Evangeline of The Dualistszdarovakarova.ethOnce upon a time, in a land of magic and wonder, there was a House named The Dualists. This powerful family flew a banner adorned with two colors - black and white - that represented the balance of power that was at the heart of their family's beliefs. The black symbolized their mastery of the dark arts, while the white symbolized their unwavering devotion to justice.
The House of The Dualists was ruled by a pair of siblings, known as the Dualist Warriors. They were the most skilled sorcerers in all the land, and their power was unmatched. They were feared by their enemies, but respected by all who knew them, for they were fair and just, using their magic only for the greater good.
One day, a young sorceress named Evangeline came to the attention of the House of The Dualists. Despite her humble beginnings, she was a powerful sorceress in her own right, and she quickly rose through the ranks of the House to become one of its most trusted members.
Evangeline was a fierce warrior, who used her magic to control the elements of fire, water, and air. She was also a cunning strategist, who could outmaneuver her enemies with ease. Over time, she became the most feared sorceress in the land, and the House of The Dualists was stronger than ever.
However, Evangeline's power and ambition soon put her at odds with the Dualist Warriors. She saw them as weak and indecisive, and she was determined to take control of the House for herself. So she began to plot, using her magic to manipulate the other members of the House and to bend them to her will.
In the end, Evangeline succeeded in her coup, and she became the new ruler of the House of The Dualists. She flew the banner with pride, using its black and white colors to remind all who saw it of the balance of power and justice that the Dualists upheld. Under her leadership, the House of The Dualists became the most feared and respected in all the land, and its sorcerers wielded their magic with an iron hand.
And so the House of The Dualists continued to soar through the skies, a powerful and unstoppable force that was feared by all who saw it. And as long as the banner flew with its black and white colors, the House of The Dualists would remain a force to be reckoned with, upholding the balance of power and justice in the land.
The Adventurers and the Enchanted Bag of Lootzdarovakarova.ethOnce upon a time, in a land of magic and wonder, there was a group of adventurers who were on a quest to defeat an evil sorcerer. One day, while they were traveling through a dense forest, they stumbled upon a mysterious bag that was lying on the ground. The bag was made of a strange, shimmering fabric, and it seemed to be enchanted in some way.
The leader of the group, a brave warrior named Aric, opened the bag to find that it was filled with eight incredible items. There was a chest plate made of shining, silver steel. A pair of boots that were made of brown leather and seemed to be enchanted to make the wearer run faster. A pair of gauntlets made of Mithril. A helmet that had the symbol of a dragon on it. A necklace that was made of gold and had a red stone in it. A ring that was made of silver with a blue stone in it. A belt that was made of black leather and had a golden buckle. And finally, a weapon, a long sword with a golden hilt.
The adventurers were amazed by the contents of the bag and wondered how it had come to be there. They decided that they would set out on a new quest to discover the history of the items and find out who they belonged to.
Their journey took them through many dangerous lands, where they battled monsters and faced many challenges. But they were determined to uncover the secrets of the items, and they did not give up.
Eventually, they reached a mountain pass that was guarded by a powerful dragon. The dragon told them that the items in the bag belonged to an ancient king who had ruled over the land many years ago. The king had been betrayed by his own son, who had stolen the items and fled.
The dragon gave them a map that would lead them to the son's hideout, and the adventurers set out once more. They followed the map through a dark, treacherous cave, and finally, they reached the son's lair. There, they found the son, who had become a powerful sorcerer, and they engaged in a fierce battle.
In the end, the adventurers emerged victorious and reclaimed the items for the king. They returned to the dragon, who thanked them and gave them a reward for their bravery. And so, the group of adventurers returned home, their quest complete, and their hearts filled with the satisfaction of having achieved something great.
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The Adventurers and the Enchanted Bag of Lootzdarovakarova.ethOnce upon a time, in a land of magic and wonder, there was a group of adventurers who were on a quest to defeat an evil sorcerer. One day, while they were traveling through a dense forest, they stumbled upon a mysterious bag that was lying on the ground. The bag was made of a strange, shimmering fabric, and it seemed to be enchanted in some way.
The leader of the group, a brave warrior named Aric, opened the bag to find that it was filled with eight incredible items. There was a chest plate made of shining, silver steel. A pair of boots that were made of brown leather and seemed to be enchanted to make the wearer run faster. A pair of gauntlets made of Mithril. A helmet that had the symbol of a dragon on it. A necklace that was made of gold and had a red stone in it. A ring that was made of silver with a blue stone in it. A belt that was made of black leather and had a golden buckle. And finally, a weapon, a long sword with a golden hilt.
The adventurers were amazed by the contents of the bag and wondered how it had come to be there. They decided that they would set out on a new quest to discover the history of the items and find out who they belonged to.
Their journey took them through many dangerous lands, where they battled monsters and faced many challenges. But they were determined to uncover the secrets of the items, and they did not give up.
Eventually, they reached a mountain pass that was guarded by a powerful dragon. The dragon told them that the items in the bag belonged to an ancient king who had ruled over the land many years ago. The king had been betrayed by his own son, who had stolen the items and fled.
The dragon gave them a map that would lead them to the son's hideout, and the adventurers set out once more. They followed the map through a dark, treacherous cave, and finally, they reached the son's lair. There, they found the son, who had become a powerful sorcerer, and they engaged in a fierce battle.
In the end, the adventurers emerged victorious and reclaimed the items for the king. They returned to the dragon, who thanked them and gave them a reward for their bravery. And so, the group of adventurers returned home, their quest complete, and their hearts filled with the satisfaction of having achieved something great.
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Lost Order of Chad - Encyclopedia EntryPinky# Lost Order of Chad - Encyclopedia Entry
##### Order of Brilliance Archives
##### Encyclopedia Entry
##### The Mythic and Legendary Possessions of Adventurers
##### By: Scholar Atrius
There are many paths that a warrior may walk.
Some choose to master a weapon, whereas others forge their bodies and souls into a weapon.
These masters are the ones whose names and feats you know well. The Epic of Talius and the Phoenix Tear to cure his dying wife of an unstoppable plague, or even the feats of the Emperor, sundering the universe to create a Portal to Plouton with his Armageddon Bender Wand.
Their possessions remain forever inscribed with the feats they achieved, the Divines themselves taking note of mere mortals. The sheer powers that these items wielded ranged from a curious trick to outright mindboggling destruction as if the stars themselves had been called to battle.
Often, the weapon itself was enough of a deterrent to any would-be bandit or thief, for of the millions of weaponry, enchanted jewelry and armors, only a few would achieve such greatness, and the owners of them would treat their loss as they would that of a family member.
A wand would be thought lost to time or battle, and then mysteriously find itself in the path of a novice magic user who had suffered unjustly under a cruel regime. Some of the greatest Mages stories begin with the slightest of observations, but the truly heroic, the ones whose names you hear in any tavern tale, every last one suffered the greatest of loss or grievous mistreatment.
The Divines play with mortals as the elderly play bones, betting on the deaths, adultery, and whatever other drama that may amuse them, and these great weapons and armors would often be a focus for their scheming.
Those who study the blade often find themselves receiving a more practical lesson than they desired, in the shape of an arrow or warhammer. A Katana wielded by a Bladedancer follower of other Orders, particularly the more esoteric or sedentary ones, is often found later sticking out of their bodies as a cruel jest by their victorious foes.
A Brother trains their mind, body, and soul to be a lethal combination of brute force and speed, their prowess in the application of force second to none but the Sisterhood, although they specialize in the application of that force from a distance, and with decidedly less collateral damage.
The greatest Weapons and Armor of Plouton have long since been eclipsed by what we have found here, in the new world of Realms. Even our Emperor’s most sacred belongings only scratch the surface compared to the Order of Brilliance Head Armory, and indeed that is where they lie now. The Armageddon Bender Wand
A Divine Swordsman is a blessing (or curse!) on the battlefield, but for a scouting team?
No, their strengths would only see them fall behind or meet an untimely demise in the back alleys of a foreign town.
Of all the greatest warriors, hunters, and mages of the Realms, a scant thousand or so can lay claim to more than one legendary or mythical item. The mightiest of foes to face on any battlefield and armies of one, capable of decimating a regiment with but one swing of a mighty axe, or a particularly destructive spell.
As an adventurer progresses in their experience and training, they may be able to wield weapons that they could not in years past, or armor that would have previously restricted their mobility too much. A seasoned veteran adventurer with poor quality equipment (it happens to the best of us!) is still easily capable of putting a hot-blooded youth in their place.
In my years of studying this phenomenon, the most consistent source of growth has appeared to be immersion in dangerous situations and triumph (or perish!). These tribulations affect item and wielder alike, with the greater the struggle or loss being correlated to the power gained.
The atrocities committed by power-hungry despots and tyrants are what lead to some of the names of the less savory historic items that we all know and hate. Should a bearer of these items be spotted, it should be reported to the Order High Command at utmost haste.
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Three songs: The Numbs; Hole in the Sky; You, My Light a_glossolaliac# Three songs: The Numbs; Hole in the Sky; You, My Light
#### THE NUMBS
Momma
What do the numbers show?
You’ve counted rose petals for days
And you’ve shit through your clothes
Momma
What do the numbers show?
Why do you count the sun?
There’s only one, one, one, one, one, one,
Momma
How do the numbers glow?
You’ve been digging holes underground
And lining up stones
Momma
What do the numbers hold?
Can you see my face? *one none one one none one none one one one one none none none none none one none none none none none none one one one one none none none none none none one none one none one one none……….*
-----
##### YOU, MY LIGHT
I’ve walked from Ptit to Abnus
I’ve drifted across the ocean floor
I’ve circled round the heavens
To find you, my light
I’ve killed all my past selves
Bloodbaths are murmuring in my dreams
But I’ll die another death
To find you, my light
Outstretched, I’ll meet you naked
Raw pink and howling in the breeze
I’ll lose my mother’s name
To find you, my light
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##### HOLE IN THE SKY
Sunrise
I followed you up the mountain
At the peak you told me fall to your knees
And look me in the eye
You grabbed my hands
You told me I am your sun
And as long as you hold me
I’ll hold onto you
But I can’t help feeling like you won’t hold on
Daylight
I followed you to the water
You told me wash off your scabs
And drink before it dries
I’ve walked from realm to realm
As far as the eye can see
But the light is beating down
I’m burning up inside
I need to rest
And curl up in a ball
I can’t help feeling like I can’t hold on
Twilight
You’re following me through the trees
You tell me come out of the dark
Or I’ll fall out the sky
But my skin is charred
I’m digging holes in the earth
And I can’t see
Can’t see it in your eye
Would you fall from the sky?
Then what should I do?
Should I hold onto my melting hands
Should I promise that I won’t let go
I can’t just pray to the sun
And ask to be whole
Cuz if you’re not holding out for me
Its not holding out for me
Nothing’s holding onto me then
Help me
I need to know
I’m frying
Oh help me
If I let go of my sun?
Will I let go of my soul?
Nothing to hold
Out in the gold
Of my soul
Am I soul?
Am I soul?
White light
-----
A Cruel Fate0xStax# A Cruel Fate
Leilen was a shared mythology, an idyllic past that I never lived but that I remembered all the same. It was the smells of a childhood that I didn’t enjoy and the laughter of the brothers that I never met. It was a common history of the things that I knew, and all the things that I didn’t know. For me, Leilen was my past, present and future, it was all I knew and all I needed to know. See, Leilen was an ideal that never truly existed, but it didn’t need to. I was a romantic; we were all romantics back then.
We signed up for the war together, on the same day, at the same place. He was the first in line and although it was my idea, I was the last one to sign my name in ink. It had been three years since the war started and everyone was tired. The boys who weren’t killed were now grown men, but you wouldn’t think so when you looked at them. Some had barely grown any hair and a few others hadn’t even started to grow, yet they had spilled more blood in a few days than their grandfathers did in a lifetime. Mothers, sisters, brothers, fathers, cousins. Leilen demanded sacrifice from all. Leilen is a generous land, but a thirsty one as well, and it would drink from the blood of its children until its belly was full and her thirst was quenched.
My uncle had served, my father as well, and when it was my time, I felt the call of Leilen deep within my blood, urging me to join the crimson banners. But I was weak and afraid. That’s why I spent one week convincing Bellwin to join.
Bellwin was strong, Bellwin was agile, and he was fast. He would make a great soldier, but more than that, Bellwin was my friend. He would be there to comfort me if I would cry at night. He would be there when I would be so exhausted from the strain, that I wouldn’t be able to stand up. He would be my laughter and joy. He would be the strength inside of me that I wouldn’t have. He would be a piece of home, he would be my talisman, my protector, and guardian, but more than anything, Bellwin would be there. I needed Bellwin more than he needed me. No. He didn’t need me. He was strong and fast, he didn’t need anyone, but he didn’t feel the call of Leilen in his blood. His uncle hadn’t served, his father hadn’t served, and his mother would rather keep him by her side for all eternity instead of relinquish him to the jealous embrace of our thirsty land.
I spent one week following him, clinging to him like a remora does to old ships. He was a good man, which I think is why he never blew me off. For seven days and seven nights I pestered him. Every day I would perform the same routine, I would visit his house first thing in the morning and knock three times at the door, his mother always answered, I would ask if Bellwin was home and she would close the door, and cry “Your friend is here” in her unmistakable lowland accent. For seven days I woke at dawn, ate breakfast, went to their house and waited patiently for Bellwin’s mother to open the door and command him to meet me.
I first tried to convince Bellwin using stale rhetoric and images of a distant past that probably never existed but for the fantasy that lived in my mind. I tried to appeal to his sense of duty (trying is the key word, for I am sure that not even I believed my own words) and I exaggerated the atrocities committed against us and downplayed the ones we inflicted. I talked about everything and nothing, I only wanted my friend to join me in a cause that I did not understand but felt obliged to join. It was in the evening of the seventh day that Bellwin accepted. By then I had almost given up hope that Bellwin would join and we had spent the day remembering our early childhood, and thinking about the days before the war. We were sitting atop a small hill overlooking the big valley below, when he told me he had made a decision. He looked down to the river and without looking up he said “Be honest Arthur, do you think we will make it back?”
“I would like to think so” I said, but I knew that the chances were that we wouldn’t. He laughed and looked up at the sky and told me “I think you are lying, but you are either convinced this is the right thing or you really do believe we will make it back. Either way it would be better dying doing what’s right than living with the guilt of having avoided that choice.” He could see straight through my lies, and yet, he accepted to join.
We signed up the next day, and got assigned to the fourth land brigade. We thought it was a good assignment, because the fourth land brigade had never been deployed to any front in three years. However, a week after our training ended we got our orders: we were to join the third army in the west.
The western part of Leilen was mostly empty, it used to be a lush floodplain, fertile and full of life, but centuries of overgrazing, erosion and war had left it a barren wasteland. Its only use now was as a natural defense against any invading force foolish enough to dare cross it. We survived the desert march at Anarat and joined the third army as they advanced through the pillar of Jarat. I can’t imagine we were what General Lammond, the leader of the third army, expected when he was granted his reinforcement request, but a brigade of starving children was better than zero brigades of starving children. Anarat was an open tomb. Life itself gave up once the sandhills to the south turned to rocks, dunes and dust. The plateau’s only permanent inhabitants were the bleached stones that marked the way for the caravans, and sometimes for the armies.
We were told that the third army had been deployed to cut off any potential access to supply routes and protect the western flank from a potential surprise attack across the sandhills. We were to provide additional support to their rear so that they wouldn’t be vulnerable in case the Salrican cavalry decided to show up. When we met with them it appeared as if we were the army and they our reinforcements.
Our brigade leader was a man called Batista, he was a stern man, but a good soldier, he was the most impacted by the state in which the third army was when we arrived there. Most of us had never seen combat in our lives, and we had never seen what a field army looked like, but Batista was a veteran and he had served with the first army in is youth. When we had left three weeks before, we were told that we were going to join a large defensive force protecting our west flank. Once we got there however, it was obvious they were too few of them, even unexperienced recruits like us knew they were hardly enough to even fake a stand against a direct push.
That night we unpacked and set up our camp. After we were settled, the brigadier took me, Bellwin and three others with him and we headed over to general Lammond’s quarters. I can only imagine that the brigadier was in dire need of answers, any answer and he wouldn’t wait until dawn. The general welcomed us, and let us join him in his tent, he invited us to join him at dinner and he looked happy enough to see us, but the brigadier wasn’t one to waste time. Batista immediately asked Lammond if the army had separated back at the dunes of Anarat, or if they had survived an ambush, he even asked if their soldiers had suffered dysentery or a bad fever outbreak. Lammond was confused by Batista’s questions and he didn’t seem pleased with the brigadier’s tone. “I don’t believe I understand what you are implying, brigadier” was his first answer. “The third army is as complete as the day it left the capital. We have lost three men, good men, but their demise would hardly constitute heavy casualties. We have not been ambushed nor have we been the victims of disease. I don’t understand why you would make such accusations.”
“This force is no army! It can hardly be considered a defense regiment, how are you going to guard the entry into Jarat with such a meek force? Our own brigade is barely enough to fight more than three divisions. You…we will get massacred if the enemy marches here” Batista replied to the general.
“Yes, we would. But the third army is not a defensive force, brigadier. On the contrary, we are an exploratory one, and we have found our quarry. That is why you are here now. Not to defend the pass”
Batista was surprised at Lammond’s words. His superiors had clearly lied to him, lied to us and lied to the whole country. The official story was that the third army had been deployed to intercept and fend off the advance of one of the main enemy columns that were heading towards the western pass. They were to guard this chokepoint and use the sandhills as territorial advantage. That is why they weren’t in the frontlines fighting with the rest of the forces, they were guarding our exposed flank. But according to Lammond, that was a lie. The third army was never meant to guard Leilen, and they also weren’t equipped to engage enemy forces. That was abundantly clear when we arrived, as our brigade outnumbered the army two-to-one, even calling them a battalion would have been too kind. This was not an army, and yet we were all told that they were meant to protect us from a surprise attack.
The general didn’t seem too worried about their lack of troops, and although he was clearly happy to see us, he was not expecting us to provide much of a back-up. He must have sensed the concern in the Brigadier’s voice, because he then told us what the true purpose of the army was.
“A few months before the war started, our ambassador, ambassador Rayel, heard a rumor about a special regiment that had been sent to the sandhills near Jarat, not far from where we presently stand. According to her sources, this was not a scouting regiment, nor a border guard; instead, she said her informants specifically told her it was full of engineers and sappers. As a precaution, we reinforced the border guard and increased the number of patrols, but nothing ever happened. To this day, the sandhills are as devoid of life as they have been for ages. However, some months after the first battles began, we started to hear stories from returning soldiers, stories that hadn’t been told by those returning from the frontlines before. They were telling stories of supernatural foes in the battlefields. They talked about rabid warriors who would keep fighting even after being stabbed multiple times in their guts, they told stories about sorcerers who could conjure storms in broad daylight and bend thunder, wind, and rain to their command. They even told stories of knights wielding weapons so sharp that they would cut straight through armor, pierce cloth and hack limbs in one fell swoop. We dismissed these stories, we dismissed all of it as old tales and superstition mixed with the fear and agony that only a soldier who has been in the battlefield understands. We kept hearing these stories though. Once we heard them from people returning from different fronts is when we started to worry. We were also losing. A year and a half of fighting and the dead were pilling higher than what we ever expected them to be. Leilen had always thirsted for blood, but this type of butchery was unheard of. We suffered more casualties in the first six months of the war than all our losses in the previous one combined. We were not prepared, and neither were the common folk. We couldn’t keep asking them to send their loved ones to the slaughter like we had before.
So, the High Court gave an order. We would retreat from open combat and all enemy combatants were to be taken for interrogation when possible. We hid in open fields and our soldiers turned from honorable warriors to backstabbing thieves and kidnappers, but it was worth it. We stopped our own bleeding and we started to get information. We must have interrogated hundreds if not thousands of Salricans, unfortunately, most of them told us what we wanted to hear, and not what we needed to know. This went on for some months, until last year, when we struck gold. We captured someone that had been part of the same engineer regiment that got sent to the sandhills. After a few hours of interrogation, he told us that the engineer regiment had been sent to the desert to dig for something, he said he himself knew only his own orders, and that every other member of the regiment had been told only what they needed to know as well. According to him, once the regiment had returned from the desert, senior field officers in all parts of the Salrican army had been given new armor and weapons, he said they called them “regalias” and that some of those officers had been sent to fight deep in the lines, directly against our soldiers. He also told us something quite interesting, he said that those regalias were not made by any artisans, but that they were found.
That engineer regiment had been sent to the desert to dig, and what they found were these “regalias”. We didn’t know if the regalias were connected to the stories our soldiers were telling, but the timeline was relatively close to when we first started hearing the stories, and if they believed that digging in the desert was worth it, we needed to keep up with them. We still don’t know why the engineer regiment stopped their work, our prisoner only said that they received orders to return after they sent the first set of regalias back and that was it. That is how the third army came to be. We were created for the sole purpose of finding out what was hidden here, in the desert. We were tasked to find whatever it was the Salrican engineers found and if there was anything left, something they didn’t find, recover it and take it back to Leilen. We couldn’t justify diverting any force away from the frontlines to go on a fool’s errand digging up sand in the desert, it would have been political suicide – so we started to circulate rumors of a western column marching towards the Jarat pass and it gave us the excuse to send a small but specialized force here.
You are here because we finally found what was buried beneath the sandhills. We have found our own regalias.”
General Lammond then took us to a heavily guarded tent in the eastern part of the camp where they had stored the regalias and once we were inside, he showed us what the treasure was. They had found thirty-two sacks, each one had a silken cord that ran along its mouth and allowed it to be closed, and they were all made of velvet. A final flourish of golden thread ran along the mouth of each sack, accentuating their elegance. Eight sacks were dyed in an indigo color, eight more were dyed in emerald, and sixteen sacks were dyed in a crimson shade, an auspicious sign as crimson was the color of Leilen. Each sack contained 8 different items and they appeared to be random in nature, however all sacks contained one weapon, a full set of armor and two pieces of jewelry. All of the items were as pristine as if they had been made that very same day.
Bellwin and I were awe-struck at the beauty of this treasure. I could see that these regalias were rare and powerful beyond measure – although I couldn’t tell you why I felt that way. But I’m sure Bellwin felt the same as I did. I’m sure anyone who placed their eyes on top of the regalias would have felt the same. The craftwork of the armor and the jewelry was unmatched by anything that I had seen in Leilen up to that point. The weapons were certainly far deadlier than our own equipment, and if the enemy had set their hands on something like this, it would explain the stories that Lammond said our troops were telling.
The following morning, brigadier Batista and general Lammond discussed what their next step would be and how to best utilize our combined forces. Marching had been difficult, and I wanted to rest, but I was happy that we were not joining a fighting force. Even though the sun never ceased to shine, and the heat was so oppressive that breathing was painful, even though I had been driven to exhaustion more than once, and that the nights were so cold that we had to sleep with our horses to keep us warm, I didn’t have to worry about fighting. I was safe, and Bellwin was still by my side. So if we had to march back across the desert, or if we were going to be running errands instead of fighting, I couldn’t care less. I had fulfilled the obligation demanded by my bloodline, and I had been spared the wrath of our foes. I was not going to be look a gifted horse in the mouth. At noon, Batista and Lammond explained the new orders.
We were to take the thirty-two regalias back to the capital and deliver them to the High Court as fast as possible. The whole army would not be marching back as it would take too much time to mobilize all of us, and it could also alert enemy scouts of our discovery; having our combined forces suddenly march back across the desert just forty-eight hours after being reinforced would be too suspicious. Instead, a hand-picked cavalry unit composed of thirty-two riders, one for each sack, and guarded by two guards each for a total of ninety-six riders would ride back and deliver the regalias by hand. Brigadier Batista would lead this unit to the capital, and he himself was supported by four lieutenants as well. The last member to join was the lead engineer of the third army, he was to brief the general command of what they had found and possibly discuss how to further continue their exploration once the war was over. In the end, this special unit consisted of one hundred and two soldiers, and they were to make a journey that took us three weeks, in five days.
I was not selected to be one of the one hundred and two riders at the beginning, but after Bellwin was chosen, I asked to join him as one of his guards. The brigadier was not convinced I was strong enough to complete the trip in time, but I swore to him that I would not leave Bellwin’s side, and I promised him that he would not be better guarded by anyone else. I was the weakest of the group, that was evident, but Bellwin managed to convince Batista, he said that I was the reason he was there in the first place, and that I had family in a border town so I knew the terrain - this was of course, a lie - which could prove useful in case we needed to change our route or worse, get ambushed.
As promised, I never let my eyes off Bellwin for three days straight. The way back to Leilen was as empty as it had been the first time around, the only signs of life were the tracks that we had left before and had not been swept by the wind. We rode as fast as we could for three days straight, we rode until dusk and woke up before dawn, we rested the absolute minimum, and as soon as the horses were awake we edged them on. Even if we didn’t need to make the trip back in five days because of the regalias, our horses would have surely collapsed on the sixth day.
It was when we had reached the edges of Anarat that the earth shook.
The earth pounded beneath our feet as if it was a massive drumhead. The pounding started slow, loud and severe, and then it grew faster and louder, each beat closer to the next, until the drumming resembled marching steps. The earth vibrated as if an army of giants was marching towards us, it pounded and pounded with such a strength that it scared our horses so much that some of them threw their riders off and they ran into the desert. And then, just as sudden as the beating of the earth had begun, the desert air went still and a humid heat fell upon us. Dark clouds replaced what just a minute before had been arid, cloudless skies.
With the thunderclouds came a great sandstorm, and I saw a figure clad in black rise above it. Bellwin then murmured something that chilled me to the bone, “there is no wind” he said. He was right, there was no wind blowing, and yet we could see the desert dunes being shaped like clay and the sandstorm growing larger in front of us. Suddenly, the black figure twisted in an unnatural way, contorting itself like a rag doll and bending its limbs in impossible angles. It hung motionless in the sky for a moment and then it fell back to the earth, plummeting behind the stormdust.
The next thing I remember is Bellwin slapping me awake, and the sandstorm raging all around us. Our whole unit had been swallowed by the dust and I could only see what was directly in front of me. Bellwin was next to me and I had grabbed hold of his arm, Loric, Bellwin’s other guard was behind me, and we could hear Batista screaming somewhere in front of us. We were trying to follow Batista’s voice when we got hit by the first volley. An arrow pierced Loric’s shoulder and a few other fell directly in front of my feet. I then heard Batista’s voice grow louder, and then the sound of steel clashing against steel. The sandstorm was too thick for us to see anything, but the fight was loud. I knew they must have been fighting close to us. Loric, Bellwin and I moved into a triangle formation as our training commanded and we drew our swords, ready to face an invisible enemy. We were standing back to back when an arm grabbed my leg and pulled me down into the sand, I fell into one knee and stabbed the ground frantically, trying to kill whatever had dragged me, but as I did, more arms shot through the sand and grabbed hold of me, trying to pull me down into the dunes.
Bellwin and Loric ran to me and cut two of the arms clean. I stood back up and prepared for the next attack. Loric kept slashing at the arms and with each slash the sand turned redder and redder, until a scimitar pierced the sandstorm and lodged itself in Loric’s chest.
After Loric was killed, I instinctively sought to guard Bellwin. As I turned to protect him I saw a second scimitar come from the side and slit his throat open. When Bellwin fell, he was still holding his regalia. He had been given one of the crimson sacks, and he had held it with him ever since we left the third army, he said the crimson color was proof that it belonged to Leilen and he never let go of it until his very last moment. When the sack fell to the ground, I felt the very same ground shake. I ducked the next attack and grabbed the regalia as fast as I could. I ran away from the sand ghosts until I couldn’t run anymore. The fighting was raging in all sides, through the thick sand I could hear the screams of the dying, the sound of steel cleaving meat and the splash of the blood in the dry sand. When I finally realized what had happened I cried to the heavens, I cried and begged to any god who would listen to my pain, my anger and my rage.
I got no answer, no one would listen to my anguish, no one, except Death. She had listened, she had been there since the start, she had taken the sandghosts, she had taken Loric, and Bellwin, and who knows how many of my fellow comrades. Madam Death had been here, and she had listened to me. There is a saying in Leilen that a man is not done being created until the day he is dead, I knew then, I understood what I had to do. I ripped opened the regalia sack and took what I needed, I had lost my sword and shield while I was running away, but now I was not running away anymore, I was running into battle. The regalia was a mix of polished black and silver steel with deep engravings that I did not understand. I put on most of the armor, what fit me anyways, and I grabbed the bronze maul that was inside, a Warhammer would be a better description. I had never trained with a hammer in my life, but when I picked it up, it felt like I was born to wield it.
I turned back and walked into the sandstorm, I went searching for the sandghosts that had killed Bellwin and Loric, I wanted to crush their heads under the weight of my hammer, I wanted to feel their bones break and their blood paint the sand red. I soon found one of them, I swung my hammer and shattered his scimitar in a thousand pieces, he looked at me like a frightened deer before I pierced the front of his skull with the back of my hammer, blood spilled and I felt the grace of Madam Death fell upon me. More sandghosts followed, and more bodies piled behind me. I was sworn in steel and pledged for revenge. I kept marching, swinging my hammer at anything that moved, I swung it hard, and I swung it fast, each time that my hammer struck true I felt a raging pleasure fill my heart. I marched on and I crushed every single body that crossed my path, I was never hurt, not a single scimitar cut my skin, not a single arrow pierced my cloth.
I only stopped when I saw the brigadier’s eyes looking back at me from behind his shattered skull. I had bludgeoned his head so hard that his skin stuck to the hammerhead and I had to pick the pieces away one by one. It was not only Batista, but half of the sandghost I thought I had killed, were the members of my own unit. The brigadier didn’t even lift his sword against me. He thought I was there to help him. I didn’t even see him until I had to clean his brain from my weapon. I thought about stopping, but I hadn’t found the sandghost who killed Bellwin, that was all I cared about, Bellwin was only there because of me, and I had promised, I had sworn to protect him, and I didn’t. Worse yet, I fled as soon as I had the chance. A sandghost had slit Bellwin’s throat and all I did was take away his prized sack of loot and run away like the coward I was.
Leilen was the idyllic past that I never lived but that I remembered, but Bellwin, he was the brother I never met, he was the laughter of my childhood, he was my past and he could have been my future. I heard the silence fall upon the red battlefield and felt scared. I wanted to be with Bellwin, I wanted to meet him and hold him once again. I cried to the heavens and I begged for death. When I went back searching for him, I saw him in all of them. Every single one of them wore his face, they all had his dark hair, all their eyes gleaned with the same green hue. I encountered a hundred Bellwins, a hundred mirror images of his warm corpse. I ran into each one of them, looking for deliverance but no one would embrace me. They all rejected me, lashed back with their swords, poles and daggers, and I killed all of them in turn, each one of them. I killed Bellwin a hundred times, and a hunred times I mourned him. A hundred times I lunged myself at Death, and a hundred times she rejected me that day. It was her reward for becoming her avatar in this world.
At some point, when the bodies ran out, the fighting stopped and I stopped seeing him. I couldn’t find him anymore. It was then when I realized I had lost Bellwin forever. Once the sandstorm finally stopped, I turned back and walked again into the sandhills. I don’t remember much of what happened after. I suppose you must have captured me a few days later, I would have died from thirst otherwise.
*Until the day I find you again, I will feed my revenge*
*Until my heart stops, every breath of mine is yours*
-----
Master Elök Etrelpa’s Report and AssessmentFabian# Master Elök Etrelpa’s Report and Assessment
#### Report by Master Elök Etrelpas Of The Elders, Deputy Archivist of The Scrollhouse At Ämetatilelël, Realm of Ën Ümel.
<br/><br/>
### ASSESSMENT ON THE ONTOLOMAGICAL STATUS OF THE ACCOUNT GIVEN BY HRËND LAKLO ON THE EVENTS AND FINDINGS OF MIDDLEDAY THE FIFTEENTH.
Background: three days preceding the holy day of St. Ïpït, Hrënd Laklo, son of Ilkren Laklo, claims to have discovered a bag of items nearby the pond of an abandoned farmhouse a day’s ride outside of Äkulel. The bag reportedly contained a range of “magical items”, including a Robe, that Laklo frothily described as “rare” and “Divine”, gloves, presumably made of dragonskin, a ring, made of Titanium, which Laklo characterized as “absolutely perfect”, and a wand made of what appears to be bones of canine origin, such as a wolf or a fox, though Laklo inexplicably insists on it being “clearly of the Fox”. The bag contained some other items which this report will not bother to expand on, as we shall find that the nature of the items is anything but what Laklo claims they are, and we have a more parsimonious explanation for the bizarre series of events that did indeed seem to occur on that day.
Robe: This report does not deny the existence of so-called “magical robes”, even though the vast majority of them are nothing more than expensive and ostentatious clothing. This is not the case with the Robe in question, which is in fact a genuine article of magical power. It is not, however, a particularly powerful item, and its effects are mostly limited to making the wearer look more attractive and commanding.
Gloves: These are, as Laklo correctly surmised, made of dragonskin, and are thus quite valuable. They are not, however, magical, and their only purpose is to protect the hands of the wearer from cold weather.
Ring: This is indeed a titanium ring, yet we do not share the assessment of “perfection”, given the limited epistemological meaningfulness of such an assessment.
As for the events that followed Laklo’s discovery, we will first attempt to summarize these from a purely perceptual point of view, in other words, as it must have appeared to the rather simple minds of the witnesses on that day.
Upon opening the bag, Laklo first took out the ring and put it on his finger. He then proceeded to put the Robe on, and take out the bone wand, at which point he said some words in a language that no one present could understand. Laklo then appeared to have started to emanate a sort of glow, and his eyes turned “orange”. He then levitated off the ground and started to float around the area of the pond.
From the perspective of those who witnessed these events, it would have appeared as if Laklo had indeed discovered a bag of magical items, and that these items had imbued him with magical powers.
However, we must remember that Laklo is a known pathological liar, and that he has been known to invent stories in order to garner attention. In light of this, it is more likely that Laklo simply put on a show, using mundane items to create the illusion of magical powers.
The most likely explanation for the glowing and levitation is that Laklo used some kind of light source, such as a lantern, to create the illusion of magical powers. As for the orange eyes, this is most likely due to Laklo wearing paint on his eyelids.
It is also worth noting that Laklo’s story changes depending on who he is speaking to. For example, he told the farmers that the Robe made him feel “divine and special", as if he "had been granted special access to commune with others of similar standing”, yet he told the Elders that the Robe made him feel “as if I could fly”. It is clear that Laklo is simply making up stories as he goes along, and that he is not to be believed.
Further, Laklo has no magical experience or credentials whatsoever, and is not registered with any known guild of sorcery within the Realm, so even if he had indeed found a bag of magical items, it is inconceivable that he would have any idea how to use them.
We should also not make the mistake of not carefully examining the merit of our witnesses, as they are, for the most part, farmers with little to no education, and whose testimony must thus be taken with a grain of salt. For example, the shepherd Röplin Hlarbert, when questioned by Master Flololömen on the very evening of the day of the event, was unaware of the role of The Archive’s Elders, and mistook Master Flololömen for a “scribe or a monk". His wife, Lïsbren Hlarbert, even called Master Flololömen a “moronic codger” when he found her to be completely unable to bring her outrageous testimony in line with the Third Ontic Principle. Their boy, Fërdin Hlarbert, was the only one of the three who seemed to be telling the truth with respect to a complete absence of magic in the matter, though his testimony is nevertheless too confused to be of investigative value, claiming that Laklo’s “floating around” did indeed not involve anything magical, as he was “simply flying like birds do, which have no magic to them either”.
In conclusion, it is the opinion of this report that the events of Middleday the Fifteenth, as related by Hrënd Laklo and witnesses, are to be considered apocryphal, and that the items in question are nothing more than mostly mundane objects with negligible magical powers. This report therefore recommends that no further public investigation be made into the matter of the event itself, and the items be kept in the Archive’s vault to avoid any further mischaracterization of their nature.
Lastly, and unfortunately, it must be noted that some items seem to have been stolen or lost in the aftermath of the investigation. Specifically, the bone wand, the robe and the ring seem to have gone missing sometime between the original event and the subsequent delivery of the entire bag to the Archive by Master Flololömen. It is our opinion that they were clearly stolen by one of the witnesses or even Hrënd Laklo himself, which is further corroborated by the fact that Laklo seems to have gone missing himself after his interrogation. We recommend that a search be made for Hrënd Laklo and the missing items, and that he be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law if found guilty of theft.
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Step into the RiftDood# Step into the Rift
Codigo Simian wasn’t exactly what I would call an ordinary fellow. He was raised in a village with no name, near the barely-named town of Tuygi. His mother was an underrated seamstress, and his father died in a pointless war when he was 10. Though, none of these things were really out of the ordinary.
Those things weren’t what interested me in Codigo. It was the way he’d just sit and watch a stream for hours on end, observing the ripples and eddies form and disperse over and over in different ways each time. Or how he would look at the sky and smell the air, and know to take the long road around the canyon before it started to rain and flood. Most of all, it was when he first picked up that bag, and started noticing ME.
So I called to him. It was time we had chat.
-----
I was compelled to act. The first couple of weeks with the bag, I would rush home from my journeyman post with the smith, and pull out the Warhammer from the bag to go patrol the road to Tuygi from town. My old fear of the bandits and ghouls that would take to the road through the forest, was replaced with a sense of purpose. Now they had something to fear.
On my eighth night patrolling the road, I noticed it. I was resting at my fire when a squat ghoul tried sneaking up on me, but I heard his clumsy approach. Just before he could reach me, I spun and launched my Warhammer towards the sky and through his face. As the life was leaving the ghoul, I felt it. It was as if I was being watched, but from all directions. As if the air noticed what I just did. Not a sense of judgement, but a sense of knowing. It was unsettling and invigorating all at once. What was IT?
I kept to my nightly patrols, with my senses tuned to suss out this strange force. I would feel it now and again. When I would escort a lost merchant to safety, or find a group of bandits that hadn’t gotten the message that this road isn’t safe them.
A collapsed into my bed after a patrol one night. That’s when it called to me. I didn’t dream, but had a vision. I saw the entirety of my world enveloped and connected by raw energy of power and light coalescing into a single point. It looked like an hourglass, but instead of sand it was the world’s EXPERIENCE funneling into a single point. Every action was contained and observed. At the bottom of the hourglass was a vast temple, absorbing the energy. It was the most glorious sight I’ve ever seen.
Just as quickly as the vision came, it left. I woke up shaking in bed, skin colder than the Ik Nupay mountains. Mom was there to comforting me. She was trying to hide it, but I could tell she was frightened.
I barely had the energy to say, “I’m sorry, I have to go find it.”
“Find what?!” She cried.
“The Rift.”
-----
I left home 40 or 42 days ago. I can’t really remember. I didn’t exactly know which way to go. It was more of a feeling. That feeling took me northwest, away from the sea and in to the desert. Every time I slept, I would search for this place, this rift, but I found nothing. All I had to go on, was the feeling that I was closer.
Now I was fully in the grasp of the desert. I only had provisions for twelve days when I entered it, and this was my ninth day of hiking into its heart. Had I really just walked my way into my own death? Maybe this bag is just a curse, and the exact same thing happened to the unfortunate that found it before me!
Night was falling, and I was exhausted. I reserved most of my travel for the night time, as I figured it was safer to sleep during the day, but the warm night was too much for my beaten body to resist. I laid down on my bedroll, and began to close my eyes. Then on the horizon I saw a faint glow! I just laid there and looked at it for a few minutes, partially to soak in what I was seeing and partially to make sure I wasn’t seeing things. I finally got up, I didn’t bother packing up my little campsite. I just grabbed my bag, and walked towards the light.
-----
I walked the entire night, as the glow took up more and more of the horizon. When the sun rose, I saw what looked like a structure miles away. It was real! I increased my pace, but was certain I couldn’t keep it up much longer.
By dawn, I had arrived at the Rift.
I saw a large stone temple with light emanating from the top. Or was the light coming in? It had long, seemingly endless, steps going up to its entrance. The stone was etched with what looked like hundreds of different languages, including common tongue. It read, “…ENTER AND KNOW AND ENTER AND…” repeating over and over.
I walked towards the steps, and placed my foot on the first one. Next thing I knew I was inside of the temple. I stood at an elevated doorway. In front of me was an atrium, the light was flowing from above and concentrating in the center of the space. Behind me was a long hallway that led to the temple entrance, at least I assumed judging by the desert beyond. Surrounding the atrium were dozens of similar doorways connected to similar hallways, but there wasn’t desert beyond those hallways. The few that I caught a glimpse of, each led to a different looking place. And yet, that was barely an afterthought compared to that light. I stepped towards it.
Just as I had decided to step towards it, it began to amass at the center of the atrium. It started to take shape, to form into something. The light stopped flowing from the sky, and the shape before me formed into a large hooded being. I dropped my bag, I was petrified! Not because the being looked frightening, but because I had never felt the presence of pure power. Instead of a face, the hood contained eternity.
This is what brought me here.
“HELLO CODIGO SIMIAN,” it whispered like rolling thunder. I didn’t hear the words, they just echoed through my mind.
“Who are you?” I wasn’t surprised it knew who I was.
“I AM THE RIFT,” it spoke in my head.
“Isn’t this place the Rift?” I thought.
The Rift echoed, “WE ARE ONE. WE ARE THE NEXUS OF EXPERIENCE. CLOSE YOUR EYES AND SEE”
*I thought back to my vision those many nights ago. The entirety of the world’s actions and experiences condensed to a single point, this very place. The vision in my mind’s eye started shifting and evolving, I was no longer in control. The condensed world expanded in every direction, taking up the entirety of my vision. I was high up over the earth, I could see faraway lands in every direction…it’s so big. I flew close towards the earth and floated over a landscape. In the horizon to the east I saw the sea and my village. Across the horizon to the west were rolling hills dotted with other villages, and in the far west were the dead lands. Connecting all of it, was the same glowing energy that created the Rift. The villagers tilling their land caused the light to glow a little brighter over them. A pair of adventurers fighting the ghouls from the dead lands had even more light over them. And brightest of all was the light coming from the top of the craggily mountain.*
*The vision began to morph again, the sun began to rise and fall over the landscape faster and faster. Time was accelerating! I could see the light over the pair of adventurers split, they went their separate ways. The first one went back to one of the villages and stayed there for years, their light grew only a little over that time. The other seemingly sought out the energy. They grew their light by venturing into crypts and caverns, and patrolling the roads just as I had! Eventually, their light was the brightest one I could see. Then the light over the mountain stirred, and out burst a red dragon flying straight towards the adventurer…*
It all made sense now! The whole world is connected through its experience! That experience is power that anyone can harness. I just have to seek it out.
That’s when I opened my eyes, and I was back home in bed. It was daybreak. I stood up, grabbed my bag, and stepped outside. I saw the light. Now my adventure can begin.
-----
Something More than Loot Itself TheLorecraftersGuild# Something More than Loot Itself
## Parts 1&2
Whenever the bell rang, a man died, and Muirin found herself lying all over again. This time it was in the village green, presided over by the carnations and daffodils. It was often held in the village green actually, she supposed that was for the same reason her cottage faced the sea. They stood in a line, on a dreary march, all the villagers, and Muirin kept herself towards the back. There she would count the town marks she had clumsily stitched into the folds of her dress. Three coins. Just enough to pay, but equally enough to seem poor. Of course, she’d have to beg, but in the end the coins would be enough.
The first scream came earlier than expected. It was a man, as far as she could tell, who had been in the middle of a high-pitched wail when his timbre choked out. Then it was just silent. Commotion broke out in the line, but nobody broke from the line, it simply moved forward, and everyone took a pace closer. Muirin could see the people fidgeting nervously, most with near-empty pouches, others just twiddling the lining of their straw hats.
When she came close enough to see, she saw it was much the same as usual. It was her. The woman sat in a seat of gnarled branches as the villagers approached her. Out of the corner of an eye you’d mistake her for a young woman, elegant, even beautiful, with snowy locks raining down her shining cheeks. The vision only faded when you stared directly at her, making way for something older. You couldn’t call her a woman, she was more like a creature of the dark, a hobbled over old thing with deep lines accentuating her face and a grin that was pure with malice. That laugh was what gave it away.
Muirin came into the green and saw for the first time that day, what she could see any other time she wanted, the statues. The chiselled crude stonework of people caught in the moment, half-contorted in fear, while strangled screams still wait to escape from their mouths. There had only been one addition today, which was unusual. It was an older man, Muirin recognised him as a farmer who kept a farm near the old forests. The passing winter had obviously done him no favours.
Approaching, Muirin ruffled her dress so she could place herself down on her knees. They creaked beneath her weight, as old bones were bound to, but she managed just fine. Without a word, she placed the three marks before the authority and kept her head down. It would be enough, she assured herself, but only just. Tayv, as the villagers called her, simply stared, as if trying to see some truth in Muirin.
It didn’t take long for her to reach out and snatch the coins. Not a word passed between them, a fact of which Muirin was grateful for. When it was done, she pushed her way through the forest of statues and back on the path that led home. Muirin was eager to get behind closed curtains before the sun had fully retreated.
The cork came stubbornly from the bottle, but the rum poured like a fine wine. When she had first come here, she had been content to drink from the bottle itself, but as the years had grown on her, she found she preferred a glass. Sitting on the edge of her room, rug curled up in the corner, Muirin hefted up the whining trap door. Inside, a sizeable chest, which took more than a bit of groaning to heave next to her bed.
A swig of rum and she had the key in hand. Muirin unlocked the chest and threw open the lid. There, inside, coins and jewels more than a person could ever count. Muirin ran her fingertips over the tally marks on the inside of the lid. There were three hundred and twelve of them, she had counted each mark herself. She took another solemn sip and threw the extra coins, from the folds in her dress, into the chest.
Muirin had the dagger in her hands even before the creak at the door. The boy couldn’t have been more than five, rubbing his eyes for the stinging light of her candle. With a small grin and a light chuckle, Muirin replaced the dagger in the concealed sheathe at her waist and brought the boy into her embrace. Placing the lid closed, she easily scooped the scruffy adolescent up and helped him back to the room directly next to hers.
There were two beds inside, one was occupied by a girl a little older than the boy, currently sleeping sweetly. Muirin placed him in the next bed and stayed with him a little while they glanced out of the window. Beyond its fragile panes the sea came gently in and then gently out again, leaving only an impression on the sand. That was all the boy needed to be seen off into the night, and he did so without a worry. Muirin was different.
You could hear the rowdiness across the village in the local pub. That’s how it often was on the night after the tithing. What little marks the villagers could get away with, they’d spend on drinks and jubilation and then be worse off in the months to come. Muirin had always longed to go to them, in the same way she used to. To drink the place dry, to fight until her knuckles were nothing but bloody stumps, and to shame any man who could claim she was hers.
What had she been then?
Muirin had not been to the old forests in some time and thought there not a day better in recent memory for the journey. The air was stale, yet pleasantly warm, and from here you could continue to listen to the ocean. At some moments, you could even see it. Muirin didn’t like to be out of sight of the water, and she’d prefer it if she could see the waves. The two children ran excitedly about, not a care in the world, and went at the task of finding mushrooms for dinner. She couldn’t help but smile at them, in the proud way only a mother could.
At one point, they went out of her sight, and she kept to her own basket. They followed the path right through and the children knew how to keep to it. On Muirin walked, slower than she would’ve liked to, but almost came to a stop at the sight of the woman walking towards her. Another older woman, not an uncommon sight in the village, but one she knew by name. The woman wore a sombre expression, as if tears threatened to break any moment, and walked with an imperceptible limp.
It was the farmer’s wife, the recent addition to the village green.
Like a stranger on the street, Muirin elected to ignore her, content to hold up her chin and simply stride by without a word. The widow had other plans though. As soon as she was within an arm’s reach of Muirin, she began to spit a vile string of words at her. Muirin stood there, indifferent.
‘What do you want from me?’
‘I know who you are,’ the woman snapped back. ‘I know what you were.’
The second of silence portrayed more than Muirin would’ve liked to control, but she shrugged, ignoring the irregular beats of her heart. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about?’
‘You could’ve saved him,’ she spat. ‘You could’ve saved a lot of people. Where is it now? Where is the gold you’ve taken?’
‘You’ve got me for someone else,’ said Muirin. ‘I’ve lived here all my life.’
‘The only place you’ve lived is the sea.’
Muirin had been keeping her mind on her dagger but had never bothered with her hand. People around here were fraught for justice, and in the absence of good leadership, they took it in any way they could think to. A body in the woods would bring unwanted attention. While she knew she could slit her throat, she decided against it. It would only prove there was more to Muirin than she wanted there to be.
That’s why, when the widow pushed her, Muirin fell backwards almost voluntarily.
The way down was steeper than she had expected, more of a short hill. She tumbled past trees and through loose branches, over rocks and between stinging nettles. A rough fall for what seemed a long time, before landing, twisted on her back, right at the bottom. It took her a moment for her senses to come back to her. Muirin heard nothing of the widow, but that was a problem in of itself. Had she really been recognised and how?
With a groan, Muirin pulled herself up. Aches flooded her body now, screaming at each of her joints. She’d landed roughly on her back, which was now overwhelmed with the scrapes and scores of the stinging nettles. It would be a long climb back up, if she decided to go that way, and her children would be none the wiser.
Finally, she took the moment to look around at where she had landed. It was an overgrown nightmare of weeds and branches. Roots shot out from the ground here and up the steep rise she had tumbled down. It harboured an odour as well, and she didn’t think she’d have to travel far to find a bear’s den.
Muirin caught her first glimpse of it as she found her feet. It was an easy thing to miss, hidden beneath the unkempt wilderness, but unmistakeable when you saw it. There was a woven sack, a bag, sitting there as if it had grown there. As if it were another fruit within the forest. At first, Muirin thought it might had been thrown from the path, a bag of something rotten given as a gift to the weeds. And then her curiosity came to her.
The bag was far heavier than it had any right to be. Opening it gave her an immediate sense of unease, as if she had stumbled upon something forbidden, something not meant for her eyes. There were items inside. Many items. Some looked mundane, others looked exotic, but they all felt strangely powerful. It seemed as if they shouldn’t all fit within the same space so comfortably, but they did so without complaint.
Muirin reached for a falchion, a familiar weapon in her hands, and held it aloft to the sun. She didn’t know how, and she couldn’t guess at why, but this was no ordinary falchion. Nothing in this bag was ordinary. Although meetings with magic were rare in her life, she could say with some certainty and without a lick of training that these items were magical.
Muirin sent her girl towards the village first and only approached after she was sure there wasn’t any angry mob waiting for them. Returning, they found a pleasant welcome amongst the locals. A traveller couldn’t tell that, only yesterday, most of these people had been scared out of their minds. Things had resumed as normal. Those that knew Muirin and her children greeted them amiably, but always Muirin kept her eye out for the widow. She wasn’t in the village green, near her recently petrified husband, which meant there was only one other place she could be.
The day was waning but not dark when Muirin arrived home alone. She had told her children to visit with the baker woman nearby, who had children of her own close to their ages. Muirin opened the door and was not at all surprised to find her home ransacked. The furniture had been flung in every direction, cups and plates smashes, the walls bruised and dented, and any pictures that had been hanging from hooks were now on the floor in pieces.
The widow was sitting in her bedroom, legs crossed, with a grieved look upon her face. ‘I know it’s here somewhere.’
Muirin already had the dagger in her hand, she entered slowly, cautiously. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. What have you done to my home?’
‘I remember seeing daddy when the first arrows hit.’ The widow seemed away from them now, away from the room, lost in the swirling nepenthe of her memories. ‘They stuck him like a pin cushion, then the rest of the crew. I hid beneath the netting and the crates, and I don’t think you ever saw me, or ever cared to see me. I can remember your face.’
‘I’ve seen you moving about the village,’ replied Muirin. ‘If you think something of me, why hasn’t it come to anything before now?’
‘First time I saw you I was sure,’ she replied simply. ‘Next time, I was less sure. For years this went until your face faded into the others around you. Then when…I started remembering the rumours about you. A small cottage, never bothered near the sea, with only one small orchard and a band of clucking hens to provide for it.’
‘You’re just looking for a face for your misplaced anger. I ain’t nothing to you.’
The widow stood up then. ‘You’ve hidden whatever you have well enough. Is it hidden from the prying eyes of magic though? What if Tayv were to look for it instead?’
Muirin’s knuckles went white around the hilt of the dagger. ‘Are you saying you mean to do something foolish now?’
‘Not unless my memory is right,’ replied the widow. ‘And that your ill-gotten gains are shared.’
Thinking on it for a moment, Muirin lowered the dagger and stepped aside for the widow. The woman strode confidently past her and had no way of knowing just how fast Muirin was. The woman had the widow’s forehead struggling against her hand in the next second, and the blade of the dagger running across her throat in the second after. There hadn’t even been enough time to scream. Statues screamed, Muirin thought to herself as the widow’s weight collapsed beneath her, corpses were silent.
The last strike of the shovel came some hours into the early morning. The hole in the sand was sizable and waiting for the widow. There were benefits to living in the last cottage towards the sea, it gave you an easy access to the beach and the waters below, but dragging the weight and then digging out the sand had more than tired Muirin. She worked with a sweat to get the body in and buried. In the dead of night, at least, she was sure no one would see her, the real problem would be digging it deep enough for the seagulls not to know it.
Her boy was waiting on her bed when she returned. Muirin had already retrieved the children from the baker and put them to bed, telling them with no shortage of discipline that they were not to leave the house or wonder where she had gotten to. The boy, as sleepy-eyed as ever, continued to yawn and looked on the near verge of collapsing.
Muirin put him to bed with the view of the beach beyond the window. With daylight’s approach, it was easy to see the boy off, but she still had work to do. Once again heaving out the chest, Muirin first added another tally to the end of her marks with the dagger, three hundred and thirteen now, and then dug through the coins to find the map.
Rolling it out on the floor, it presented the local area. The forests, the coastlines, and most importantly, the other villages and towns that could be reached by a few days on the road. Of course, Muirin needed somewhere along the coast, so she could keep her eyes and ears on the sea, but there were plenty of villages north. The further the better, but it would be a costly trip.
Counting out her coins, she found that she still had a favourable amount, but not nearly as much as she would’ve liked. A new cottage would be costly, supplies would be costly, money was needed for bribes and then there was the matter of living a comfortable life thereafter. Here, she had more than enough to sit well into the end of her days, but elsewhere she’d need a greater savings.
The bag was still lying in the forest, unmoved and unharmed. Apart from the widow and the former farmer who had moved along that path every day, she was sure no one would find it but by chance, like her. It had been tempting to bring the sack with her, but in broad daylight it would rouse too much suspicion. She needed to be careful with it. Especially with Tayv’s eyes everywhere and her reaching greedy fingers. Still, the solution might lie in that assortment of strange items that Muirin was sure could be magical.
Muirin would need to be smart, especially with two young children to carry, she would need to come up with a plan.
The strange bag in the woods could wait while she made the preparations. The widow was dead and buried, but she didn’t trust life enough to keep the body hidden, and if that were to happen, she wanted to be well away from the town. Muirin knew that no one would care enough to track her down, especially with Tayv watching them, but they would be hunting for a quick justice in the borders of the town’s region. Muirin couldn’t be here for that.
It was a firm leash by which Tayv controlled the town. The witch, as that’s what Muirin had always thought of her, was determined to keep the townsfolk inside and working. It was the only way to ensure a healthy stream of coin towards her waiting fingers, as well as crops and whatever else of value the villagers had. Of course, to keep the coin coming, there needed to be trade, and for trade that meant people had to be able to come and go as they needed.
The merchants were about the only people that benefited in the town, as when the month came to its end, and that wretched bell rung out, they could be miles away planning their next meal. For every other villager though, they were stuck here. Tayv made sure of that. Guards inspected everything coming in and out of the town and were even diligent enough to create comprehensive lists that were check and rechecked when the merchants moved through the gates. Smuggling people, no matter how much they paid, was difficult, but smuggling something else was a lot simpler.
It had been rumoured, although if true Muirin couldn’t be sure, that there was some enchantment on the people here that allowed Tayv to track them down if they did escape. That would be another problem to consider on another day though, if indeed it was true, right now Muirin was only in need of a merchant.
The merchant was about a foot taller than her, and three feet wider, he carried himself as if he was always on the verge of bursting into a giggling fit, and kept himself warm in a ghastly green cloak that had seen far too much of the road. Muirin knew him well, but he had never seen fit to give his name, which was understandable, as any sordid business in the village was usually done through him. She approached his stall, leading her two children by the arm, and tried her best to blend in. Today it was a bread stall, last week it was fish, next week it’ll be something else.
‘Ah, now tis a fine day,’ he said, arms wide. ‘I was gettin’ ta wonderin’ if you’d gimme the pleasure a callin’ for me, Muirin my lady.’
‘I need something from you.’ Muirin whispered it straight to the point, while gently sliding over a small bag of coins, one she had gathered that very hour. ‘I’ve procured some special items and I need you to reach out to one of my contacts.’
‘This ain’t a friendly call then?’ The merchant took the coins and briefly looked inside, then sighed with something of an exaggerated grimace. The burly gentleman pushed the coins back. ‘Not enough.’
‘Not enough?’
‘I’d barely be outta town before I’d spent it,’ he said. ‘Prices go up, my costs go up, just good business.’
‘How much?’
‘Well, another bag like that one ought to do it.’
‘Fine.’ Muirin thrust the bag back over. ‘Take half now then and I’ll bring the other half tomorrow.’
‘No, later today only.’
‘Fine.’
Before setting off for the modest market of the village and gathering the marks needed for the bag, Muirin had taken the time to craft a note. She knew of one person, and no more than that, in the surrounding areas that might both know about these strange items and be interested in buying them. A man on the outskirts of two towns over that made a modest living selling weapons. Muirin had met him before, many times, all on occasions when she had a need to sell things quickly. They both knew a coded language, as was the way, and this was how her note was written. In it, she had described what she had found, even going as far to list the individual items with modest descriptions, and what she think they might be worth.
The merchant took a look at the note, which would appear meek in his eyes, and slid it into his pocket. ‘I’ll see it done, if ya get me one more bag.’
‘I will,’ she promised.
Once again, Muirin had relied on the kindness of a stranger to look after her children as she made another foray into the woods. Again, they had been left to play with the baker’s own children, and she knew they would be well looked after until her return, which shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours later. The day was still bright, just past midday, and she’d marched off at about this time purposefully to keep within the sun’s light.
It wasn’t difficult to find the strange bag of treasures in the woods. Muirin slid, more than fell, down the bank this time and discovered them exactly where she had found them. Sighing with something of relief for fear of the bag being found, she brought a rope to it and fastened it tight. The rope, something she had brought hidden in a sack of her own, was tied to a tree at the top of the bank and would provide the right leverage for the sack to be lifted without outright relying on her tired strength.
As she pulled, she once again thought about the collection and how it had come to lie here. The most reasonable explanation she could muster was that someone must have dropped it here along the path above. The why of that though was difficult to comprehend. Perhaps it was a stranger on the run, which seemed likely, a thief who had thought to drop off the bag of loot before they were caught with it. Little good that would do them around here with laws not stretching further than a town’s boundaries.
Inside, on the second glance, she had found both plate mail and a heavy looking set of greaves that seemed to radiate with holy light. Two items that, on their own, would make the bag impossible to lift, even with the aid of a pulley. Yet here she was, lifting it. They must be magical then, was her only thought on the matter, to be as light as they were now. It probably wouldn’t be a hard task to get them home either, especially if she made her way there through the beach.
She had opted for the daylight over the night, as if she were found carrying the sack in the darkness, that would do nothing but rouse suspicion. At least in the day, coming from the woods she had once frequented, it might look a little more innocent.
Once satisfied that the dragging bag was sitting comfortably at the top of the bank, Muirin decided to go and join it.
Something was waiting for her at the top though, sitting on the edge of the bank and tentatively sniffing at the bag. Muirin saw the fir first before she knew the creature by name. It was a brown bear, a resident of the woods no doubt, and it was sitting lazily near the bag as if it thought there might be food inside. Not daring to move an inch, for fear of stirring the creature, Muirin kept her hold on the rope and hovered just a little below the creature’s eyeline.
It was a curious animal. It would paw at the bag, every now and then, as if trying to guess what was inside. The minutes though paced on, and Muirin was beginning to grow more anxious about the time. The bear and the bag were sat right off the path. Any stranger walking by would have a hard time not seeing them.
Suddenly, as if encouraged into motion, the bear took the bag up in its maw and began moving further into the woods. With no other choice, Muirin forced herself up and towards it. There she started shouting obscenities, screaming towards the thing, and it became confused. The bear arched its back like a scared dog, looking around for something that could explain why this fearful woman had appeared.
Muirin casts her arms wide, trying to make herself as large as possible.
This though seemed only to agitate the bear. It dropped the bag from its mouth and stood to its full height. There came a roar then, a deep bellied roar that would strip the skin from a stranger, but Muirin stood taller against it. She roared back, though not as loud, but enough to make the creature question her.
It came upon her, and she had no choice but to run. Fortunately enough, she had a good spot to run to. Muirin backtracked towards the sloping bank, rushing towards it, as the bear paced after her on all fours. She slipped down and the creature slipped after her. Then, in the way each villager is taught from a young age, she ran down the slope while crossing over her feet, moving over one way and then the other, trying to cause the bear to spill.
The wild bear tripped over its clumsy feet and fell forward into a roll. It was exactly as Muirin had hoped, but there was something wrong. She had failed to estimate her own position and found herself running in the path of the sudden furry boulder. In her younger days, she could have simply dodged to the left, roll out of the way, and probably laugh at the asinine bear as it slammed into a tree. These days though were different. In trying to jump out of the way she felt her left ankle twist in a painful way, not enough to sprain, but enough to lose her precious seconds.
The pair tumbled together.
Muirin hit the ground first and the bear tumbled after her. They both landed within ten feet of one another, each groggy in the head and slow to realise what had happened. Luckily, it was Muirin that came to her height first, pulling out the dagger and eyeing the bear very, very carefully. The creature came to next and gave her an equal gaze of contempt. She stared at it, and it stared at her. There’d be nowhere to run, not now they were in the thickets. If the bear chose to fight her, Muirin would have no choice but to do the same.
There was a moment of silence between the pair as calculations were made and muscles were braced.
The bear charged first, drawing to its full height and striking out at Muirin. Three dagger-like claws dug into the side of her head and sent her to the ground. It was like getting hit round the head by a boxer on their best day, the strike knocked the sense from her, made the world dizzy and blurred, and left her with just enough reason to brace herself after she hit the floor.
Muirin brought the dagger up, knowing what would happen next. Her head was bleeding, it was coming down into her eyes, and the bear had finally decided that she wasn’t a threat, no, she was a meal. It pounced on her, maw first, and Muirin brought the dagger down.
Men, woman, bears, they all could die the same ways. The point of the dagger went into the bear’s eye first, then penetrated right through to the creature’s brain. It let out a wounded howl and retreated a little back. Muirin had the sense of mind to pull the dagger with her hand as it moved away. It’s not that easily to kill a bear though, and even more enraged now, it came back upon her.
Muirin brought the dagger through the other eye, which both stunned and blinded the beast. She had just enough mind left to bring the dagger to the creature for a final blow. This time through its thick skull. The dagger didn’t do much though, it couldn’t pierce the bone of the thing, and simply bounced off. It flew from her hand and into the wilderness around them. The right damage had been done though regardless. A moment after the dagger had disappear, the creature slumped and found its way on top of her.
Under the weight of the dying bear, Muirin allowed her injuries to guide her into unconsciousness, sure that in addition to the blow on her head and the cuts on her face, the bear had just broken a few of ribs when it collapsed on top of her.
It was night when she finally opened her eyes. She couldn’t see much of it through the trees, but the shadows were enough for her to be sure of the fact.
The bear was dead, but she was far from danger. Every inhale of breath was accompanied with a sharp pain in her chest, it hurt to breath, squashed underneath this thing, and her head was thumping like a hammer against an old board.
Using her hands to help move the dirt around her, Muirin managed to pull herself out from underneath the beast. She stared at it once before struggling back up the slope. It seemed smaller than the thing she had fought somehow, more a baby than a bear. Grimacing, with her lips tightening into a thin line, she whispered, ‘Three hundred and fourteen.’
The bag was miraculously still waiting for her at the top of the slope, but the combination of night and the rasping of her breath would need to change her plans completely. Muirin couldn’t carry the bag, not in its entirety, and she had to be very careful heading back to the village so as not to be seen either. Then there were her children. Whatever would they be thinking now with their mother gone so long? They’d be sick with worry, although she was sure that they were still safe with the baker. The baker was good like that.
The bag would need to be taken in multiple trips, she decided reluctantly, and perhaps the next trip would need to be a few days away. Muirin’s chest was in shambles and her head was still buzzing from the bear’s mighty blow. Not to mention the blood now soaking her dress. She’d just have to risk the rest of the bag’s contents being discovered.
From the assortment of items, she took the lighter items, which included a strange hood, a ring, a necklace, a sash, and finally the falchion, which she wove into the belt of her dress. Muirin kicked the rest of the bag down the bank, hoping it would roll far enough not to be seen by strangers, and then steadily made her way back.
She found a large branch and fashioned it in a crutch, which she leaned on for the rest of her journey. It took her an hour to move through from the woods to the comforting sight of the sea and the sand. The sea air seemed to soothe her somewhat, but it was still a while to her cottage over the treacherous rocks.
Muirin didn’t go to her children. She found she couldn’t. They were safe enough, she reasoned, and she needed a moment to rest and to clean herself. Just as soon as the items were pushed beneath her bed, just as soon as the bloody gashes down her face were stitched, just as soon as her dress was off and thrown into a bucket of water, she allowed herself to fall into the folds of her welcoming bed and sleep.
There had been ten men with her, she remembered, and not one of them had brought a present. They had gathered about in her quarters, her most loyal servants, but they had guessed ahead of time what she was going to tell them. That’s why she was taken aback by their reluctance to bring a gift. It felt appropriate they bring a gift. Muirin couldn’t remember what had been said, but she could remember the swaying of the ship, mixed with the fresh sea air, and the sounds of the lapping waves against the bow. It was a good time to be on the sea, but a better time to leave it for the news.
Muirin woke with a start and breathed through the pain of her chest. She winced. The ribs were definitely broken and seemed unsettled. She found that she couldn’t breathe deeply without letting out a groan of pain, which meant the bones were digging into her lungs. Or at least she reasoned they were. She’d have to take it slow and make sure she bandaged the area well, which she did shortly after rising, and keep as much heat there as possible to ease the pain.
With a struggle, as she found herself so weak now, Muirin placed herself in another dress and made sure she was presentable. Her wounds were still bleeding, she’d never been very good at dressing wounds, but she found that a change in her cloth bandages were enough to quell it for now. She’d need the right stinging ointment.
Without even struggling through her breakfast, Muirin anxiously paced towards the baker’s house, just a little down the row, so she could retrieve her children.
There was a darkness on the village today, she saw, in the form of storm clouds on the horizon. There was something else too. Something old, but familiar. Suddenly she was picking up her pace and rushing to the bakers. Muirin hurried past the intoxicating aroma of new loafs, still in the oven, and pastry goods, and rushed inside of the house attached to the shop front.
She was met with an empty home. Muirin called after her children, sudden fear rising in her gut, but there was no answer. Not even the baker, who should be spending the morning preparing the meals, or even her children, answered their names when called. There was something in this, Muirin realised, but she didn’t know it for what it was until she checked the back door.
A note was stuck to it with a dagger.
The dagger was bloody and was hers.
The note was familiar, scribbled in her own handwriting, and written in a code.
The bell rang shortly after, calling the villagers to the square. For the most part, Muirin ignored it, instead electing to go back to her home and keeping a careful watch over her back. At about the last twist of the road before she came to her cottage, she saw him, peering out from around the corner. The man who had been following her. How she hadn’t noticed him before she could only ascribe to her being sloppy.
Keeping natural, Muirin entered her home, ignoring the still ringing bell, and went straight for her room. There she thought for a moment on where she’d choose to hide if needing the choice. Quietly, she reached under the bed, wincing at the pain it did her, and pulled out the falchion. She examined it only for a second before, just as quietly, climbing out of her bedroom window.
She found him lurking around the corner, his eyes were square on the front door with no clue as to her approach. When she pushed the tip of the blade into the small of his back, he let out a short yelp before raising his hands like a sheepish child caught in the act of something vile but innocent. He was a tall man, gaunt, with fading hair and a smell of putrid onions. It was a wonder she hadn’t noticed him before.
‘You’ve been following me.’
‘I was told to,’ came his reply. ‘She told me to.’
‘Why?’ Muirin asked. ‘Why me and why now?’
‘The farmer’s widow went to her, told her about you.’
‘What about me?’
‘About your former life.’ He shrugged. ‘She thought the widow was desperate, wanted proof, but had me follow you to make sure.’
‘The widow met me in my house, and I killed her.’
‘I know, I saw you bury her.’
‘Why did nothing come of this then?’ Muirin teased the blade in a little more. ‘When you had a reason to suspect me?’
‘I told her, I did, but she said it was fair,’ replied the man. ‘The widow had gone to you, no doubt to cause trouble, and you’d killed her out of justice. She wanted me to keep an eye on you, to see what you would do next.’
‘You followed me into the markets, didn’t you?’ said Muirin. ‘You saw me hand the note to the merchant.’
‘He was easy to get the note off, when you didn’t show up with the rest of his marks.’
‘You got the note after then,’ Muirin realised quietly. ‘And then you followed me into the woods.’
‘I saw your horde of items; you must’ve been squirreling those away for years.’ He turned then, slowly, so as not to awake her falchion’s anger. He had something of venom in his voice. ‘It’s true, ain’t it? No one has a horde like that except for—’
In one swift motion the falchion met his throat, strangling the next words from out of his mouth. Muirin, with no sense of sympathy, moved past him as he struggled and fell to his knees, all the while trying to hold back the tide of blood.
‘Three hundred and fifteen,’ she said as she wiped the blood of the blade. Muirin turned her attention back to the village, she knew exactly where she would find children now.
There was no line of villagers patiently waiting to pay the tithing. The local guards had moved them all aside, so that the street was clear for Muirin’s entrance. She came like a legend, the sea at her back, taking each step without a single betrayal of her true condition. The village green was ahead of her, and although none of the villagers truly knew the circumstances, they seemed to know it revolved around her. They were, after all, the ones that had shared the rumours.
Muirin saw them and knew them. Each of them. There was the baker, whose children played with her children. The merchant, who sheepishly looked away from her. A man she had sold apples to in the market. A teacher who taught her children. A woman who had sold her the dresses she wore every day. Men who had helped to build her cottage. A community of people that she had come to know over the last decade of her time in the village. All of them, living for the past few years, under the thumb of a cruel hag who wouldn’t even let them flee from their predicament. Not even send a note.
Tayv was waiting in the village green on her gnarled throne, a grin sprawled between her ears.
‘How did you manage to escape my notice?’ She said to herself, leaning forward with interested as Muirin entered the green. It was empty, except for the two of them, unless of course you counted the many statues still frozen in place as recompense for past debts. ‘How have you avoided recognition for so long?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Muirin replied, pointing her falchion squarely towards her. ‘Where are my children?’
‘You’re not looking too good.’ Tayv stood up from her throne, moved a few graceful steps towards her. She moved rather like a puppet that had lost its strings, it was unnerving to watch her. ‘Do you think you have the strength for this?’
‘You know who I am,’ replied Muirin. ‘Or at least know what I am.’
‘I’m starting to believe it,’ said Tayv. ‘Where do we go from here?’
‘Where are my children?’
Tayv clicked her fingers. Only once, but that proved to be more than enough. A guard stepped forward and revealed her boy and her girl, both tied up with rope and kept on leashes like dogs. They looked scared, Muirin noticed, they had been crying. Her falchion wavered a little. Tayv approached closer, a matter of six steps away now.
‘Should I turn them to stone first?’ She asked, politely. ‘Or I guess what I’m really asking is this, would you like to watch or be watched?’
‘Neither.’ The falchion dropped to the floor with a rattling clang. Muirin went down to her knees slowly but shortly after. ‘I’d prefer to make a deal.’
‘A deal?’ Tayv half-laughed, almost a cackle. ‘From what I’ve heard about you, you don’t make deals.’
‘Times change.’ Muirin took a deep breath. ‘Turn me to stone and let them go. I’ll go without a fight.’
‘Now, isn’t that interesting?’ Tayv came closer, even beginning to pace around her like a tiger on the prowl. ‘Has motherhood really changed that much? I’ve heard things about you that make even my stomach turn. The things you’ve done for gold and treasure go beyond what earns a person an eternity below.’
‘Please, just spare the children, they can’t do anything against you.’
‘I’m touched.’ Tayv reached out her hand towards Muirin and she didn’t struggle against it. Her creeping fingers burned, like a scorching hot pan against her skin, and she fought the urge to shriek. Instead, Muirin shouted, screamed, towards her, as her skin began to stiffen and crack like worn stone. ‘SWEAR IT!’
‘No.’
Without a sense of hesitation nor intention to succumb to the burning sensation writhing across her skin, Muirin took a hold of the falchion before her knees and still within reach. It all came down to speed in the end and she found herself drawing on a past life then. Her muscles, though aching, remembered her years spent swinging the sword in a flash and a flurry. Of killing hundreds before they even knew what had happened.
Tayv had seen the deception but had little time to dodge it. The falchion went up and through her chest as easily as a knife through butter. It all happened in the instance of a second and the stone veil followed after it. It crept up Muirin’s skin, flowed across the blade of the sword, and into the witch that had first summoned it. They were, both of them, becoming nothing but rock, unmoving ornaments like the others.
‘What have you done!?’ Tayv squealed, her fingers grasping the blade.
Muirin wasn’t concerned with her though, she was too busy looking over towards her children. The stone claimed her, as it did the witch stuck on the length of her falchion, but she had enough strength to utter one thing more before her eyes became like rocks and her smile caught in shimmering grey. ‘Three hundred and sixteen.’
-----
The Cognoscenti Hand Guide (First Edition) - Misc. Facts from the Genesis EraLoothero# The Cognoscenti Hand Guide (First Edition) - Misc. Facts from the Genesis Era
## The Cognoscenti Hand Guide - First Edition
\==========================================================================\
The discovery of the loot bags shortly before the attack is not a coincidence; the attack was a facade.
Our society worships those who wielded the loot items to save us, the Genesis Adventurers, but this is because they don’t understand the true nature and purpose of the loot items.
The items in the loot bags are secretly infused with one of sixteen mana spirits. As the loot items gain experience, this spirit grows in power. The spirits are currently immature, so their influence on the items’ abilities and adventurers is inconsequential, but the spirits are rapidly growing in power.
Adventurers that wield eight items of the same mana spirit will be more effective in combat but risk having their sovereignty overpowered by the will of the mana spirit.
More time is needed to understand the specific nature and will of the 16 mana spirits, but for now, we strongly advise all adventurers to wield a mixture of items, with at most two items of the same spirit.
Please refer to the Cognoscenti Mana Spirit Identification Guide for instructions on determining the mana spirit infused in each of your items.
\==========================================================================
-----
Prose from a RealmsmanThomas Radio# Prose from a Realmsman
*The stack gets higher and higher, and I am forced to scroll further and further into my
ramblings before I find something worthy of my opus. Here are the musings and
half-thoughts that I write when quills and papers are within reach.*
<br/><br/>
#### *Agehood of a Lad*
When I was young they called me Brilliant\
Curious and knowing I pursued knowledge\
I ate understanding with ferocity\
And my appetite would not be stayed\
Through teachings of all my town had to offer\
The larger cities\
And citadels still\
I stood with my father when they proclaimed me Enlightened\
And I felt as if I stood under the brilliance of the gods\
And that is where the darkness snuck in from the shadows their light cast
<br/><br/>
#### *Aghast! The Fallen*
Would that I could tell you\
Of my first night as Enlightened\
That all my brain had absorbed was spilling forth off a silver tongue\
Impressing kings and seducing maidens\
But I sat alone\
And the only thing that spilt that night were tears
<br/><br/>
#### *How Reality Looks to a Fraud*
I have read scrolls that have travelled further than I could even dream\
I studied scriptures copied from voices recorded on peaks of mountains\
I can reference legend and lore from before my time\
I’ll tell you all there is to know of a plant genus I’m hinged on faith to believe exists\
I can tell you all of these things and more\
And from my tower of books, I am a fraud\
For I have not seen anything I speak of with my own eyes\
Ne’er felt with mine own hands\
Tasted\
Only ever heard, and read\
And so I sit amongst legions of learned souls\
And feel a fraud\
And pointless
<br/><br/>
#### *Abscond with the Truth*
Father,\
I’ve packed my bags in the night. I send a raven rather than dove so no treachery will
befall her while she flies through inky skies to bring you these words. You have given
gold, and even more, precious, time, to see that I become educated, and my hand
trembles to write even this. To tell my father that all he has given is not enough. The
heart can only hear about the world so long before it drives the body to action. I’m to
set off as an adventurer. I bring with me my inkwells and quills, my tomes and
scrolls, so you will hear from me.\
So many before me have written the information I have consumed thus far. It is time
I offer something to the future more than my understanding of the past.\
I must taste the earth if I am to free myself of the musty libraries. I will record the
present and leave truth and knowledge for the generations to come.\
Do not search for me, I do not intend to stop long enough to be found.
<br/><br/>
#### *Set Off!*
The guards nod off in the painters light of morning\
I am a fox underhill\
Dew licks my leather boots, pristine from unuse\
Set to work for the journey ahead
<br/><br/>
#### *Ponders of an Adventurer*
How long before I drop my name\
And take on a moniker more suited\
I’m a wayfarer a nomad or how long until then\
The spirit of adventure rumbles in my tum\
And I realise I have not eaten since dawn
<br/><br/>
#### *Blast these Critters*
I brought with me rations of course\
And traps for hares and birds\
It takes a steady hand and gentle touch to bag a buck\
Drat, I snapped another line\
I have with me not weapons nor the will to kill\
But I know every berry, leaf, and fungus available to me by site\
It is possible herbology was not pointless coursework indeed
<br/><br/>
#### *A Bedroll in Thickets*
How best to fend oneself while asleep?\
Why crawl beneath a thicket bush and nature shall preserve you\
Even a thief knows not to stick their hands in a thorny thatch\
But remember where you are when you wake\
I’ve torn my face by rising too eager
<br/><br/>
#### *Red Roofs like Amber*
I’ve done it!\
A day’s journey to be had\
Travelling further on foot than I’ve ever dared\
A harvest and bounty of berries and elm\
I’m a survivor of the night and approach this town a stranger
<br/><br/>
#### *Outsider, Outsider*
A night as black as the banner that flies,\
A moon as sharp as the banner that flies,\
My stomach rumbles and I smell mushroom stew\
Emanating from the windows of the boars head tavern
<br/><br/>
#### *What is Money if not Everything*
I have with me some gold, from clerk work as one does\
But how far can I get… I wonder…\
As a rogue or vagabond\
A pinch of bread and cup of ale can’t be too hard if the drunkards get to it\
Just casually reach out…
<br/><br/>
#### *Pain as Experienced by a Thief*
They are upon me sooner than I touched the crust\
Where pummeling bare hands beat down on me\
With staffs they thrust\
I’m winded and wounded and left for dead\
But I’m a derelict now, I secured my feast\
I have stolen some bread
<br/><br/>
#### *Wayfarer*
Wayfarer,\
I’m sure you’d be way fairer\
had you studied sleight of hand
<br/><br/>
#### *Recovery Comes Quick*
When you black out in the alleys\
Between the houses of a homoeopathic banner\
I dream of trees, mushrooms, and berries\
And wake in the fields with rations full\
There are fairies in the air at dusk\
That glow and ebb to darkness
<br/><br/>
#### *Distance*
I have gone the farthest I’ve ever gone\
Far from my father and his throne\
And looking back I cannot see a reason to stop now
<br/><br/>
#### *Agehood of a Man*
My lip is split and eye is dark\
I stand cliffside and yell into open void\
I am beat and broken and for it all the more alive
##### *End of Chapter 1*
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