The Gates of Tyr

It has been two weeks since the Green Dragon Trading co. were all together in one group. Alot has happened since then.

Cerner, Cammior, Talon and Minron await, not a quarter of a mile from the Gates of Tyr. They have set camp here and have been waiting less than a day. The weather has been warm but not as uncomfortable as they had become used to in the south. They have seen farmers here. The lands around Tyr are irrigated with dew and mountain rain collectors, desperately maintained. Patches of vivid greens, reds and yellows brighten the hillside upon which Tyr rests, signifying stalwart attempts at cultivating vineyards and grain crops. Though they have not yet been within the city walls. the vast towers and an intricate pyramid can be seen from without. The city looks to be extraordinary, and the only thing that belies such a sentiment is the issuing of thick pilums of smoke from several different districts of the city. It would seem that the city struggles with some inner conflict.

As for their missing compatriots, south of Altaruk, they parted ways. Ale's delerium had grown worse and finally the elven avenger, Tyranus (?) offered to take their ailing companion to a place of sanctuary, north and east of Altaruk. Such a place, would not allow strangers, would not allow monsters, but Tyranus believed that they would take in the needy. They would take in Ale and perhaps help him to recover himself.

After another near fatal incident with Ale the rest of the company finally decided to let them go. They agreed that Tyranus would send word of their fallen companion to the north gates of Tyr in two weeks. That had been the last the company had seen of them; Tyranus the Avenger and Ale the fallen Warlord trudging into the wastes heading East.

With heavy hearts, the rest of the company headed North to Altaruk, a once thriving merchant town.  Albin had been and gone. He had sown enough seeds of suspicion about the arriving monster company that their was little business to be done there. They did gather enough news to know that Albin continued north, towards Tyr.

They had set off towards Tyr themselves. Their caravan rolled slowly but consistently over the trade road mile after mile. After a day of this, the Shadar Kai decided to go on ahead to pave the way and perhaps find some allies for the Green Dragon traders before their arrival.

Over the passing days, the company learns a little about the slaves that they had purchased:
KrixUx, the Thri-Kreen has been away from his clutch over long and has become acclimatised to the non-shells. He seems fascinated by the members of the group who have formed a symbiosis with the ax'antiya as he calls them, the scarab armors. He seems amazed that they have survived the process. He is subservient and apparently likes to cook and seems to find mouthwatering flavors from scrubs, scavengers and pests that he finds spotted about the hard ground and sand.  He is a competent archer and scout.

Ghana, the nubian warrior has taken a little time to warm up to the group. Apparently, this hard muscled woman was recently a gladiator in the arenas. She has many scars to prove it, some that must have been close to fatal. She practices at every opportunity and is willing to spar with anyone. She is accepting of a slave's life within certain bounds, but she clearly craves freedom.

And so the Green Dragon Co. wait one more day in the hopes that Ale will return to them.

Mistvale Ruminations (from my Facebook page)

Tis breezy and 60F out here on my porch. It is on such days that the inhabitants of Mistvale take to the streets in numbers. The markets are open with new, fresh produce, and exotic fabrics and goods from their elven neighbors and from the vast capital of Argonath to the West. The city does not smell so bad today. The brisk breeze off the sea has cleaned away most of the musty odors from an over long winter. 

Yes, I'm a geek. ...and it would be easy to spend some time and focus on the bustle of a city embracing spring, enjoying peaceful trade after two years of urban conflict and fear filled streets but we should turn our gaze towards the east cliffs that overlook the town. Glance for a moment upon the old grey tower that looks like it is a day away from collapse. An important place that, high seat (both metaphorically and physically) of Angrul the sorcerer, a dark wizard who now rules over the trade council and hence the city as High Lord. The irony is that the people of the city are thankful.

Or maybe just a dreamer. ...I said, glance only. Today, we should turn our eyes on that smaller house that looks a little like a miniature fort, nestled next to the old cemetery and the even older church. That my friends, is the Mistvale View tavern, a pub and inn renowned across the continent. As you can see, the season and the mood is being celebrated. A party is in full swing. Colorful awnings decorate the outside of the building. The bar, the courtyards, and a hundred yards either way up the old road are filled with patrons drinking their fill of the finest ales and the most exotic wines available in the Kingdom of Midion. This tavern has been the launching point of many adventures. I suggest you stay a while, introduce yourself to the owner, Gareth, son of Gareth, son of Gareth, the halfling. A barkeep who, some would say, brokered the deal that freed the city and on the same day put it in the hands of Angrul.

Or sometimes wish I'd been a writer. To the south of the city, a very old friend to Mistvale stands at the south gate. Albin is wondering what he might find beyond the guards and the old iron portcullis.

Talon's dream

I remember my mother. In her arms, as she rescued me from the cold, wicked damp of the forest floor.

I was not like her. I was not like anyone else. Outsider. Mongrel. Freak.

But not to her. She loved me. Protected me. Helped me in what ways she could to learn about myself, about others like me. I wanted so much to leave our farm; to leave the village; to leave the suffocatingly familiar countryside that I knew so well. To leave behind the Others that seemed to hate me, to distrust me, for what I was, and what I was not. But I could not leave. I could not leave her.

She was strong. She taught me to care for the farm, for the animals, for the crops, for myself. But as I grew older I saw that she wept often. Alone, at night, when she thought I was asleep. She did not know that I knew. I never asked her why she wept. I never asked her. I should have asked her. I should have tried harder--worked harder. Would it have made a difference? Would it have changed anything?

I remember the Others. They were cruel. They would jeer, taunt, fight. Sometimes I would fight back. She did not want me to. She did not like it when I fought. She did not want me to get hurt. She did not want me to hurt anyone else.

I did not want to disappoint her. I never meant to disappoint her.

But on That Day. On That Day they were cruel. My mother and I were at the market, selling what little surplus we had from our fields. The girl was new to the market, selling wares that looked to be handmade, brought from who knows where. She was young. Too young for the market. That Day was hot. Unbearably hot. The Others were in a foul mood. They harassed the girl. They broke her things. Nobody cared. Nobody bothered to stretch out a hand or say a word for her. That was the way with the Others. She was helpless, defenseless. Not like me.

I handled the first group easily enough. Sent them crying back to their mommies with bloodied lips and sore heads. But more came. There were too many. I know now that there were too many. They punched, kicked, grabbed me. But I punched back. I clawed back. I could hear my mother yelling, crying, somewhere beyond the growing crowd. It was hot. So hot. I was tired, bleeding. My arms burning from the exertion. But I could see that the Others were weary too. They retreated. A sigh of relief. I looked for my mother. She did not want me to fight. I knew I had disappointed her.

Another hand on my shoulder. Another with the thought of putting me down? Did he not see the rest? Did he not tire of harassing me, tormenting me? Did he wish to end up like them? I would oblige him. My hand raked across his soft face as I spun, too quick for him to dodge. My claws dug into his flesh.

And then my horror.

She lay at my feet. I did not recognize her face. There was blood – so much blood. I knelt down, cradling her as I pleaded for her forgiveness. She did not respond. The Others were silent. Everything was silent. It was so unbearably hot.

I remember my mother, in my arms, as she died.

And then anger. Rage. Blood.

Debris

“All advancements in science and technology have a dark side and a bright side. Which comes first often shapes the nature of a human culture for centuries to come.”

The first planet to be destroyed was Earth. The phased particle reactor (PPR) that allowed the formation of locally contained singularities and thus the ability to warp space-time and travel faster than light travel could be used for another purpose. A singularity could be released for a split second near any massive enough planetary body and the gravitational forces would be enough to tear the planet apart. The process took days, most inhabitants died within hours.  Humanity’s brightest hour, its star spanning empire, more than fifty colony worlds, was brought down by an act of terrorism and the unstoppable path of revenge and war that came after.    

Most of that technology is lost now. It has been twenty years since the final gravity bomb was unleashed, ‘cracking’ the last human colony planet. That was the final petty strike by an Admiral, who had lost everything when Earth was obliterated. 

Now, humanity survives in the asteroid belts and debris fields of a bygone era. Pockets of civilization form around larger asteroids or old derelicts of the vast explorer starships and the mighty military vessels that once plowed through warped space. Any large body that can be patched enough to contain breathable atmosphere and is bathed in sunlight at least some of the time is a candidate for a shanty town or a mining collective.

For the most part, these small space stations and asteroid communities govern themselves. They form alliances with other local communities and trade together for necessary resources and much sought after advanced technologies. When troubles brew, from internal conflicts or from external sources such as raiders, these alliances often form protectorates and elect or select Sheriffs or Marshals to defend the community. 

The remains of the once vast and powerful colonial military has split into two factions:

• The SolCore Alliance is what is left of the Earth Defense Force and the Sol System Navy.  It considers the Solar System and the inner colony systems to be its territory. It attempts to defend its borders against the outer colonies, raiders and any extra-terrestrial threats that might arise, though none are officially recognized. The Alliance patrols the communities within its borders. Some larger communities have an officer of the Alliance assigned to them to act as a policing agent and tax officer. Such officers are not generally well liked.  
• Colonial Exploration Federation (CEF) is the remnants of the space scout and exploration arm of the military and the Colonial Rangers, a smaller Navy that used to defend the outer colonies. They patrol the outer colony region for the most part though they consider all of human colonized Space to be their territory. They are not strong enough to take on the SolCore Alliance and so limit their patrols into the inner colonies to those requested by a specific community.

Neither faction is well liked by the communities and protectorates.  Most consider them bullies who take what they want by force of arms. However, numerous small communities have been saved from unscrupulous raiders by a timely visit from a military-class destroyer or dreadnaught. The two factions are in the midst of a cold war of sorts. Spies and subterfuge as well as military might and posturing are used by both sides to assure that they are not losing the advanced technology race. Though, most factions, communities, and alliances struggle simply to maintain the complex machines and electronics they already have.   

There are still a few individually owned PPR class starships that roam the galaxy. Most of these vessels are owned by intersystem traders. The traders are usually quite popular when they visit communities. They bring news from other star systems. They often have interesting artifacts and technology to sell. They also often retain the most skilled engineers and technicians aboard their ships. Such individuals often sell their services, performing maintenance and making repairs while they are on station. 

Such traders are often a paranoid sort. Both of the military factions believe that PPR drives should be in the hands of the military. The advanced technology and starship systems are often very well kept on trader craft and are coveted by everyone. Much of the limited new technologies and innovative gadgets are developed by trader crews and are also much sought after by all who do business with them. Traders, therefore, consider themselves at risk whenever they are docked and must interact with other humans. The crews of such vessels tend to include skilled combatants, as well as engineers, scientists, navigators and pilots. Traders are always interested in employing gifted people they meet. Some rumors suggest that they are not above kidnapping those they consider valuable.   

Many communities have a ‘gold rush’ like atmosphere to them. Other than those who work to sustain food supplies or provide what maintenance they can to the old life support systems and gravity field generators for their ‘town’, the rest tend to find employment as scavengers.  Most towns have a handful of small intra-system space craft owners who take on crews to fly out and sift through the asteroid fields and debris for natural resources, derelicts and the remains of derelicts. It is not unheard of for such scavengers to find a PPR drive, a ship class railgun or some other rare piece of technology and move up to trader status. Such are the dreams of these women and men.  

But, it is a dark sky out there. Scavenging and mining is a dangerous business; asteroid paths are complex; many of the richest regions are barely navigable dust clouds and are violently contested regions for exploration. Raiders are prevalent in places where rich finds have been uncovered.

There are other dangers. There are some who say that the destruction of many of the human colonies was not caused by the human military or terrorists. In the right Bars, in the right smoky corners, when only the drunk are listening, some tell that the war that led to the destruction of Earth’s empire was a war with aliens and that the facts were kept secret by the military. Some speak of human-alien hybrids who are friends, or enemies depending on the story, and that they are still among us. More than one survivor of a doomed scavenging mission speaks of derelicts hidden in the most unnavigable parts of an asteroid field that contained alien monsters interested only in murder and human blood. But they are stories…

The Maddening Call of the Forgotten Hero

Heading toward the next and hopefully final portal, our outcasts seem to have more resolve than ever. Bloated with freshly cooked elfheart with the magical properties of intertwining their fates, they set out for their next destination, Though virtually colorless and devoid of civility, the blighted desert has had more surprises in it then our outcasts ever realized. Gnoll ambushes and earthquake inducing sandworms, a strange property that turns metal into rust within hours, along with the suffocating rarity of bodily sustainance has our outcasts scraping the sides of the barrel for a reprieve. But soon they will realize that the desert can be unforgiving to more than just their physical well being...

As they cross the desert back to Grak's Pool in search of a more favorable method of transportation, they set up camp for the night in the vast wastes. Minron and Talon gladly volunteer for the upcoming night guard just for something to take their mind off of the constant tearing and ripping caused by the beetles latched to their chests. The first few hours of night pass without event, all of the sudden, as if to make up for the past day of no event in this cursed blight, Minron falls to the ground convulsing and blurting out foreign sounds from his mouth. Sounds that seem to not belong to this realm of existence at all. As Talon draws closer to investigate, the convulsing stopped. Minron hops up onto his legs and stares lifeless out into the wastes as Talon asks if he's okay. Then without warning Minron leans into a full sprint to the east. Talon in hot pursuit, quickly realizes that it is a futile effort to catch up to such a brute of athletic prowess in an unnaturally fast sprint. He does notice that no matter how fast or far Minron ran, the aura their new sense is attuned to never faded. Talon headed back to camp and woke the others with his strange happenings in the night. The others seemed to just brush it off and convinced themselves that he would return by dawn, and with that conclusion they went ahead and rested for the night, Talon continued his guard duty and hoped that Minron would return before the others woke again.

Dawn approached with no further event. As the outcasts began to pack up the night's camping ground they realized that they would have to track down Minron before moving forward, for Minron had sprinted in the complete wrong direction of their next destination. Confident with their new sixth sense though, they did not think it such a feat to follow the Minotaur's aura to the end of his personal breakdown. As they set off down the path of Minron's aura they quickly realized that they had no easy task in front of them. The aura's path seemed to be going on forever in an unnaturally linear path to the east, as if almost cutting through the sand dunes. They followed this path for almost two days before they finally came upon a most interesting temple ruin. The outer wall along the ruin's perimeter was all but decimated by the blights unnatural deterioration. Eerily, the gate entrance to this ruined temple stood triumphant in it's conquest of the blight's corrosion. Minron's aura stopped at the gate so the heroes investigated inside the shin-high walls of the temple. No trace of Minron appeared inside the temple, as if he stopped at the gate and disappeared from existence. Our outcasts new that something was very wrong with the gate's unnatural resiliency to the blight. Minron had walked through the gate and now they must, to save him from whatever lay beyond it...

A Thought Like a Plague, The Intro

A close friend, if you could call him that, once told me that keeping a journal was a way for the morally weak to justify their own actions. His theory orbited the center thought that writing and doing could never coexist in one person. Those that wrote about their deeds had ulterior motives other than the deeds themselves. He’d be rolling in his grave if he knew I was keeping a journal now.

Old Sam, when he wasn’t scheming, would occasionally say ‘Great persons consumed their life with deeds, not with writing about it every day of the week’. Old Sam typically followed that eloquent dialogue up with a scowl and a boot to the ribs of our band’s scribe. Old Sam was an ass.

Normally that kind of talk would be quickly forgotten around the rank and file of veteran soldiers, but not with Old Sam. You see… Old Sam was in charge. As a result, it’s taken me five years to start writing this, since the only pen and paper allowed in the Verdant Land’s Free Brigade belonged to the official record keeper. And despite all the abuse our merry band inflicted on the scribe, he’d never give up paper unless you pried it from his cold dead hands.

I guess that’s where I should start my story…

After The Delve

The ‘heroes’, unsure of how the actions that led to their successful retrieval of the artifact will be looked upon by others, stealthily make their way back to the Elven camp.

As the adventurers approach, they see a few guards vigilantly patrolling about the perimeter of the community.  The elves pay them no mind.  The community has seemingly shrunk. Many of the tents and awnings furthest from the communal fire pit have been taken down. Supplies, trade goods and the homes themselves have been packed away in preparation for travel.  Crodlu stand around, agitated by the change, knowing in their bestial way that their keepers, the elves, will soon be on the move again.

The fire in the center of the community is burning high and hot. Most of the elven community is gathered there. They are all sitting together on one side of the fire, listening to a single voice that though not loud seems to project above the loud cracks and pops from the burning fuel. You see your compatriots, Ale and Cerner, stand on the periphery of the group but close enough that they might hear the storyteller. 

The storyteller is a Dwarf, like those of the Red Wastes that you have seen before, beardless and bald.  He is seemingly of middle age, though it is difficult to be sure as his skin is significantly darkened, almost to the color of dirty rust from many years under the sun. His voice is clear with low and round tones that have a hypnotic quality, a talent among established bards. He has the rapt attention of the assembled elves.

‘… and so it is that we sit and think of the past before we take steps into the unknown future as our hearts and our feet are wont to do. ‘

‘In our dreams, many of us believe that the Gods of our ancestors watch over us still. We remember them in children’s rhymes…

                Eight great lords and ladies upon high,

                Watch the dwellers between earth and sky.

Kast, Lane, Gate and Grim,

Leaf, Kane, Avandra and Limn.

Lord of the sun and life and light.

                Lady of the dark and death and fright.

Watcher of the shadows and subtle deeds.

                Captain of war and all that bleeds.

Healer of all and guardian of life.

Lord of corruption, betrayal and strife.

Crafter of stone and bone and wood.

And,

Explorer of all things wise and good.

‘So, we remember times when the sun shone warm and did not burn, rains fell from the sky, and grass and trees grew everywhere between snowcapped mountains and rivers of water. It is good to remember, good to hope.  But such thoughts must not blind us. We must survive and we must find a path to end the tyranny of the Dragon-Kings.’

‘The Dragon-Kings cannot easily be dethroned.  They are powerful beings, invaders from beyond the portals.’

‘A thousand years ago, the great Magi led by Balfeus, the greatest amongst them, opened the Portals in the grand experiment.  They were warned of the dangers. The Minotaurs, perhaps Guardians of our worlds against the outer planes, tried to stop them. Where are they now? Were they murdered? Did they desert us? You have seen the one in our midst. Perhaps they return to help us.

‘The Portals were opened and the life and magic of our world poured out like blood from an open vein. The Magi closed the Portals then, terrified of what they had done.  But there were other forces at work. On the other side, dark powers stirred.  The Portals were pushed ajar from that other place and our world was invaded.

‘The Dragon-Kings used much of their vast power to lock the Gods of our world away, rendering them powerless.  The first attempts at resisting the Dragon-Kings by those we call Medini, led to a fierce war until all but a handful of those brave warriors were killed. 

‘…and behind the scenes Balfeus, seeing that the powers of the old world were lost, made terrible bargains with the Dragon-Kings and with the demonic forces on the other side to turn his hunger for power into a dark thing.  Balfeus yet lives, a corrupted Wizard possessed by the alien powers from beyond the Portals. Today, his actions can only be seen through the subtle maneuverings that occur between the Dragon-Kings and between the Wastes and the Verdant Lands to the North.  He is a thorn in the Dragon-Kings’ side and also a powerful tool for their schemes.

‘One day, the Portals will be closed, the darkness that sustains Balfeus from the other side will be cut from him and he will die screaming, consumed by the evil he has wrought. One day, we will level the battlefield and we will once again be able to strike against the Dragon-Kings.’

Murmurs of approval come from this unlikely community of believers in hope. You and your fellow adventurers wonder what you have wrought in bringing the Portal artifact back to the surface, awashed in the blood of an innocent.