a freshly copied story from her own research, with a note to the librarian.*
"Librarian, here's a copy of one of the search results I've done before. I hope this contribution is appropriate to your respectful library.
- Aquaria Blackstone, Relic hunter"
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SpoilerLegend of the 5 Swords
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(https://s15.postimg.cc/i48shegff/113441-129112-sacred-sword.jpg)
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In ancient times, there was the legend of a powerful arcanum, which the name has already been forgotten. He possessed the gift of forging mystic relics of great power. And for a short time, he dominated a remote region that has now disappeared in time. At the peak of his power, with several servants and followers, he decided that he should expand his power to new lands, dominating everything that surrounded his domains.
For that, for five years, he forged and enchanted five different blades. One for the mind, another for the body, another for the soul, another for life and finally the last, for death.
To his faithful counselor, he devoted the blade of the mind, able to expand his intelligence and wisdom to limits as great as his master.
To his general, he gave the blade of the mind, able to leave it as fast as the wind, as strong as a giant, as healthy and sturdy as a dragon.
To his faithful priest, of whom he preached faith as his leader as a god, he allowed him to have the blade of life, capable of curing any disease, of regaining any injury, of curing any injury. And capable of devastation with one blow only the most dangerous of the undead.
For his spy and killer, he was presented with the blade of death. Portal in various forms, with various types of infinite poisons, capable of corrupting and devastating the lives of those who were injured. Draining to the end his life force, and also able to strengthen the undead.
For his right arm, his chief and faithful commander, he gave up the sword of souls, capable of commanding and invoking any kind of spirit, whether good, evil, nature, hell or other plans.
Over the years, each faithful follower has conquered his own lands, built up his own kingdom, paid respect and idolized his master as god. Their kingdoms and domains were different in many ways. Some cruel, others prosperous. But each with his own quality, reflecting the wishes of his master.
But the commander who had the blade of souls listened attentively to the spirits of other planes, from which he became greedy and tempted to take everything for himself. In secret, he attacked his master, defeating him and taking his place as the leader... Thus unleashing a dispute between all five possessors of the blades. One trying to destroy the other, for personal, moral or unknown reasons.
While each of them fought each other, the master, who had even been defeated, had retired pretending his death decided to return, defeating each of his followers personally, considering them traitors. Their lifeless bodies were sealed, with the blades of which they represented their loyalty, deposited in the tomb from which they were forgotten. After having defeated all, and sealed each blade in a different part, the master retired, leaving behind the debris of his lost kingdom, along with the survivors of his great lost empire. His name was forgotten, along with those who served him and idolized him.
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*Aquaria delivers another parchment with a freshly copied story from her own research, with a note to the librarian.*
"Librarian, here's a copy of one of the search results I've done before, this time, about Dwarfs and Moradin. I hope this contribution is appropriate to your respectful library.
- Aquaria Blackstone, Relic hunter"
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SpoilerThe Moradin's Coin
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(https://s33.postimg.cc/6uc0rpm3z/35c0d4fc7282e46c332a2ee135b4748c.jpg)
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Before and in some part in the silver age, when agreements between noble houses and humans were practically impossible, there was record that the few humans who were respected by the dwarves were given gold coins, personally forged by the high priest of Moradin in person. This coin, crafted individually using gold, was known for its rare and intense beauty. Its fine and complex detailing, making the most unsuspecting enchanted with such elaborate beauty, and the most greedy, lost in dreams as they gaze at the coin before their eyes.
This coin was coined only by the high priest, given as the highest honor for the faithful followers of the moral values of Moradin and the dwarven clan of which the high priest represented. These coins represented what was most important and pure for a dwarf, which would be his love of work, his honor and morals forged and carved over the years and all the honor that a family or even a whole clan has won in the name of Moradin for a whole generation of dwarves. Yes, these coins were extremely rare, and for a dwarf would have no greater honor than to meet one of them personally.
When a leader of his clan needed to reward a person of a human race, bronze or copper copies of this coin were given as a symbol of friendship and that the individual was trustworthy of this clan. The name of the human and his family were forged on one side of the coin in human language, while on the other was inscribed in dwarven language the name of the clan that generously, in an act of recognition, provided the coin in the form of gratitude ... that human almost a representative of a group of humans of a region to solve pending and conflicts with the dwarves of that clan, when they arose.
The elves received similar coins, made of silver. Unlike human use, silver coins were used to seal deals and deals between dwarfs and elves on rare occasions. The word of a dwarf was law, but the silver coin served as a physical representation of this agreement, being respectfully returned when the elves could no longer keep their agreement, or for any important reason, broke the agreement.
Wooden coins are also used to represent a sign of good faith in agreements with other races, but the are very rare because many dwarves consider the use of wood models as a subtle way of saying that person do not trust the human enough to trust only in the word directly, and that this is not worth the trouble of mining the metal to produce a coin that would dignify the human in front of other dwarves.
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I shall look over your submissions and we can speak. I may have questions.
The Librarian
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*Aquaria delivers another parchment with a freshly copied story from her own research, with a note to the librarian.*
"Librarian, here's another copy of one of the search results I've done before, this time, another tale about Dwarfs and Moradin. I hope this contribution is appropriate to your respectful library. I am researching in your library often. I'll be looking for you soon.
- Aquaria Blackstone, Relic hunter"
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Spoiler.
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Silver Mountain Dragon Shield and Sword
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(https://s33.postimg.cc/7gert9b3j/d68cd51a4b8ff71a6ef3188548acc2da.jpg)
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There was an ancient gigantic mountain in middle of the snowlands, which in the dwarven language was called the "mountain of silver," for in its tunnels were so abundant and pure veins of silver ore that were the pride of the Silverhammer clan. The silverhammer clan was known to be the most skilled at working with silver. Their jewels were incredible, while the silver-worked weapons were so powerful that any mystical creature would easily fall at the slightest touch if any priest of Moradin blessed any weapon of the Silverhammer clan.
But as prosperous as the clan was, one day one of the dwarves discovered in one of the tunnels a large hall, home of white dragon. The whole clan was in a rush. A dragon sleeping in the heart of the mountain, in the middle of a great hall, full of the most gigantic rocks, made of pure silver, the size of houses. Human houses! And though not as cruel as blacks, or ferocious as blacks, white dragons were known for their instinct, killing first, then eating, and asking only in the last, remote case.
The clan leader of the Silverhammermet with the best members of his clan in the same night. The most mystical arcanes, the bravest barbarians, the strongest fighters, the most intelligent wizards, to decide to kill the dragon while sleeping. Only the wisest high priest of Moradin refused, warning that before all should prepare better, because that type of combat, without preparation, would be mortal for the clan, bringind shame to everyone.
The whole clan should prepare for the war against the dragon, not only the best ones go and venture without preparation, to fight the same night they found the dragon. He suggested that everyone should prepare their best weapons and tactics to actually beat the dragon. Because of his sleep, the dragon could be attacked after all the preparations are done, and faced in a dignified manner, like a true war against a dragon showing the value of the whole clan, and not half coward, while the creature slept. Despite being questioned about this, the high priest did not refuse to bless everyone's weapons before the fative fight.
During the fight, all the best were against the dragon. But all the weapons, even blessed ones, did not cause any wound to the beast, who slept ignoring all the dwarves. The weapons were broken or bent as if they were made of second-hand material, or produced by incompetent craftsmen. The clan leader himself broke his hammer until he was exhausted, hammering the muzzle of the white dragon, who solemnly ignored him in his deep sleep.
After five days and five nights without rest, in a ridiculous fight, where no dwarf could even hurt or wake the dragon, they all retired exhausted from the great hall. The leader's son, upon returning, looked at a mace-sized silver stone, thinking that it would not hurt to start mining the place, even with the sleeping dragon. As he bent to pick up the silver nugget, the high priest slapped the helmet so hard, it fell to the floor. All the dwarves stopped to watch the scene, listening to the sound of the helmet echoing through every room.
The cleric's voice was filled with hatred and frustration. His voice echoed so loudly that it made the dwarven's heart stop from shame and fear.
"We have failed to expel the creature for lack of preparation and strategy, acting like kids and not deserving to be called warriors. Now, do you want to tarnish the little that remains of our clan honor, stealing the silver, without having conquered the mountain in the name of our clan and Moradin? And you, and ALL OF YOU only come back here when you can look into my eyes directly as dwarf and warrior, and not as cursed human thieves! Now, what do we have left? Our skills only, and that's all we have left of honor as forging craftsman!!"
All the dwarves turned pale with his sermon, and they become shocked, seeing the dragon lift his head majestically, looking at all dwarfs in a cold silence.
The priest turned slowly, looking at the dragon directly in the eyes, already taking his hammer, holding it with both hands, prepared to die.
"Show me..." The white dragon speaks, his voice echoing through every room like thunder, while his icy breath causes the air to begin to snow softly for a few moments
The high priest looks surprised at the white dragon. Most people say that they are wild and extremely instinctive creatures. But that one looked at him with a look of cold, calculated hatred. And more, asked something...
"Show...?"
"I am the spirit of this mountain, sent by Moradin to test your clan. Your clan only works in silver, forgetting the other metals in the whole region. They stopped sculpturing the rock, in honor of your ancestors and your heroes... Because no one become a hero in your clan! Moradin gave to your ancestors the right to use the purest silver, but your clan were slow, unable to expose your work as craftsmen in other materials and to conquer new jewels, new metals, and to expel your enemies.
Now, after failed, show me. Your skills, as craftman, priest. Your clan does not deserve this second chance, and I would kill them all when the boy stole the silver nugget. But being the only one who questioned the good of his clan and his own honor, I give him the right to try to impress me."
The high priest listened to the words of the spirit of the mountain slowly, carefully absorbing every sound, feeling every word of shame burn in his soul. He knew that it was his fault, too, for not guiding his clan with more wisdom under the teachings of Moradin propely. He let the greed for silver overshadow the other abilities of his clan. The prestige for the purest silver was illusory if he could not prove to all that the clan was not limited to silver.
He turned, looking directly at the other dwarves, sending one of them to bring the forge and the anvil up there to set before the spirit of the mountain. He ordered one to look for a mandeira, the other to mine iron, and another to get fresh leather. His voice chanted unmistakable fury, motivated by pride and shame, to have his own honor stained and his clan in front of the spirit of the montain and Moradin. The dwarves moved like the wind, faster than their legs allowed.
In a few hours, all the materials were in front of the spirit of the mountain, as well as work bench and everything that could be used. When all was assembled, the priest began to work feverishly, singing songs of battle to calm his mind and heart, while his hands worked in the most perfect precision, never expected. The wood practically molded itself before his fingers, while the most impure iron almost shone like the purest silver, after being melted, purified and polished.
Without rest, the high priest continued his work, delivered to prayers and songs of battle without stopping his work. When the fatigue came strong and his voice weakened, he heard the other members of his clan encouraging, singing along with him, motivating.
In the end, a large wooden shield was produced using iron and black wood, adorned with details made of iron with a white dragon representing the spirit of the mountain, which held behind its wings a long sword. The blade was written in dwarf "No matter weapon, no matter the material. My work is the honor of my clan."
The spirit of the mountain smiled in approval, disappearing slowly, leaving a gigantic rock of silver, of the size of an adult dragon. The high priest, exhausted, fainted after so much effort.
Decades later, each gigantic rock of silver was carved or forged in honor of Moradin. And then these statues were exchanged with other clans for iron and other materials, so that the clan would improve itself in the production and creation of new techniques. The Priest and all who came after him carry a version of the shield and sword itself, made of black wood and iron.
The location of the mountain is known only by the dwarfs. But when a dwarf craftsman comes, carrying a black wooden shield and iron blade, any other craftsman of other clans stay in silent, to hear his lessons concerning the making and making of objets, weapons, or armor, or to hear his wisdom and words at respect of Moradin.
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*Aquaria delivers another parchment with a freshly copied story from her own research, with a note to the librarian.*
"Librarian, due to my line of work and research, I have not been able to find you in person yet. I hope you do not mind, here's another contribution to your library. I will continue with my personal searches in your library, and as fair payment, as far as possible, continue with my small contributions..
- Aquaria Blackstone, Relic hunter"
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Spoiler.
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Golden Lion Helm.
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(https://s15.postimg.cc/4nbf2tbzf/7482531d4657f5a8931ca1a14a82ac67.jpg)
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There was the story of an adventurer named Leonardo, distinguished and coming from a family of warriors in an important region during the silver age. His father was known to be the champion of the kingdom, and his grandfather, the leader of a group of knight, protecting the regent directly while he was alive. Leoarndo was a rare type of warrior. He was left-handed, always using the sword in his left hand, and the shield on the right. This allowed him to develop a unique combat ability, distinct in his execution, and deadly in use.
Wanting to take a different path from his father and grandfather, Leonardo decided to anonymously join the arena fights in a famous coliseum in the capital. In order not to be easily recognized by anyone, he had a gold helmet shaped like a lion head, with a showy mane and as red as his red hair. His family and close friends knew how he fought, they decided to keep it safe, until the young gladiator developed a well-deserved fame for himself.
For months that followed, Leonardo began to win fights against all kinds of opponents. He began by fighting off thieves and criminals, applying the death penalty with his long sword. Then he faced off with monsters and creatures of the most incredible types and shapes hunters could capture alive. Every Sunday, the "Golden Lion" fights were what motivated the people to leave the house, to see the hero of the arena toasting everyone with incredible and exciting combat.
However, wishing to increase his profits, the nobleman who owned the Arena, decided to start a tournament, where the best of the arenas of the known world should go to the capital, and fight before all. Leonardo was excited because it was the challenge he wanted. Creatures were incredible and the audience applauded him, but he went on to fight more in an interpretive way than with his skill, holding the show. Whether pretending to lose the sword, or having the shield broken, his "mistakes" only known by the staff members of the arena raised the stakes and excited the audience. Against real opponents, other gladiators, that would be unique to him.
The fights during the tournament were vivid and unique in their own right. First was the half-orc barbarian called the mountain-breaker, with his gigantic hammer, able to make the whole arena tremble with its powerful blows. The second opponent was faster, an young monk gnome named Gimthi the windy, small, tricky and swift, capable of jumping as fast and agile as a flea, and punching as hard as an ogre. The third opponent of the tournament was an half-elven sorcerer fighter named Dramei, who knew martial arts. His left arm was skeletal. He was not as nimble as the gnome, but his movements were fantastic, as he mixed spells of illusion and arcane tricks in his movements, such as the slippery floor, the snap of fingers that sounded like a banshee cry and even the touch of death of his skeletal hand.
Each one of his fights became legendary in itself, but the last championship, among many, was the most decisive. He had to fight an Amazon. His sister. In his family, Leonardo had a younger sister named Samantha. He learned the same fighting styles as he did, and following in the footsteps of his brother, decided to start his life as a gladiator on the other side of the continent, in another arena. She was as popular as her brother, besides having a rare beauty. They both knew who the other was, but Leonardo was already well-known as the possible heir to the noble house of his family. Her sister, however, had no privilege, struggling in the arena to create a name for herself and not to be overshadowed by any nobleman who was forced to marry
The fight between the brothers, in the final of the tournament happened at noon, with the sun on top of the sky, strong and bright. His brother's style did not bring him more advantages, since his sister had trained with him since she was little. He was stronger, she was more agile. He knew how to use shield and sword, and she, a kind of spear with a semi-curved blade at the end, giving it a great range of attack....
(https://s15.postimg.cc/k3ozd6w2z/0000136_black-dragon-naginata_580.jpg)
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The brother's lion's helmet was his own, for it gave a feline agility and a leonine force to him. Already, the sister's weapon, a kind of naginata, was so fast and her movements made sparkles drop dramatically. The combat was impressive, for they were two unique types of combat, each with its own merit, strengths and weaknesses. Her electric speed, against his unique fighting style, which broke the standards of normal gladiators and warriors. But the fight ended unexpectedly when her sister struck at his helm, his blade held in the jaws of a lion that were adorning his brother's helmet. This was a unique helmet maneuver, designed only for that, but that interrupted the flow of combat unexpectedly. The sister stopped, respecting her brother's secret, refusing to pull the naginata back, tearing off the helmet and exposing her brother. Leonardo gave up the fight, refusing to win to keep his secret. Leonardo dropped his sword and shield, indicating that he had given up, to everyone's surprise. The brothers retired from the arena after that, and were never seen in any arena again, like gladiators.
A year later, Leonardo assumed the rank of knight on merit in a remote and distant region. And Samantha went on to become adventurous with groups, hunting creatures and monsters. The helm and the naginata are still stored somewhere in the family mansion, with the helmet with their fangs pressed into the lamina of the naginata, and no one has been able to separate them until today.
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*Aquaria delivers another parchment with a freshly copied story from her own research, with a note to the librarian.*
"Probably this ancient story may upset some people of the Arcane Guild and their old way of seeing the world and how it is shaped. I advise to leave in your records for future research for someone who has an interest in this subject.
- Aquaria Blackstone, Relic hunter"
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Spoiler.
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Strrambarek's theorem
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(https://s15.postimg.cc/ky39aacp7/break.jpg)
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At one point in the past, at the beginning of the silver age, there was a single, exentric arcane named Julius Strrambarek. Son of a blacksmith and nephew of a carpenter, he worked hard for years, trying to learn to read and write while producing his objects from days to days as carpenter, tinker and blacksmith apprentice. But in the little town that lived there existed an arcane tower in the limits of the region, of which an old arrogant arrogant and his pupils, children of nobles of several different regions, often made their commands and desmandos by all region, without fearing a trial of the authorities.
At 14, Julius already knew how to prepare almost everything in wood and metal, thanks to his great intelligence and manual ability. But he and all the young men of the region lived under sneak attacks of magical relatives and victims of irresponsible spells, in the constant provocation of the six pupils of the old mage named Maeir. Master Maeir have a good prestige and acted wisely and fair with the people of the village. But the pupils always threatened the residents, saying that if they were denounced, all the money they spent in the village would go to the other, from which they would move without a second thought. The money weighed heavily on those who lived only on agriculture and wool.
Julius discovered something unexpected in one of his days, arranging to the furniture of the local tavern... Every Friday, the group of wizard-apprentices brats visited the local tavern, to drink and make fun as never before, spending heavy bags of money and destroying everything. Money paid for everything, and silenced people. Thinking that it was time to do something about it, he decided to wait until next Friday ... And when the brats (same of Julio's age) decided to drink and party until he fell, he would steal one of the pivotal grimoires, to see the despair of them, compensating for all the chaos and mess they caused in the region every weekend.
Said and done, when one of the elders was busy drinking and flirting with one of the girls in the tavern, Julius took the distraction to take the apprentice's purse. Nothing important, other than a book about constructs and the grimoire. The grimoire was ridiculously simple, with 3 sheets outlined, and nothing more ... Then Julius left the library in a barrel full of trash, taking the book to read hidden in the workshop of his father, the local blacksmith.
Julius was happy to see so many diagrams, design drawings, and references that opened his imagination. There were things he did not understand, but he understood metal and wood. Gears and wires ... Then he proceeded to produce the design of a kind of mechanical arm, following the instructions of the book. The first model was full of flaws, but after a few days, he created a second model more improved, able to move the elbow. The fourth was able to turn the wrist, and the ninth model had the movements of opening and closing the fingers. All the movements were by strings and wires, and where there are strange marks and texts, Julius covered the fault or lack of information with simple and practical solutions.
For the next two months, Julius worked hard, mining iron, and picking good timber carefully, always working his hours off. The arcana pivetes did not appear any more, perhaps punished by the loss of the book. Julius did not pay much attention, for his work flowed and developed rapidly, leaving him proud of himself and his skill, but afraid that that knowledge might never have been shown. Julius went on to hide the materials and the result of his development in an abandoned mine, far from everything and everyone.
Over the next 5 years, Julius went on to do something that many arcane fail: Develop your own version and unique skills in arcane knowledge. His knowledge of the production and manufacture of wood and metal objects, including weapons, armor and shields served as the basis of knowledge. And in those five years, Julius began to develop his own arcane knowledge without realizing it, being able to generate magical energy capable of activating and moving parts of his creations.
In his first year working in that mine, he was able to build a construct armor, capable of ridiculously alone, slow and extremely noisy, but which protected its creator as if it were an exo-skeleton, protecting it from the elements and giving strength and resistance much higher than normal. In the third year of his solitary studies, Julius had developed a second complete version of his armor construct, called "Iron", as this was the main element he used as a raw material. "Iron" was as strong as a giant when used, but slow. Julius made a sword and shield, and when night was out to hunt, no wild creature was a match for him. He was always in a gray and gloomy fog, the effect of the strange runes he had reprinted from the book. His footsteps became more real, less massive, after Julius learned by trial and error every kind of rune in the book.
But, the few who rarely saw him from a distance, thought they were a new monster. Master Maeir was attentive, but neither his students nor he himself had found any trace or clue, discarding, as if it were a local rumor..
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(https://s15.postimg.cc/m5h727sgb/shield5.jpg)
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When he turned 22, Julius had a version that he considered perfect of his armor. And he decided it was time to get what he thought was right... Respect!
Julius walked resolutely to the front of the arcane tower, wearing a cloak that covered his body and helmet with his visor open. He stops some distance from the entrance, and respectfully claps his hands, making the sound of his metal gloves echo as loud as bells, making everyone in the area hear hum.
"I am Julius Strrambarek, son of Marcus and Marion Strrambarek. I request a formal meeting, under the most civilited and respectable terms allowed to all, to meet the master of this tower, Master Maeir!"
Julius had read too many books during his childhood thanks to his priestly mother. He decided to present himself in a not very pompous, yet respectable and direct manner, determining a knightly way to deal with the situation. But pupils of the arcane master soon recognized the name. "Son of a dirty blacksmith, now comes with all pompous knighthood? How ridiculous!" One shouted. The other, from the top of the tower window, threw a bowl of water, which narrowly missed Julius. And the third one, opened the door, leaving with a staff and an angry look. "Here we only deal with real mages, or officials of the empire, or nobles. You are no one to want our attention, or even worthy to meet our master!"
As soon as the young man left the entrance of the tower, he began to fire, without warning, a rain of mystical spheres, which flew like comets. Julius lowered his face quickly, making the visor of his helmet go down, shielding his face. In a gesture, he raises his left arm, pulling from beneath his old cloak and patched a beautiful polished iron shield whose edges glowed with a sequence of runes that none of the pupils knew. The shield received a two, four, six magical beads and reflected them, making the boy fall unconscious on the floor, size shock of the impact.
The second pupil left the tower, grunting as it turned into a gigantic troll, already moving to take a right punch. Julius already had real combat experience, and he knew the strength of a real troll, and especially his. With his right hand he grabs the troll kid's wrist, breaking in two. The pain of the arm being crushed by Julius's metal glove made the boy fall to the floor, sitting in his human form, pale and frightened.
The other four pupils decided to take Julius aside, since the defense of the arcane tower was part of his training and responsibility. They invoked a strange horrid being reading a parchment stolen from their master, spawning a demonic and vampiric creature reflecting their hearts and minds distorted by power. The first brought the creature, while the second invoked a protective shield in his black clothes ... And the third, a black mystic lamina, while the fourth was to protect the creature with a porous rocky skin. Julius saw the four pupils doing their spells carefully. He recognized some of the symbols and words, but many were unknown. Respectfully he waited for the preparations to be ready. After long and ridiculous moments, where 4 arcane worked feverishly to protect their creature from the night (invoked in the midday sun), they finally gave the order of attack.
As the horrid vampire creature began to move, sword in hand, Julius knew it was serious now. The movements were skies and dangerous, the look thirsty for blood was not a lie. And the enchanted blade was a real problem. For long minutes, Julius dodged and blocked the attacks using his shield, while saying one, dua and finally the third time "I come here to speak in a civilized and respectful way with your master."
Visibly annoyed, Julius moves his right hand, easily decapturing the horrible creature, making his body fall and fall like a sack of potatoes. The four of them fled into the forest, screaming in fear as they watched the scene as Julius walked toward the entrance, wiping the blade from his sword with a piece of old cloth in his pocket. Blood does horrible damage to metal...
The master, who saw everything through the window descends patiently, meeting with Julius at the door. With a glance, he notices that the entire armor, elaborately crafted with gears and runes, had a powerful, though rustic, mystical aura. The shield had runes that the master had not recognized, making himself wonder what they were.
Julius humbly took from his belt the manual about constructs that he stole years ago, very carefully, returning to the hands of the master, who upon seeing the cover of the book, surprised stayed, already understanding what happened.
"Did you do all this yourself?" Speaks the master, looking at the armor, fascinated by the way Julius created a construct in the form of armor, to protect him.
"Yes, I did."
"Starting tomorrow, you will study with us. I do not take no for an answer. And you will have my permission to teach everything you know to me. And you can also train and learn about our magic style to improve and develop your unique style and knowledge."
Julius became the first constructmancer, a rare thug of arcane, who instead of invoking spells, built them physically. He made each year new armor made of construct, which were servants and protected his masters becoming armor with weapon and shields, or any kind of weaponry that Julius could dream of. Julius developed several wonders, such as mechanical animals, flying books and even at the end of his life, came to create servants who were almost real in terms of expression and thoughts like that of humans.
Julius left several disciples in constructmancy, all of them people of humble origin. His creations are rare and unknown, because other arcana feared that the magical machines of Julius and his followers would dominate the world, changing the magic as it was accepted and taught in the old days. Now the histories of his creations and creators were almost erased in the limbo of time, just waiting for a new generation to continue to expand his arcane knowledge of construct constructs.
The "Strrambarek's theorem" it was an old formula, which Master Maeir thought ... That the most creative mind is capable of molding magic with you own hands, finding means to make real. Once the rules of magic and the process were formed, this person who created them could pass on to everyone who did not have in their minds about the rules already formulated in their minds before other master. Maeir believed that Julius used the knowledge he took from the book to shape his own magic, constructing his constructs in the form of pieces of armor. Julius had a natural gift for manipulating the arcane forces with his own hands, producing anything his imagination created.
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I have enjoyed your stories over a cup of tea, while watching the fish in the tank.
Quite peaceful I must say.
You will need to come to the Valstiir Library and we can speak over some tea .. yes?
The Librarian
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*Aquaria delivers another parchment with a freshly copied story from her own research, with a note to the librarian.*
"I appreciate the invitation. As soon as I am available, I will visit the library to continue my research on legends, relics, and lost stories. To bestow it with another moment of peace, here is another story, on another parchment.
- Aquaria Blackstone, Relic hunter"
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Spoiler.
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The Garden of the sisters
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(https://s15.postimg.cc/ngqbx6d9n/81b0bc0c8965cb6a9f50de6ca62f6a3a.jpg)
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The age has already been forgotten, and the names and places do not matter so much now. But formerly, in ancient times, there was a strange and unique sisterhood, possessing only women. All of them were orphans, widows, or victims of wars. No matter his race, origin or whether he was noble or poor. They were just women. Sisters of suffering, silently watching the world crack and collapse part by part.
Gods had bigger plans for their champions, but none for their victims. Whether they are pale as ghosts, skeletal because of hunger, or bathed in blood, trying to survive a world that even the goddesses themselves can not protect, every woman has become a link of a long chain of sadness or pain, trying to believe that every life matters , and that each victim could be saved.
Turning their backs on any kind of god, be it good or bad, loyal or chaotic, pure or corrupting, they decide to follow their own steps, without lowering their heads, acting in silence, listening to the cries of those who have been, protecting those who need to be protected, healing and walking in different directions, with no destination, just surviving.
They do not have symbols, names or titles, they are just "sisters" among them. They were not noble or possessed, for all they knew and could do was to go forward, trying not to repeat the mistakes of their own past and their sisters... In different places of the world, each group of sisters built themselves a great labyrinth, without traps and monsters, only the frigid sad wind whispering like a faint wail. In its confused and long tunnels, it was possible to see rock plates, carved in detail images of each sister's life, from where she came and from where she followed, until the day of her death. There were no runes or words, only images, leaving for each sister or visitor the difficult task of interpreting everything they saw and heard within that labyrinth.
When walking, gradually it would be possible, in the lower levels of the long maze, several pots, with strange roses without spines, of different colors. Some are pink, some red, some yellow, and even white or blue. The flowers grew in total absence of light or water, taking decades to grow, only fed by the wetness and dust of the gentle wind brought from small entrances at the top of the labyrinth.
The sisters abandoned any mortal faith, whether by gods, entities, or persons. They had faith in themselves and their sisters. Her hands healed, in exchange for the life force of their own lives. They could revive anyone with a simple touch, or regenerate limbs and body parts, purifying in a fantastic and miraculous way.
The only ones allowed to be treated by type of blessing were the sisters' friends, relatives, and husbands. They calculated the value of a person, making a cold, but exact mental calculation of how many days they would have to lose of their own life to heal someone or to revive. Children and mothers were never charged while men were devalued. Good people paid symbolic prices while cruel and greedy had a high price. It was not origin or race, but what each person was in the eyes of one of the sisters. To those who revived, they respectfully demanded that at the death of the final death, that their bodies should be delivered to them, in order to return the other sisters to the life they lost by saving other lives. Whoever accepted, had the respect of a sister. Those who refused were never healed or treated by them again. But an unique trait, each time an sister heal or help someone with her powers, she ages temporarily, like an old exhausted and weak.
The bodies were cremated, for the ashes to feed the special roses of the sisters, whose petals possessed the gift of reviving even gods. And these petals were prepared, with a special recipe that only a sister knew ... A strange green elixir, that when being shed a drop in the tongue, healed completely or revived a person. If a disease affected a region, it was possible to see a sister discreetly emptying a bottle of elixir in a river or lake, gradually returning to life the nature of the region.
But among the strange mysteries and stories involved all the sisters, they were recognized only as one recited a song, of which upon being heard by another female voice, her eyes gleamed silver, while her heart pulsed in a green light , revealing that the elixir bottle resided magically in her body. The song was actually a sad and distant song, only sung by them when a sister died trying to save lives, or when they wanted to pay homage to another woman. The song is distant and almost forgotten, and today, when recited, rarely people can remember.
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*Aquaria delivers another parchment with a freshly copied story from her own research, with a note to the librarian.*
"Sorry for not visiting the library yet. I'm in the middle of an important field research process, looking to discover details of a mysterious locked door of stone, in a unique place, probably ancestral in some way. As an apology, one more story for you. In part, a brief and unique legend about gods.
- Aquaria Blackstone, Relic hunter"
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Spoiler.
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The anvil of Souls
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(https://s15.postimg.cc/pggkzl8h7/g_RA8_Fh_W.jpg)
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There is an ancient legend, a larger entity, larger than all races, larger than all the gods together, decided for reasons that only he knows, decided to create the whole universe. First he created himself, expanding his consciousness in all directions, for instants later, to create his own hands and body, to be able to shape reality to have the consistency of realized dreams, and the physical sensation so that everyone knows not it's just a dream. By clapping, he created all the elements we know and others we will still learn. And in separating them, he created for himself the anvil of souls.
In order for his creation to be perfect as he or she, so infinite of possibilities and variations, each with a small trace of his infinite creation, he had to create the anvil, so that with each hammer that gave, reality took form, generating life, which would generate more lives and by itself, more new infinite life forms. With his willpower as a hammer, and his body as a cosmic force to create everything, the creator began to work, using the anvil, forging the reality we all live. The sparks of this forge have shaped lands, seas, and all living things. Everyone who has soul who saw creation, with their own lives watching the creator forge life in his infinite work, have become gods. And they started to sing a song that echoes for all eternity...
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At the birth of time, the beginning of beginnings
One cosmic soul was created
A bringer of life, a universal creator
Born to smith his life in the all races
Like a spark of a hammer hitting, it spreads in all directions
Creating life among the skies
I'm struck with awe as I join the great smith
Now it takes flight to the brightest star of all
On a quest for life, through the sable skies
What a show! behold!
The anvil of a million souls
On a bold crusade, in the realm of shade
What a show! behold!
The anvil of a million souls
Through the glowing mist, like a fog of the creation
I can see the forming of new lands, new races
I've been struck by thunder as I witness all the splendor
And I realize how small we really are
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(https://s15.postimg.cc/z3oon0vzf/nlzi8g.jpg)
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On a quest for life, through the sable skies
What a show! behold!
The anvil of a million souls
On a bold crusade, in the realm of shade
What a show! behold!
The anvil of a million souls
Ooh, I can see forever
On the wings of dreams I fly
Is this real or is it just a fantasy?
What awaits me now at the end of this ride?
On a quest for life, through the sable skies
What a show! behold!
The anvil of a million souls
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(https://s15.postimg.cc/5ebhu94zf/642704da0fb3e1da69092f0487ff2cf3.jpg)
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The creator continues to forge the whole life of the universe, all forms, be they plants, animals or even people. When the common life cease to live, their souls return to their gods, the Creator's earliest creations... To be created by their gods again and again, and if they are sublime enough, they ascend to become new gods, to watch the cosmic spectacle of creation by some eternities, and thus to return, to guide the new creations of the creator to watch the creator and the anvil of souls...
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*Aquaria delivers another parchment with a freshly copied story from her own research, with a note to the librarian.*
"This time, a brief story about an old song about the druids in a florest. Hardly we will find a druid to confirm the story or song, but certainly has some truth behind it. I hope this contribution will help encourage others to do the same, as well as provide more extensive material to the researchers or readers who attend your library.
- Aquaria Blackstone, Relic hunter"
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Spoiler.
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The Druid Stone Song
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(https://s22.postimg.cc/cxwqfmmtt/druid.png)
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In distant times, in a distant forest, an evil creature was defeated, at great cost. The forest guardians, wounded and tired, saw the destruction of their beloved home, now in ruins, gradually becoming a desert due to corruption caused by the creature. His name could no longer be pronounced, or revived easily. The adventurers turned their backs, returning to their cities with glories and prestige, but behind them there was only the ruined forest, which slowly died, corrupted and poisoned by the poisonous blood of the dead creature. Animals became sick, plants became weak and dead. And the Druids silently mourned.
The druids gathered around the creature's evil body, emanating corruption, wickedness and even dead malice. And slowly, the Druids circled the body in a circle with 12 members, beginning to sing a serious, sad and melancholic song, expressing their pain and agony, sacrificing their own lives, becoming part of the forest, turning into a circle of statues , sealing all the corruption of the body of the creature, and slowly purifying the forest, making it thrive and grow more vigorous and pure than ever.
After this, once a year, their descendants and apprentices approach the statues of their former mentors, and again sing the same song on the day of their sad death, to reinforce the pact of protecting and loving nature and that forest, renewing the bond of respect and understanding for life ... and to protect it in all its forms.
In place of the body of the vile and corrupt creature, in its place grew a gigantic tree, the largest of all forest. Its fruits are especially tasty, and its leaves are medicinal. Birds of all kinds and species live on their branches, while other animals, even the wildest and most dangerous ones, act graciously and peacefully before everyone as they approach that tree.
Elves feel honored to see that tree in person, while other druids only feel in full harmony with nature spend at least one night near the circle, feeling the presence of life in all its splendor.
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The moon sheds no light on the eastern florest
The day turns to night and the bonfires cease burning
The druids gather round and the chants fill the air
Their echoes resound and the living world stops turning
The magic words are spoken
As we leave the woods in silence
Now the circle stands alone
And the druids turn to stone
The dawn shines its light on eastern florest
The day floods the night with gilded rays of sunshine
The magic words were spoken
As we left the woods in silence
Then the circle stood alone
And the druids turned to stone
The rising sun is dancing on the edges of the stones
Casting shadows, creeping down the woods
Into the heart of the world
I marvel at this mystery, beholder of the stars
A holy temple, a sacred burial ground
Guarding well its secrets from us all
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*Aquaria delivers another parchment with a freshly copied story from her own research, with a note to the librarian.*
"a really unusual story about gypsies. Good reading."
- Aquaria Blackstone, Relic hunter"
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Spoiler.
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The stranger cards of Amanda Blueriver
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(http://i68.tinypic.com/ncz61u.jpg)
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There was a group of gypsies who traveled from city to city, setting up their encampment in distant regions in the forest. Among them was a gypsy named Amanda Blueriver. She was the daughter of the family matriarch, a powerful sorceress, full of knowledge of spells, curses, and rituals. By learning various different forms of ancestral magic, her mother taught one that is no longer easily seen... The glamor. This type of spell is distinct, since unlike sorcerers, from which comes a lineage of blood, and the magicians, which comes through studies, Glamor develops in the channeling of the mystic arts through art. Or was this what was spoken at the time...
Gypsies are known, among other skills, in their production of incredible and unique art objects. And Amanda, being a skilled in drawing and painting, was soon tasked with producing her own tarot card deck, with her mother's teachings. Normal Tarot Cards let you read the luck of others, but never of themselves. Tarot cards enchanted with Glamor, the effect was very unique and distinct: It guide the reality, weaving a strange line of events to achieve the result indicated by each card, no longer suggesting a possible event, but forcing it to happen. And with Amanda, knowing her mother's instructions, she decided to make her own modifications.
The first rule she broke was to use real people as a reference, rather than creating them within her imagination. He used reference of several people he met in his years of travel with his gypsy camp, having reference nobles, plebeians and other people he has ever seen or talked to. The second rule she made a point of forgetting is that this tarot should be black and white, but she did not resist and decided to paint all the cards by hand, so real that the colors gave life to the delicately painted images.
The third and final rule was that any object or artifact created with Glamor should have only a single drop of blood from its creator. Amanda decided, within a month, from which she prepared, drew and painted all of her deck, used one drop per card, not one for all the inks used for all cards.
At the end of thirty days, on the night of the full moon, she decided to present the pack to her mother. Taking advantage of a visiting adventurer, with no one but Amanda and her mother to know, those cards were used to read the luck of the adventurer
She first pulled the card "The Chariot" and one of the gypsy camp carriages moved slowly toward the group, without anyone noticing at first. Immediately afterward Amanda showed the Emperor's card, making the emperor of the country himself come tumbling out of the sky without any explanation, falling in the middle of the river that by luck, was near the gypsy camp.
Quickly the gypsies near the river were quickly assisting the well-dressed noble stranger, not knowing yet to be the emperor himself. Amanda, her mother and the adventurer, still focused on reading luck, paid attention to the next 2 cards... The Tower and The Lovers.
And under the full moon in the sky, a gigantic tower falls from the sky, with a naked couple in its tower, screaming desperately falling in the middle of the river. Undeniably, Amanda's mother immediately noticed what had happened. The tower fell in the middle of the river, expelling in a great wave of water the emperor and the gypsies who ran to help him. The tower was fell and stayed put in the middle of the river, as if it were built there.
The emperor looks at the tower, pale and extremely confused, seeing his chief of guard and his empress naked on the balcony, fainting from the shock of falling from the sky with one of the towers of his castle.
The adventurer ran, recognizing the emperor, imagining what had happened, as confused as everyone in the acampament. Amanda smiled, loving the new power of her deck, recognizing her powers, pulling the next card... The Death!
The carriage that moved slowly out of nowhere caught supernatural speed, thrusting at Amanda, killing her instantly, running over the girl and throwing her into the river, already dead.
The mother silently collected all cards before someone notice anything, and tried for years to destroy the cursed cards, without success. She tried to burn, tear and even throw in the sea or the river. The next night the cards came back to her as she woke up, in her hands.
In the end, she hid each of the 78 cards in different places in the world. All the cards were individually hidden within locked wooden boxes, with a sacred silver box holding each card a letter explaining their cursed power, and that if they are all collected, their total power will be awakened.
Sometimes it is possible to hear the spirit of Amanda Blueriver fanning adventurers to find one of their cards, using a softly voice, asking for help in their dreams or even as a ghost. But the only cards that were found were the Hanged Man and The Fool, along with the body of the two adventurers in different places.
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*Aquaria delivers a parchment with a freshly copied story from her own research, with a note to the librarian.*
"This time, an old legend about an elven woman and her hive...
- Aquaria Blackstone, Relic hunter"
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Spoiler.
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Kaylessa, The Wasp Queen of Guillan Florest
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(https://s33.postimg.cc/fn6uvj0bz/50d69724baa201319bb8116d70acf850.jpg)
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There was a time, near the beginning of the silver age, from which a group of elves hated the expansion of human civilization. This small group of elves were led by an elven woman, the daughter of a druid and a powerful sorcerer of the elven people. The origin of her hatred was well known among the elves: Her parents were attacked by human bandits, who tried to make the Guillan Forest their new hiding place.
Kaylessa is her name. And by surviving the attack on her mother's cave, and after the circle of druids of her father was eliminated, she came to believe that all of humanity was a unique plague that would consume all natural resources and would dominate all races if they were not tamed or eliminated. Collecting the remains of her mother's research and the knowledge she learned from her father and other druids, she began to develop fantastic creatures through magic, but many of them were too dangerous to be released into the wilderness, being carefully kept in hibernation in her mother's cave , of which it is still sealed.
After decades of hard work, with her thirst for ever more intense revenge, she developed a dangerous and cruel species of bees and wasps. The bees, which had a serrated wound, were capable of stinging (and sacrificing) by administering a kind of special poison, which would make any animal or humanoid species obey in a servile and passionate manner. While the wasps, in turn, were the greatest horror of all ... Their stingers were capable of causing the living flesh to turn into rock, with only a slight injury.
The intensity, intelligence, and ferocity of their bees and wasps also depended on size. The smaller ones attacked in swarms, with light poisons, but when attacking several times the same victim, she was controlled and defeated. The larger ones, the size of dogs and even horses, were extremely intelligent, coordinated the attacks and tactics of the swarms and those who were under the power of her master Kaylessa.
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(https://s33.postimg.cc/3mlev1szz/43474_1297994177275_full.jpg)
In a march with no one able to interrupt her, Kaylessa began to dominate villages, travelers and even human adventurers, half elves and elves who had the misfortune to find her... And under the control of their bees, they passed the obey and he adores her as master and goddess. Before the end of spring, hordes of human servants marched toward the largest city near the Gillan Forest. She intended to exterminate or command all humans as her slaves, but something happened.
It started the winter season.
In her plans, she did not take into account the extreme cold. Their wasps and bees fell asleep, while the effect of bee venom lost its effect ... And those that were turned into rock gradually returned to normal. Knowing that her plans needed to be revised, she disappeared without a trace, taking her few servants she still had control, along with her bees and wasps. Rumors and stories tell that she created her own personal realm, her private domain, a gigantic hive hidden inside of a distant cave, from which she is gathering her troops to attack humans again. This time, sometime during the summer or spring. But never in winter.
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*Aquaria delivers a parchment with a freshly copied story from her own research, with a note to the librarian.*
"Greetings, master Pendragon. This time, a tale about a cursed Blade and a tragedy. And maybe a warning...
- Aquaria Blackstone, Relic hunter"
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Spoiler.
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Soul Blaze
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(https://s15.postimg.cc/764yw0s1n/spirit-sword-fantasy-art.jpg)
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There was a human hero in the silver age known for having an incredible sword, called Soul Blaze. Its blade was capable of decapturing any creature, while there was a flaming aura around the blade. This looks like a common arcane spell, which we all now know. But the blade had a much more evil secret... It fed souls. To each enemy the hero killed, the blade quenched its thirst, draining the souls into its metal, eternally torturing them, and its suffering made it create the incredible flaming aura that all the others saw, not knowing how the blade acted . Everyone, including the human hero, believed that the weapon was blessed, becoming the symbol of their troops hunting orcs.
However, years later, the hero retired, passing to his son the blade. And so, for almost five generations the cursed weapon was collecting souls, without anyone noticing. One night, the hero's descendant, his fifth descendant decided it was time for him to pass on the legacy and the name of his family forward. And he was ready, preparing his son to come of age, and to receive from him the Soul Blaze that went through so many generations.
When the blade was delivered to the young, the blade flashed with an intense black flame, and immediately began to expel the souls of all it captured and consumed slowly, turning them into slaves. Men, women, orcs and even dragons made of the purest and most intense flame left the blade, attacking everything and everyone around them.
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(https://s15.postimg.cc/dmdxmmg63/ndice.jpg)
To each person killed by the flames, a new guns and flaming equipment was created on the remains of their bodies. They were spears, bows, swords, shields, helmets, and all kinds of beautiful equipment of incredible quality ... The bodies of the whole kingdom, instead of becoming ashes, became weapons. Even plants and animals have become some kind of equipment or weapon. The lands became a barren wasteland, with no life.
The cursed, contented Soul Blade buries itself in the center of the desert, generating itself a lair, full of servants made of flame carrying its "sons and daughters" from which the soul has taken to itself. And the entrance of this dungeon arises only at noon, in remote places, where the sun shines brighter. This entrance attracts adventurers who explore there and die in their cursed corridors, becoming eternal victims of the weapon. Those who manage to escape carry with them cursed weapons and pieces of equipment that protect them against fire or have aura of flame...
Now, in the present day, various weapons and even relics with this power is seen with care. No one can know if it is a real or cursed object. With each life that it takes, it feeds Soul Blaze in its lair, sending to the lamina the souls that it collected. And so, it awaits the propitious moment to attack and devour whole kingdoms, savoring for eternity its present victims, while it accumulates power to attack again.
Beware of warriors and adventurers with guns and equipment with flames. If your behavior changes completely, or you feel pleasure in feeding your weapons with the blood of your enemies, it is surely the influence of Soul Blaze through your servants in the form of weapons and equipments.
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*Aquaria delivers a parchment with a freshly copied story from her own research, with a note to the librarian.*
"Greetings, master Pendragon. Sorry, not in the mood to enter in details. But the notice reach you soon...
- Aquaria Blackstone, Relic hunter"
SpoilerThe fall of Snacks
We enter this distant place
Here in this vast hall where even life fear the shadows - Here we must confront our past.
If you have killed, beware of the Baron or Lord for greedy for men.
There, the disembodied will of the lost and losers in the world becomes flesh once more.
I pity the men without honor and ones with weak will.
For here blood runs cold...
The cries from the grave resound in my ears
They hail from beyond my darkest fears
Faces of the past are etched in my brain,
All women they deceived, the men they slain.
Shades of the dead are sliding on the wall, demons dance in the tomb hall.
I call upon my leader and our knights of the a distante tale, grant me the courage to stand to this test.
I call upon an old sword, the mighty of the lady, grant me the skill to fulfill my quest.
I call upon the bard, a priest or a huntress. Grant me the magic to end my pain.
I call upon the spirit that lives in a noble heart, grant me the passion that's within my veins.
Shades of the dead are sliding on the wall. Demons dance in the tomb halls.
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My dear Relic Hunter,
I hope you enjoyed your tea.
If you would like, I have an offer for you. I have a spare office in the Library, would you be interested?
A place for you to reflex on your current and future works of art.
Albert Pendragon, Master Librarian
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My dear Relic Hunter,
I hope you enjoyed your tea.
If you would like, I have an offer for you. I have a spare office in the Library, would you be interested?
A place for you to reflex on your current and future works of art.
Albert Pendragon, Master Librarian
Aquaria reads the letter carefully, thinking for a long moment. And after some time, she send an answer.
"Greetings, Master Albert.
Having an appropriate place to work on my historical research and texts, and have a proper place to evaluate relics would be incredible, I will not lie. And with the recent problems occurring in Hadrian and with the death of Sir Snacks, I believe that I should change airs for my own safely. And with the friction between cults and noble houses harming people and lives, I'd better get away from Hadrian for a while.
Yes, I have an interest. At an appropriate time we will talk about the details, drinking a tea, as before.
- Aquaria Blackstone, Relic hunter"
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*Aquaria delivers a parchment with a freshly copied story from her own research, with a note to the librarian.*
"Greetings, master Pendragon. Another story related with Kaylessa, The Wasp Queen of Guillan Florest
- Aquaria Blackstone, Relic hunter"
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Spoiler.
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The Sisterhood of the Wasp
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(https://s15.postimg.cc/e151em9uj/natalia-malinina-malinina-big-2.jpg)
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When the invasion failed, Kaylessa, the wasp queen (https://netheril.net/forums/index.php?topic=1068.msg4192#msg4192) decided was time to instead of having slaves without minds, but was necessary to have people capable of thinking and acting on their own, but faithfully following the values and goals she commanded. For 50 years, Kaylessa began to develop a new type of servant. With her experiences in staying young already bore fruit, Kaylessa started to kidnap girls from various parts of the kingdom, all children, and of various different races.
In these 50 years, she has had at least 10 different generations of female servants: Hybrid women with wasp and bees characteristics, but more humane and with a more pleasant appearance. All his research was based on creating a new version of his servas, from which they could keep indefinitely, recovering and expanding her domains. The elves became the overseers, thanks to Queen Kaylessa's favor in allowing her own new race to be superior to all others. The female humans, because they had short lives, were assigned to be combat soldiers, while the half-elves and half-bloods of orcs were sent into groups of their own to act more ferociously. They had more life, but an intensity of combat without equal. Gnomes and hins became laborers in Kaylessa's hive.
Not to fear being betrayed, Kaylessa gave the life expectancy of her servants as young as 5 years. In the first one has the increased alchemical mutation through charms and special runes, to generate an organic armor, with wings similar to wasps and bees. In the second year, with the already physically grown children, with adult appearance and their already living insect armor, being a part of the women, undergo a rigorous six-month training along with the hive veterans.
Her mentality was shaped like a beehive. The servants saw Kaylessa as queen and mother, completely servile and obedient to her. However, after the training each of them began to develop a certain degree of individuality. Those who fought best, those who were better at leadership, the others who were more capable with arcane powers, and even some who idolized and prayed to Kaylessa as godness, developing strange and unique powers like a priestess.
When Kaylessa felt pleased with the new kind of servant, she thought it was the right time to start a new invasion. She sent her warriors only at night, to attack several villages and villages at night. His servants only robbed the girls, as young as possible. And sometimes, one or the other captured a guy whom the servants thought fit to entertain Kaylessa for some time, before he was cruelly killed.
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(https://s15.postimg.cc/oche6sw9n/33984a2777f89672a3f4a61ac3e4ca3f.jpg)
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What Kaylessa had not foreseen was that some of her servants had acquired such individuality as to escape her mental and social control. Those who were mortally wounded in combat against adventurers and survived, left their insect armor dead behind and hide with the other races, acting as assassins and thieves. They were lighter than a hin, but stronger than a half-orc. His ability and speed of combat were incredible, but his habits were scattered and dangerous. If they felt hungry, they would kill for food. If they felt cold, they would attack a family to live inside the house at night. If they felt lonely, try to capture a man try to entertain her.
Their lives were driven by instincts, their thoughts and individualities now uncontrolled, with no queen to say what to do, no hive to give work, no training to survive on their own. They were free, but they could not live without anyone teaching or commanding them.
Kaylessa, the Wasp Queen returned to her plans, and eventually disappeared again in time, planning another return, after become ready to attack all humans. But the servants lost were considered defective, and now live in caves, in small communities. These lost servants created their own hives, where the oldest is the new "queen." Unable to create armor that was developed by Kaylessa, or to be able to create new servants through their rituals and alchemy, the lost wasps captured men to reproduce en masse at the end of their lives, generating offspring with only five years to live. The lost wasps and their renegade hives lived the same as Kaylessa's loyalists, but because of their renegade and free life, they paid dearly, living intensely, but afraid of being discovered by adventurers and huntsmen, or that Queen Kaylessa herself would send them away. kill, since none of them could deny an order of the queen...
Some rumors gived a name for the lost wasps: The sisterhood of the Wasp.
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*Aquaria delivers a parchment with a freshly copied story from her own research, with a note to the librarian.*
"Greetings, master Pendragon. This time, something related with a group of female druids.
- Aquaria Blackstone, Relic hunter"
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Spoiler.
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The Daughters of Forest
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(https://s15.postimg.cc/dzrf9rdt7/640x480_20317_Saygon_2d_fantasy_bear_creature_picture_image_digi.jpg)
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Druids...Many stereotypes are made. They are old men in rags, as they walk through the forest surrounded by animals, speaking as if they were crazy. Or graceful young man or girl, walking half-naked through the forests, like a teenage dream. Nothing further than the truth. Druids are ordinary people, living in communities in the middle of the forest in harmony. They are people who have families and friends, who live long periods in the middle of the forest and in nature, know how to interact with society, even if they do not feel comfortable.
Druids live apart from each other, gathering in their circle casually, with no rules or time set. They walk in pairs, usually with an apprentice and a veteran, who teaches them everything. Or they live in small camps with their families, who are also druids or live in harmony in the forest. When they need to meet with the civilized peoples of mankind, the Druids understand human nature... And they dress as beggars, or old fools, and walk before human society, invisible, with no one wanting to notice them. They walk and hear everything, for no one notices poverty, besides the good hearted. And it is in this conception of invisibility of the community that druids walk among civilized humans to gather information. No one notices the old woman who lives in the streets, or the dirty beggar who wanders the night. But if the danger appears, they turn into animals, fleeing back into the forest.
Among the different types of circles, there is one called The Daughters of the Forest. A group of female descendants of the circle of druids that originally turned stone, to protect a forest and life in the kingdom, in a distant past. They are everything, less beautiful as believe the idiocy of civilized human man. They are filthy and ugly as they wander around the city, disguised as beggars, crazy old women, and every kind of disguise that causes others to ignore them. They say nonsense, as if they were crazy. But few people perceive a clever look behind this behavior.
Being able to talk to animals, the daughters of forests hear everything they need from dogs, cats, mice and birds that live inside the city, acting like their eyes and ears to make sure humans are in control. After all, even not accepting this, humans are an insignificant part of nature as a whole, and the forest daughters watch them from a distance, to see if their actions will threaten nature around them. That is to say, no nobleman or even a cunning villain imagines that his own pet knows what he is talking about, and that this could go to the ears of others. Outside the domain of the urban jungle, the daughter of the forest takes the form of her spiritual animal, which blends in nature as if she had never left.
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(https://s15.postimg.cc/mgqxl4sx7/image.jpg)
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Daughters are capable of turning into any animal. And this also includes fantastic creatures, whether insignificant as a kobold, or fearsome as a drider. Their unique ability to blend into societies and cultures of different races to protect the balance of nature is unique because they do not choose sides. In one day, to protect the forest or nature as a whole, it can give a small and subtle help to a group of orcs, passing on sensitive information to them, so that they can eliminate the excess of humans that advance through the dominions of nature . Or on the other hand, it can aid adventurers who deal with the excess of other creatures dangerous to all, which harm the harmony of nature. But in the end, daughters know that all they do is only small contributions, because nature has its own way of finding balance.
They know that if the spirits of nature demand, disasters such as filth, earthquakes and even insect plague or the emergence of new, unknown creatures will happen, only to bring back the balance of life and death as a whole. What they know with their conscience is to be a counterpoint subtly and slowly balancing life... For abrupt and immediate changes is something that can happen, if the weight of the balance of nature hangs too much for either side, blessing only one civilized race, or the expansion of another tribal. Either with the possibility of disappearing of a race in extinction, or with the control to contain the excess of another, that could turn to be a mortal plague to all the others.
For the daughters, the only predator that bothers is the mage. They manipulate the laws of nature, experiment with creatures and plants, bring dead back to life, disturb elemental spirits, and enslave them. For daughters, their secrets should be out of reach for any mage. They avoid them, at all costs. And they walk away from them. Not for fear, but for safety: If they have to choose between avoiding them or eliminating them all, the first option is preferable, since druids do not enter into wars or create them, it only eliminates pests and unsuitable beings that harm the harmony of nature.
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[/center]
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*Aquaria delivers a parchment with a freshly copied story from her own research, with a note to the librarian.*
"Greetings, master Pendragon. This time, something related with death, blood and darkness.
- Aquaria Blackstone, Relic hunter"
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Spoiler.
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The fountain of Blood
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(https://s15.postimg.cc/a7wrk44zv/30725632_619873081680596_4993193665384939520_n.jpg)
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Ancient legends, which came before the silver age, told of a beautiful marble fountain, representing a kind of faceless deity that protected all vampires. This faceless entity was represented by a person without mantles, being able to be either man or woman. Her/his skin was as pale as the full moon. Historians say that this faceless and nameless entity was the creator of the vampire race, to become a counterpoint to light and all good deities. To his/her faithful followers gave him intelligence and eternal undead life, feasting on the blood of his victims and those who work for his/her ideals.
Known only as "The Master," this entity (for lack of a more accurate and grounded term) first appeared in the lands of a rich kingdom at night. Walking in his white robe and hood, mortals who looked directly at the master's face fell dead, becoming zombies moments later. The walk toward the palace gave rise to a crowd of zombies, who were scattered around the capital, killing and devouring innocents wherever they went. But the zombies did not dare to walk toward the master or even overtake him. The master walked, with a distinct calm, and a posture, emanating an air of prestige and power. Some men and women, seeing his walk in the distance, quickly knelt before the road to the palace. And the master stopped and looked at those who knelt. And for a moment he/she reached for the nearest one to wash, touching his/her hand.
The first woman to touch his/her hand became his/her faithful priestess, known as Thana, representing death to those who are against the orders and desires of the master. The first man to touch his/her hand and stand up was baptized Hadria, who represents the darkness, become a defender of darkness and his/her champion in middle of fool mortals. Bian, a good-looking man become someone irresistible in the eyes of the mortal girls, who would drink from his words and follow his suggestions, always ending in lustful ends or scandals. Further on, a whole family of warriors stood together, kneeling and guns ahead, offering their services and loyalty. The master abenas waved, touching the weapons instead of them ... And the souls of all the members of Valdis were transferred to their weapons, becoming cursed and intelligent weapons, that possessed the bodies of those who touched them. On his way to the palace, the master obtained a large number of faithful servants, all vampires or maddened weapons, who floated as though they were in the hands of their former masters. And before the royal family and all the guard, ready to fight to the end, the master lowered his hood, and the darkness spread throughout the kingdom. In an endless night, the shadows and darkness took all the land for a year. Who was foolish enough to enter the darkness, never returned. And whoever tries to escape, as he leaves the deep mists, falls dead outside the limits of the kingdom, becoming a zombie, to walk back the lands of the master.
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(https://s15.postimg.cc/bmyc91gff/12466129_219192161748692_4511376458973095339_o.jpg)
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When the darkness was gone, the devastated lands were empty, and there were only ruins. The master, now with his servants and followers, reappeared seven more times in distant kingdoms... Walking through the capital, killing everything and everyone in his path, turning people into vampires or zombies ... And meeting the nobility in the palace, punished the whole kingdom with a year of deeper darkness and agony... To disappear without explanation.
Seventy years later, an island appeared in the middle of the sea, making night immediately, to any ship that is near of the island. Some sailors reported that the island was full of undead... And that in the palace on the top of the island it was possible to see a statue of the master, where hot blood flowed, filling a lake where the faithful vampires servants, having a feast, while discussing plans for the next action, as soon as their master allowed it.
When the mortals approached, the vampires made two choices... Or they fought each other until they died, and the last one was allowed to return, loaded with treasures or those who wanted to join, just had to drink a glass of blood from the fountain of the master, becoming vampires as well. The few who could come back, returned rich only to mark their homelands or kingdoms as targets for the faceless or named master's next visit. It was a matter of time for the master to visit other lands, spreading his power and expanding his court that worshiped him as a god of blood.
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*Aquaria delivers a parchment with a freshly copied story from her own research, with a note to the librarian.*
"Greetings, master Pendragon. This time, something related with Targus...
- Aquaria Blackstone, Relic hunter"
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Spoiler.
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The Fall Of The Weak Gods
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(https://s15.postimg.cc/p943yfwl7/765880961814685c8a3c58b8775b67ae.jpg)
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No one remembers the weak.
Only the weak ones.
The strongest rule.
The strongest command.
The faith of the weak creates weak gods.
Weak gods create weak worlds.
Weak worlds create weak people.
And weak people create failures.
This is the story of Targus,
As long as he's strong.
This story will be real.
And if I lie, may my weapons break!
In the day there was peace and boredom.
Weak people fearing weak people.
Weak people creating a weak nation.
Weak nation creating a weak world.
Targus came, he was not born.
For Targus is too strong,
And the war was born when he arrived.
And with the war, death was born. And died.
And Targus taught the weak to be strong.
And those who remained weak, died!
For Targus, the one who does not survive is the prey.
And only the warriors are the predators!
Targos brought the war with him.
The will to live
The creative mind, which creates weapons
Generate tactics, create legends!
The strong, life-giving heart
Generate courage, create strength!
The force of being,
the intensity of living!
Targus came, and taught to use his fists!
Then taught to use the stones!
To use wood!
And the strong have learned to make spears and axes!
Targus came naked, and killed tigers and wolves!
He ate the raw meat!
Put on filthy skin!
And the strong have learned to hunt and wear furs!
Targus came and saw rivals. He laughed.
The rivals laughed.
Targus attacked!
The rivals have fled or died!
One day, Targus decided something.
That mortals were tedious
And to heaven was to challenge the gods
And one by one, he defeated them.
But Targus did not kill any gods.
Only one he killed.
For he dared.
To be the god of war!
Targus was the war!
Targus was the battle!
Targus was the fight for life!
Targus was the winner!
And he, being mortal;
Sticking his blade.
On the right leg.
The god of war.
Like a flea.
Stung him and tormented him.
For an eternity.
Climbing the God like a montain.
And abandoned mortality
He was growing, each time.
That false deity.
He scaled!
On his march to the sky.
Rising by the pain of your enemy.
Who was said to be the master of war.
But he did not control the mighty Targus!
The blood of the fake.
God of war was flowing.
He bathed Targus's torso.
What a climb, without giving up!
The blood that hardened.
And he turned his armor.
And the cold or the heat.
It did not cause any more pain.
The false god of war.
The size of a mountain.
If he hurt himself with his hands.
trying to kill Targus, afraid.
Targus on the false god's chest came.
And his blade penetrated.
And his blade grew up.
Size was Targus's fury.
Mortals saw the false god
Giant in size,
Small in courage
Fall from the skies.
The Targus blade
Penetrated into his
heart when growing
Crushing the dreams of the false god of war.
The body of the false god.
He fell into the ice mountains.
The peaks impaled them.
And the cold froze him.
The false god of war
Died only because Targus
Did not wait to watch.
The next war he went to fight.
And instead of the old god name
Targus was cried out.
His followers bathed with blood.
Of your weak enemies.
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(https://s15.postimg.cc/5by6pi0vf/14102694_333552613645979_2332199811014589180_n.jpg)
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Targus is not a poet
Not protective or good
He just struggles. To force everyone
To be strong like them.
Targus is so strong,
That Selune hates him.
For no god or mortal
He is as powerful as Targus.
Targus smiled at Selune.
She loves peace, he loves war.
One day, the two will have a truce.
And when this happens.
Neither the gods will know
What the end the world will have.
Targus will only stop fighting
To drink and flirt.
(With Selune?)
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An Enchanting Encounter
From Celebrithrade Dedralein
In Elvish
Spoiler***
For many years, almost as long as I can remember, I have always gone and sung to the flowers in the grove near Nualla’n. Though I first did so out of pure enjoyment as I frolicked through the fields, as I became older and more gifted, I couldn’t help but feel that they were… Reacting. They would shake and curl in a most delightful manner, as if they themselves were dancing to my tunes.
Years after I took note of this change, I also began to notice that they were growing more abundantly, and much more vibrantly than they had before. Some of that was no doubt due to the guardians of the forest providing for their well being, but I couldn't help but feel a small sense of pride in myself, like a mother who has coddled her young and watched them grow to new heights of beauty.
And so I continued to sing, and sing and sing… And they danced with me…
Until just last night.
I was out near my favorite spot in the whole world… For weeks, I had felt a wide array of emotions, from stress to relieved, hope to despair, among many others. No matter what I’m feeling though, this place always soothes me in a way that nowhere else can. I feel calm, clear of mind, and focused.
And so I went there, after having been through one of the most terrifying ordeals of my life… Finally, a small chance at relaxation, a time for me to finish my secret project. I gathered my materials and set them out on the table, ready to get to work. It was a daunting task, but one that I was very much forward to work on.
However… I didn’t even get started.
As I looked up from my piles of materials, I noticed a most stunning sight… A beautiful Dryad, barely clothed by leaves. Her body radiated an aura from a body that had to have been handcrafted by the gods themselves, for I have never seen such wonderful and awesome sight before. She stood there, watching me curiously…
“I have been watching you, beautiful elf girl.”
“...”
I looked around swiftly. Surely, there must have been someone near me that I hadn’t noticed. I mean, who else could she be talking to… But as I searched, I found no one but the two of us standing in this hallowed place.
“You sing beautiful songs in the woods near my tree. You have piqued my interest… Tell me, why do you sing to the plants?”
“You… You mean me?”
“Yes, you! There is no one else here… So please, tell me, why do you sing to the plants?”
“I… I sing to them because they seem to like it. It seems to help them grow taller and more colorful.”
The dryad giggled nervously, although her eyes remained alert. “You do have a lovely voice, my dear. It’s not as wonderful as mine or my sisters, but still lovely nonetheless. I have very much enjoyed listening to you over the years.”
“I have heard many fables of the dryads and their beauty in both appearance and in vocals. I’ve wished ever since I was a little girl to see one for myself, for they say that you only appear to those that emulate what you stand for.”
The dryad smiled at me and began to walk over slowly and gracefully. “So why have you come to this altar here?”
“I-I am here because this place soothes my mind and soul. I come when I am sad or happy; relaxed or tired. It makes me feel like nowhere else can, and it is my favorite place on this plane.”
She giggled more. “Well, I hope I haven’t disappointed you. It’s not often that my kind show ourselves.”
“But of course not! You are far more gorgeous than I could have ever imagined. If it is no trouble, may I ask your name?”
The dryad looked aghast at my question and took a step back. “Oh no! No no no! I cannot do this, I know not of your intentions! You could use this to harm me, or you could tell someone else and *they* could harm me! No… No no no!”
The look of panic on her face made my heart skip a beat, for it was still immaculate. “I’m so sorry! I truly meant no offense, please forgive my transgression. I would never wish ill will on you or your kind.”
“I’m sorry, but asking such a thing of me is quite offensive…” The dryad said as she backed toward the tree line. “If you wish to make up for the rudeness you have shown me, then impress me. Impress me with the gifts you have, and if meet my standards, then I will let this slide and forgive you in full.”
My heart was beating out of my chest, I could feel my vein throbbing in my neck and wrists. “Y-you wish to hear a song… From me? I-I would be honored, miss.”
Though I have learned thousands of songs and dances over the years, the choice I made was an easy one… If I was going to impress her, then I would need to give her what all my other songs she heard lacked…
My heart and soul.
I pulled out my heart and began to strum it gently. My vocal chords were still warm from my singing prior to her arrival, and so I was ready to give this my all.
Please don’t cry, for me…
Please don’t cry, for me…
I knew what I was supposed to be-e-e-e
Please don’t cry, for me…
Please don’t cry, for me…
If only they headed our plea-a-a-a
Please don’t cry, for me…
Please don’t cry, for me…
May this spell bring peace for eternity-y-y-y
Please don’t cry, for me
Please don’t cry, for me…
It’s with a smile that I die for thee…
I concluded my song to perfection. I myself was lost in my performance, somehow taking my attention from the symbol of beauty that stood before me. But as I opened my eyes and looked back to her, I saw something I would have never thought possible: a single tear, running down her face.
She let her tear stay there as she spoke to me again. “That song is one of such sadness, and I can sense that this sorrow is deep within your heart. Your performance was worthy of praise, and you have met my expectations. In fact, not only shall I forgive your past transgression, but I wish to reward you with a gift.”
“A gift? From you?” My heartbeat was at record speed. “I-I would be honored to receive such a token from one such as yourself.”
She looked over to my assortment of materials and the beginning of my project. “If I come closer, do you promise not to harm me?”
“Yes, of course, with all my heart, I swear I will not harm you.”
The dryad smiled and walked over to the pile of reagents and began working with them. I have never dreamed before, as is with all elves, though from what I’ve read of the experience, this is the closest I have ever been to “dreaming.” It was as if time moved at a different pace, and I wasn’t myself as I watched her move her body in fluid motion as she put herself to work. Before I knew it, the gift she had given me was placed delicately in my hands.
She bit her lip nervously. “I… Hope you like my gift for you, pretty elf.”
“Like it? I love it! I could not have done a better job myself, not if I dedicated myself to it for the next 500 years! This is a true masterpiece…”
She smiled at me. “I’m so very glad you like it dear. Please, wear it well, and do remember me as you do so…”
“Of course, I could never forget you and the generosity you have shown me.”
She suddenly leaned forward and placed her lips just off the side of my ears. She told me her name, and that she hoped to see me again. I returned the favor, and told her that I very much looked forward to the day when I would see her again. She then slowly turned away and walked deep into the woods, leaving me alone with the gift that she had made for me…
***
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Celebrithrade Dedralein
*In Elvish*
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The following is a folk tale that has been passed down in my family for generations. While my family normally devotes ourselves to only puting “critical” facets of our lore into writing, I find it desirable to add this to our written collection as well. This was my favorite bedtime story to hear from my mother before bed...
Spoiler***
The story begins a long, long time ago with a young elf girl sitting underneath a blossom tree atop the hill overlooking her home. One day, this girl spotted a small azul fairy nearby, unable to fly due to an injured wing.
"What's your name, little one? Are you lost?" the girl asked the fairy.
"I'm called Aquaglow, and I'm waiting for my mommy. She's coming for me from up there!" said the fairy as it motioned up toward starlit sky.
"Why don’t I wait with you?" the little elf girl asked Aquaglow. “That way, neither of us will be lonely.”
At nightfall, the little elf girl brought out the quilt her mother made her and gazed into the sky by the fairy’s side. They watched and scanned, but they saw out of the ordinary. Minutes turned into hours, hours turned into days, but still the sky revealed nothing.
Finally, the little girl sighed and turned to Aquaglow, "If we stay out here much longer, my family is going to start getting suspicious." She furrowed her brow as she pondered a new plan. "Why don't we go out and find your mommy ourselves?"
Aquaglow was pleased by the idea, and so he and the little elf girl set off into the depths of the forest under the starry sky.
Days passed with no sight of the fairy’s mother. Instead, trees extended for as far as the eye could see, making it near impossible to get a glimpse of the sky. "If I had known it was going to take this long, I would have packed more food," said the little elf girl, above the rumble of her belly.
At this, Aquaglow burst into a fit of laughter as the girl began to pout. "As long as I have Fae Dust, I'll be fine," said Aquaglow. "Would you like some? It’s veeeeery tasty!"
She hadn’t noticed it before, but as she looked around, she found herself in a new, strange world. The forest they were walking through was gone now, and in its place was a brilliant plane that seemed to lack definition. There were dazzling dark lights all around her as if there was both sunlight and moonlight at the same time.
Bright specks fell and swirled through the air, or as the fairy had called it, Fae Dust. Surrounded by these new wonders, the little elf girl couldn't stay mad as they floated through time and space. She even stuck out her tongue to catch some, and found it tasted like sweet berries she would pick back home.
As they continued on their journey, the pair collected Fae Dust with the girl's quilt that they fashioned into a big Fae Dust catcher. They almost lost hold of it a few times, but they kept on collecting anyway.
***
One day, a beam of bright light blinked behind the two in an unusual manner as compared to what they had seen previously. Instinctively thinking it was the sun, the girl peered back, only to find a turquoise comet shimmering at her. The little girl shook Aquaglow (who was asleep on her shoulder) awake and shouted excitedly, "Aquaglow, wake up, we have to go! Your mother might be there!"
“Mommy!” Aquaglow cried as they bolted towards the comet.
The pair landed on the comet and found that it was made of a singular, solid gem. They looked all over, but Aquaglow's mother was nowhere to be found. However, Aquaglow seemed to find something else of interest. "Look!"
Peering down at the slick, shimmering ground where Aquaglow was pointing, the girl suddenly noticed large clusters of Fae Dust encased in the gem. "Pretty neat, huh?" said Aquaglow, whith a large grin on his face. "The Fae Dust looks frozen inside. I'll bet there's water here too, and maybe some other useful things." The two decided to stay on the comet for a while as they continued their search.
***
While in this strange plane, the little elf girl experienced the phenomena of dreaming, an experience that was once foreign to her and her people back home. One night, she dreamed about her own mother, who was facing away from her. "Where are you going?" she asked her mother as she stood there and watched her mother begin to walk away. Without turning, her mother replied, "My dear, sweet child, worry yourself not. I'm not going anywhere. I shall always watch over you, like the sun in the brightness of day and the moon in the dark of night."
A wave of sadness washed over the little elf girl. "What about when the clouds come, and I can't see you anymore?"
Her mother thought for a moment before responding. "Whether you can see me through them or not, I will be waiting for you, for they will not last forever."
When she woke the next morning, the girl's face was moist with tears. "You have shiny water in your eyes! Does it hurt?" said Aquaglow to the girl.
She wiped her face before she replied, "These are tears, not shiny water. And I'm crying because… Becasue... I'll never see my mother ever again!" At this, Aquaglow began to cry along with the little elf girl.
***
The pair traveled through the starry skies, and though they encountered many other comets, not one of them held Aquaglow's mother. The two lost track of their time together, but it was apparent that many years had passed, as the little elf girl grew taller and more mature over time.
Aquaglow, after experiencing false hope time and time again, was silent and distant.
"Now, now, Aquaglow. The rain clouds won't go away if you keep crying," the girl said, giving Aquaglow a gentle hug. "The little elf girl closed her eyes and said gently, "I'll take care of you, I promise."
***
"The foyer will go here, and the garden will go over there..." the girl said busily to herself. "We'll put a table here, and perhaps we can find something to decorate these walls, too..."
It turned out that Fae Dust wasn’t the only thing frozen inside gems they came upon. There were materials to build unlike any they had ever seen, and the girl used them to make a place to live. Ever since the girl took Aquaglow under her care, she'd been bustling about at a rapid pace.
Looking at the completed house, Aquaglow remarked, "Don't you think it's a little big for just us?" With so many rooms, it was very spacious, but still, something was amiss in the elf girl’s heart, thought she couldn't quite place what it was.
***
Then one day, while the girl sat and stared into the distance as she daydreamed, a tiny crimson-colored gem comet appeared on the horizon. From this comet, another fairy emerged. "Do you two know each other?!" the girl asked the two fairy’s as they stared at each other. Despite the girl's excitement, the two seemed uneasy.
The two fairies continued to stare at each other, motionless. Then, Aquaglow broke the silence. "My mommy!" At once, the crimson fairy chimed back, "My mommy! My mommy!" "My mommy!" "My mommy!" The two fairies began to fly around the girl frantically, and neither showed any sign of stopping. The girl was so enchanted by this heartwarming display that she couldn't help but giggle.
Suddenly, more fairies popped out from behind the crimson gem comet. They were a wide array of colors, but they all yelled the same thing. "My mommy!" "My mommy!" The sight of all the shouting fairies only made the girl laugh harder.
"What am I going to do with all of you?!" The fairies just stared blankly as she bent over laughing. "I guess we'll have to name each and every one of you, won’t I." The next day, once she had finished naming them all, she began moving all the fairies into their new home.
***
After another long period of time, a curious thought popped into the elf girl’s head. "I wonder if my home is still as lush and green as it once was." Oddly enough, the place in which they were flying through gave her a strong feeling of nostalgia. She took it upon herself to climb to the roof of the home and peer out into the distance.
Suddenly, a dark-green speck floated into sight. It was smaller than a piece of Fae Dust, but she could just barely make it out. She squinted her eyes as tight as she could to try and focus, and the green dot grew until she could make out a grassy hill dotted with red and pink flowers. It seemed very familiar to her. As it appeared even closer, a familiar grove on the hill came into view.
She remembered frolicking up the hill she followed her father up that hill to look at the stars...
She remembered how she and her brother would roll down that hill in the summer, and slide down during the winter...
She remembered having picnics with her mother on that hill on bright and windy days... And...
"I wanna go home! I wanna go home right now!" The elf girl burst into tears, and the fairies awkwardly watched her continue. "I wanna go home! I wanna go back to my house! I wanna see my mother! Father! And big brother too!" The girl was near hysterical now, her face damp with tears. "But I know she's not gonna be there! None of them are! Because… Because…"
"They’re all sleeping under the blossom tree!" The girl's cries echoed through the empty plane, and a hush fell over the area.
Aquaglow drew close and tried to comfort her. "Mommy, you still have me!" "And don't be sad about your mommy, daddy or brother... Because they’re all a part of you! That means they will always be close by! That’s how I think, anyway… I love other fairies because they remind me of my mommy."
"No...no..." the girl said, unable to stop the tears. \
A lonely look flickered across Aquaglow's face, but it was soon replaced by a wide grin. "I have an idea!" "I will transform into a comet… A big, soaring comet that can carry you all back home to your mommy!"
With that, Aquaglow, trailing bands of white and blue, soared high into the sky and just as quickly started to plummet back down. The space surrounding the home trembled, and a bright light poured out of the comet that the Aquaglow had created. The bands of light twisted together to form a comet tail.
The girl could scarcely believe her eyes. "But...how?" she kept asking.
"Our destiny as fairies is to help those who are lost," said a violet fairy who suddenly appeared. "People, ideas, comets... We can become all of these things! When I grow up, I want to become a star that makes someone special smile as I guide their way home," said an orange fairy. A magenta fairy chimed in, "That Aquaglow turned into a real cutie of a comet, didn't he!"
All of the fairies together said, "No more crying, mommy!"
"Thank you..." said the girl in a whisper, and she pulled the fairies close and hugged them. From that day on, tears no longer fell from the girl's eyes.
The comet set forth for the girl's home plane, its long tail blazing proudly behind it.
***
With its many fairies and the now castle-sized structure that was built on top of it, the comet was quite a sight to behold. The girl and the fairies were proud to call it home. At a welcoming party for a new fairy, the girl gathered everyone in the kitchen and said in a louder voice than usual... "Alright, everyone! Let's make a cake! A cake sprinkled with Fae Dust! Then it will be a Fae-ry good cake!" The fairies all laughed excitedly and began to gather the ingredients.
As she watched the fairies scurry about, the girl smiled and thought to herself, "This is my family now, and I will stay with them until they're ready to leave the nest. And when they do leave, I'll see them off with a smile. Because that's what makes a mother happiest."
That night, when the girl lay down to sleep, a soft light enveloped her and reminded her of the green forest she once called home. "But it would be nice to return home once every one hundred years to nap under my favorite blossome tree... "
The comet carrying the fairies and the elf girl continues on its journey through the Celestial Sea to this very day. With more "family members" in tow than can be counted, it's said that the comet visits her home once every hundred years, its proud white and blue tail glittering in the sky.
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* The Librarian sits down with the latest contributions over a cup of tea *
// keep them coming in :)
-
For the library of Valstiir from Manus Morwegen. To increase the general level of public awareness, I compiled this booklet with a basic description of metals and alloys.
Spoiler
Iron.
Iron is often regarded as the most basic of metals. Indeed, this metal is found most often and is loved by smelters and smiths for simplicity of processing, strength and ease of making alloys.
Iron ore can differ significantly. The quantity and composition of impurities can easily determine the place of extraction of iron ore and significantly affect the price, as well as priceless for geological exploration. For example… The region around the Hadrian is unique in that the quality and composition of the ore found in it is approximately the same even in places of extraction with considerable distance from each other. Along with the formations of the lava cave, a shallow bedding of valuable ores and precious stones to the surface, and the close proximity of the passages to Underdark, this indicates a geological anomaly. Perhaps it is caused by a small thickness of a tectonic plate in this region, or points to its volcanic origin or a destructive earthquakes in the past. Of course, I'm not a professional geologist and my knowledge is derived from the general dwarven education and training courses of my order. Nevertheless, they are sufficient for basic analysis and geological exploration. For further study you need a specialist.
Iron ore also has a unique ability to retain energies, including planar ones. Many attribute this property to magnetism, but research in this area is still underway. Unfortunately, I would not be able to disclose their results even if I had this knowledge. Curious is the fact that planetouched iron subjected to processing preserves and even enhances the qualities obtained. But previously processed can not acquire them naturally and is only amenable to enchantment. The most striking example is the shadow iron that is common in this region, but other varieties exist. Despite the ease with which iron can be turned into alloys, this does not apply to the planetouched ore. The purity of the metal is extremely important for the retention of unusual qualities and any of its violations can lead to their loss or even cause harmful effects due to the energy outburst.
It is a mistake to assume that iron does not possess miraculous properties by itself. Processed at low temperatures, it retains quality unpleasant and even destructive for creatures of Fey origin and is called "Cold Iron". Unfortunately, such a blade is hardly suitable for long-term use as the main weapon.
Speaking of alloys. Most iron alloys are called steel. Some steel is not afraid of rust, some better hold the cutting edge, or more flexible. There is no ideal steel, it's all matter of purpose. In fact, most of the so-called iron weapons produced in the surrounding lands to some extent is steel. Otherwise, it would be barely fit for long heated battle. Among steel, of course, there are no stronger varieties than dwarven. Almost every clan has its own secrets of steel making and their features are different. For example - darksteel, extremely hard steel only produced by the clan Ironstar. If you have an opportunity to buy genuine darksteel weapon from an Ironstar dwarf, well… don’t think twice.
Truly, iron is wondrous metal, often underappreciated.
Arandur.
Knowledgeable dwarf can not talk about steel and not mention arandur. True, this metal is almost unknown to other races and is rare, but its existence is not a secret. Raised from the lava depths, it is found only in igneous rock. Blue-green streaked metal, it turns silver-blue after processing. Arandur by its qualities resembles steel. Not afraid of rust, moderately flexible, but its main feature is the retaining cutting edge. As if this metal becomes stronger becoming thinner. Arandur weapons is rare but fully deserve to be called “Keen”. Rare adventurers become happy owners of such weapons, and they wonder why they do not have to sharpen it. Because it’s not steel, lads and lasses.
Bronze.
Bronze is an alloy of copper and tin. Copper itself mostly used for coins, but bronze has much more practical applications. It is even easier to process than iron, so it serves as a material for household items and furniture. Its color pleases the eye, it looks good with wood and over the years is covered with a noble patina that only add to the item value. Less well-known use of bronze is to cover the steel tools with a thin layer of it. This prevents sparks, reducing the threat of fire in dry places or places with explosive gas emissions.
Silver.
Not much can be said about silver, as this metal is widely known and everyone has to deal with it. Appreciated for its beauty, it’s also known to be harmful for shapechangers like werebeasts and for vampyres. Maybe there’s more creatures vulnerable to silver, who knows? Of course, do not expect that your enemy will crumble to dust from one touch to a silver necklace. Correctly made weapons and armor of silver, that's what can give you an advantage. Silver holds well the enchantments, especially those that protect against electricity (everyone seen amulets that protect you from electricity, very practical item to have). Under the influence of strong enchantment, silver becomes stronger and not much inferior to steel.
The so-called alchemical silver is the way to put silver on steel. Thus, we get a weapon that is destructive for some beings without extremely expensive enchantments to increase the strength of silver.
As a side note, use garlic in battle with a vampire, for a short time it will make it difficult for the monster to evade your attacks. Belladonna leaves will help you to avoid werewolf attacks much easier for a short time.
Electrum.
Electrum is a naturally occurring silver-gold alloy that usually worth half the price of equal piece of pure gold. Not much can be said about it except that electrum-plated steel is used to produce Storm Stars. Invention of Netheril empire, these morning stars allow user to hurl lightning at his enemies. Unfortunately those items is very rare and I do not know who has the secret of their creation.
Gold.
Gold is loved by everyone. Soft and easy to shape. One can judge the welfare of a region that stamping it’s own gold coins through calculating the content of pure gold in them. In addition to its undoubted economic utility, gold is widely used in jewelry and alchemy. A vessel of gold, albeit expensive, can hold acid without fear of being shattered. Enchanters love gold for its unprecedented ability to hold spells, especially protecting against acid and fire. Most of the magic jewelry is made of gold. There are even armor made of enchanted gold. Enchantments on them are powerful, but the cost and, most importantly, the weight of such armor make it hardly practical for a warrior.
Platinum.
Platinum is costly silver-like metal sometimes used as a currency to reduce the weight of gold in large transactions. From platinum, jewelry for the nobility is often made. The remaining qualities of platinum hardly deserve to be remembered, since other metals exceed it in certain properties at a much lower cost.
Mithral.
Mithral (or Mithril) is favorite of elves and armored spellcasters. Lighter than other metals, while maintaining strength and flexibility. Cleaner than even silver and platinum. Mithral ore is rare, but easily distinguishable as this metal naturally tends to purity and almost does not contain defects. The smelting of mithral is not much different from the smelting of steel, although the temperature of the smelter should be higher than usual. The real difficulty lies in its forging. This metal remembers its previous form and seeks to return to it until you "persuade" it to keep the new form. In other words, you need to apply the right amount of force to the right parts of the workpiece while you keep it hot, for a long time. It is painful to admit, but in the mithril forging, the elves have reached great heights than dwarves. Do not get it wrong, we are able to make many products from this metal. Just elves make them thinner and somehow manage to apply a pattern to them.
Some bards believe that a mixture of mithril and steel can create adamantine. The only thing you can achieve in this way is to make the dwarven blacksmith laugh before losing consciousness.
Adamantium.
Adamantium is a tricky beast. Adamantium is correct name since adamantine is the name of alloy. But since the difference is not obvious, it's easier to just use both names as you like and just clarify whether you're talking about a pure metal or alloy.
Adamantium ore can be found only in places of combined geological and magical anomaly known as earth nodes. Similar anomalies of a different nature exist in the underdark. I do not know their names, but the vile drows use them to protect themselves from magical influence from outside, which greatly complicates the battles. Rarely you can find small quantities of metal in the meteorites. For those who have not received special training it is extremely difficult to distinguish adamantium from ordinary stone.
Adamantium ore is hard to process since when it reaches a certain extremely high temperature, it very quickly passes into a liquid state and also freezes as quickly. The task is complicated by the fact that this ore contains a lot of impurities with a close melting point. If you fail to divide them, then the processed batch of ore will be simply ruined. Masters alchemists are able to process this metal in small quantities. Drow handle it in large quantities, but their methods are imperfect and they support the quality of metal with their foul magic. Such items is not very valuable since they will degrade under the sunlight. You can process a large number of high quality ingots only in specially equipped dwarven smelteries, which are rare even in the dwarven mainland since ore itself is found not so often.
Adamantine is an alloy of adamantium that looks jet-black but have a green sheen under the light produced by natural fire, or purple-white sheen under the magical light. Using this property to distinguish authentic adamantine from forgery. Adamantine is known for its strength and ability to remain undamaged under horrendous strikes. Adamantine weapons are equal to enchanted weapons and therefore able to penetrate through some kinds of magic shields. From here went the manner of comparing the fists of the most experienced monks to adamantine.
Many people consider adamantine to be the strongest of metals. This is a mistake, and I will write about the next metal to dispel this myth. Obdurium is a pale violet metal which is harder than even adamantine. This incredibly rare metal represents the pinnacle of non-magical metal strength. It is also extraordinarily expensive. I will be honest with you, I have never seen a product from this metal in my life, since it is stored in the most intimate dwarven treasures. I've heard of humans with a couple of items made from obdurium, but I do not know whether this is a simple rumor or truth.
Of course, there are many other less well-known metals and alloys that I would like to talk about. But this booklet is brief and is devoted only to the metals and alloys that most of you, with some degree of probability, will use or discuss.
-
I am sending this letter in addition to the booklet, since I forgot to mention one important material.
Star Metal.
Very rare and incredibly expensive, this metal is not found in the bowels of the earth. No, the only way to find it is to find a fallen meteorite, which is not necessarily will be composed of the star metal. When falling most of the metal burns out, so the pieces usually reach the ground in size not larger than the thumb. Among already rare star metal meteorites, pieces of the size of a fist are even rarer, and those that are the size of a head can be counted on the finger of one hand and entered legends. Fortunately, its main application (not counting the jewelry) is the addition in small quantities to common metals. Star metal improves the quality of almost any alloy, its strength, sharpness, flexibility and the ability to keep the enchantment. High-ranking officers, champions and nobles sometimes possess such a weapon since its price is much higher than usual.
That's it. Hope it would be helpful. Manus Morwegen.
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We welcome new authors and their contributions to the Library.
Might need a Fiction/story section along with a Lore/resource for these books you are supplying.
Albert Pendragon, Master Librarian
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*A letter is sent to Sir Albert at the library, bound with an immaculate wax seal with a tree*
Sir Albert Pendragon,
I have included another contribution to the library. I will continue to write more and send them to you.
As always, if you have suggestions or requests of topics you would like to fill, you need only ask and I shall do my best to oblige.
I look forward to our continued partnership,
Celebrithrade Dedralein,
Loremaster and Cultural Protector of the Tel-Quessir Empire
SpoilerMoral Dilemmas (Part 1)
By Celebrithrade Dedralein
***
The following is the first book in a series penned by Celebrithrade Dedralein, Loremaster and Cultural Protector of the Tel Quessir. In her writing, she discusses her views on morality in today’s ever-evolving world, as well as dissecting some moral decisions that she has faced during her many travels.
***
I should first start off by saying by saying that the thoughts that I write within these pages are purely my own, and they are by no means gospel. I am a mere mortal, just as anyone else is who may be reading this, and so I won’t pretend to be perfect or all-knowing. These are just what I have come to think and see during my short 100 year life.
Now that I’ve disclosed a bit of myself, I would next like to explain my -general- view on morality and moral dilemmas before I get into a specific scenario.
In my opinion, morality is subjective. That is to say there is no “true” moral compass that exists that can serve as a guide to all peoples due to our inherent differences in nature and cultural practices. This idea is perpetuated due to the differences between the different races and even the sub groups within said races. What is morally acceptable for an elf is quite different than what is morally acceptable in human society.
Take for example the issue of slavery. In the Tel-Quessir Empire, slavery would be considered a heinous act and as such would never be tolerated. The thought of coercing and threatening another living creature to do your bidding against your will for their entire life goes against many of our core values. This is because we, as elves, place a high importance on the values of harmony, freedom, and other such things.
In human society, however, slavery is widely accepted. This is because humans, as ambitious species, place a high importance on driving their production, war efforts, and furthering their own power. Even though most humans would likely find the act of enslaving the other to be of questionable moral ground, they tolerate it because, in their minds, the end result of furthering their power vis-a-vis their adversaries is worth the potential sorrow and pain experienced by their slaves.
There are many other areas of morality that different peoples disagree on, some far more complex than the example I gave, but I believe this is example is adequate enough for now. However, there is another topic I wish to discuss before I detail my own experiences, and that is the question of whether moral values must remain as -absolute- pillars within a society, or if they are -arbitrary- standards that may be changed from one situation to the next.
If we return to the view of elven slavery, we can see there is a bit of room for discussion here as well. While some might argue that slavery, in every instance, is wrong and must not be practiced, there are others who would say “well, in -some- cases, slavery may be a necessary evil to accomplish a greater good.” One such situation could be interrogating information out of an orc captive. Some elves would view that such practices are evil and should not be practiced, and others would say that due to the orc being an enemy and unfit to receive normal rights deemed worthy by the elves, then using evil tactics on the prisoner is justifiable in the name of greater good.
I could talk in circles on these subjects for some time, but I will refrain from doing so. They are merely present in my writing here to give general examples of my scenarios to come.
So, then I suppose I should give my first moral dilemma and how I faced it, no?
As those who know me well may have realized, I pride myself on doing good things for people. I make every effort I can to assist those that need my help, no matter how big or small the problem. And no matter how unworthy someone may seem, I will always give at least one chance for redemption. I’m the type of person who would rather be harmed by being too trusting than harming others by being untrusting, if that makes sense. Though, I will say that my patience for such things has grown shorter as time goes on…
At any rate, my first great moral dilemma came on my very first adventure outside of Nualla’n. A group of giants had just attacked Hadrian, and the many adventurers of the town set out to attack them where they lived. I got wrapped up in the situation one way or another, and decided to accompany them and aid them in any way I could. Which, at the time, was solely through my healing magics and inspirational voice.
As we pressed inward toward the giant’s throne room, the fighting became more and more fierce. However, one warrior in particular, Sir Kroznaks of the Swords of the Lady, continued to preach camaraderie and standing together to face the threats. His effort was quite admirable, both in terms of his leadership, as well as his fighting prowess.
However, when it came down to it, his words were not enough to persuade the others to follow his lead.
During the battle in the throne room, many were killed… Myself included. The fact that I’m alive again to write this is quite miraculous indeed. There were 11 of us who died that day, and just as many who were barely able to escape to regroup and make one last desperate attempt to finish off the enemy.
As I lay dying, I felt as if I was moving toward a place I don’t know, like I was floating in an endless sea of black. But while I was in this space, a sinister force reached out to me from the great beyond… It promised to return me to life, as well as give me power, wealth, and fame that I could have never dreamed of otherwise. The only condition that the being asked was that I turn on those who were coming to rescue me.
As such, I was faced with my great first moral dilemma… Should I accept this offer, or not? Keep in mind again that I seek to do the most good that I can, as my primary objective.
Obviously, I would have no such opportunities to do anything good whilst dead. Should I be able to return to life, I would once again have the ability to give my help to others, and may very well be better equipped to do so, if what the entity offered was true.
However… accepting such a deal from one who was so evil I could feel it from his very words was likely to be more complicated than it would seem. There would be almost nothing from stopping the entity from changing the terms of the agreement to fit his will as soon as I became willing.
Furthermore, turning on those that were willing to fight and die alongside me… Such an evil act would not be justifiable in my mind. While some acts can be partaken in without changing your character, an act of such betrayal with murderous intent would have no doubt changed the very core of my being. So, even with the threat of being unable to do more good whilst dead, there now existed the threat that I would become tainted and evil, and would therefore be a net detriment to the side of good.
And so I, like the 10 others, had to make the choice: return to life under the being’s conditions, or remain dead. My answer was quick: I denied this offer.
But… I was the only one.
The other 10 each accepted. The evil entity, frustrated at my adamant refusal, saw it fit to punish me beyond suffering in death… It made me watch as the betrayers turned on the rescuers who came for them. In my 100 year existence, that was the most tragic and saddening event I had ever witnessed. To see that 10 others so quickly betrayed their friends… It was an eye opening experience.
The rescuers defeated them, of course. Some were killed, others were disarmed and allowed to leave… But the emotional damage still lingers to this day.
As for me, I was revived in another manner… A divine entity took pity on me, and rewarded me for my devotion to serving the principles of good, under the condition that I continue to bring him and my people honor and glory.
So, even though I seemingly only had -one- option available to return to life, I refused to give in to despair and desperation, and another path revealed itself to me. My point is this: even in situations where it would seem you only have -one- option, or two bad options, you need not make the choice in that instance. Perhaps, if you try hard enough, another, better option will make itself available. Beware of the so called -deals- you are offered… for those that offer them likely only do so knowing there will be no way you can escape them.
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Sir Albert Pendragon,
Another contribution of a fairytale I heard growing up. I hope it finds a nice home in the library, perhaps where children can read it!
Kind Regards,
Celebrithrade Dedralein
SpoilerTHE ENCHANTED QUILL
An elven man on horseback fell fast asleep while riding, and so his horse began grazing in a meadow. A crow flew down from a tree and pecked the horse so that it reared up suddenly and woke the rider up. "Why did you peck at my horse?" the rider asked angrily.
"So that you would finally wake up!" the crow said. "You've been asleep for three years now!" The rider looked at his surroundings, which were quite different than he remembered, and realized that the crow had spoken the truth.
"Tell me, how can I thank you?"
"By giving me one of your three sisters in marriage. Take this picture of me with you." The crow gave the rider a portrait of himself and flew off into the distance. The rider could feel a curious magic from within this portrait, but to repay his debt, the held onto it as he ventured back home.
When the man returned home on horseback, he told his sisters about the crow and its request, and then he showed them the portrait of the bird. The eldest of the three sisters wrinkled her nose, the second shrieked, "No way!" and the youngest just blushed. She took the portrait and went to her room.
The next day a splendid carriage drawn by four horses appeared. The sisters were filled with curiosity, for they imagined a noble might be calling, and they raced to the door. A black crow stepped out of the carriage, and two of the sisters went right back in the house. Only the youngest of the three invited him in. Still, the crow asked all three sisters to visit his manor.
Together they traveled through a dark, gloomy forest. They were all convinced that they must be traveling on the road to the underdark. After a while it grew light, and the path took them through a forest of blossom trees and then on to a beautiful castle. The crow said to the two sisters: "Just watch out, and don't get too curious about things." The two sisters tiptoed toward the door and peeked through the keyhole. They saw a handsome young man sitting at a table, having a cozy conversation with their sister.
All at once, everything changed: The castle and the carriage disappeared, and the three young women were standing under a fir tree. The crow was up in the branches, scolding them: "Now only the youngest can save me. She must walk to the city in rags and accept whatever work she is offered."
And so the youngest walked to the city in rags and was about to be turned back by the constable when a tailor appeared to ask if she could do some cooking and cleaning for the prince living there. She assured the tailor, somewhat haltingly, that she could do all those things, and he walked over with her to the place where she would be employed.
Before long it became obvious that she had none of the skills she claimed to have. The food was constantly burned; the silver was dirtier than ever. Gardeners, huntsmen, and servants all made fun of her, insulting her and calling her names. She wept bitter tears. Suddenly the crow appeared at the window, turned his wing to her, and said: "Pull out one of my feathers, and if you use it to write down a wish, the wish will come true." With a heavy heart she pulled a feather out. Before the noonday meal, she wrote down the names of the very finest dishes with the quill. The food appeared on the table in bowls that sparkled and glowed.
The prince and the princess were thrilled, and the servant girl was given beautiful garments to wear. She had such an exquisite face and figure that the caretaker was soon enamored of her and wanted her to be his. He tiptoed to her room and peeked in. When she didn't order him to leave, he ran over to her. "Shut the door!" she said. And just as he was turning around, she wrote with her quill: "Let him spend all night opening and closing the door." And that is exactly what happened. In the morning the caretaker, deeply humiliated, could be seen slinking away.
The next evening the huntsman came to the girl's room while she was lying in bed. He bent over to take his boots off. She wrote: "Let him spend all night taking his boots off and putting them back on." And that's exactly what he did. At daybreak, he left in a huff. On the third morning one of the servants appeared. He had a strange neck, twisted from constantly watching doves, and the fool looked deep into her eyes. While he was asking for her favors, he suddenly remembered that he had left the door to the dovecote open and asked if he could go back to close it. The girl nodded with a laugh and wrote down the words: "Let him spend all night opening and closing the door to the dovecote."
That's how she got the suitors off her back. But they were determined to have their revenge, and they made three whips that they planned to use on the cook. When she caught on, she wrote down the following words: "Let them whip each other with those devilish switches!" And that's exactly what happened. The prince and the princess tried to help them, but they ended up receiving more lashes than anyone else.
The time had come. The crow arrived, and now he had turned into a prince. He rode with the beautiful cook to his magnificent castle they lived happily ever after.
-
**The following is a compilation of poems written by admirers of a certain Elven Woman… whom they now refer to as the “Snake Queen”**
Oh majesty
my queen
chain breaker
Demon Slayer
Oh Corellon almighty
give her strength
give her power
let her shine brighter
Our lovely
Queen of Snakes
***
The beautiful Snake Queen
Graceful, misunderstood, too often
unseen
She lacks vanity although she is
pure perfection
She slithers across the room
Regal in her being
The most beautiful mark upon this land
The beautiful Snake Queen displays
strength.
perseverance.
class.
When you lay your eyes upon her you will
know that you are in the presence of royalty
Of greatness
The beautiful Snake Queen is art
Flawless and everlasting
She...she is forever
***
As I first laid eyes upon her. I realized I was in the presence of a queen. Her very essence sent a surge through my spine godly enough for her royalty. And as I learned to walk as a knight
As I learned to talk as a knight
As I learned to act like a knight.
The Snake Queen’s gaze never broke that of the ceaseless horizon
-
The Founding of Nualla’n
Celebrithrade Dedralein
** Written in Elvish **
SpoilerIt has come to my attention that up to this point, no written history exists explicitly outlining the founding of the great city of Nualla’n. This is likely due to the humble beginnings of the city, as well as the perceived “unimportance” of the city’s rise at the time of the decline of the elven kingdoms and empires of old. There is, however, an extensive oral history that has been passed down by the oldest families of the city,
Nualla’n, in its inception, was not designed to be a grand city as it now stands today. Rather, it was established by a small colony of moon elves from the kingdom of Orishaar, near the border with the sun elves of Aryvandaar, and also not far from the border with the dark elf kingdom of Ilythiir.
The location was initially chosen by the moon elves due to the luscious forestry that surrounded the small lake and its many waterfalls. For a long time, this little place didn’t have an official name… In time, more travellers from the other two kingdoms would happen upon this small village. Some would leave and tell others about this wonderful little spot of paradise, while others would stay there entirely. With such a mixture of the elven races, which to this point mostly kept to their own respective kingdoms, a name was finally given: Nualla’n, the city of the elves, for even though it belonged to the kingdom of Orishaar, it was still considered a place that was accepting of all the elven races.
The village would continue to grow into a town, and then eventually into a city as the years continued on. Eventually, it became a city that was known far and wide throughout elvenkind. At least, until the start of the Crown Wars.
Even during these periods of conflict between the kingdoms of the elves, Nualla’n saw naught of battle or bloodshed. The armies of the respective kingdoms considered Nualla’n a safe haven of sorts, and it was taboo to venture close to it with an army. Or rather, this belief held true for a few thousand years, until the bloodshed of the Fourth Crown War.
It was in this war that the armies of Aryvandaar and Orishaar, growing increasingly desperate against the might of Ilythiir, were forced into occupying the city with what forces they had left. The situation was becoming quite dire… If a drastic plan wasn’t put forth, then they may very well find themselves in a situation with no prospect of victory.
It was here that Lillian Dedralein, youngest daughter of the Dedralein family, assisted Corellon with the famous “Ritual of Banishment” by sacrificing herself to be a conduit for his power. The ritual was meant to only banish the army of Ilythiir to the underdark… However, the result ended with the kingdom of Ilythiir being banished to the underdark instead, thus bringing an end to the Fourth Crown War.
And so Nualla’n once again found itself returned to its tranquil state… And as years passed and two more Crown Wars began and ended, the elves found themselves fallen from their past glory, all but destroying what semblance of empire they had. The races that used to make up elvenkind were no more; the elves of sun, moon, dark, sylvan, and others, either left the Eastern Forest for faraway lands, the Isle of Evermeet, or migrated away from Faerun to go to the Celestial Sea…
The elves that remained, however, would eventually rise again over time. The new breed of elf, far more mixed than their ancestors, would need a place that would be a common and accepted seat of power. And what better place than the city of Nualla’n, the place always known to be a home to all kinds of elves to be the birthplace and centerpiece of the new Tel-Quessir empire?
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We must all have some tea and discuss your latest submissions to the Library
Normal payment, of course, will be provided
Albert Pendragon, Master Librarian
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Greetings, Albert Pendragon, Master Librarian.
I, Sharifa Mel'Amen, who currently holds rank of Seeker in noble house Skettus, gathered some my notes from my travels around Empire and decided to contribute it to Valstiir Library if you think they worth to be here.
I was born and arrived from distant Mulhorand and common language not native for me. It means you can find some mistakes in my notes.
If you will find this notes worth for library then I will wish to meet in person. I am interested for work what you offers and interested to take position of person who will help to gather books and scrolls for Valstiir Library.
(https://i.imgur.com/x2bqfCg.png)
Field notes on Giants.
By Sharifa Mel'Amen, Seeker of House Skettus.
Spoiler
There many different humanoids of large size can be found in Empire. Despite their very different outlook, habits and culture - this all large-size humanoids can be united under one name. Giants.
Giants as race have own history which covered by many secrets and mysteries. It is easy understand why there so little known about giants. Many giants making raids on distant Empire's villages and assaulting travelers and adventurers on roads. Some of giants enslaved by different noble houses and wizards from enclaves. In constant war between giants and other races - there no opportunity to learn more about their history and culture. But some things is clear and revealed.
But first. What humanoids considered as giants?
Mostly any humanoids with very large size. Known by me giants:
Ogres, Trolls, Two-headed Giants, Hill Giants, frost giants, fire giants.
I am sure there can be met more exotic and rare types of giants in distant places. For example dwarfs have long history of war against giants. Not just ogres but they fight against all giants. It points what despite size of giants they can be found deep in caves and even in Underdark.This giants looks very different, some of them larger than others. Some of them acts slightly different and may look even somewhat friendly. Different giants have different abilities as their bodies looks different. As good example, everyone knows what trolls can be killed only by acid and fire. It is unknown why different giants rarely can be met together somewhere and what relationship they have between different groups.
But important to note, what there is one thing what unites all giants. Their deity. It is common to find altar or shrine of one deity in any cave or other places where lives giants.
Annam All-Father. It is hard to know more about history this deity or try learn more about deity in general. Scrolls, any books or other sources of knowledge mostly always hidden behind unknown giant's language. Curious to note, what different groups of giants shares single language. Which again proves what different groups united by single culture and history.
Many giants what I met had rather primitive and simple place of living. Their caves was full of primitive tools and weapons. They not tried to contact or speak. Despite of this it is common to encounter with giants who have arcane talents and able to use magic and read magical scrolls.Trolls, ogres, hill giants, two headed giants mostly always acts very primitive and predictable. Fire giants using more improved tools and acts more intelligent. I never had opportunity to meet frost giants but I heard and know what they exists too.
Different giants prefer different places to live. That may be one of reason why it is uncommon to meet different giants together in one place. Trolls prefer moist and warm places, ogres prefers caves and so on. But most common place to meet giants - it is mountains. I may suspect what giants feels more comfortable between large rocks because of their size.
Giants not known for their exceptional knowledge in arcane and crafting different items. Their primitive tools not looks very different what uses humans of Empire. Their magical or divine tools looks very simple and not powerful. Giants for their items using bones, wood and stone. More progressed tribe/society may have better tools, may using smithing and other types of crafting. Usually giant's tribes and societies not very numerous because of many obviously reasons. Giants takes many space, they need large amount of food and so on. They never was known to unite in single large towns or even kingdoms and never tried unite against humans or Empire. Giants steals everything what looks very different for them, what may looks very shiny or just looks powerful. Their tribes may usually hold some divine giant's relic what have connection to their gods or ancestors. It is very unlikely what giants may keep any artefacts what may threaten to enclaves but each their old artefact may help reveal more history about their past.
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Sharifa,
We take all books, those of fiction or truth. I would first discuss such a move to the Library with your Lord, he is large benefactor of the library but he might take issue in taking your services from his House.
I will put the tea on for our meeting.
Albert Pendragon, Master Librarian
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Greetings, Albert Pendragon, Master Librarian. Sharifa Mel'Amen again writes letter to you. I finished book about battle what happened on Valstiir. I tried reveal some history what was behind conflict. Also one nice woman helped me with book, her name is Morgaine Pritchard. She must be rewarded same as me for work.
Have nice reading!
(https://i.imgur.com/x2bqfCg.png)
SpoilerConflict of Two Archmages.
History of conflict.
Before start to speak about this important battle what happened on enclave Valstiir, it is important to first know history behind conflict of two Archmages. Conflict between two Archmages and enclaves, Roz'dha and Valstiir, have history of few months. Someone may say what this conflict have longer history behind. Truth is, what two Archmages was not able solve this conflict peacefully and in early days few small battles happened in lands of Lower Empire. Rumors says what main goal Archmage Roz'dha it is achieve divinity in other words to become god. Perhaps it is main reasons why Roz'dha fights with other enclaves and perhaps Valstiir was key person to achieve his goal.In majority, Roz'dha used necromancy school magic. Important to say, what Roz'dha not only achieved lichdom but also in past defeated one or more Archmages with their enclaves. Archmage Roz'dha have large experience in art of magic and perhaps Roz'dha may be one of skilled necromancer in Empire in our time. His army, his whole enclave was entirely based around negative energy and so Roz'dha army was mainly made from undeads. Though few veterans speaks what it was possible to encounter with demons and other outsiders from Abyss who was served to Archmage Roz'dha. And of course many armies of undeads was lead by powerful and intelligent undeads such as vampires, cursed warriors, wights and so on. Important to note, what in ranks of Roz'dha enclave there was also alive humans and beings. Mostly it was arcanists necromancers, servants and agents who was enslaved or was attracted by power and promises. Small conflicts and battles what was happening in Lower Empire between agents of two enclaves and their armies was slowly leading to culmination of whole conflict between two Archmages. Nor Roz'dha nor Valstiir not was stepping back and each Archmages was planning to win and slowly small fights between their agents was escalated to large battles between armies on grounds of Lower Empire. It was only question of time when main forces of Roz'dha will come to try claim and destroy Valstiir enclave.
Battle for Valstiir
Brilliant and Wise Valstiir was long preparing for what will come. All arcanists and citizens of Lower Empire was working all together as single tool in Valstiir's hands, following her orders without any words and hesitate. Valstiir was ready for final battle between two enclaves and she prepared not only defeat Roz'dha but and destroy his enclave. Risky but worth effort plan to destroy whole enclave by powerful sun-ray. It was not that easy to make and important part of this plan was to break inside Roz'dha enclave and place beacon for sun-ray. Magical staff what was trusted to one Arcanist.
Roz'dha enclave was slowly floating toward Valstiir enclave. Closer and closer. Air was foul and it had smell of rot and death. All noble houses, all arcanists and few brave adventurers was on streets of Valstiir enclave, prepared for last battle, prepared to give their own life to destroy army of lich and bring victory to Archmage Valstiir. Battle started unexpected too soon. Perhaps Archmage Valstiir not paid too much attention to it or her mind was busy with other non less important tasks or even it was work of traitors and Roz'dha agents, but Roz'dha first assault group was used Valstiir's portals in Lake District which not was closed or warded by magic. Small group was trying fight back against assaulting group of undeads and demons but it was not enough forces and more and more undeads was coming from portals. Valstiir small forces made retreat to Market District where was located main Valstiir's army and Valstiir herself. Roz'dha swiftly claimed Lake District and used portals as source for own army which was already walking in Valstiir streets. Roz'dha clearly had plans quickly end this battle, not trying give any time to his enemies to regroup. Roz'dha started send his main forces from Lake District right to Market District. But brave warriors of Valstiir repelled coming waves of undeads and demons again and again. It was single moment when Roz'dha forces stopped attacking and Valstiir used it as opportunity to create powerful portal spell what was able to bring single group on Roz'dha Enclave. Many brave warriors (and your author) walked forward to portal, promising what they will bring victory to Valstiir. As group of brave heroes teleported on other enclave, battles on Valstiir renewed and continues. Narrow streets of Valstiir was filled with blood and bone dust.Strong spells was casted from both sides and battles in different Valstiir districts did not stops. In same time group of brave heroes inside Roz'dha enclave was already making their own way to deeper parts of enclave. Most strongest undead guardians, demons, nightwalkers, arcanists was trying to stop them but brave heroes was continue their way. Even Archmage Roz'dha himself was trying corrupt and convince heroes change their sides promising to them immortality and endless power. But heroes refused offer of Archmage. Heroes was close to their final destination. Mythallar. Place where trusted Arcanist should put magical staff which would serve as beacon for powerful sun-ray. Mythallar was guarded by powerful vampire of giant size and strange outlook. No any spells or any sword was able to make deep cut to this creature. His wounds was regenerating with great speed and his hits was strong enough to left deadly wound without much efforts. But heroes acted swiftly, they disturbed vampire and arcanist used moment to put staff in Mythallar. After moment - large amount of magic was conjured on Valstiir enclave and it was sent toward Roz'dha enclave. It was enough to destroy whole enclave. Spells and magic of Roz'dha enclave begins slowly fade and large dark castles started slowly crumble. Vampire guardian not was defeated and heroes was in need to leave falling enclave before it was too late. Running long corridors and followed by giant vampire - heroes managed to escape in last moment. Roz'dha enclave was very close to Valstiir enclave and some parts was crushed against Old Quarters of Valstiir. Followed Vampire was turned to dust once it followed heroes outside of Enclave where he was burned by sun rays and spells from arcanists.
With destruction enclave, remaining undead army on streets of Valstiir was destroyed too. And so heroes of Valstiir which names engraved on statue in Old Quarters was bring victory for Archmage.
From memories of one hero.
I grew up in Valstiir, but I left the floating city when my family cast me out for reasons which are not relevant here. In the following months, I settled below and divided my time between Hadrian and Southbank. I rarely returned to Valstiir apart from the occasional visit to the Church of Tyche which is one of the few places there I have fond memories of.
When the threat of Rozdha rose once more, I was conflicted. I had little affection left for the enclave above or the family that had disowned me. It was tempting to simply let matters happen as they will. But my best friend, the elf Allania, had been bestowed with something that was both a great boon and a terrible burden- a helmet of Amaunator that many believed could turn the tide against the undead villain. I forced myself to board that airship with the sole intention of supporting my friend.
We assembled near the solar collectors of Valstiir, machinery that I could not ever hope to understand. My intention of standing by Allania’s side were quickly ended… we were all separated into groups with varying missions. Allania would be on the front line, away from me. I saw another friend, the halfling Bosco Fries, join a group that was infiltrating Rozdha’s enclave. He wished me godspeed as he departed. It was the last time I ever saw him. The group I was assigned to was ordered by Lord Dukkarus to protect Archmage Valstiir as she performed a ritual. Stronkonov was leading this party, and someone gave me the simple orders “protect the Archmage, and stay close to Stronkonov”.
We repelled the first few waves of undead horrors with relative ease. I fired bolt after bolt into their masses and sang my songs and cast my spells to inspire my fellow defenders. Stronkonov was an unyielding wall of muscle. The Archmage worked with incredible discipline, seemingly oblivious to the swirling violence so close to her person. I saw Will Rogers leading the line of defenders close to us, shouting orders as he cut through the enemy. At one point a wounded bone giant managed to smash through the line and approach the Archmage. By some miracle I was able to finish the battered monster off with my spear and a song of curse before it could reach the Archmage.
In a lull in the fighting, I was tasked with helping to clear the street of the shattered undead corpses so we had room to fight. We had just barely finished that when the assault began again. Yet another horde of shambling monsters of splintered bone and rotting flesh hurled themselves upon us. This time, our line began to creak and Will Rogers ordered a retreat to the council district. My blood was up. I was fighting harder and better than I ever had before, and in my youthful arrogance I thought I could cover the retreat. But it was too chaotic. Warriors far greater than I fled past me, and I did not realise the danger I was in until my retreat had been blocked by a mass of festering walking corpses.
With any hope of reaching the council district now lost to me, my thoughts turned to self-preservation. I remembered the streets well enough to flee down some narrow alleyways and lose the bulk of my lumbering pursuers. I found an unlocked door and hurled myself through it. As the monsters attempted to pound their way in I piled up every scrap of furniture I could to make a barricade. With time to think now, I despaired at my foolishness. I could not help my friends or the other defenders, trapped as I was. My exhaustion suddenly dawned on me and I slumped against my barricade, dozing off despite the noises of the walking corpses attempting to claw their way inside.
When I awoke the city was almost silent. I slipped out of my improvised sanctuary and found the undead that had trapped me had been slain, presumably by adventurers or the town watch. As I staggered towards the airship back to Hadrian it was clear that Rozdha had been defeated and Valstiir had survived. From the people I passed I heard the most startling tales. A servant of Amaunator had manifested and fought alongside my friend Allania. Rozdha’s enclave had fallen and crashed to the earth below. But it was not until I arrived back in Hadrian that I saw Allania again and knew that she had survived, and I learned the tragic news that Bosco had not. He would have been proud of me if he’d seen me fight… he told me once “you are more powerful than you think. If someone comes at you, you put them in the ground”. After surviving the battle of Valstiir, I am actually starting to believe in myself.
Epilogue.
It is known what Archmage Roz'dha not was presenting on his own enclave. Perhaps he was prepared for his defeat and it is question of time when Roz'dha will gather new forces in attempts to claim enclave of other Archmage and try ascend to Divinity.
Sharifa Mel'Amen, Morgaine Pritchard
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Great Work
I shall put it on display as Book of the Month in the Library
But I feel this tale is not over and there is more to tell, that can be for another time
Albert Pendragon, Master Librarian
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*Sherina delivers a cleaned-up copy of a manuscript. She looks a bit older than you remember her, different from the cheerful girl who've come to ask about the bronze and silver dragons in the past.
A seemingly fresh scar stands out on her face, leading from her upper lip to the tip of the left cheek bone*
*a postcard-like note is clipped to the front page, reading... :*
"Good day to you, mister Pendragon!
I'm happy to announce the publishing of my first book - a studies about the wild Patrician wyverns. I'm stopping by before the main office hours, due to the fact I headed here as the first thing, knowing that the busyness of Hadrian would drag me in like a maelstrom again.
My sincere apologies, mister. I'd surely love to catch up with you over a large cup of tea and homebaked sweets soon in the future.
Yours sincerely,
-Sherina Tsirak-Copperfield"
SpoilerTsirak's Observances and Studies of Patrician Wyverns
written by Sherina Tsirak-Copperfield--()--
Patrician mountain peaks host many creatures. Some of them peaceful, some of them hostile.
In an environment where the prey items are scarce, predators have grown to be tougher, stronger, faster and more determined than they would be in any other place. Wyverns, bears and bullettes, each of them deadly, graze the ascending grassland turning into steep, rocky peaks.
Usual prey, due to the absence of forested areas, is small and mountain chain's prey population consists mostly of rabbits, small game hidden in the bushes, and, well - of other predators.
Due to the size of adult and old wyverns, the large bears are being hunted and torn apart by these magnificent, feral wild creatures.
I welcome you to the study on Patrician Wyverns.
--()--
•Body•The scaly, muscular and dextrous body of a wyvern bears, aside from a whip-like tail with poisonous stinger on its tip, a pair of giant, strong wings, muscular hind legs, and a draconic head.
The head of a wyvern is a beautiful sight of nature. Balance of tan-brown scales and greyish fur growth, with their cold eyes staring from under a thick brow bone, and their maw, able to tear apart a dire bear with the sheer strength of its jaw and fangs. Their ears are hidden beneath a small tuft of fur behind fin-like shapes on the sides of its head, so the sensitive organ is being protected from strong winds.
| (https://i.imgur.com/emxATYH.jpg) | (https://i.imgur.com/vQWRLbB.jpg) |
Their wings, able to fly and glide through the sharp mountain wind, are strong and often used both as wings and as front legs.
The wing thumbs allow the wyvern to climb cliffs and rocky mountainsides, thus allowing it a chance to sneak up on its prey.
Besides their blood and scales, their tail stinger and poison can be used for weapon crafting.
As soon as the poison gets into a bloodstream, the victim suffers a great pain, and can succumb quickly if their body is frail.
Their hide, scale spine plates and wing membrane can be used to craft light armor. And by using the wing membrane for joint areas, the movements of the wearer won't make any detectable sound.
•Behavior•Territory markings of wyverns include claw scratches, rubbed trees (which matches the territory marking of bears), and faint trails of poison-tinted rock or foliage. In fact, a wyvern will rarely steal the prey of another wyvern.
•Social•Even though mostly solitary, the young wyverns of the Peaks can be found in groups, wandering the lower grassy parts of the mountain chain.
Another exception seem to be giant bear hunts, where a handful of wyverns will swoop down onto the back and head of the monstrous creature, beating it down with their wings, rending its flesh with their claws while they use their beastly maws to crush and snap through the thick bones of their prey.
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Looks like we have the ' Book of the Month '. I will put it on show as soon as possible.
I will enjoy some tea to discuss the finer points of your book.
Albert Pendragon, Master Librarian
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*two thin document envelopes arrive, bound together with a sky blue ribbon. Under one corner of the ribbon, a letter is snugly secured*
"Greetings, master Pendragon,
I haven’t seen many plays and poems available in the ‘Varied’ section of the library, and that inspired me to look for some works of budding artists in Valstiir and surrounding region."
*no signature is given*
Open Door (A Dramatic Poem)
SpoilerOpen Door (A Dramatic Poem)
Author: Ivory Leithien
I.
I sing of Tyrabeth, the Maid of the Axe,
Who could fell a full elm with two hatchet hacks.
She could rip apart Reilwood just for the fun.
She studied under Alfhedil in city of Nualla'n.
He taught her the jabs, the strokes, and the stance
To make an ax-swing into an elegant dance.
He taught her the barbed axes of the Orcs bold,
The six-foot-long axes favored in Northerhold,
The hollow-bladed axes of the Elves of the West,
Which whistle when they swing through flesh.
With a single-headed axe, she could behead two men.
With a double-headed axe, she could fell more than ten.
Yet where she lives in legend has most to do
With the man who hacked her own heart in two.
II.
Nienolas Ulwarth the Mighty, who hailed from Conch’s bows,
The only man who could best Ellabeth with ax blows,
In a minute, she chopped fifty trees; he, fifty-three.
She felt at once that he was the only man for she.
When she professed her love, Nienolas just laughed.
He said he loved more his ax handle and shaft.
And if they weren't enough to slake all his desire
There was another woman named Lorinthyrae.
Fury gripped the Queen of the Axe, the maid Tyrabeth,
And her thoughts turned to pondering musings of death.
Moander and Shar gave her a revengeful scheme
And for weeks, she worked on it in a state like a dream.
In the still of the night, she kidnapped her rival
And then told her choices between doom and survival.
III.
Lorinthyrae awoke in a house in the moors
In a room lightly furnished except for three doors.
Ellabeth explained that behind one of the doors the lass
Would find Ellabeth's and her love, the great Nienolas.
Behind the second lived a ravenous demon.
And behind the third, an exit to freedom.
She must choose a door, and to aid her decision
If she pondered too long, the axe'd make a division.
Lorinthyrae wept, and Tyrabeth felt contrite,
And opened the door to her immediate right.
It led to the moors, and as she slipped through the gloom,
She advised Lorinthyrae to likewise abandon the room.
Lorinthyrae ignored her and did not feel her will bend.
Nienolas was largely behind the first door she opened.
IV.
Tyrabeth had lied; there was no demon of lore.
The top third of Nienolas was behind the third door.
——————
Maid’s Allure (a Ballad for Four)
SpoilerMaid’s Allure (a Ballad for Four)
Author: Karizee Aislit
Women's Verse I:
Every winter season,
Except for the reason
Of one war or another
*whispers audibly* Really quite a bother,
The Queen of Nauseef and her consort
Request their vassals come and cavort.
On each and every ball,
The first man at the Hall
Is Lord Ogin Jornibret of Glair,
The Curse of all the Maidens Fair.
Women's Refrain:
Oh, dear ladies, beware.
Dearest, dearest ladies, take care.
Though he's a very handsome man,
If you dare to take his handsome hand,
The nasty little spell will be cast
And your first dance with him will be the last.
Men's Verse I:
At this social event
Everyone who went
Knew the bows and stances
And steps to all the dances.
The Queen of Nauseef and her consort
Would order a trumpet's wild report,
And there could be no indecision
As the revelers took position.
The first dance only ladies, separate
Away from such men as Lord Jornibret.
Men's Refrain:
Oh, dear fellows, explain.
Brothers, can you help make it plain:
The man's been doing this for years,
Leaving maidens fair in tears
Before the final tune's been blast.
And her first dance with him will be the last.
Women's Verse II:
Lord Ogin Jornibret of Glair
Watched the ladies dance on air
The loveliest in the realm.
A fellow in a ursine-hide helm
Said, "The Queen of Nauseef and her consort
Have put together quite a sport.
Which lady fair do you prefer?"
Lord Jornibret pointed, "Her.
See that bosom bob and weave.
Well-suited for me to love and leave."
Women's Refrain:
Oh, dear ladies, beware.
Dearest, dearest ladies, take care.
Though he's a very handsome man,
If you dare to take his handsome hand,
The nasty little spell will be cast
And your first dance with him will be the last.
Men's Verse II:
The man in the mask of a bear
Had left the Lord of Glair
Before the ladies' dance was ending.
Then a trumpet sounded, portending
That the Queen of Nauseef and her consort
Called for the men to come to court.
Disdainful, passing over all the rest,
Ogin approached she of bobbing breast.
She was rejected, saved a life of woe,
For a new maiden as fair as snow.
Men's Refrain:
Oh, dear fellows, explain.
Brothers, can you help make it plain:
The man's been doing this for years,
Leaving maidens fair in tears
Before the final tune's been blast.
And her first dance with him will be the last.
Women's Verse III:
At the first note of the band,
The beauty took Ogin's hand.
She complimented his stately carriage
Dancing to the tune about the marriage
Of the Queen of Nauseef and her consort.
It is very difficult indeed to comport
With grace, neither falling nor flailing,
Wearing ornate hide and leather mailing,
Dancing light as the sweetest of dreams
Without a single squeak of the seams.
Women's Refrain:
Oh, dear ladies, beware.
Dearest, dearest ladies, take care.
Though he's a very handsome man,
If you dare to take his handsome hand,
The nasty little spell will be cast
And your first dance with him will be the last.
Men's Verse III:
The rhythms rose and fell
No one dancing could excel
With masculine grace and syncopation,
Lord Jornibret even drew admiration
From the Queen of Nauseef and her consort.
Like a beauteous vessel pulling into port,
He silently slid, belying the leather's weight.
She whispered girlishly, "The hour is late,
But I've never seen such grace in hide armor."
It 'twas a pity he knew he had to harm her.
Men's Refrain:
Oh, dear fellows, explain.
Brothers, can you help make it plain:
The man's been doing this for years,
Leaving maidens fair in tears
Before the final tune's been blast.
And her first dance with him will be the last.
Women's Verse IV:
The tune beat was furious
He began to be curious
Where had the maiden been sequest'ed.
"Before this dance was requested
By the consort and his Queen of Nauseef
I didn't see you dance with the women."
"My dress was torn as I came to the dance,"
She said smiling in a voice deep as a man's,
"My maids worked quickly to repair,
While I wore a suit of hide, a helm of a bear."
Women's Refrain:
Oh, dear ladies, beware.
Dearest, dearest ladies, take care.
Though he's a very handsome man,
If you dare to take his handsome hand,
The nasty little spell will be cast
And your first dance with him will be the last.
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Excellent ... I shall get a fresh pot of tea and sit down and look over your submissions.
Albert Pendragon, Master Librarian
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A leather case of papers arrives at the Library. The case is battered and dusty and has plainly seen a lot of use and travel.
SpoilerEsteemed guild members, may this essay arrive safely, promptly, and find you all in good health. I was tasked with researching the people known colloquially as the “gypsies” and their unique culture. Completing my mission necessitated spending many weeks on the roads of Lower Netheril and embedding myself within clans of this culture. Thus I can only humbly apologise for the long delay in dispatching this report and assure you it was completely necessary.
The first important thing I learned was that these people do not call themselves “gypsies”. Indeed, they consider the term quite offensive and the height of ignorance. The term is applied to them only by other human societies in which they pass through. Rather, most prefer poetic names like “Selune’s Children” or “People of the Highway”. Nevertheless, to ease my writer’s cramp I shall continue using the popular term.
Complicating matters is the fact there is no single group of gypsies. Though they share a clear cultural and racial heritage, each gypsy group (and often even each individual) travels and operates separately and develops its own idiosyncrasies, if not appearance. Confusing one clan of gypsies with another is quite easy to do but is considered a grave insult. Misunderstandings between these people and the Lower Netherese are all too common. Tragically, I must then make some simplifications and generalisations lest this essay become an encyclopedia.
Most gypsies have dusky complexions with thick black or dark brown hair and equally dark eyes. They tend to be stout but strong, rather than tall or slender. Each clan has its own style of fashion, but many wear colourful sashes and bandannas to contrast with their often utilitarian clothing for travel. Tattoos and jewellery preferences are entirely based on the clan, and can vary widely to none, some or extensive visual enhancement. Though an insular people, they inevitably have intermarried on occasion with natives of the lands they travel through leading to some diversity in physical appearances.
Travel is at the heart of their lifestyles. The clan groups rarely stay in one area for long. Their love for travel has lead to many adopting Selune as their patron, as her domains include wanderers and navigation. Some prefer Jannath, since living off the land is a necessity for their lifestyle, or Kozah in hopes of warding off the perils of bad weather. Still others have taken to strange religions unknown in the Empire, and worship either clan-specific deities or an obscure and apparently quite grotesque pantheon they call the “Elder Gods” or “Old Ones”. The names of these deities are utterly unpronounceable for an educated person. I saw no evidence whatsoever for the common accusation that gypsies are agents of Shar, the devious Mistress of the Night.
Though the gypsy clans lack anything close to the magical sophistication or knowledge of our arcanists, they have a love for magic and many practitioners in their ranks. Usually these are bards, clerics or blood casters rather than formally schooled magicians. Oddly, I encountered more than a few who were not true spellcasters yet were capable of feats of divination. Most gypsies believe strongly in the concepts of destiny and fate, in any case. Living on the highway means that other gypsies also learn the simpler trades of the warrior, ranger or thief.
Netherese citizens most commonly encounter gypsies of one of a few professions. Some gypsies become traders, setting up their caravans in frontier towns either alone or in a group. Their extensive travels usually mean their stalls carry exotic items such as rare perfumes, spices or gems. Others become mercenaries or adventurers though they are notoriously averse to long-term arrangements. Regrettably, some become bandits either in gangs of their own or joining gangs of natives. It is often these bandits and thieves that most Lower Netherese are best acquainted with, so unfair generalisations are made.
The gypsies are not natives of these lands, but where these nomads originally hail from is uncertain. Most of the clans have their own tales, for they are a people who love stories and song. The common thread behind these legends is that they are refugees or survivors of a great war between two mighty nations. Their nation was either defeated or triumphant but left utterly devastated (depending on which clan you believe), so they have sought survival and destiny on the highways. Though it is impossible to know how many clans are upon Netherese lands at any one time, I would estimate they could not consist of more than 1 or 2 percent of the total human population. The point is rendered moot by the fact that few if any of them would consider themselves citizens of the Empire.
With this research complete, I now move on to my next task. Expect a new essay to arrive within months. May the Hidden One ever watch over us
Professor Leviticus Stone
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ohh I split some tea over your work ...
It needed time to dry out but I am looking over it now
Albert Pendragon, Master Librarian
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A battered and dusty leather case containing a manuscript once again arrives at the Library...
SpoilerEsteemed guild members, I pray that this latest essay arrives promptly and safely to your hands. Alas, this is not to be as idyllic an account as my previous one. Nevertheless, you must know of what I have witnessed.
I have spent the past few months travelling the great plains of Lower Netheril in hopes of acquainting myself better with the tribes of people known as the Rengarth. My initial goal became somewhat left by the wayside when I heard some intriguing rumours about a man the Rengarth were calling “The Prophet of the Plains”. They spoke his name with such a peculiar mixture of adoration and dread that I knew he was a fellow worthy of documentation. He was both a holy man and warlord they said, who spoke the most brutal truth and was uniting village after village by a mixture of persuasion and force. When given esteem, he was a man of capable of uniting inspiration. When angered, he was a man of the most pitiless devastation.
Seeking to hear this man speak, I attached myself to a band of Rengarth hunters who were travelling to hear an address by this Prophet at the end of their expedition. They joked about taking me along for emergency rations, and demanded much coin for their escort. I worried for my safety, but had few other options. I spent a few weeks on the plains with these men and women, observing their hunting practices as they brought down colossal bovines and swine. The hunters rode their horses with consummate ease, and would harry a few of their large targets away from the herd, then bring them down with a hail of arrows and thrown spears. The carcasses would then be stripped with astonishing speed, with little discarded. The hides would be crudely preserved, the meat smoked in the campfire, the useful bones (chosen by shape and strength) kept, and most of the offal thrown to the hunting dogs. Much of the meat they gathered was eaten during travel, with the hides and fur seemingly being the most valuable elements. Horse-drawn sleds were used to transport the gathered resources.
I was all but useless to the hunters, and when I made attempts to cast spears with them I received both scorn and pity. But one of the men was gored by a bull during the hunt, and his wounds became infected. They drew him on a sled for a few days, but his condition worsened and they discussed leaving him behind to the whims of the gods to decide. But I stepped forward, and used some of the tinctures and ointments I always carried to treat the man’ s injuries before their sceptical eyes. His health improved markedly overnight, and within two more nights he could ride unaided again. Now at least I had some measure of respect among the hunters, and they treated me more like a slow-witted but loved relative than a useless mouth to feed.
One night, we could see in the distance a myriad campfires glowing and the wind brought us snatches of music, predominantly drumming. My escorts laughed uproariously when I asked the name of this great settlement we were approaching. I learned why this amused them the next day when we drew closer: this was no mere tribal village. It was a great assembly of many tribes, mostly Rengarth but also including a few of Angardt stock. All the various campsites were arranged around a great flat slab of granite, quite an anomaly on the open plain.
We waited for several days. My escorts traded with the other hunting parties there. I worried that I would be identified as Netherese by one of these other groups, but a few months on the plains had given me the dusky complexion of a plainsman, and by now through sheer necessity I was dressing as one too. Nevertheless, I did not speak to anyone outside my group, even though I craved the chance to speak to some of the Angardt and hear details of their blood-rites. Eventually, the awaited day arrived. Word swiftly spread through the assembled people that the Prophet had arrived.
His retinue was immense, and his own mighty chariot was encircled by the impressive ones of his bodyguards. Men and women of Rengarth and Angardt blood predominantly formed his circle, though I saw no few number of half-elves and half-orcs, along with a few men wearing the remnants of Netherese military units. Though this man called to the Rengarth first and foremost, others seemed to be heeding him too. The Prophet did not waste time with festivities. Instead, he left his chariot and stood upon the granite slab, with thousands of pairs of eyes upon him. He was a man of middle-age, weathered and tanned by the plains and clad in black robes to shield him from the sun. Even the loose robes could not conceal a mighty, near perfect physique for a man his age. He wore his greying beard in a trident shape. The Prophet’s voice rang out, deep and husky, and with such power that every man and woman there felt he was speaking personally to them.
“I am Yusanga Hunn-Bekk, the Prophet of the Plains. Hear my judgement upon thee! You dare to call yourselves men and women of the plains? You are mere CHILDREN. Weak, afraid, grasping in the dark, terrified of a shadow you call the Netherese Empire! When others speak of the Rengarth people, they now speak of hunters, gatherers, craftsmen, brewers, shamans… where are your feared warriors? You trade with the Netherese, and think because you are curt to them that you are brave. But your ancestors howl in anguish, for you have forsaken them to take coin from their enslavers and murderers!”
I quivered in fear at the ferocious words of the Prophet. To my horror, I saw a sea of nodding heads surrounding me, including some of my own escort. Though he spat insults at these proud people, he seemed to be striking through any sense of offence and instead stirring up their sense of injustice. The Prophet bellowed forth another tirade.
“But heed my words, and I shall set you free. I have sent forth my most trusted amongst you to observe your zeal. Teach your hunters to hunt men as well as beasts! Teach your gatherers to gather the heads, weapons and wealth of fallen enemies! Teach your craftsmen to make weapons and machines of war! Teach your brewers to make poisons to season your spears and arrows! Teach your shamans to preach the hatred of the enemy as well as the love of your own people! Trade not with the snakes of Netheril! Completely bar your lands to them, make them pay for trespass with their very blood. Kill them, weaken them, put fear in their hearts… and await the day that my mighty and ever-growing host arrives to cast down their wretched floating cities forever! And if you fail me… if you reject my wisdom...then you too will be crushed beneath the feet, hooves and wheels of my hordes!”
The gathered masses cheered, the majority swayed by the empty but alluring promises of the demagogue. A few of my escort muttered in Rengarthi (which by now I had became fairly fluent) about handing me over to Yusanga for a public sacrifice, but praise the Hidden One the others silenced them by saying I had healed their fellow and honour demanded they not throw me to certain death. Instead, they led me away that night, gave me a fresh horse and some supplies and told me to ride for my life. I rode hard for days, not daring tarry long at any waterhole or village. Though I have journeyed through many hostile lands, it is rare that I have ever felt such relief as this time when I set foot back in friendly lands.
During my hurried return, I still heard snatches of rumours that Yusanga has been as good as his word in one sense: trusted acolytes of his have been dispatched to monitor villages and kindle their rage. I fear it is only a matter of time before one of these demagogues arrives near Hadrian…
Be vigilant, my brethren
Professor Leviticus Stone
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Albert Pendragon, Master Librarian