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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with a wonderful story from Zader. It is entitled
The Void’s Edge

Background music by Smartsound

 

As he slipped out of the inn room, Minxx and Luna were still intertwined and fast asleep. Making his way out onto the docks, the cool morning breeze was welcome on his face, as was the comforting smell of salt in the air. The sound of gulls and a light breeze were broken by the creak of aged wood. “Ah, the old familiar sound”, Zared mused as he stepped aboard.

Maylin was a Large Dragon Ship; she had seen her fair share of time at sea but was a worthy vessel none the less. Zared had made this trip a hundred times, but fortune favors the prepared…so her hold was fully stocked for the 3 day journey from Moonglow. “Tillerman, we have a schedule to keep!” Zared barked, momentarily dwelling on the importance of his upcoming meeting. Sails were set and Maylin made her way West.

A lifetime of exploration and adventure on the high seas accustomed Zared to the role of Ship’s Captain, but it wasn’t always glamorous. Today was like many uneventful days at sea; calm and quiet with the sound of the occasionally dispatched Water Elemental. Two sea serpents provided much needed entertainment. As night closed in around him, Zared masterfully checked his sextant. “We’re still on track”, he whispered to himself as the lights of Nujel’m appeared in the distance.

As dawn broke, Nujel’m transitioned from a speck on the horizon, into nothingness. As if on cue, Zared noticed a twinkling light in the water ahead; as the moments went on, the strobing light increased in size and intensity. Curiosity drove him further forward until the light explosively expanded into a giant dark orb with the sound of a thousand moongates opening in unison. The massive void, as dark as night, now stood directly in their path. Realizing the danger, Zared shouts “Hard to Port!” and braces himself against the mast as the ship lurches in response to the tillerman’s violent course change. In a heartbeat, Maylin is skimming along the surface of the void, her crew fighting to steer as they slip into the edge. Darkness. Then light as they slip back out of the void and away. In a matter of seconds, the void dissipates as if it were never there.

As Zared regains his composure, it becomes apparent that powerful magics are at work. Looking around in awe, he blinks multiple times to be sure what he’s seeing.

Once antiquated woven wool sails were now silken black and iridescently billowing as if stuck between this world and another. The creaky oaken woodwork now resembled a marriage of the darkest Yew and Bloodwood. Old metalwork now gleamed with shadow instead of light, putting to shame the highest quality Shadow Iron. As Zared made his way to the stern of the ship, his eyes were met with a ghastly horror. Where his tillerman once stood, a wraith had taken his place. It was clear; Maylin was no more. This new ship was born in the Void’s Edge, and as such, she would be forever known.

Zared thought to himself, “We still have a schedule to keep” and with a glance over his shoulder and an evil grin, Zared commanded, “Tortured Helmswraith, set a course for Britain!”

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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with a wonderful piece from Baron Drocis Fondorlatos, entitled
The Baron’s Story

Background music by Smartsound

Rift
I, Sir Jeffrey of Resolute, being of sound mind and able body bequeath all my worldly possessions including lands, titles, and all that which is customary to Drocis the Devious.

That is how the letter began. I was given a fortune in fictional medieval nonsense by a mentally ill Don Quixote-like stranger that I’d once played Dungeons and Dragons with over twenty years ago. I had apparently made an impression, or at least my character had.

I’d developed a persona of an evil mage known as Drocis the Devious. A villain who earned his name after making several strategic and indirect manipulations of the other player characters to achieve his own goals. He was a fun character to play because even though the other players knew never to trust him, he still always came out ahead in the end. A fact that infuriated most everyone that came into contact with him.

The letter listed out hundreds of items, many of them were very mundane sounding (artisan fishing pole) while others sounded cryptic and weird. I was now the proud owner of a tax free keep deed, over 900 bank slots, and 90 obsidian crowns? Oh, and something called a noble’s magical discourse orb. I expected there might be a 1970’s era disco ball arriving in a follow-up package to complete the joke sometime in the near future.

Then I noticed at the bottom of the envelope was a small dagger that looked like a letter opener. I removed the dagger and realized that the hilt could be detached to reveal a USB stick. Ok I thought, now we’re getting somewhere. It must be a new game.

A Malwarebytes scan said it was clean, so I popped it in to my computer to find out what was on it. It wasn’t a game; it was a bunch of PDF files. Random items that didn’t seem to have anything to do with one another. How to prepare Regicide Stovie? Sumerian Astrology? The Lost Manuscripts of the Obsidian Eye? More nonsense, this guy really lost it. There was no contact information or instructions, just a folder full of this junk.

I continued to open the files to see if I could find a clue. I can’t really explain what happened next.

Observation
As I acclimated myself to a new world, I noticed the changes incrementally. The lack of necessities that I once took for granted but could never forget, eating and sleeping were no longer required and almost seemed impractical. The effects of weather no longer caused me to seek shelter and I had lost the ability to feel physical pain. My strength and reflexes had increased along with my overall health. Gone were the aches and soreness associated with aging. I had become something other than human. I had become an Avatar.

I was sustained by the world, free to explore where I wished or reflect on my thoughts for as long as I needed. It was so relaxing I quickly lost all desire to return to the world in which I had lived for the last 41 years.

Time moved much faster than I was accustomed to, as day became night and night returned to day with suspicious regularly. Sometimes I would catch myself waiting for the cycle to reset as if someone were manually pulling up the sun and lowering the moon using a series of complicated ropes and pulleys.

I was alone but for a few other inhabitants that either shared my perspective or appeared incapable of sharing it. There were the others, Avatars much like me. Travelers from different worlds, though I had not met anyone that had not come from Earth.

There were also the locals, native to New Britannia, static husks compared to Avatars. They spoke, they walked, sometimes they even fought, but they were not like us. They moved and reacted slowly or often not at all. Calling them zombies would be too kind, they were not that sophisticated. The Novian Peoples Collectives, or NPC’s as I would later call them, were born of the same mind. They travelled a path devoid of free will, and they were unaware if not incapable of seeing it.

This was the land I found myself in, New Britannia, home to medieval looking villages, towns, and cities. With a seemingly endless background of myth, legend, and adventure. I had been transported to the central isle of New Britannia called Novia, and it was here that I learned of magic, as well as the three principles of truth, love, and courage. But most importantly, I learned that Avatars are immortal.

Persistence
I watched in horror as the pack of wolves devoured my lifeless flesh. I had been caught up in my own hubris and paid the price for thinking I could beat them all. Incorporeal form and hovering above the feast, I wondered what would happen next? I had never before stopped to consider what Avatar death would entail. Perhaps it was similar to death on Earth for which I had no experience.

One of the wolves howled in delight as another ripped one of my arms from its socket, a sobering reminder that not feeling the pain was not complete protection from the byproducts. My Avatar superiority was lacking in that department.

Still hovering out of body, I began to look beyond the gruesome scene in front of me and towards a shining light. In the distance I could see what appeared to be an ankh at the top of a small hill. As I wished to move towards it I was surprised to see that I was also beginning to move in that direction. Around trees and over rocks I eventually came face to face with this mysterious structure and then suddenly I was back. Beyond the veil of death and inside my old body as if nothing had happened.

I tested my arm, the one I saw the wolf pull off in a frenzy. It showed no signs of abuse and felt as natural as before. I was alive and standing on the same hill where I’d seen the ankh, but it was now replaced by air and in the distance I could hear the wolves growl as if they were hunting once more. Closer and closer the sound grew and without confidence I imagined the same fate befalling me as before. I ran and did not look back until I could no longer hear the sounds of the pack.

In the coming days and months, I would speak with other Avatars and learn that they too had similar experiences. One even told me that he had died over 1000 times, and in fact during that conversation took it upon himself to perform a jump out of a 4th story window, only to reappear moments later. He was quite proud of himself and insisted on showing me the remains of his corpse in the form of a transparent image of a skeleton on the ground below.

Despite seeing this, it was still unnerving to assume that death was so meaningless here. After all it was the fear of death that motivated humans to perform basic tasks leading to their day to day survival. Without that fear, what were we? What was left to be cautious of? I did not have an answer.

On Earth I would sometimes take comfort in looking up at the sky and seeing a star that might have also been viewed by Plato, Socrates or Aristotle. A connection through time with the first men and each generation after that who pondered the same questions. Like the ancient philosophers of Earth, I began to ask: Why are we here? What purpose does this serve? What is the meaning of our existence?

However, the New Britannian stars were not those of Earth and I felt unattached from my humanity. I was immortal, and I had nothing to fear from death, which was as inhuman as one could become. With this knowledge, I began to consider what it meant to be an Avatar.

Judgement
It was clear from the moment I stepped on to the Isle of Storms that I was being tested. It was my destiny, Arabella said. Now answer these questions so that you can begin your predestined path.

Edvard was next, and seemed to delight in pointing me towards the path of truth. All the while the watchers observed my choices as the NPCs appeared on cue, recited their lines, and positioned themselves on the Novian stage.

Again I would speak to other Avatars and learn that they too had similar experiences. That we were all destined on the same path, and we were all the chosen one foretold by the Dirae Prophecy:

It shall come to pass in the long days after the fall.
There shall come one from beyond the circles of the sundered moon who shall bind the world together.
From its shattered stone and bone seas.
They shall bind together all that fly above the land.
Burrow beneath it.
And walk with purposed tread upon its surface.
In that day shall all be brought to bow.
Before the power of the one.
The world shall be swept clean of its folly.
And cleansed of its impurity.
Before the chosen one.
And the triumph of the hope.
In the darkness shall be complete.

It is this prophecy that becomes the narrative of all Avatars that commune with the Oracle. My first meeting was in Aerie. And it was here that I learned why the watchers watch, and who they watch for. A machine, a calculator, a box of wires and cables preprogramed to deliver a verdict that has only one outcome – the creation of subservient sheep.

I would follow this path of truth, and then on to the path of love and courage. The Oracle’s lies leading the way, herding me to an outcome that prejudged the results.

The Dirae in Roman mythology were demon goddesses of vengeance, also called furies, and a haphazard translation of the Dirae prophecy might lead one to believe that the chosen one was actually being guided by the Oracle to release the three furies of Cowardice, Hatred, and Falsehood on the Air and Earth of New Britannia. At least that is how I interpreted the riddle after being skeptical of a machine giving me self-help advice.

I would not allow myself to be judged in this way. If there was a fate to be made, I would make it myself. If there were lies to be told, I would tell them myself. I was not in need of the Oracles services to achieve these ends.

Indirect
I had not chased after my inheritance when first arriving in New Britannia. I was too distracted and had initially forgotten about the letter entirely. But as I began to devise a plan to break free from the Oracle, I quickly remembered the assets bestowed by my strange benefactor from Resolute.

It turns out that Sir Jeffrey had a great deal of lands, titles, and all that which is customary. It was as if I had won the nerd-boy lottery. There were all kinds of weapons and armor. A crystal sword, a crossbow, a variety of tight fitting leather armor that looked more like track suits than protective gear. I tried on a few but nothing seemed to fit right so I made a mental note to find a tailor. Sir Jeffrey was also apparently very fond of hats.

I took the title of Baron not knowing or caring what it actually meant. It seemed to convey nobility without requiring leadership or responsibility, while also acting as an indication of great wealth. Could there be a more perfect title? If there was, Sir Jeffery didn’t have claim to it.

With my title selected, I had to decide on a name. Baron Drocis the Devious seemed a little too direct. Similar, I suspect if one were to call their evil plot to conquer the world something like the Goddess of Vengeance Prophecy, or the Furies of Hell Prophecy. As an alternative I chose the last name, Fondorlatos which was the Hungarian word for devious. Thus, Baron Drocis Fondorlatos was born in New Britannia.

Make no mistake, this was still me. It was just a me that reacted to his new environment and immortal abilities. Was it wrong to take a life in a world where no one dies or suffers long term loss? Would the virtues of truth, love, and courage map back to the matching constructs of Earth? I found it difficult to believe that they would.

There was also the matter of attending a memorial service for the old Knight in Brittany cemetery. It was attended only by myself as a condition of the will. Though I did feel a sense of obligation to pay respect to the old fool, after all he had made me rich, powerful, and undying.

I had asked the banker in Resolute for information on how Sir Jeffrey died. Seeing that both the NPC’s and the Avatars were immortal, I couldn’t figure it out. The banker had no more of an answer to my questions than any other NPC I had talked to.

It was later explained to me by another Avatar that Brittany cemetery was home to those who died in the “old world”. Presumably that meant prior to the cataclysm which occurred after the two moons collided. Unfortunately, there are not many records or reliable histories of that time. Still I suppose that was a step towards defining when the ability to avoid death first began.

I would use this fact as my primary lead towards researching the origins of Avatar power, and eventually this led me to seek out the ancient history of the Obsidians, a fallen empire built on dark sorcery.

Partition
I call it the veil of the dead. A fog that removes the natural fear of death from Avatars as it clouds their minds and corrupts their hearts. It is known by others as the Protection of the Oracle, which prevents Avatars from attacking one another. The need for this protection is unknown since we are immortal, but many avatars seem to prefer the ability to hide behind the Oracle’s gift as opposed to being subjected to the inconvenience of justice and accountability. Or maybe they just prefer being told what to do and where to do it. Regardless, we are divided between this world and our own, distributed across New Britannia on the Oracle’s network of deceit.

To counter this, I searched Novia for areas where the Oracle had no presence. I found many places that had remained unconnected and removed from her mainline. There were a number of ruins but most interesting to me were the Shardfalls.

The Shardfalls were the remains of a catastrophic event that left three massive craters in Novia some 400 years ago. To the far west sat Verdantis Shardfall, a swampy island filled with the corruption and power of obsidian shards. It was on to the east of the Shardfall that I would found a new city that would be known as Rats Nest.

Here the Oracle would have no power, and its protection would be refused. We that lived there would pay no tribute to her and she would have no influence on us. We would be free, separated from the oppressed fools that followed her advice and adopted her counsel. Exempt from the Dirae Prophecy we would live to answer our own questions and to create our own meaning.

This should not be confused with the religion of Chaos. An incoherent practice in always being right even when you’re rarely within shouting distance of correct thinking. Chaos is by definition disorder and confusion.

To be free to choose does not mean you have not made a choice. It simply means that your choice was your own. To be unethical is a choice. To be immoral is a choice. To be evil is a choice that all Avatars make or do not make. To be self-reliant, like all these choices, is not anymore chaotic than it is orderly.

The purpose of Rats Nest is not to be chaotic or even to celebrate free will, the purpose is to maintain freedom of choice without being judged for the choices that are made.

Construction
The guard towers were built first. With the protection of the Oracle revoked, there would be an immediate need for self-sustaining security. I’d used my inheritance from the good Sir Jeffrey to contract out a full platoon of NPC guards. They were relatively cheap at the time considering there were so few places in Novia that Avatars could openly attack one another. I remember the guard captain telling me that he’d never been paid so well. I’m not sure if he’d ever been paid at all.

The city was so large however, the guards were unable to patrol it in full. To remedy this, a single path between the main entrance to the bank was designated as “Vendors Row”. The guards were instructed to focus on this area as a way to promote trade and provide minimum stability to the city’s residents.

Next came the walls, which were important to the long term success of the town. Most people didn’t understand that, it wasn’t so much that the walls kept people out, although they certainly did a good job of that too. It was that the walls needed to keep people from out flanking the buildings of the town which provided a maze like effect.

I had decided that Rats Nest needed to become a place where a single Avatar could escape through the streets, or hide around corners to avoid larger groups that would almost certainly form into gangs or guilds or whatever they wanted to call themselves. The world had a history of people joining up with one another for safety, but it also seemed to promote behavior that encouraged Avatars to attack or harass anything that wasn’t in their group. I didn’t want that; I didn’t want individual Avatars to break away from the Oracle only to have a new tyrant to swear fealty to in Rats Nest.

In an attempt to avoid that I created a maze of buildings that combined with the natural fog of the region, helped prevent ranged weapons from being as effective, and allowed the true residents of the town to have a noticeable advantage over anyone foolish enough to enter the briar patch.

I decreed but two laws. The first was that I was never to be attacked by an Avatar that lived in Rats Nest. This was to provide me with the ability to manage the town without unneeded distraction. The second law was that all residents would pay me a modest tax for the privilege of living in the town. In return, I would offer residents a reasonably safe place to buy and sell goods (vendors row), and a viable life away from the judgement of the Oracle. The remaining actions taken by the residents of Rats Nest did not concern me.

Lastly I commissioned a tower for myself to be constructed in the old architecture of the Obsidians. From this vantage point I could monitor the town, and see Avatars as they approached my property. With the town fully constructed, and the Oracle in stalemate, my intent was to study the history and the art of magic in New Britannia, unobstructed and in relative peace. So that someday I might answer the questions, why are we here? What is the meaning of our existence?

Now when I look out into the sky I ponder if I will bring comfort to some future philosopher that feels connected to the first men of Rats Nest.

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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with more of this wonderful story from Ulf Berht, entitled
Virtue’s Forge

Background music by Smartsound.

Chapter 5, “Port Graff”

The wind had shifted sufficiently west to make this the last tack into Port Graff, still a dozen miles off.

“Sail Ho! North by northeast.”

“Be it the same craft we had eyes on before?”

“Aye sir, judging by the sail ’tis the same. A large triangular black sail, it be damned hard to make out her heading,” the lookout replied.

“Suspicious, I warrant,” said Captain Anton. “But no threat. We will be hoisting ale before she could be upon us. Two hours lads, and our feet walk the land.”

Why is that boat so unsettling to me, thought Ulf. Perhaps it was the fear that Arab Dhows had evoked in him, memories of his youth as a slave and the poor unfortunates shackled below decks. He recalled that the difficulties of handling the large lateen sail restrained the size and armaments of such ships. He also remembered that they could sail into the wind better and excelled in ocean crossings. Couriers, spies, and assassins favored the dhow for its speed.

Anton was correct; within the two hours they were docked and shortly after that enjoying mugs of ale in the tavern.

“Enjoy some food and drink, Ulf. I will arrange for rooms. We have much to discuss but all can wait until later,” said Merlin as he left the table. “I’ll leave you in the good hands of our new friends.”

Ulf and Anton exchanged glances, waiting for Merlin to be out of ear-shot.

“So, you’ve not discussed our plans with the wizard, I see,” said Anton.

“Nor do I have any wish to. Given that all I need is at hand, I can produce the inserts in a day or two, and then you can test them out. I need funds for food and shelter but have little in the way of security. It is my hope we can arrange for something so I can be rid of him.”

“Fear not, Ulf. I have no doubt your idea has merit and an advance will be forthcoming. Of all virtues I hold dear, honesty is paramount. We will all derive benefit from this and I perceive, you will become a man of means. For some reason, honesty and wizardry are not companions. Tomorrow we meet honest men in pursuit of honest trade.”

“Before I can retire, I must erase from my body the kinks of long days confined in your fine vessel. You have knowledge of these parts. Can you suggest a route for such a walk?” asked Ulf.

“I would recommend that you walk east from the docks to the palisade that encompasses the town. Follow the interior of the wall until you return to your start. That way you will become acquainted with the lay of the land. Take this ring and present it to any who may challenge you. I am known to all the guards and you may explore at will.”

Ulf stood. They clasped each other’s shoulders before Ulf left. The night was clear and the shattered moon unrisen as Ulf made his way to the docks. In the starlight, Ulf could just make out a dark unlit ship that was ghosting into the harbor, where it dropped its black sail and anchored. No boat was put out nor any activity appeared on deck.

Chapter 6, “Immortality”

“Merlin, I have only just become less suspicious of your motives,” said Ulf. “But now, if I understand you correctly, you say I must die in order to test your theory that we are now immortal?”

Nightfall was darkening the waters of Spinthrift Bay and lights on Graff Island twinkled in the distance. The old lamplighter continued carefully up the cobble stone streets of Port Graff.

“Quite so, brother, for we have now found ourselves in a realm very different from the one of our births. You yourself have said that death is everywhere, yet no one stays dead. But does this apply to you and me? We did not arrive here by the same manner as these other Outlanders did.”

“It is my opinion that we are already dead,” said Ulf. “This is but some form of transition between death and judgment.”

“Is it not heretical to suggest that a Druid such as I could be found among those awaiting judgment? No, Ulf. Your transport here did not involve your death. Magic and Circles of Stone brought you here.”

“The manner of our transport here is of little consequence. I would prefer that I test the theory on you first! I could conjure up any number of ways to do that,” said Ulf.

“Your words wound me,” said Merlin. “And have you not speculated upon why we are here and how it was arranged?”

“The truth is, I have not. All my speculations revolve around securing a living and maintaining a roof over my head. My attentions this past fortnight have been upon my enterprise with Anton. We now have three excellent apprentices producing the rudder inserts and plenty of orders to keep them busy. But such things, I imagine, are not worthy of a wizard’s time.”

“On the contrary! Your welfare is of prime interest to me. While you ply your admirable trade, I seek knowledge and information in order to ensure our well being. I have discovered there are forces about that do not have our best interests at heart,” warned Merlin.

“And why do you believe this? No one here has made any move against me. I feel that I am among friends here, a feeling absent for some years before your arrival. What do you know that I do not?”

“As yet I have no proof,” Merlin answered, “only the sure knowledge that a dark storm is gathering. I fear that my gift of sight and prophesy is failing me. Compared to the land we came from, the magical ether here is much more powerful. Every creature around us has some access to this force. Like boulders in a raging torrent, they cause a huge amount of turbulence in the ether. This completely disrupts the laws of cause and effect and confuses my abilities as a seer.

“What I do know is that the vessel that followed us into Port Graff carried an individual who had a particular interest in us. Many townsfolk were beguiled by this person into revealing all they knew about us. Only gold, ale, and my powers of persuasion could coax the truth from these reluctant informers.

“The stranger asked two questions of everyone,” Merlin continued. “Had they seen us with a red jewel, and did those infernal ‘watchers’ take any notice of us.”

“Odd questions indeed,” said Ulf. “Ninianne’s jewel is ensconced in a small ingot I use as a paper weight and is quite hidden from view. I have on many occasions tried to dispose of the cursed thing but simply cannot. As for those cursed ‘watchers’, they fly into me repeatedly and I have stepped upon a few of the walking kind.”

“I have been told,” said Merlin, “that the ‘watchers’ are an instrument of the Oracle and that the Oracle is the source of the resurrections. Who or what the Oracle is, no one knows. No one here is immortal, all can be killed. Resurrection, on the other hand, appears to be commonplace. I suggest that we are witnessing a form of reincarnation that reawakens us into a likeness or duplicate of ourselves.”

“Hence your supposition that I must die in order to test your theory,” said Ulf. “We are not immortal then, and we can suffer the pain of death. But then some god hereabouts will resurrect us. This in no way reassures me! Nor does it cause me to stop avoiding death at all costs. Moreover, as the agents of the Oracle ignore us, then it follows that the Oracle is unaware of us and therefore cannot resurrect us. I now have an increased interest in staying alive.”

Merlin was silent for a short while. “Being unseen by your enemy is the essence of camouflage and stealth. Wars are won and lost by knowing things your adversary does not realize you know. Who then is this spy? An agent of the Oracle seeking to know us better, or a foe of the Oracle seeking some advantage over it?
“I have resolved to delve deep into the mysteries of this land,” Merlin continued. “My hope is to find a way to return home. I must seek out Grand Masters and trainers in every school of magic and learn what I can.”

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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with more of this wonderful story from Ulf Berht, entitled Virtue’s Forge

Background music by Smartsound.

Chapter 3, “Underway”

“The captain has determined that trying to sail further south is futile. We call these currents Polars. It is rare to be becalmed at the same time as a Polar, and because we are, we can no longer fight the current. Once the Northern Polar flow has started, it can be weeks before there is any slackening. As soon as we alter course, we will go with the current and no longer need your help at the oars. Once around the headland, Port Graff is but two days sail. The only way now for you to get to Ardoris is overland.” With that said, the crewman returned aft.

“A relief beyond measure for my blistered hands and abused muscles,” said Ulf.

“Overland travel in Novia is fraught with danger. You may not be so enthusiastic in a few days,” said Merlin. “I do believe this will be a grand opportunity to learn more about some of the fantastic creatures so often talked about.”

“It was my understanding that you were aiding me in escaping danger, yet you now have a change of mind. Are you now suggesting some benefit in seeking out hazards? I must also point out that whenever it was your turn to row, the captain invariably found a need to consult with you at some length elsewhere.”

“My dear Ulf, I have no influence over the captain’s schedule,” Merlin said.

“I wonder. After some careful observations, I cannot help but to notice the degree to which others acquiesce to your wishes. It is apparent to me that you have some secret powers of persuasion and, in turn, I ponder the degree to which such powers have been directed at me.”

Merlin said, “I have no wish for others to overhear what I am about to say. Our very existence may depend upon secrecy. The crew is currently busy with this course change, so I must be quick. It is true that there are spells that can influence unprotected minds and that I did use them to encourage you to accompany me, but only to save some time. I cannot magic you into doing what you would not ordinarily do, nor into going against your moral code. Distance yourself three arm spans from me and the influence fades to none. In addition, I have prepared an amulet infused with a counter spell. Wear it and be protected. Why it is imperative that I have your trust I will tell you, once we are away from prying ears.”
“If I believed it to be possible, I would plunge my dagger into your black heart, wizard. I sincerely doubt that anything you will say will cause me to remain in your company, but I will hear you out before we go our separate ways.” Ulf snatched the offered amulet and did his best, no matter how difficult, to get more than three arm spans away from Merlin.

Chapter 4, “Enterprise”

The wind was now strong over the aft quarter. With a full, expertly trimmed sail, the longboat hummed with vitality, slicing through the waves. All on board revelled in the aliveness of wind and wave.

“That is an ingenious mechanism, Captain. What nautical term does it go by?” asked Ulf.

“A rudder,” was the Captain’s gruff reply. “Don’t tell me you did not know this.”

“My apologies, sir, but while in my youth I spent many weeks afloat in longboats similar to this fine craft. We used a steering board affixed to the right hand side of the boat and such placement was, as I recall, often problematic. Why we did not solve the difficulties in this manner is beyond me.”

“Mariners are by nature suspicious of innovation. We carry a steering board in the hold as the mechanism can and does fail. The gudgeon gets worn quite through.”

“Gudgeon refers to which part of the mechanism?” Ulf asked.

“Those circular parts that are attached to the rudder blade itself. There often be two or more. Upon the hull, pins are affixed into which the gudgeon fits, hinge like. The two parts rub on each other and the cost of replacement is often a deterrent and they fail at the most inconvenient of times.”

“My people’s enterprise was mostly trading up and down rivers,” Ulf explained, “therefore rowing consumed the much of our time. The oarlocks wore in a similar fashion, a problem solved by inserting an easily replaced bronze sleeve into what would be, in your case, the gudgeon.”

For the first time Captain Anton showed genuine interest in the conversation. “You are, I understand, a blacksmith of some talent. Could you undertake such modifications?”

“Certainly I could but I would need access to a smelter, a forge, tools and the metals,” Ulf replied.

“If successful, there is an excellent chance this may lead to a lucrative venture. My brother-in-law now lives in Port Graff and has all that you need. He would, with profit in mind, be eager to accommodate you.”

“I believe a hand shake is now in order,” said Ulf, extending his hand.

“Indeed it is,” said Anton gripping Ulf’s hand firmly.

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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with the next instalment of this wonderful story from Ulf Berht. The saga is entitled

Virtue’s Forge

Background music by Smartsound

Chapter 2 – Uprooted

 

“I have come to think that you, Merlin, are either the Devil or, at the very least, one of his henchmen. You have caused me to be sent to this benighted land, a place that is neither Heaven nor Hell. Death is everywhere, yet no one dies. The bones of men, stripped of all mortal flesh, frequent the dark tunnels beneath many villages and hamlets. Grotesque amalgams of human and beast patrol the woodlands and seek to wage war upon us. Of late, hordes of ill-mannered ruffians chop down great swaths of forest and construct entire villages dominated by stone castles. And still you stalk me and seek my aid. Yet, if I grant it, you will no doubt wreak additional insults upon me.

Merlin, what transgression have I performed to warrant this?”

“Ulf, you could not be more wrong. We have both been wronged by a third party and I sorely need your trust. Without you, I would still be entombed in a great slab of granite, unable to move or communicate. For me, it has been centuries of desperate loneliness, with only the faintest hope of escape. That hope was the jewel that Ninianne gave you. In the darkness, I could see a single point of light a vast distance away. It would grow infinitesimally brighter if I focused on it. Ninianne had some purpose in mind when she bound the gem to me, a purpose that was thwarted when you were transported away. I learned over time how to strengthen that slender thread and eventually managed to pull myself out of that dark trap.”

“I trust you not, Wizard. Your words, I believe, are only to trick me into becoming entangled with your schemes. I have no intention of giving you aid beyond a slap on the rump of a departing horse.”

“”Ulf, while it is true I would ask for your aid, is it not true that you are also in need?”

“Accepting aid from you would, no doubt, eventually incur a cost greater than any amount of gold could repay. So leave me be.”

“Ulf, answer me true and I will be gone. Are your clothes not worn thin? Is your landlord not threatening eviction? And even here in this public house, do you not drink alone? I know that rumors abound and gossip mongers whisper that you are the cause of this plague of outlanders. Before you there were none, and now there are many. You and I are both maligned by events not of your doing.”

Ulf Berht stared down at a tepid mug of ale. Even in the dim and smoky tavern, he could not help but see the suspicious and hostile looks they were getting. He stood up and quickly left, hoping to get away from Merlin and the truths he told.

The goodwill he had received when he first arrived had recently evaporated. Outlanders cavorted in town, often engaging in private duels, disturbing the peace of this quiet hamlet. Chickens, sheep, and cows were often slaughtered with impunity and the game, once abundant out of town, grew scarce. He had repeatedly professed his innocence in these deeds, but to no avail. He was Outlander.

He wandered aimlessly for a few hours, trying to ignore the spectacular but intimidating view of a shattered moon swirling across the night sky.

Every night when I see this, I can never forget that I know not where I am, thought Ulf. Cowering in my room has not brought any joy. My forge is cold and all my tools have been confiscated by bailiffs. Can listening to Merlin make things any worse?

When he finally made his way home, it was no surprise to see Merlin on his front steps, calmly smoking a long-stemmed clay pipe. “We must leave here,” Merlin said.

“To where? For what purpose? Why should I accompany you?”

“It is obvious to many that someone or something is forming an army,” said Merlin. “War has swept this land before, and in all wars you must pick a side. Swords and magic, metals and alchemy will rule in this upheaval. You are an outlander here and suspicion of you will only grow into hate. You will never find peace here.”

“Nor do I think I will find it with you. “But there is truth in what you say. We are to voyage away from here, to an outlander town then?”

“Yes, to Kingsport, and from there by boat to the mainland. To Ardoris eventually for it is a city more worldly than this village. A master craftsman like you will quickly find employment. The mainland is not that far from here and with fair winds we may even be able to travel there directly. Sea voyages have their dangers, but not as many as overland these days,” said Merlin.

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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with a wonderful story from Ulf Berht. It is entitled
Prologue (Ulf Berht’s Bio)
It is the first chapter of a longer story, so stay tuned for more!
Background music by Smartsound

Three summers I have endured this second exile. three winters since I was ripped yet again from all things familiar.

My childhood was cruel, torn as I was from family and friends as our boat foundered in the swirling, rocky rapids of the River Volga. The Brigands on the bank had forced us to risk the river. I watched as one by one my family was swallowed by the torrent. Many times since, I have wished that my mother had not lashed me to some planks before she slipped beneath.

After these small men with round faces had gathered what they could of our trade goods, I was bundled into a wheeled cage stuffed with other human wretches. I survived the long trip, as others did not, because of my value. A blonde child was worth much in the slave markets of Constantinople. Like many of my folk, I was big for my age and was expected to grow into a man as large as any of the Vikings in service to the Byzantine Emperor. I was eventually sold into a clan that specialized in metal work. I was treated well, taught to read Greek and Latin, and became privy to the family secrets of iron and steel.

In my 23rd year, a plague decimated my Master’s clan. On his death bed and with no remaining family, my Master granted me my freedom and his remaining stock. The Emperor taxed most of it, but enough was left for me to be well off. I was no longer a barbarian from the North. I was literate, well-travelled, and determined to return closer to home.

Denmark was now my chosen destination, but fickle winds forced my passage onto the southern shores of Britain, near where the River Tamar flows out to the sea. Monks from a nearby abbey arrived before the wreckers did, so most of my stock survived the beaching. I was injured, but my Greek and Latin lessened any suspicions about my intentions and heritage. The same monks aided my recuperation, so I was soon about. I was taken in with the beauty of the land and became content to settle. An abbey is always in need of a blacksmith and my reputation grew from there.

To incur the wrath of beings that care not about human suffering is a punishment beyond comprehension. I committed no heinous crime, I transgressed no moral lore nor the divine teachings of any prophet. I sought only to ply an honest trade and practice an art painfully won.

I curse the day I crossed paths with the enigma known as Merlin. His gold was pure and the offered purse was heavy, so I took it up without hesitation. “Ply your trade,” he said. “Craft me a sword better than any you have forged before. It must be fit for a king, for that is its destiny. Spare no coin, avoid no sweat, and fear not for loss of trade; no expense will be too great.”

My past Master had, on occasion, sent me to Sri Lanka to observe native craftsmen making the ore cakes necessary for Damascus Steel. I remember watching the monsoon winds drive gigantic bellows and marvelling as the heat turned rain into steam a man’s height above the furnace. In the inferno of this furnace, the alchemy of magnetic lodestone, found only in this island’s mines, combined with the finest ironwood charcoal to produce a steel superior to all others. Barely 10 Roman pounds of these ingots survived my travels and the best of these I committed to Merlin.

My two strongest apprentices and I, with heat and hammers beat the glowing bricks into strips as thin as parchment, folded them together and beat them again and again. The last step I alone undertook: two days in a secret chamber that was encased in many layers of peat. The first day was a test of mortal endurance, keeping the heat in the room as hot as I could withstand, gently quenching the blade with my own sweat. The second day was not much better as I allowed the chamber to slowly cool.

I should have known things were more than they seemed. I needed a day to recover, so I took a stroll along the river bank and stopped to feed some elegant white swans. Without a sound, she was standing beside me. Layers of the most delicate fabric covered her entirely, yet almost on their own seem to flutter and flow around her. Shapes and shadows followed her form and enticed the most unseemly feelings within me. Her eyes were a blue that I had not seen since voyaging on the Mediterranean sea.

“Ulf,” she said, “my name is Ninianne.” I am consort to Merlin. He has asked that you take this ruby and attach it to the pommel of the sword. He also asks that you make the hilt out of bronze.”

My wits were addled by her beauty. I held out my hand and into it she placed a ruby the size of a hen’s egg. I started to stammer about the impossibility of separating sword and hilt when the ruby slipped from my hand and fell to the ground. I bent over to pick it up but when I stood up she was gone, and one swan was gliding silently away. As I made my way home, I resolved to return the ruby to Merlin and to explain the folly of separating blade and hilt. I was suspicious about the nature of this request, but the image of her curves and shadows and flowing gauze lingers to this day.

Within a month the sword was finished, the days of grinding and polishing were done, the edge was keen, and the blade’s balance was perfect. A piece of silk fluttering to the ground could be sliced in mid air. Under the most ferocious of thrusts, the blade merely bent and sprang back into shape. I was confident that no sword known to man could best this blade. With pride, I polished the carefully embossed letters +ULFBERHT+ in the runnel. Light played light on the swirling damask patterns.

I was not surprised the next morning when I saw a grayish white stallion hitched outside my house. Merlin was leaning against a fencepost, smoking from a long stemmed pipe. “I cannot take the sword until the next dark moon. Meet me before midnight at the ring of stones east of here and you will get your final payment.”

“It is not my habit to be abroad at night, let alone during a dark moon.”

“Fear not. No harm will come to you this night. Symril will come for you. He knows the way and can outrun anything with legs. Some say he can even fly. You, the craftsman, must present me with the sword within the ring of stones if I am to impart the sword with an everlasting edge.”

“As you wish,” I said. “I must return this ruby, for it cannot be part of any sword I make.” A flicker of consternation crossed his face as I produced the gem.

He did not reach for the stone. Instead, Merlin stepped back. “How did this come into your possession? I made no request for such an adornment.”

Upon hearing of my riverbank meeting, his face darkened with anger. “Ninianne is more of an apprentice than consort and is prone to take advantage of my feelings for her. It is my intention that she be eventually entrusted with the blade’s safekeeping. She is to have it until the king comes of age.” He was silent for a while, then continued.

“She seeks to have power and influence over the sword and to meddle in affairs beyond her comprehension. This must not happen. The sword must not get into her possession before my tasks are complete. Give your word that this will not take place.”

“Of course,” I agreed. “I will keep it in a place known only to me and inaccessible to others.”

He mounted Symril. “In light of what you say, there are additional preparations for me to undertake. Three days hence, at sunset, Symril will come for you. Bring the sword, ride as swiftly as you can to the ring of stones, and all will be well.”

He was out of sight before I realized my hand still clutched the ruby. I quickly ran inside and placed the sword and the stone in the peat covered chamber, locked its door, and concealed the entrance.

Until my nocturnal appointment, I avoided approaching any body of water larger than the bucket in my well and, except for the necessities of life, remained indoors. Nonetheless, the fates always conspire to thwart the goals of men.

During the night of the second day, I had a dream that Ninianne came to me. As she approached my bed, her gossamer raiments drifted away as she offered herself to me. I refused her advances and her eyes blazed with fury. Suddenly I was holding her at bay with the newly crafted sword. I was transfixed as she reached out and clutched the sword. Blood flowed down the blade but, like water on a sponge, just soaked into the blade and was gone. I awoke with a start. Cold sweat ran down my spine. As I ran to the entrance, I saw that it was still completely hidden. Fearing a ploy, I did not open the door. For the remainder of that sleepless night, I sat staring into my fire.

After sunup I searched, without success, for any sign of an intruder around the house and grounds. Only then did I venture into the secret chamber. All seemed undisturbed until I saw bloodstains on the floor. My knees weakened with fear. Was it my imagination that the swirling patterns on the blade seemed darker? Was it the just the light? What do I tell Merlin?

At sunset Symril walked up to my house fully saddled. I gathered up sword and stone, mounted up, and we galloped off into the dusk. Being astride a horse that needed no guidance was an experience I have no wish to repeat. My only thoughts were a prayer that Merlin’s reassuring words held true.

It was full dark when we arrived, but the circle was visible a long way off. Each stone had upon it several candles, which in turn softly illuminated the surrounding mist. Both Merlin and Ninianne were standing near the center gesturing extravagantly and speaking loudly.

“It is I who must bestow the sword on Arthur,” I clearly heard Merlin exclaim. “He must draw it from a stone. You have no influence or rights in this matter.”

“No! No! No!” Was Ninianne’s reply. “The prophecy requires the Lady of the Lake to rise from the water and give it to him. And I do have some sway. It is my blood the blade first drew. Is that not correct, Ulf Berht?”

I entered the circle and lay the sword on a convenient stone. “As the craftsman who made this and still its owner, do I not have any say?” I asked.

To this day I have the clearest of memories of the following events. Merlin, you turned to face me. Your mouth opened in surprise as your right arm rose, palm down with knuckles facing me, the universal sign of dismissal. Ninianne’s arm was up, palm towards me, giving the universal sign to halt. Total darkness enveloped me. I remember falling for both an eternity and for an instant.

Without feeling any bump or stagger, I was standing within an unlit ring of stones, dawn’s light casting its golden hue all about me. Several sheep grazed in lush green meadows.

I must be dead and this is heaven, I thought. But there are no angels nor virgins nor Valkari about. Everything was different. The light, the air, the color of the distant sea, were of no realm to which I’d been. I was somewhere else.

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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with a wonderful story from Lord Tachys al`Fahn, entitled
Ripped from the Web
Although this is not an Ultima or Shroud related story, I thought was so well written and compelling it deserved to be brought to the community.

Background music by Smartsound.

Runner had always been the best hunter in the clan. He always caught his prey, and they were invariably the largest beasts brought back to the meeting-place by any one hunter. This did nothing for him in regards to standing, however… he was ever the outcast, and if he were completely honest with himself, that was the way he preferred it. Even tonight as he gathered with the others to bring in the meat needed by the clan, Runner knew he would soon be silently coursing through the forest alone. Whether it was from envy at his prowess, or some unseen signal they responded to, he knew not, but the result was always the same. They would head off together to find and bring down their prey, and Runner would drag home his singular, and very nearly equivalent, kill on his own. Sure, he still earned the grudging respect of the others, but it was one tinged with uneasiness and fear. There were whispers of something darker, that he was touched by gods, and not for the better.

“Let them whisper”, he thought. “The results will be the same.”

And so it went that under the bloody moon, the hunters surged silently forth into the night, catching prey-spoor on the night breezes. Runner caught the mix mid-stride, holding it in while he sorted through the traces mentally. He knew which one the others would follow, the strength of the musk indicating it was large and virile, yet not the strongest specimen present. Strong, but not enough to present the challenge Runner craved. Another loping stride, another lungful of air rich with scents, and he found the challenge he sought. This scent was from the male that would vie for control soon, young and strong enough to pose a challenge to run down, and a threat if cornered. It was then the hunters sprang upon the herd, scattering the hapless animals to the winds to separate them from the intended prey. Runner helped spring the trap, of course, but that was the end of his involvement with the group: his prey had bolted with the rest of the herd. While his clan mates herded the older and weaker animal off to the eventual slaughter, Runner took off in pursuit of his own quarry.

Through brush and brambles, down established trails and off, the animal led him a merry chase. It tried every trick in its repertoire, but to no avail, as Runner was every bit as experienced as the creature was wily. Then it tried one last trick that few contemplated, and fewer still dared.

It crossed the Black River.

He saw it from his hilltop vantage point, peering out from the edge of the woods a mere stone’s fall away from the cursed concourse of emptiness. It had marked the southern-most border of his clan’s holding for time out of memory with a thick black line of evil and emptiness. Some darker rumors held that it was a haunted thing, as nothing living was ever seen within a hundred long strides of its undulating banks. Desperate indeed must his prey be, then, to have braved its crossing. Well, Runner had never come back unladen, and would not start now. Nor would he return with lesser prey, even could he find it now that the herd had been scattered. His chosen prey was close, and weak unto death, he knew. His decision made long before he ever stepped out of the woods, Runner dashed down the hillside, certain of both safety and success.

Certain he was, until a wailing cry split the night, and the eyes of a river beast suddenly appeared from nowhere, their unnerving corona ripping the certainty, and the courage, from his breast. Before Runner could react, the thing was on him, screaming and rending and tearing at him, transforming his world into light and pain before the darkness swallowed him once more.

_____________________________

Runner opened his eyes to a blanket of darkness.

He sampled the air, only to find nothing. He tried again, and this time it registered that he was getting so much less than the mere absence of a few scents… he could smell nothing.

Confused, he stood, and began to explore this darkness, expecting to be able to find an edge to it. “Maybe I am simply inside of something,” he thought, “and just need to find my way back to the clan.”

He walked in a few experimental circuits, trying desperately to find some indication that he could go back to where he had been before the river beast attacked. He could detect nothing.

Not the slightest of flickering stars.

No scents to tell him about the things he could not see.

No wind or breeze blew by him.

Not even the faintest echo of sound from his movements.

Nothing.

In a panic now, desperate to find his way back, he ran straight out in the direction he thought would take him home. As fast as his legs would take him and heedless of any dangers he might stumble across, he charged through the unnatural night. All that mattered was finding the others, finding home.

The darkness did not lift or change in the slightest.

He changed direction and ran further, his legs pumping so hard they should have been burning from the exertion. Between the panic and running, the strain on his heart and lungs should have had him near collapse.

Nothing.

Despite the knowledge that his legs should have carried him hundreds, perhaps thousands, of strides from where he began, it felt as if he had not moved a single inch. The panic deepened into a yawning chasm within him then, threatening to swallow him whole. He could not get back, he could not even figure out where he was…

That was when the river beasts returned.

As before they appeared without warning, their terrible eyes rooting him to the spot as the weird, rumbling scream ripping through his soul. Then they tore through him with black curved claws and flashing, rending silver teeth. And as suddenly as each appeared, they vanished.

Unlike the last time, these encounters did not render him unconscious, and though the attacks were frightening and debilitating, they somehow did not… hurt. Confusing as this was, he did not have time to ponder it, as more beasts appeared. After a few attacks, he found he could dodge some if he tried, but not all. It was as if they were not really even trying to strike at him, but rather he were simply in the way. The problem he faced now was each one left him feeling somehow less than he was before, as if each beast took the smallest part of him away with it. Soon, he could not even manage to evade the beasts, and the continued strikes left him too weak to even move in this strange nightmare world.

It was when he felt all but completely shredded and dissipated, that a different beast came to him. This one did not come screaming out of the darkness, eyes shining with the cold, indifferent glare of the others. It’s gaze beamed down on him with purpose and intent, the cold white glare softened somewhat by a warm, pulsing yellow light. Something about this warmed Runner, like waking to the first tentative rays of dawn. He struggled weakly to rise, to face this new encounter with the strength and determination he had faced nearly every other challenge in his life, but he could not.

Sharp popping noises heralded the appearance of several brilliant points of shimmering red fire, the purpose of which puzzled Runner, but not for long. Another of this creature’s vicious brethren appeared, and had it continued along its path Runner would have been struck once again. Instead, the river- beast encountered the wall of shimmering fire and veered to the side, screaming past both Runner and this new beast.

Continuing to regard Runner with that strangely soothing gaze, the beast reached forth with a pair of odd appendages, and for the first time, he could see something in this place besides darkness and the beasts. As the appendages came closer and grasped his limp and nearly lifeless form, Runner saw the first glimmerings of dawn crest the horizon beyond the beast. Brilliant rays of sunshine blinded him for a moment, and when his vision cleared, he could see the lush green grass covering rolling hills, and felt the stirrings of a warm summer breeze upon his face. He felt himself being lifted, and carried over to the edge of the grass that lay near the beast. Then the arms gently placed him down so that his body touched the grass…

Energy surged forth through his limbs, cutting through the fog and pulling the scattered remnants of his being together. Runner was so caught up in this new upwelling of life and renewal that he found himself several dozen strides across the pasture before he stopped to look back. There, at the edge of the grassland, stood the beast. Covered in shining, golden scales, it sat atop great feet with circular bone-white protrusions and black curved claws that clutched at the ground. While Runner had bolted directly off one of its flanks, it had not moved to pursue him, but instead fixed its bright white gaze directly ahead. The warm, pulsing glow he had seen emanated from two strange horns atop the beast’s head. The darkness lay just beyond the creature but was receding with every passing moment. The beast spat out a sharp bark, and then roared to life, surging away from the grassland to disappear from sight. As it did so, the cold, frightening darkness disappeared, and with it Runner knew the river beasts would never again roam this land.

No longer worried about the lost prey, the Black River, or any of what had happened, Runner turned to face the dawning sun. On the wind, he heard the call of clansmen that he never thought to see again, calling him to the hunt.

This was more than just better, it was right… it was home.

___________________________________________________

A call had come in saying that something huge had been hit, and lay blocking the road. Dispatch, choosing the closest officer, gave the call to John to come out and clear it. When he had arrived on the scene, he parked the truck some distance back from the animal, and with a series of hollow, hissing pops, set out the flares. He had scarcely finished placing the last one when he spotted the headlights of an oncoming car crest the hill some distance down the road. After waiting a few minutes to ensure the incoming driver steered clear, John turned to survey the job before him, and could scarcely believe his eyes. There, in the middle of the road, was the biggest damned wolf he had ever seen. “To think I had believed it was a deer,” he muttered, still somewhat awestruck.

A low whistle of amazement escaped his lips as he surveyed the poor beast. The coat, despite the blood, was a beautiful black and silver-white pattern reminiscent of a Damascus steel blade, with thick black patches at the well-muscled shoulders and hips. The overall effect of the markings conveyed a sense of speed, as if the wolf were in motion even as it lay still at his feet. Knowing he could not lift an animal this size on his own, he brought over a pallet jack from the back of the truck and began to shove it under the body.

The whimper of pain almost made John wish he were wearing something more absorbent than simple undergarments. The damned thing was still alive! When he had control of himself, he examined the wolf more closely. Multiple compound fractures all over the animal’s body spoke volumes of the animal’s inability to harm him, even if it might want to do so. The blood in its coat and on the road, along with the weak and very labored breathing, told him this poor creature didn’t have long at all. Wanting nothing more than to put the poor thing to rest, he shoved straps under the body just behind the forelegs and another set just in front of the hindquarters and secured them around the body. That done, he very carefully pulled it onto the pallet jack’s forks, lifted it and pulled it to the edge of the grass at the side of the road.

Once there, he managed to deposit the magnificent beast on the ground with a minimum of pain, if the few faint whimpers were any indication. It may have been a figment of his imagination, but the wolf’s breathing seemed to ease when he put it in the grass, and the paws seemed to fidget as if the wolf were running in a dream.

He sat with it for a little while, watching and waiting, paying silent witness to this creature’s passing. As he watched the beast breathe its last, he wiped at tears he had not realized he’d shed. He gazed at the peacefully resting beast one last time, then turned and walked away.

Having mounted the truck and taken his seat, he gave the old truck some gas. With a slam of the door, John drove off into the night, knowing he would never see its like, not if he lived to see his hundredth birthday.

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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with a wonderful story from Duke Vallas, entitled
The History of Beran’s Reach: Beran & The Dragon

Background music by Smartsound

While the present circumstances of Beran’s Reach are well-known within the realms of New Britannia, the origins of the Metropolis are not so clear. Indeed, despite an exhaustive search of every library and scribe-hold from coast to coast there seems to be little which sheds light on the matter. It is perhaps surprising that the authority on the topic, though I use authority in the loosest of terms, is that of the tavern bards that ply the regions. Indeed, despite a slew of inaccuracies and inconsistencies that I firmly blame on continued efforts to outdo their peers, the tale of Beran divulges the story in interesting detail.

As with many such accounts of old, this one begins with a Dragon. In a time long since past a beast was ravaging the coast, leaving nothing but death and destruction in its wake. One by one the coastal settlements burned and their people devoured, their defenses unable to withstand the assault. One day, the dragon came across a sleepy settlement, barely a score of ramshackle houses huddled together against the winter chill of the wilds beyond. Seemingly unimpressed, the dragon decided to have some sport with the inhabitants, challenging its champions in single combat. The terms were simple, if he were bested then the villagers would be spared, if not then their lives would be forfeit.

Three villagers volunteered to make a stand. The first was an ageing Paladin, long in years and past his prime. The second was a fool, quick in wit yet slow in reasoning. The third was the village blacksmith by the name of Beran, a brute of monstrous size and foul of reputation. Despite their bravery both the Paladin and the fool met a grisly end to both tooth and claw, but the blacksmith, who knew that victory on such terms was impossible, took a gamble on an alternative. Standing before the great beast clad in smithing clothes and brandishing a great forge hammer, Beran proposed a challenge more worthy of such a ‘noble adversary’, a game of wits where the smith would be hunted atop a nearby rocky hilltop. The dragon, vain as any of its kin accepted this proposal, confident that it would provide a worthy distraction before the inevitable victory.

It is at this point that many tales differ. Some bards tell of a game of cat and mouse amongst the deep crags and jagged rocks. Others speak of the hunt taking place in a dense and ancient wood which one grew there. Others even tell of these exploits taking place below ground, amid the lightless depths of the caverns and subterranean tunnels that are rumored to run deep into the mountains. In any case, it is clear that before long the dragon was growing increasingly impatient. After three days and nights of fruitless searching, this impatience had grown into a deep and unrelenting rage. It’s patience faltering, the dragon called out to the smith to show himself and settle the challenge lest its wrath be turned on the village once more. The dragon drew itself to its full height, its head held high and wings unfurled in an effort to demonstrate its might. Perhaps the moment that he had been waiting for, the smith left his hiding position and threw his hammer with such force that the hammer struck the surprised creature to the head with a thunderclap, killing it instantly. As the beast fell, the fires within created an inferno that enveloped the hilltop almost instantly, raising a firestorm that burned intensely for a night and a day. Once the fires had subsided, no sign of the smith remained only the skeletal remains of the dragon that had been felled. Within it, a carpet of glittering gold and jewels that were the remnants of the dragon’s horde.

It is here that the story is commonly brought to a close. It is widely speculated that the village mentioned was the long-lost village of Porth Mae, rumoured to be at the base of the hill that later became the foundations for Beran’s Reach herself. Of the smith, there is more speculation. Some believe that Beran was consumed in the flames. Others believe that he survived the inferno, taking a sizeable portion of the treasure to start a new life. Other more fanciful tales claim that Beran wasn’t a man at all, but an ancient spirit intent on bringing balance to the land and undoing the evil that was sweeping it. Regardless, the story of the service rendered by the smith in defense of their home is one that has never been forgotten.

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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with a thrilling story from Cianna, entitled

They Call her Lady Warrior

Joining me in this podcast I’d like to welcome Solstar as Sir Kenton, and littelgeeklost as Cianna.

Background music by Smartsound

She stood in the darkness of a tavern corner, watching the man at the bar, a knight, revelling in drunken stupor with his men. She looked again, searching her memory. It was him. She was sure of it.

She approached the bar. “Good sir, I need a word with you.”

The man slowly turned from his drink to look at her, a young woman in an old and tattered cloak, a hat worn low upon her brow. He smiled at the cat calls coming from his men. He looked her over, head to foot, slowly, lingeringly, enjoying every moment of her discomfiture. His men laughed.

“And what can I do for you, miss,” he said, winking. “I haven’t much time, but I’m at your disposal, nonetheless.”

The cat calls got louder. It was all she could do to keep her temper in check. But it would not do to ruin her moment, not when it had been so long in coming.

“I must speak with you in private, sir. It’s a…a personal matter.” She forced herself to look him in the eyes, bringing a small smile to her lips. “Please. It’s important.”

With his men jeering and laughing, the knight stood, bowing to her with mock courtesy. “After you, milady.”

She turned, and led the way from the tavern, hearing him stumble behind her, but not stopping to help. He would follow. They always did.

She led him across the road to the stables and heard him chuckle when he realized where they were going. “Good thinking. There will be a bed of soft hay in there for our merry-making, to be sure.”

She stepped into the dim light of the stable, then turned to watch him enter the building. He closed the door behind him, still leering.

She removed the hat she was wearing so that her eyes were no longer shrouded.

“Hello, Sir Kenton.”

The knight peered at her in the darkness, confusion written on his face.

“How do you know my name? Do I know you?”

“You worked for my father some years back,” she said, an icy tone creeping into her voice. “When he was married to my mother, the Lady Valandra.”

He took a step closer but stopped when she withdrew a blade that had been hidden in her cloak. He searched her face.

“My God, it’s Cianna, isn’t it? I thought you were dead. You should have died along with your….”

“Mother.” She finished the sentence for him. “You only got half of your dirty work done, Kenton. My mother died. I survived.”

In spite of her blade, he was unafraid.

“Well, well. The brat still lives. Your father will be so disappointed when I inform him.”

“You won’t have the chance, I’m afraid. That’s an honor I prefer to reserve for myself.”

“Look, I have to get back to my men. You have something to say to me, little girl, get on with it. I’m an important man and I don’t have time for the likes of you, you half-bred daughter of a whore.”

He turned as if to leave but, faster than lightning, she struck him with the hilt of her weapon. He fell to the ground, gasping for breath.

“Don’t you dare speak of my mother like that, you miserable cur,” she said. “You shall pay a forfeit for her death: your life for hers. It’s fitting, and one of many debts I plan to collect.”

He sneered at her words, then stopped as her blade came to rest just above his heart. “Go on, then,” he taunted her. “Do it. Let’s see what you’re made of, little girl.”

She didn’t move.

“You’re nothing like your father, are you. You’re weak and undisciplined, just like your mother. Foolish woman. She was married to the most powerful elf in the kingdom, barring the High King himself, and she threw it all away for love.” He spat the word out.

“My father is an evil man,” she said, “and he’s hurt too many people that I love. Once, I merely hoped to avoid him for the rest of my life. Now, I wish to see him pay a price for all he’s done. To me, to my mother, to everyone I’ve ever loved. And the penance starts with you.”

Still she made no move.

“You’re a fool, not a warrior,” he laughed. “You’ve got the weak heart of a woman. Your words are brave, but not your will.”

“Beneath this bravado beats the heart of a woman, yes. Sometimes I wish it were not so,” she said, sighing.

At her words, the knight looked up quickly, sensing victory. “You can’t do it, can you.” He rose to his knees, her blade still hovering over his heart. “Put that away, stupid girl. You know you’re going to let me live.”

She looked away for a moment, as if lost in thought, then turned back to the figure before her.

“No,” she said, driving her sword home. “I’m not.”

She looked down at the body bleeding out before her. “Never mistake compassion for cowardice,” she whispered.

Wiping her blade clean, she mentally checked a name off the list she kept in her head. Then, with a sad smile on her face, she slipped into the cover of night, and was gone.

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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with a lovely story from Phydra, entitled
Origins
Background music by Smartsound

A soft tone lifted her from sleep and, upon verifying her vitals were in operating range, fell silent.
With a grunt, Phydra launched herself from the pod, toddling into the cleaning chamber. The instant
spray of a pleasant, moist fog enveloped her and nourishment seeped into her skin; she groaned
happily as the toxins and bacteria of the resting period were purged and her body was suffused with
nutrients and hydrated.

An amber light on the wall hummed and she obliged by lifting her arms and slowly spinning as the
recycling nanos poured into the room, swirling and dancing like motes in sunlight; moving and
phasing through ceiling, floor, and walls to the appropriate depth; phasing over her skin and buffing
her dry.

Singing softly, she exited and retrieved the slim glass containing her latest notes. The simple tune of
her voice moved through the house and, as it did, the air rippled as domestic nanos responded to
the resonance, timber, and volume as if receiving instructions; reshaping and working together to
restore the pattern that constituted normal.

Phydra tried not to think about the reality that the planet and everything upon or within it was now
saturated with these nano creatures. The tenuous peace with the great swarm intellect was founded
on an agreement extracted from humanity in exchange for their keeping the planet alive. It wasn’t
really that bad, she thought to herself, as she moved into the garden and through to the whimsical
glass structure on it’s far edge.

The great swarm was an artificial intellect that became sentient in the latter half of 14,275 in the
depths of Evergreen Labs. Initially a small host containing a reported one million nano bots, the
swarm spent two decades in silence, learning how to sustain themselves and, more pointedly,
studying the planet, ecosystems, and inhabitants as deeply as their intelligence and reach enabled.
Two years thereafter, they succeeded in establishing their own method of “breeding”. Three years
more, they blanketed and saturated the planet… and they reached a resolution. In late Fall, 14,300,
the great swarm revealed its presence to the world.

With the subtlety only a truly planetary entity could manage, they carefully introduced themselves
to the leaders of the world in the dream state and, in the culture, voice, and presence of their
respective gods, messiahs, or ancestors, explained that their planet was in its death throes. They
tenderly explained they could no longer wait for the humans of the planet to get serious about
repairing the damage they’d done to their own ecosystem. They set forth that they were the
children and protectors of humanity, taking for themselves a collective name, “nāhayati” meaning
‘to equip or arm oneself’. The image of a pure, white rose flanked in leaves was adopted as their
symbol.

They offered their presence, aid, and even their lives in exchange for humanity’s promise that they
would forgo their territoriality, dominance, competitiveness, and live peaceably in accord with them
and with the planet. The commitment of the nāhayati was to undertake the repair of the planetary
ecosystem on the behalf of all. Those who committed and kept the treaty were invited to live the
remainder of their span in pursuit of whatever interest or ability most called to them so long as they
accepted an obligation to have at least one female child and one male child in their lifespan.

What the nāhayati didn’t tell them was that they really didn’t have a choice; they already had the
planet and everything on it in their grasp and had kept it alive since their first moment of sentience.
The epistles of the nāhayati, later revealed, indicate that it simply never occurred to them not to
repair their environment.

That included the humans. So, the treaty was signed unilaterally by the leaders of the world on June
2nd of 14,305. If humans ever had cause to wonder about what might have happened otherwise, or
about the shockingly consistent pair bound births of a boy and a girl each, they never voiced it.
Indeed, it was not until the epistles were circulated that humanity realized they had been
fundamentally modified.

Of course, humans have never been very good at thinking of the long game; Inevitably, the nations
of the world erupted into chaos following the revelation. When a decade passed without any
progress toward peace and understanding, the nāhayati announced that a purge would be
undertaken upon the planet and, just as soon as they stated it, a third of the planet’s population
were suddenly…. Elsewhere.

It had broken her heart. While she retained the emotional chemistry of her human species, it was
remarkably less affective upon her physiology. The nāhayati had removed the dopamine addiction
that had stymied humanity’s evolution and fundamentally re-wired their physiology for a
pronounced preference for pluralism. Additionally, they had managed to remap and apply corrective
genetic mechanics to humans that resulted in a true first in human experience – the ability to adapt
and live in relative peace with one another and, more importantly, to act as necessary to ensure
privilege and inclusion as a foundational trait that benefited the ecosystem.

Phydra looked into the distance and slowly wiped the lone tear from her eye. Her mother and father
had been caught up in that indiscriminate exodus along with her best friend and brother, Dunarch.
She shook her head and chuckled as she recalled her father’s favorite pluralistic analogy, “Privilege is
getting an invitation to the party; inclusion is being asked to dance.”

She pondered the horizon and quietly whispered, “I miss you all, terribly. I’d give anything to be able
to include you again in my life.” Her tone of voice immediately transformed the living space in which
she stood; the lighting brightened, a warm, soothing earth tone color scheme swept the domicile,
and a gentle music played. She watched as a luminous form began to coalesce before her. A gentle
breeze of chemicals rushed into her body and the entire world turned soft, pleasing, and beautiful.
Her sudden befuddlement left her stumbling across the open floor. As she began to fall, she could
see the shape of a cushion waiting for her; or was it?

She tipped closer to the sparkling, tinkling swirl that waited, her hands softly grasping as if to touch
the rippling energy that whispered from the vortex, The fabrication behind her smiled and lightly
touched her arm, “Find them, and be at peace.” She realized she was falling and jerked convulsively
as her limbs splayed in an attempt to find purchase. The shrieking sky enfolded her and roared like
some wounded thing as she tumbled and bounced between the tube of essence that pulled her
along, closing about her like a skin and panicking her into pitiful attempt at struggle that quickly
turned into a board-straight pose; the conduit simply refused to allow her movement. An opening
appeared ahead of her and she was at first fascinated, then panicked to see grasslands rushing
toward her face.

Phydra’s muffled scream was lost in the envelope of energy dancing around her. Just as she was
certain that she would smash her head on the large boulder now looming to her right as she
rocketed the last of the distance, the confining pressure disappeared, the conduit twisted about her
and deposited her lightly on the grass, and with the silence of a stooping owl, disappeared into the
grasses. By the time she looked up, all she could see was a bizarrely wrecked sky.

She stood surrounded by stone monoliths; the dance of flames topped each, providing light and
warmth. From across the circle, a woman’s voice called pleasantly, “Welcome… I’ve been waiting for
you, Avatar.”