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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with a great story from Greyhaven, entitled
The Cotton Homunculus
Joining me in this podcast are Cordelayne Valkaris, as Jariel, and Margaritte, as Bronwyn.

Background music by Smartsound

It is a constant source of amazement how seemingly innocuous little things can turn out to be very troublesome. When faced with the extraordinary, no matter how small, it is often best to conduct an appropriate investigation to properly understand what you are dealing with. You may find the result surprising.

Permit me to illustrate this by example, by telling you about a little handkerchief that young Bronwyn once found in Brittany.

When visiting the Hidden Vale a favoured haunt of ours is the Hearth of Britannia tavern in Kingsport. It gives us an opportunity to catch-up with our good friend Jarial “Brightstaff” and his sidekick, Ned, Farmer Burniston’s son. These two likely lads are often found propping up the bar and helping drain the establishment of whatever exotic imported ales are on offer. I can remember one evening at the tavern in particular which turned out to be more eventful than expected…

Three hearty tankards of ale arrived at the table, delivered with a flourish and a cheeky wink from Megan who always looks after us well. These were traditional rim-surpassing brews with large foamy heads trickling over the sides and pooling on the table top.

Very much a young man of action rather than words, both of Ned’s hands shot out and grabbed the nearest tankard with the lightning speed of a hungry praying mantis. Whipping the drink to his mouth, he continued to guzzle down the liquid as though his very life depended on it. Considering that this drink happened to be “Old Clobber”, one of Scrattock’s brewery’s finest with a reputation of disconnecting you from your senses in short order, gulping it down may not have been the wisest course of action.

Jarial noticed the look in Bronwyn’s eyes.

“Don’t worry Bronny, you can have some of mine,” he said. “Only a small mouthful, however. If you copy Ned we will be scraping you off the floor!”

“Great!” She beamed, and took a hearty swig.

The reaction was immediate. To the hardened connoisseur, Old Clobber makes your cheeks tingle as the tongue gets to grips with the surprisingly broad and robust flavour. Young Bronwyn however suffered the experience of a true novice; that is to say feeling an almost physical attack on the brain, very similar to being clobbered on the back of the head. Yes, it was a well-named drink.

Leaping off her chair she half spluttered and half snorted out the offending brew.

“Crikey! What the hell is in that stuff?” She gasped. “Oh God, it’s even coming out of my nose!”

Shaken, she sat back down and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe her face. Immediately I grabbed her wrist.

“What is this you have?” I enquired.

“That’s a flashy one Bronny!” said Jarial, intrigued. “Did you steal it?”

What had caught our attention was the fact that Bronwyn’s handkerchief had a border pattern in a strange glowing pink thread.

“No I didn’t steal it! I found it!” she chided Jarial. “Nice though, isn’t it??”

Bronwyn laid the handkerchief out flat on the table so that all could appreciate the pattern properly.

“Too posh for a street urchin like you!” laughed Jarial.

Bronwyn stuck her tongue out at that (even though I have warned her not to do this many times!)

Then something strange happened. As we were all admiring the handkerchief’s craftsmanship, the thread pattern changed colour from pink to blue and then back again!

“Whoa! Did you see that? It’s not done that before!”

Now this is where my note about investigating the extraordinary becomes pertinent. Luminescent thread may be a beautiful and a sought after material, however it is not of any great interest in itself. Such a thing is commonly found in a Shardfall region, for those brave enough to collect it. Thread that changes colour is another matter entirely. That is evidence of warped Shardfall magic, or other magic entirely. Such things need proper examination to determine the nature of the enchantment and any likely danger it may pose.

“Ok people, it appears that young Bronwyn has found herself a magic handkerchief!”

“Cor! I always wanted one of those!” enthused Bronwyn, then her expression changed. “Is that good magic or bad magic?”

“Well, let’s find out shall we?” I said and cleared the drinks off the table to make some room.

“Everyone be quiet and watch the handkerchief. Oh, and Bronwyn…”

“Wot?”

“No fidgeting – it is most distracting!”

“Would I ever??”

The colour change illustrated that the enchantment was active. Next came the dangerous part – to examine the potency of the magic and determine if it was benign or malicious. Naturally, you cannot get an enchantment to reveal itself by gentle coaxing. Especially one that spends most of its time dormant. No, instead it must be commanded, with as great a force as you can muster.

“VENESTASIS!”

It was my voice of command, cracking like a whip and slicing through the murky tavern atmosphere like a hot knife. The poor tavern customers, out enjoying an evening drink and a bit of cheeky banter, were all stunned into silence with many turning towards us to see what was happening.

The handkerchief twitched!

“POTENTAS VITAK EUSMOD MOLLATIS!”

Words of Power delivered in an irresistible combination such that no magic can ignore! The handkerchief leapt into the air and twisted around, changing shape before our eyes to form a little cotton man-shaped “homunculus”. There was a collective gasp from the tavern punters as the creature landed back on the table spitting and snarling like a cornered feral cat.

“I thought so!” I addressed the handkerchief directly. “You’re a nasty little fellow aren’t you?”

Poor Ned took one look at the creature, a look at his empty tankard, and then another look at the creature before grabbing my ale and guzzling that down as rapidly as his first. After wiping his mouth with his forearm he quickly lost consciousness and tipped over in his seat, crashing to the floor. Two “Clobbers” and you are out!

This sudden noise gave the magic cotton creature a shock and it flew across the room like a startled bat towards the window, zipping over people’s heads as they tried to duck out of the way. Ricocheting off Farmer Burniton’s bald-patch the flying handkerchief missed the window and hit the adjacent wall, stunned and just inches away from freedom.

My legendary reflexes had already sent a dagger spinning blade-over-hilt towards the creature, however even I had been outmatched by young Bronwyn! Only fourteen (and a half as she is constantly reminding us) she had reacted with near-impossible speed, grabbing her small shortbow and quiver in a blur of limbs, and sending one of fletcher Colletus’s finest “True-sight” arrows coursing through the air to catch my thrown blade. Both dagger and arrow struck the homunculus simultaneously, pinning it to the tavern wall, and sending it into wild frenzy, thrashing about trying to escape.

Young Bronwyn was jubilant, “Ha ha! Who can hit a flea in the eyeball from 100 paces?”

“JARIAL!” I barked.

This proved unnecessary as my friend had already leapt to his feet to chase after the creature. More than just a simple apothecary and alchemist, Jarial had also mastered the basics of fire magic. With flames spewing from his palms he grabbed hold of the animated handkerchief which promptly set alight and let out a deafening screech. Jarial pulled the burning creature off the wall in an effort to minimise damage to the tavern.

“NO! THROW IT OUT OF THE WINDOW!”

Quick as a flash, and not a moment too soon, Jarial did as I directed and the little screeching fireball was launched out into the evening air. A mere fraction of a second later there was a loud “BANG” as the homunculus exploded releasing the chaotic magic from its binding physical matrix and sending it dissipating into the atmosphere. Everyone in the tavern dived for cover as the resultant shock-wave sliced through the bottles and glassware behind the bar, showering the poor proprietor in broken shards and a variety of different liquors. A picture of his eminence, Lord British, which had never had a particularly secure hanging, rocked from side to side before falling to the floor with a crash.

There was a moments silence whilst everyone checked that there were still in one piece before it was rudely interrupted by my young protégée.

“That was brilliant,” enthused Bronwyn. “We only came in here for a drink and a chinwag, and we get exploding handkerchief monsters as well! I think this place is great!”

Fortunately, everybody had escaped with only a few minor cuts and bruises here and there, (although many swore that what little remained of Farmer Burniston’s hair was a shade or two greyer than it had been before). I gathered everyone around to explain what had happened.

“I am really sorry about that, it appears matters got a little out-of-hand. I must be losing my touch in my old age! I am truly surprised at the level of pent-up power that was confined in such a small thing. Rest assured the Order will pay for all the damage sustained.” Which was a statement much appreciated by Abbott, the proprietor, and he gave me a grateful nod in acknowledgement.

“What we had here was a simple handkerchief embellished with a pattern in thread taken from a Shardfall region.”

“That would explain the glow,” interjected Jarial.

“Quite so, but not the colour change or the vicious spitting behaviour! Shardfall magic, you see, might have energy but not focus nor sophistication. What we have witnessed is likely a combination of magics! Indeed, I suspect that an entity (or any number of entities) of a dark magical nature has died within the confines of a Shardfall region and the evil released has combined with the Shardfall energy!”

That provoked a bit of murmuring as people speculated about the implications. I ignored all that of course and continued:

“Yes, the Shardfall provides the energy and the source of black magic provides both focus and malicious intent! Not something we want released upon the world. We have seen what a small amount of decorative thread can do – just imagine what an entire garment made out of the material is capable of!”

There was a collective gasp as this point sank in. The mind might concoct all manner of scenarios including ones where the evil material was being worn at the time it became aroused! Could such a thing corrupt the wearer, transforming a person into a maddened creature hell-bent on violence and destruction?

For all we knew, there may have been many glowing garments sold. And the high prices charged for such a special material would ensure that most would end up in the homes of the nobility . (Or worse still: Royalty!)

There was obviously not a moment to lose.

“So, Bronwyn – it is imperative that you tell me where you found the handkerchief so our investigation may commence.”

“OK matey,” she said innocently. “But before we start, I think that you should better have this other one!”

With that she reached into her pocket and pulled out a handkerchief that was completely pink and glowing.

“NOOOOO!”

********

Aye, all manner of fun and games ensued I can tell you. And the more we investigated this corrupted Shardfall cotton, the stranger and more dangerous things became…

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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with the conclusion of this wonderful story from Lord Blake Blackstone, entitled

A Not so Random Encounter

Background music by Smartsound

Chapter 4

Thoren sat straight up from his dead sleep. He could not decipher whether the screams and sounds of carnage were dream or reality. The battle cry of trolls and their trained imps snapped him from that blissful fog. Still half drunk from Baldrith’s “Special Reserve”, a fermented mixture of Coldwater Waxerby Eyes and Deep Cavern Frost Shrooms, his hand instinctively found “Reckoning”.

The double sided ax was his closest friend and a firm handshake between the two was sometimes a little too welcomed. Thoren laced his fingers through the custom fit, spiked knuckles welded to the hilt and lept to his feet. For less than an instant he debated getting suited up. The sound of gurgling laughter from imps faces buried in human flesh superseded the deliberations. Naturally, Sugesh was already steadily pegging the ice imps with arrows as Thoren burst out of his tent. As the warrior charged towards the enemy, he couldn’t help but notice the beauty of the black imp blood when it splashed and imprinted onto the pure white snow. As his ax made its way through the already half-dead imp’s neck, the head easily detached from the torso. The wings twitched and fluttered while the body continued to run around. Much like a farm hen, except the head screams out demonic curses before it bleeds out. As he made his way towards his next foe, he hummed the words to an ancient dwarven hymn, “There is Beauty in the Chaos”.

~~His mother was the religious one and his father the “activist”. Chaos was ingrained in them. They refused to see the logic in any type of Order due to the blatant corruption of all the races, especially the elves. Family dinners were always accompanied with a quick prayer unto Chaos by the matriarch of the family. His father would then ramble on about how Order only feeds the bellies of kings and rulers and Chaos provides bread to all.

At night his mother would sing them a hymn that was passed down through the generations:
There is Beauty in the Chaos,
Look What It’s Done For Me.
Darkness dwells in Order,
And Only Serves to Control Thee.

Thoren would later grow to form his own set of confused beliefs.~~

Out of the brisk, clear dawn of a new day, a powerful lightning bolt appeared out of nowhere, throwing the warrior back from his charge. He was unharmed but the four imps the spell was targeted towards were melted into gelatinous blobs of smoldering tissue. Before he could scramble back to his feet, one of the half-sized demons was upon him. Its razor sharp claws quickly dug into his shoulder, seemingly chipping into the bone. As the beast stretched its wings and began to lift Thoren into the air, an arrow pierced through one side of the imp’s head and exited through the other with a bloody crunch. Thoren was dropped back to the ground causing the air to evacuate from his lungs. The tears in his shoulders made it hard for him to lift his axe but he willfully managed. As he strode forward yet again, he could hear Lord Baldrith’s booming voice uttering his favorite three words, “In Vas Mani”. A resurgence of strength raced through the fighter’s body and instantly sealed the wounds in his shoulders. The wizard, woodsman, and warrior all worked in precise and graceful concert with one another, easily dispatching the rest of the imps.

The trolls were an entirely different matter in and of themselves. Thoren turned towards the giant beasts, still humming his hymn.

As Thoren drew up Reckoning, and turned towards the trolls, he saw her. The monster had gaped a hole through the basement hatch where the children were hiding. It drew her out by the waist and flashed a half-witted smile towards Lord Baldrith.

~~The blurred images of bright pink and purple flowers at his bedside made him chuckle. Was it Sugesh playing a joke or had this new “friend” Baldrith given him the best high he had ever experienced? He would come to know how the flowers got there, but for now, the pain from even the slightest of movement would fade him back into the darkness.

While he slept, he could hear her playful voice singing the nursery rhymes of The Weeping Seven. Even though he didn’t believe the teachings, the songs soothed him. Sugesh would stop in from time to time and give him a pep talk. Baldrith, or his wife, would bring in concoctions and force them down him. But she seemed to be there almost all of the time and came to be missed when she was not.

Before he could even hold his consciousness, they were introduced.

“My name is Isabella and I am nine years old. My mom and dad are Lord and Lady Baldrith of Wizard’s Rest. My daddy says you might be a mean man and if you wake up to tell him. So that’s what I’m gonna do.”

As the time past, he came to know the child. Her favorite color, pet, and food. He heard numerous stories about princesses and pirates, sometimes the same ones three times over!
She discussed watching her father’s magical experiments. He even got to hear the young princess’ thoughts on fashion. “Never mix pink with green”.

The constant jabbering sometimes went on to annoyance, but never to a bother.~~

Baldrith began preparing another spell. Sugesh planted an arrow deep into the elk antler, plate armor. It pierced the beast’s shoulder but did not weaken its grip on the child. Isabella screamed as the troll reached his fingers into her mouth. Thoren felt a wave of both guilt and adrenaline rush through his body. Baldrith could have cast on the trolls that were battering away at the hatch. Instead, he likely saved the young warrior’s life. Twice!

A scream, a crunch, a tear, and then a gurgle.

Baldrith collapsed. Sugesh’s eyes narrowed and his draw swiftened. Thoren’s grasp on his battle axe, body, and mind all became one in the same. The screams of horror drowned out as his pace quickened. Time around him seemed to slow.

The razor sharp blades of his ax exposed the inner workings of troll bellies. Its two stomachs rolled out onto the trampled snow, drawing with them all organs above the belly button. It laughed as it fell to its knees, dropping her head and her body along the way down. By the time this horrific scene played out, Sugesh had turned the other troll into a pincushion. The rogue stood over the monster, watching as it twitched and bled out.

The farewell to Lord Baldrith, and his quaint village of Wizard’s Rest, did not go as expected. The gift Thoren had made the little girl burned with her in the pyre that night. The two adventurers rode off, smoldering embers slowly fading away in the distance.

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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with a further chapter of this wonderful story from Lord Blake Blackstone, entitled

A Not so Random Encounter

Background music “Caring”, by Smartsound

Chapter Three
Although he would never admit it, Thoren was enjoying the simple and slow paced life at Wizards Rest. He and Sugesh had been on the road for quite some time and probably needed to slow down before ever leaving Ardoris on this crazy adventure.

Sugesh seemed happy for the first time in a long time, just tinkering with his bow and tracking some wolves, learning to ice fish under Baldrith’s direction, or simply sitting, watching, and charting the movements of Daedalus.

Lord Baldrith was an extremely interesting being in his own right. Mostly it was just his family that made up the settlement of Wizards Rest but there were all sorts of odd folk that would pass through on occasion. One memorable evening, an entire troupe of actors filed through on a moment’s notice, turning what seemed to be a quiet ice fishing hamlet into a bustling festival of feast and fornication! A much needed relief to Thoren, who was still not able to travel long distances, but could find a little warmth in the chilly mountains with one of the actresses. Of course, the most beautiful of all the ladies found their way into Sugesh’s tent, but this was par for the course. Baldrith’s stories from around the fire put Daedalus to sleep, welcomed in the new dawn, and for a time, made everyone forget the cataclysm that they now lived under.

Baldrith was always somewhat reserved, no matter the task, but on the other hand seemed to simply enjoy the celebration of life. Whether it was casting a line, hosting a feast, watching the fairer sex dance around a bonfire, or nursing a hard-headed warrior back to life; he had mastered what a lot were searching for- “to be”. Nothing more, nothing less, simply “to be”.

Weeks, possibly months had passed, and even Sugesh was ready for a change of scenery. While sharpening arrowheads by the fire, Sugesh asked “Do you feel strong enough to ride?”

Thoren answered, “Yes.” Even though it still hurt to walk.

Sugesh monitored the progress of his “brother” but would not have even asked if he didn’t think that Thoren’s pride wouldn’t carry him through. “Then we should leave at daybreak tomorrow.”

“Sounds like a plan, we’ve lost too much time already.” Thoren was happy to get moving again but had grown fond of the old mage that had chanted him back to life.

“Maybe someday we can make our way back here for a visit that doesn’t include any broken ribs. I’m sure Lord Baldrith might take us in again?”

“Doubtful….At least not the likes of you two!” Baldrith’s laugh echoed and filled the valley. “Next time it’ll cost you some fine gold pieces to harass those poor girls of the theater troupe…. You think they travel around for free?”

“Of course not sir! Somehow they ended up with all our gold except for two pieces I stashed in my socks!”, Thoren bellowed.

Sugesh shook his head in disgust, “They didn’t charge me a thing for their private performances.”

The quick-witted banter trailed off into the night; the three men realizing that their paths may never cross again, but a lifelong friendship had been born.

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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius. Today I am delighted to welcome Margaritte to the microphone; she will be bringing us another wonderful story from enderandrew, about the continuing travels of Zoe Marie the Bard.

Background music “Revisiting” by Smartsound

Zoe’s Travels: Braemar
By Zoe Marie the Bard

Pete told me I should visit Owl’s Head. It was the largest city in the Vale and was home to the Fire Lotus tavern. I intended to take his advice in due time, but I also like to wander off the beaten path from time to time to discover the unexpected. So instead I took the Kingsroad south to see where it would take me.

A few times on the road I heard hungry wolves howling and began to question taking the less travelled road, but as the sounds were behind me I pressed forward with haste. Eventually I came across Braemar. I was quite grateful to see the lights and fence that represented civilization.

A rather curt guard named Halmar quickly asked where I was from. He wanted to know if I was an outlander or had recently travelled through a portal to the south. I assured him I had not. Then he asked if had seen others who had. I informed him again I had not. I could tell by his demeanor and scars that he was a seasoned Knight from Norgard. How did he come to this quiet corner of the Vale?

I learned that he alone protected the once sleepy village, but no one had been sleeping as of late. Nightmares and attacks had become the norm. People spoke of an aggressive and organized group of cutthroats calling themselves the Red Sash Bandits. As if that weren’t enough, people had been attacked not only by wolves but also the walking dead.

They had but one farmer who fed Braemar, Seamus Olgard, and now he was scared to work his fields. Their hunter, Bodan Koren, did not seem optimistic that he alone could keep the wolf threat at bay.

Flynn Gibson was all too quick to agree to give me lodging in exchange for a performance. He was trying to provide an escape from the pervasive fear in his tavern. But he confided his stock was running low. He asked me to carry word in my travels to other towns to see if anyone had ale to spare.

I knew most ships had stopped sailing into Kingsport and I suspected that was the cause, but I could not reveal that bit of information without betraying the trust of the smugglers who arranged my transport to the Vale.

As the night wound down and the patrons filed out, I went upstairs to try and get some sleep. I was tired from traveling so fast. But as I closed my eyes, all I could dream of were the howls of wolves.

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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with the next chapter in the wonderful story by Lord Blake Blackstone, entitled

A Not so Random Encounter

Background music by Smartsound.

Chapter 2

Quickly the kabut table was cleared of anything that was valuable and the two made for the back door before any more bandits could stumble in looking for a game. Thoren made it onto his horse with a push from Sugesh and a muffled groan. Sugesh leisurely mounted his steed and they were off, weaving their way through the worn streets of Corosen. The toll bridge was not a problem this time as Sugesh’s arrows caught the “attendants” off guard while they puffed on a bowl of freshly ground mandrake root. In pain, Thoren muttered out “Aren’t we gonna get the tolls?”.

Sugesh didn’t find the humor in this either and slapped Thoren’s horse into high gear over the bridge. Dawn would soon be upon them and both knew they needed to get as far away from Corosen as possible before the sun peeked over the mountains. Shock waves jolted Thoren’s core, seemingly taking two of his ribs and popping them out of, and then back in, place with each gallop. Most of the time Sugesh enjoyed a little bit of the pain that Thoren would get himself into with his ill-designed plans. But this time seemed a bit more serious.

After pushing the horses until they could go no further, a stroke of luck presented a creek in front of them. The morning sunlight beamed down upon them. Into the water and downstream they went, trying to throw off any tracking dogs that may have caught their scent. Sugesh was a woodsman from birth and judged the distance they needed to cover the sounds of the panting of the horses. For the first time he got a glimpse of the new blood, streaming from his partner’s mouth, over the already dried blood. The front of Thoren’s tunic seemed to have been dyed from bright green to an odd deep blue.

Before the elf could help his friend, Thoren pushed his way off of the horse and fell to the ground. Staring up at the sky, and with shallow breath, unconsciousness overtook him. He slipped into a deep, translucent dream.

~~The wind blew through his long beard as he levitated high above the Plains of Righ Inis. He watched as the lumberjacks did their work, chopping both trees and the skeletons that made the maple gathered so precious within the walls of the cities. A foggy figure of a boy followed behind picking up the leftover pieces of bark and twigs. Thoren knew who the boy was. He knew that boy would take those scraps back to town and trade them for a loaf of bread, and if the cooks felt sorry enough for him, a cup of soup. The haunting memories of his childhood flooded over him, knotting his gut and forcing him to look away from the scene below.

As he turned away, he found himself in a tavern seated next to Sugesh. Beautiful barmaids and wenches served the bustling and over joyous crowd. One in particular caught his eye and he instantly recognized his object of affection from a time far past. She didn’t seem to notice him or even know who he was, which punished him like the million times he had been punished by her before.

Sugesh sat quietly beside him like he normally did. Sugesh did not take drink or anything that altered his reality for that matter, so naturally he abhorred these types of establishments. On rare occasion, for some reason or another, Thoren was able to talk Sugesh into joining him. This particular night he dragged him here with the promise of drunken women who would straggle in from the Celestial Festival to continue their drinking. Sugesh only had one true mortal weakness and it came by the way of the fairer sex. As Thoren’s vision blurred from too much mead, he tilted his head back to finish the last swig before calling for another.

Staring into the bottom of an empty mug, he could feel the sensation of falling backwards. The wooden floor of the tavern didn’t catch his fall, but rather it seemed as though he had jumped from the tallest mountain peak in Novia. Instead of onto wooden planks, he crashed down atop a funeral pyre. This scene was all too familiar. He recognized the people gathered around mourning a terrible loss. Thoren’s mother was there and standing beside her was a strapping warrior trying to appear strong whilst a tear slipped down his cheek . The smell of burning incenses, ceremonial reagents, and wood filled Thoren’s nostrils~~

Groggy and in pain, Thoren slowly rolled his eyes out of the back of his head and saw Sugesh and a tall wizard standing over him. The wizard was slowly swinging a censer filled and burning an unknown concoction over Thoren, chanting spells in a foreign tongue.

“Where are we?”, Thoren asked.

“You have found your way to Wizards Rest, my friend.” The old, towering mage answered with a smirk. “Make yourself comfortable, it doesn’t appear you will be leaving anytime soon.”

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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius. Once again I’m delighted to welcome Lady Adnor to the microphone – she is bringing us a wonderful story by Enderandrew, entitled

Zoe’s Travels – Soltown
Background music is “Lover’s touch” by Smartsound

Zoe’s Travels: Soltown
By Zoe Marie the Bard

Shortly after leaving Ardoris I met with a courier on the road looking for me. My presence was requested in Soltown to perform at Soltown Inn. This was the first time my services had been commissioned ahead of time for another town. I had already planned on exploring more of the Perennial Coast, so a trip to Soltown made sense.

I am always excited to visit new places, but I’ve never had an eager audience waiting for me. I traveled with haste. That excitement abated and quickly melted into a somber tone when I reached the village.

There was a weary guard named Stanley on the road coming in. I could see immediately in his eyes that he had witnessed things that cannot be unseen. He told me of a recent battle at Solace Bridge. The fort and surrounding homes were burned. Many lives were claimed both by the fire and the undead.

I found refugees up the road in makeshift tents. They still seemed to be in shock. A few looked up desperately at the sound of my footsteps only to look down with heartache and desperation. They seemed to wait for loved ones that may never be coming back.

I made my way to Soltown Inn to talk with Richard, the proprietor. He explained that he sent the courier before the attack. While Soltown is a small village that largely keeps to itself, its residents have a healthy love for music. He makes it a point to bring in as many different bards as he can to entertain his guests. Initially he wasn’t so sure a performance was still appropriate.

I suggested my usual fare might not, but perhaps there was something I could do. His tavern could fit most of the village if people packed in tight, but it wasn’t just the villagers I wanted to perform for. Richard helped round up his guests and anyone he could find, and together we all walked down to where the refugees were camped.

For a night we all sat together under the stars around a fire. I sang soothing songs of hope and healing, but interspersed my performances with moments of reflection. I invited the displaced residents of Solace Bridge to share their favorite memories of home.

One of those residents was a kind woman named Linda, surrounded by her beloved cats. She had just lost everything, but was passing out bark bread to everyone gathered. Richard ran up to his Inn and returned with mead to share with the crowd.

That night I learned that Soltown tries to live quietly on their own, not unlike Braemar and the villages of the Hidden Vale. But Sequanna’s influence of love stretched beyond Ardoris into the rest of the Perennial Coast. Here this private village had welcomed in others with open arms and open hearts. It was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.

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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with a great story from Lord Blake Blackstone, entitled
A Not so Random Encounter
Music by Smartsound

Chapter 1
A single tear wept out of his eye, different than the ones he felt when the funeral pyre was lit for his father. This one was thicker and stuck to his face as it dried. Haunching on all fours, Thoren struggled to focus with the eye that was ripped from the blunt strike that had sent him reeling to the floor.

They probably could have killed him quickly since they got the initiative with an attack from behind. But this unsavory bunch enjoyed watching the pain of a struggle, especially when they had the upper hand.

Thoren laughed to himself and wondered why these were the occasions he lived for, and possibly, would also end up dying for. It was in these moments that he could grasp the truth of life, that there is no past and the future is just a dream. For some reason, he knew he wasn’t lucky enough to have his life force drained at the hands of petty thieves, in a dirty tavern, where no one would ever take notice.

~~They were warned not to come to the gambling den that lay on the outskirts of Kobold territory, by more than one of the travelers and traders along the Dust Road. But the party was in need of food, supplies, and rest, in a warm bed, alongside a good whore. The journey from the east had proven to be a rough task and none of the wandering traders wanted the various hides, skins, and venom sacks they had collected along the way. So the one moon cycle detour was more of a necessity than a want.
Before they came to the first “toll bridge”, which marked the outskirts of the hamlet, Sugesh decided to hang back so it would appear they weren’t together. It meant two tolls, and they really didn’t have the coin to spare, but it also meant that the bandits couldn’t devise a plan for two. Even if the bandits weren’t planning anything, Sugesh knew that Thoren would more than likely drag himself into some sort of trouble. The two were brothers, not by birth, but by adventure.~~

A swift kick to the jaw, followed by a strike of a mace in the ribs, made Thoren spit out his teeth and breath. As he wheezed in, two teeth danced across the floor like dice cast for lots. Never in his life had he lost consciousness in a battle, but he revelled at the fact that there was a first time for everything.

The man that had falsely accused him of cheating in kabut(a card and dice game loved by the lower class) stood over him cursing and laughing and then cursing again. The pure joy of doing evil shown in his eyes.

“Outlander, you think you can come to Corosen and outwit me”, he yelled, “ I built this damned place”.

As the ring leader drew his gold-hilted dagger, he bent over to Thoren’s ear, “ I love drawing red lines on Outlander’s necks. When I’m done, we will prop you back up in that chair at the kabut table so we all can see your crimson smile without having to hear your sarcastic mouth.”

Thuddddd. The makeshift tavern door slammed against the wall and came off one of its hinges. The smile maker instantly was lying on top of Thoren with an arrow through his neck, dagger clanking to the floor. Eye to eye, Thoren gave him a wink as he gurgled for air. Two more short, almost simultaneous, whistles pierced the stagnant air of the bar. And two more fell from the precise shots. The bandit wielding the mace bolted for the back door as Sugesh drew his katanas, discarding his bow for the moment. The remaining thugs engaged in some melee, but were heavily unmatched, leaving one partially decapitated and the other skewered through his gut.

Thoren mustered up the strength to roll the corpse off of him and struggled to his feet. With a grin he looked over at Sugesh, “What do you think that dagger will bring once we get to the city?”.

Sugesh didn’t laugh.

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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with the next chapter in this thrilling story by Ariella, entitled

Jagged Rocks
Background music by Smartsound.

Chapter Three – Betrayal

After several months of being down in the pits, Ariella is finally summoned to her grandmother’s chambers.

As Ariella approaches the chamber, the guards open the doors for her to enter. She looks around the room to find it is crowded, she quickly calculates about twenty others were there. Among them is Temarin. Ariella takes a deep breath and begins to approach her grandmother. As she walks past Temarin she decides to pretend he is not there, but suddenly stops. Something was not right, something was different with him. It was not like Temarin to not watch her every move or to not try and humiliate her in some way.
Slowly she turns to face him.

At first, Temarin did not notice Ariella watching him but it was too late by the time he did, Ariella had already noticed what had his attention; -the tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty standing in the back of the chamber, who was also was gazing upon Temarin. Ariella instantly knew by the way they looked at each other, they were lovers.

Ariella did not love her mate, nor did she care to, but seeing him look upon another shot a streak of jealousy through her.

Ariella and Temarin each came from nobility and therefore their elders matched them together at birth, a bond which could not be broken except by death. When they were younger, they spent many hours together training; for the most part they got along well and were evenly matched in skills, but one day while their elders were watching them train, Ariella got the best of Temarin and won the match. Temarin was utterly humiliated and from that moment on he was determined to make Ariella pay for his humiliation. Never again were they friends, they became rivals, everything was a battle. He wanted dominance and control over her and he would do anything to get it.
Ariella began to despise him and eventually hated him and wanted nothing more to do with him, but their marriage could not be broken, except with the death of the other and they were forbidden by their elders to kill each other.

However, they never said anything about killing their mate’s lover…..

Before Temarin could say or do anything, Ariella collected herself and approached her grandmother and bowed down.

Zes’Aleanana watches Ariella from the time she walks in the chamber room until the time she bows before her. She does not acknowledge Ariella but decides to circle the room, like a vulture circling its prey before devouring its carcasses.

Inside the chamber, silently servants hurry to and fro, trying to anticipate Zes’Aleanana’s every need before they are punished for not seeing to her quickly enough. Zes’Aleanana crosses the room and stands before the still bowing Ariella, but before she can say anything there is a deafening clatter of heavy footsteps out in the hall, followed by the sound of chaos and a thud as the door is flung open.

A human priest swirls into the room with all the heat and destruction of a firestorm. With him comes the stench of blood and sweat. His face is white with fury, making him look unnatural. Close on his heels are Adinagh, the male elder and Malkiira, the youngest of the female elders, followed by a dozen Orc. Before anyone knew what was happening the entire room is engulfed by his force.

What is this!, Zes’Aleanana demanded, stepping in front of Ariella, giving her just enough time to roll out of the way and out of sight. Without word or warning, Adinagh walks up to Zes’Aleanana and hauls back and strikes her with such force Zes’Aleanana’s neck snaps back with an audible crack. As her grandmother’s body falls to the ground, Ariella squeezes through a hidden door in the back of the room into a moonlit hall.

Ariella moved swiftly down the corridor trying to steady her breathing and keeping her mind clear and not on her grandmother or on all the questions going through her mind at this moment. There will be time enough for that later, she tells herself. She needs to get to her rooms and fast. But how many twist and turns did she take, who else knows of these hidden passages?

Finally, she reaches the south wing of the city; she pauses, putting her ear to the wall, listening for any movement, nothing. She gently opens the hidden passage to her room and silently slips in. It is empty. Quickening her pace, she changes into her leather armor and traveling cloak. She arms herself with all her daggers and slings her bow across her back then quietly she slips back into the hidden corridor.

Caution prevails and she decides to double back through the corridor and use the lower center square to approach the outer city. She pauses for a moment at the foot of the winding steps. As she looks out into the center of the city, to her horror, groups of orc are attacking children, tearing their slender bodies apart between themselves. Human priests and soldiers are posted all around, while some are rounding up the slaves into a corner. The dead of the weak are scattered around. A fire is engulfing the far side of the city.

Shouts from above pull Ariella’s attention, it is Vierithra, the second oldest female elder, “The tunnel! They’ve been let in through the tunnel!” For a moment, Ariella just stood there, blinking. Then more shouting and fighting. The clash of metal on metal, the static of magic stifling the air making it hard to breathe. An arrow zinged past Ariella, finding its home in Vierithra. It was a slaughterhouse. They had the element of surprise. But wait, the more she looked, it was not only the priest and the orc fighting the drow, it was Drow on Drow. Her own people, butchering her own people. Gritting her teeth, she turned back up the winding stairs, back towards her grandmother’s chambers.

By the time she made it back to her grandmother’s room her blood was boiling, roaring so loudly in her ears she could barely hear. She kept replaying the scene from the center city in her head. Drow betraying Drow for the sake of Humans. They were armed with magic and iron, they did not differentiate between young and old, male and female, as they hacked and slaughtered. There was blood everywhere. Ariella knew death, she was born into it, trained from a young age in it, and was- is an assassin, had been the hand of death to deliver many death blows, but there was always a reason, none were innocent. Not this, this made her stomach shift. She could not understand the endless butchering of so many innocents “Still your breathing, focus” she tells herself, and then she pulls her daggers into her hands and steps in.

The chamber was empty except for where Zes’Aleanana’s body lay crumpled on the floor. Upon looking at her grandmother, Ariella was not expecting the ping to her chest. Catching her breath, she swiftly dismisses it and makes a quick search of the room hoping to find anything that would explain what was happening down in the city.

Ariella kneels besides her grandmother, knowing this would be the last time she would look upon her. “If only she had taught me how to watch innocents die, as well as she taught me how to kill…” Ariella seethes.

Calming herself, Ariella leaves the room in search of answers.

Someone moved heavily and quickly behind her, not bothering to silence their steps. Quickly, Ariella ducked behind a crevice then slowly and silently crouched for the attack. Unexpectedly, the footsteps moved past her; as they did, she partially caught the image of the owner. It was Malkiira, the youngest of the elders. Ariella remembered she was with the human priest and Adinagh as they entered her grandmother’s chamber. With all the grace Ariella could summon, she stood and moved stealthily down the passage, towards Malkiira, who had paused.

Ariella knew this was not going to be an easy task. As she expected, Malkirra lunched herself at Ariella, going straight for the kill, but Ariella whirled away as Malkiira struck nothing but air, and Ariella slammed the butt of her dagger into Malkiira’s spine. Malkiira staggered, but kept upright, turning on one foot as she charged after Ariella again. Ariella took the blow this time, angling herself so she took the hit. Ariella’s daggers were up and she jumped toward Malkiira, letting the force of her body slam into the upper part of Malkiira’s body aiming her daggers straight for her face. Malkiira sidestepped and swirled, but stumbled, Ariella’s fist was waiting, as it met Malkiira’s nose, she savored the rush of pain through her hand and the crunch of Malkiira’s bones beneath her knuckles. Ariella leapt back before Malkiira had a chance to strike back with her blades. Blood gleamed as it trickled from her nose, Ariella shoved Malkiira, but Malkiira regained her footing. Malkiira wiped at her bloody nose, eyes gleaming as she panted. Malkiira’s face became feral, and she charged again, aiming a blade towards Ariella’s heart but it was too fast and too wild for Malkirra to stop. Ariella dropped into a crouch as Malkirra’s blade sailed over Ariella’s head. Ariella lashed out at Malkiira’s legs. Malkiira did not even have time to cry out as Ariella swept her feet out from under her, nor did she have time to raise her weapon before Ariella crouched over her chest, and drove her dagger through Malkiira’s throat.

Ariella rolled off Malkiira onto the stone floor trying to catch her breath. She notices shadows flickering across the wall – “get up” she tells herself. As she rises, she grabs her dagger from Malkiira’s throat and doesn’t bother to clean it off then drags the body into a dark corner out of sight. Quickly, she scales the rough wall concealing her body against the roof rafters. As the two priests pass under her, she hears one of them say “Adinagh is no fool, we need to keep him thinking he is in charge, he will keep the other Drow, who have survived tonight’s raid, under control. If not they will all perish like the rest that tried to go against us here tonight”, as he let out a maniacal laugh.

Ariella stayed hidden up in the rafters for what seemed like an eternity, taking in all that had happened. When all was quiet she went back down into the city. The fighting finally stopped. Smoke filled the air as the city was miserably quiet. From the looks of things the priests had taken control of the whole city. A few Orcs were picking through what was left of the dead that were scattered around. Guards were posted around the outer wall.
Ariella gradually made her way towards Adinagh’s chambers.

Just inside his room a slave stood nearby, Adinagh was hunched over a desk looking over some papers. As the torch light fell on his face, the flame gleamed in his eyes.

“I can see from your eyes you are a wise old man.” Startled, Adinagh heaved himself into an upright position. “Take heed of what I’m about to tell you.” Ariella snided. “You are nothing. You are Elder no more here.” Adinagh growled as he stomped forward towards her. “I am Elder until someone throws me down, girl. Do you think you can do that?” “I will not have to; the priests will do it for me”. Ariella laughed, “They are the rulers here, not you.”
He reached out and took a fistful of Ariella’s hair, pulling her head back before she could do anything. “They will never rule here, I hired them to take control of the city, I killed Zes’Aleanana. I am Elder now”

Rapidly, he tightened his grip and looked down upon Ariella. Ariella’s eyes widen dark with pain and sudden fear. Adinagh billowed, “I will mate you!” She gasped. “You cannot. I am your son’s mate until death.” “I shall mate you”, Adinagh said again, “and breed on you an heir who will make me High Elder.” He bent over her to roughly take a kiss. Ariella twisted in his grip; her hand flashed between them. He let out a yowl giving her just enough time to leap back with daggers in her hand. Adinagh’s face was ripped from ear to chin, she had narrowly missed killing him. She ducked under his arm, rolling out to the left bringing her dagger across it. A precision attack, but it missed the artery she was aiming for. Adinagh yelled for the guards and swung toward her. His face bulging as his eyes gleamed. He wheeled around and struck her down to the ground with a single blow of his fist. To Ariella’s amazement, she was not broken. Rising up again, daggers still in her grasp, she immediately rolled into a defensive stance just out of his reach. As he rounded on her again, she moved towards the open window. Ariella stated flatly “I will never be your mate” as she shoved herself out the window and down towards the cliffs.

Stepping out onto the cliff would be the hardest step she would ever take. She would be leaving the only life she knew; leaving would mark her as a coward and a traitor. There would be no punishment, only death.

Whispering to herself, “Forgive me grandmother” She turned, and pulled her hood over her head.
No sooner than she reached the edge of the cliffs, a sudden sharp streak of deafening light lit up the night sky. She could feel the static in the air. Turning back towards the jagged rocks Ariella could see dark clouds billowing up their serrated tops. This was no ordinary storm; dark magic was in the air. She knew she needed to put distance between her and these mountains.

Ariella exploded into a run.

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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with another instalment of this wonderful story from Ariella, entitled Jagged Rocks

Background music by Smartsound.

Chapter Two – The Pits

Training began at the age of four and most drows are lethal by the age of eight. It didn’t matter, whether it was with magic, weapons or just plan skill. Killing was a way of life for a drow, and if they couldn’t or refused, it usually meant death. In some cases, rarely, but in some cases, depending on their potential, punishment could be issued instead of death. Most times death would have been the better choice.

Down in the training quarters, the air was cold and damp. Today’s training was intense so Ariella did not feel the cold. She dropped and spun, slicing her opponent’s thigh with her dagger in her right hand, quickly raising to bring up her left dagger, and cutting all the way through his bicep. Spinning again, her right dagger nearly slicing his neck, but this time he was quick, sidestepping her and spinning away he slices her shoulder. Anger boiling in her, “mistake, another mistake” she scolded herself. She should have finished him by now. Just then, out of the corner of her eye, Ariella caught a movement, it was Temarin, watching her. Watching her make mistakes, this infuriates her, but not wanting to give him the slightest satisfaction, she slows her breathing, she wills herself to concentrate, the calm that comes over her would chill anyone to the bone.

This time, her opponent does not stand a chance, she will show Temarin just how ruthless she can be. As her victim lunges, she flips over him landing behind him and with no emotion, slices his neck, nearly decapitating him. He falls with a thump. She turns to face Temarin, but he is gone.

Looking down at her victim, she runs her hands through her unbound hair, at that moment she only understands one thing, she understood it with perfect clarity. There was no way in any realm of Hell she could stay here in the underdark much longer. She had to find a way out, and soon.

After cleaning off her daggers, she puts them back in their sheaths until next time.

It was a grueling, mindless day of training in the pits. The master trainer fidgeted but kept his focus on Ariella, “turn your aggression into a weapon” he barked. A growl erupted from Ariella, she lunging for him but without warning he hurled dagger after dagger at her. How many times he nicked her hands or arms or face. A dagger flew from her hand towards the invisible barrier between her and the trainer, then another as if racing for his head, it hit the barrier with a flash and bounced back, ricocheting off the wall behind her. Areilla shielded herself, she cursed loudly. “you’re pathetic!” he yelled, she snarled at the direct insult. Ducking and dodging, sending a dagger, with deadly efficiency towards him. He shielded it. She hissed. She moved from throwing weapons to hand to hand combat. Discipline, brutality is all she thought. Swift, strong and sure she moved like the wind. Her trainer watched her and thought to himself “her grandmother might be a monster, but she trained Ariella thoroughly.” She rolled into a crouched position, then ducked and flipped with such skill and stealth, like a jaguar, stalking her prey then moving in for the kill.

Sweating and panting it was all she could do from not sinking to her knees, but she made her legs work, made herself take another breath after breath as the stars continued bursting before her eyes. She had barely sunk to her knees when she vomited, heaving until she had nothing left inside her. She slowly got to her feet, not bothering to brush off the dirt and vomit and kept practicing.

Through the spots in her vision, she saw her grandmother. She knew Temarin reported any mistakes she had made.

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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with a wonderful story from Ariella, entitled

Jagged Rocks
Music by Smartsound

Chapter One – Jagged Rocks

The onyx cut into Ariella’s feet. She knew these jagged rocks, how they smelled and how naturally they sliced into skin. They pierced like fangs into the Underdark, with no end in sight. The cold bit right through the rags she clutched around her and exposed the memory of this place. Her stomach rose to her throat and a shiver went down her spine. How? How did she get back here? She had escaped, she was free. How did this happen?

Ariella moved to steady herself as her shackles clanked, but new pain seared down her back. She fell to the ground, those familiar rocks gashing her knees. Catching her breath. Screaming. Blinding pain. Falling forward. Palms splitting open.

“Get on your feet,” someone barked. Tears stung her eyes, and the whip cracked again. It found bone. Everything exploded in agony, and she collapsed. So close to freedom, but there would be no escape this time…

Just before she passed out, a whisper reached into her pain. “Don’t be afraid, I am here to help you.”

Ariella’s eyes flew open. She panted, then jerked upright. A dream, but it wasn’t just a dream…

Standing shackled in the center of the town square, Ariella held her head high. Behind her, Temarin moved in closer. “Perhaps if you had killed that rivvil child, you wouldn’t be in this predicament. But no, in your arrogance and self-pride, you think you are above me. Soon, you will submit.” She ignored him. He was not her priority at the moment. One day, though, he would be.

Ariella studied the four elders assembled before her. Three females and one male, all far older and deadlier than any Drow she has ever known. She had known from the moment she decided to spare the child, she would be punished, if not put to death.

After what seemed like hours, Malkiira, the youngest of the female elders, finally spoke, “Explain your reasoning for sparing the rivvil child.” Ariella’s stomach twisted, this was a trap. Any wrong reason, or any reason for that matter, could mean her death. Drow are trained from a young age not to show compassion. If you did, it meant you had a soul and everyone knows Drow are born without them. Refusing to meet her stare, Ariella kept her features neutral. Her answer was slowly measured out, “If the child had been caught, I would have killed him.” Ariella could feel Temarin tense behind her. He knew the truth: she would not have killed the child.

Adinagh pulled his lips back from his teeth. “What do you mean ‘if’ the child had been caught. It was your duty to kill that rivvil child.” She could feel Temarin eying her from behind. He wanted vengeance. “It was your duty to kill that rivvil child,” spoke Vierithra, the second of the female elders, “you betrayed your race by not killing …” Ariella seethed. Her fists clenched and unclenched. “The place was swarming with guards and soldiers. If I had grabbed the child, it would have put the whole mission in jeopardy.” Zes’Aleanana rose from her chair. “Enough.” This was taking too long and they had other matters to attend to.

Ariella froze. Zes’Aleanana was her grandmother and the eldest. When she commanded you did not breathe, for any movement could mean instant death. She glided towards Ariella, grabbing her chin in one hand and forcing her to look up. Internally, Ariella remained defiant. Sensing this, Zes’Aleanana’s eyes flashed with contempt, then repulsion. Air escaped her mouth in a hiss. “You’re a fool for not killing the rivvil child. You will be controlled and you will do what you are told, no matter the consequences.”

Zes’Aleanana backed away and moved a finger to her lips. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Now, for your disobedience, what punishment would be fitting? Ah, yes.” She smiled as she looked directly into Ariella’s eyes. “For failing in your duties, you will be taught a lesson in submission. Temarin will execute your punishment.” Temarin beamed with pride. He knew that Zes’Aleanana was fully aware that Ariella despised him. He sneered in triumph. “It will be my pleasure…”

Now this memory faded into blackness and pain amidst the jagged rocks.

The angelic voice returned, “Don’t be afraid, I can heal you. Permit me to do so.” Ariella didn’t say anything but turned her head to try to see who was speaking. The pain was unbearable. However, static from his magic began to grow and surround her. “I will not die,” she told herself. She closed her eyes and let herself become one with the rhythm of his power. The response was perfect calm, “No, you will not die…”

Ariella awoke before dawn in her rooms. Her sleep of dreams and memories made her unsure how long she had been sleeping or where she was. She was even more disoriented by being in the Underdark. All she knew of time was that others were up and active outside her room. Ariella examined herself; her back and arm were healed, but were grossly scarred.

There was a slight tap on the door and a slave girl came in with a bowl of broth. Ariella did not recognize her. She moved quickly to set the broth down, keeping her eyes averted.”Zes’Aleanana will be here within the hour.” Ariella sensed bitterness in her words. She turned quickly and left the room, closing the door. Ariella crawled out of bed, draped herself with her cloak and made her way to the table. She gulped down the broth and realized she was famished. She wished they would have brought something more than broth.

Ariella and her grandmother were evenly matched in terms of beauty. There was no mistaking their lineage. Both had moon-white hair, onyx skin, and eyes of the darkest jade. Their gaze would wither the fairest rose. But that is where their similarity ended. Zes’Aleanana was alluring and wicked. She had been born soulless and heartless as a drow ought to be. She did not show mercy, or make mistakes.

Instinctively Ariella rose when her grandmother walked into the room. She did not utter a word, lest her tongue be ripped clean from her mouth. The faint tang of fear drifted in the air. Zes’Aleanana was businesslike as always. “You are to be sent back down to training quarters until you can prove yourself worthy. You will leave now.” Ariella’s jaw feathered but one jerk of the chin from her grandmother was all it took for her to obey.