July 7 2015

The Mug of Balldrick, Vol II – by enderandrew – narrated by Sharm

Hello everyone, this is Asclepius. Once again I am delighted to welcome Sharm to the mic; she is bringing us the conclusion of a fabulous story by enderandrew.

The Mug of Balldrick: Vol II
By Zoe Marie the Bard

I wished my story ended there with King Reginald content and the rangers safe at home in the woods. Sadly, it does not. Everyone knows the fabled Mug of Balldrick is lost, waiting for someone else to claim it. If they knew why, perhaps they would not seek it.

There is power and value in a sword that can slice through a dragon’s hide like paper, or a lute that can sate the appetites of deadly serpents in the sea. Most of these treasures become forgotten trophies in a vault, or only have particular worth when they are used by the king’s armies far from his home. But there is also great power in appeasement. This mug was designed to be used by the king. Always was it in his sight or grasp, and quick was it to bring King Reginald to a sleepy and content state with the whiskey contained within.

His armies slowed their conquest. More frequently they were called home for banquets, parades and revels. Their ruler wanted cause to celebrate and for everyone to see his favorite trophy time and time again, firmly in his grasp. The soldiers were thrilled to return home to their families and see an end to war they thought they might never see. Sages and bards alike praised their benevolent royalty for the foresight not to overextend their reach until they finally lost a major battle.

New maps were commissioned as this mighty empire now seemed to have stabilized. Lines were no longer being redrawn every day. When the cartographers were done, a giant framed tapestry of this new empire was prepared for the royal banquet hall.

But as the king stared at his new empire, his smile faded. There was one stretch of land he surrounded on all sides, but did not claim. There was land within his borders that was not his own. No one knew why, but it led people to question. Furthermore, the surviving neighboring kingdoms were now emboldened and proud. Their lands were too formidable to conquer where so many others fell before them.

Reginald would stare at this map every night while sipping from his precious mug, knowing it originated from these woods he had not yet claimed. If the woods produced his favorite trophy, then what further treasures lay unclaimed? Was he a fool to ignore them?

He commanded his armies to battle one last time. He would claim those last woods and end any debate as to why his empire did not seem whole. King Reginald traveled with his army, ready to use his unique talents to spot any hidden magical treasures.

The armies amassed outside the woods, but they saw no rangers prepared to fight them. For all they knew, there were only the small number they encountered years before. Victory was assured and King Reginald wanted to mark the occasion with a toast to show off his prized treasure once more to his entire gathered army. As he commanded the invasion to begin and then brought the mug to his lips, he uttered “that is quite cold.”

That chill spread from his lips until his entire body froze. A wall of ice began spreading towards his court and army. It bore the mass of a growing glacier, but moved like a hurricane. It became the new inevitability of conquest, replacing the army that once had a similar effect. Within seconds, his entire army was trapped in ice, unable to move.

The small band of rangers emerged from their woods, with a small stampede of animals in front of them. The frozen army shattered before them, ice and blood flooding the edge of the forest. There was another stream of torrential tears from the eyes of the rangers as they laid waste regretfully to the army who had broken their vow.

Some say this led to the name of Bloodriver, and these rangers were the progenitors who would someday become the Elves of Vertas Pass under Obsidian magic. I do not know that.

Nor can I verify the claims that the cursed mug was thrown into the fires of Blackblade Pass, hoping to quench the neverending chill made more potent by the ever-present sense of the grasp of death itself. But I can say that story continues that the reason the mug never ran dry is it contained a portal to an elemental plane of whiskey. The flames of Blackblade Pass supposedly set fire to the entire elemental plane, leading to angry whiskey elementals invading, in turn leading to the cataclysmic Fall.

All I can say for certain is that if this mug is real, the story is quite clear. It was a prized treasure in honest hands, and a deadly curse in dishonest ones.

Album with EQ - B&A - Stile T as SM

July 4 2015

To Love Me – by enderandrew – narrated by littlegeeklost

Hello everyone, this is Asclepius. We have another guest narrator for you today, this time I’m glad to welcome littlegeeklost, who is bringing us a great story by enderandrew.
Background music “Heart Lessons”, by Smartsound.

To Love Me
By Zoe Marie the Bard

Kendrick looked up and swore he truly saw for the first time.

He was no poet. He couldn’t explain why certain curves, softness, warmth and glow affected him such, no more than he could explain why the right chords from a lute could bring him near to tears. But before him was a beauty so unparalleled and enchanting that he was literally awestruck. If everything that evoked happiness in him could be distilled in one human being, it stood within his sight just then.

In took him perhaps a minute for the sucking feeling in his chest to remind him that he should breathe. That need surpassed his need to touch and kiss this wondrous face, but only just. Emboldened, he strode over.

“Forgive me Miss if I am out of line, but I have never truly known beauty until just now. Grant me a kindness with both your name and the pleasure of your company for perhaps a meal or any arbitrary pursuit you can imagine.”

Erin has accustomed herself to flattery and tried to remain gracious even though it was commonplace. But she couldn’t help but chuckle as Kendrick’s customer took offense to how he had walked away in a near trance to approach her.

“I thank you for your words kind sir, but I should not take you from your patrons.”

“Will full apologies to you both, I do not think I’ll forgive myself if I merely let you go without professing how I feel this moment. Please, tell me your name and that you will see me again. If this isn’t the very definition of love at first sight, then I know nothing.”

Erin’s flattered smile faded a bit into disappointment. “Please sir, do not hang love on sight. You know not me, nor my name. In time my beauty may fade. Ephemeral passions will fade even faster. Let us part then as friends with fond memories of a moment, but please do not mistake this for love.”

A desperate pang set in with Kendrick. The words stung, but he was not to be dissuaded. “If what I feel this moment isn’t love, then perhaps I don’t know what is. But I’m willing to learn.”

She sighed and took a long look at her mysterious suitor. “The troubadours would say love makes fools of us all. But I would say you cannot love that which you do not know. Love comes from devotion and understanding, To love me is to know me.”

Kendrick understood that his earlier professions were firmly rebuked but he felt strangely reassured. “Perhaps I was mistaken. But then teach me. I would know you if it pleases you.”

She relented with a bashful smile. It was true that her beauty was legendary and she was accustomed to repeated suitors. But there was an undeniable sincerity here that struck her, even if it seemed misguided. If someone else wanted to know her, and how she felt about love she saw no harm in sharing her views. So they walked together that night along the peaceful waterways of Ardoris. They spoke of their respectful childhoods and even childhood dreams. The next day Kendrick wished to see her again, but she had her horses to attend to. So he accompanied her in her chores and poured as much consideration and compassion into them as he doted upon her.

Each evening was like the previous with Erin unable to find reason why Kendrick couldn’t accompany her for whatever tasks demanded her time. Days turned into weeks and months, brimming full of fond memories until even years passed.

Erin never saw Kendrick (kind as he was) with the same fiery passion that he initially saw her, but in time they saw each other in the same light. There was a familiar understanding that warmed each other’s hearts at the mere thought of each other.

Kendrick reached out his hands to Erin’s soft cheeks and paused momentarily before uttering “You told me once that to love you is to know you.”

He drank deeply from her lips, kissing her with a passion refined through time.

“I would add, to know you is to love you.”

Album with EQ - B&A - Stile T as SM

July 1 2015

Sir Franks Story Part 1-Written by Avatar Acid

Hello Everyone…here is a wonderful story by Avatar Acid. This performance includes a wonderful cast of voice actors.

CAST:

Narrator: Womby

Sir Frank: Lord Baldrith

Shady Cat’s vendor/bartender: Doctor Shroud

Magistrate Telar: Cordelayne

The Black Mage: Staticgrazer

Two Men Discussing Sir Frank: Lord Baldrith

Guard: TheMadHermit

Produced by: Lord Baldrith

Sir Franks Story Part 1 by Avatar Acid

Welcome to old manor by Alexandr Zhelanov

On the very edge of the known world shrouded in wonder and mystery lies the Outpost,far beyond the claimed territories of Governments, Empires, and Lords, it is a destination for many. Misfits, travelers, diplomats, and traders who seek opportunities usually outside their own means often find their way to the Outpost for the promise of a new chance in life.

 

Sir Frank’s intentions however were to make his visit to the Outpost as short as possible, he is quite happy with the life he already has and the Outpost is simply the last stop in the next great chapter of that life. With dusk finally coming to an end he rose to his feet, sticking into his mouth the last piece of a fine dried meat selection he had prepared to replenish his body before the long day ahead. He was acutely aware of his surroundings including the anxious scratching of claws in a tree’s branches above him. He clamped down on the meat with his teeth and tore a piece off, then with a sharp whistle he tossed it up in the air and with all the grace of a drunken fool his uniquely abled companion swooped from the branches to catch it.

 

Frank: “I’ll give that one a six Furt, keep trying through!” said Sir Frank.

 

Completely unfazed by the comment Furt happily ate his prize, his broad wings keeping him in the air as he did so. Sir Frank put out a small concealed fire which was built into the side of some rock outcroppings to keep it hidden from prying eyes, and when he heard the chewing stop he reached into his pocket for a coin.

 

He flipped it up into the air for Furt with a simple suggestion and gesture with his left hand towards the Outpost, “You know what to do Furt.”

Histories and tales by Alexandr Zhelanov

Furt let out a quick bark of acknowledgment and wasted no time at all, he flew off in the direction of the Outpost. Sir Frank collected his things, drew his cloak and started off himself to cover the short distance between his position and the Outpost. He doesn’t have long on the short walk but uses that time to think about troubling things and about the information in which he has come by, about the danger which now surrounds the world. Information privy to only those who know how to firstly intercept it, and then decipher it. Sir Frank was unsure as to exactly when in the near months or years these dark times would come to pass, but he is sure of one thing and that is that the world will look very different in the not so distant future. Everything will change and many will not live to see it, Sir Frank had come to one conclusion. He is going to make it through the troubling times ahead, no matter the cost.

 

Soon enough Sir Frank came to one of the entrance gates to the Outpost which is already open, he walked through to be met by a group of guards most of whom were busy talking with various incoming travelers like himself. One of the guards finished and started to walk towards him with a general look of disapproval.

 

Guard: “Name?” the guard asked with a stiff upper lip.

 

Frank: “Frank.” he replied, knowing there wasn’t a good chance anyone here would recognize the Master of Coin and he wanted to remain as inconspicuous as possible. Though that won’t last long, Sir Frank has already spotted two men looking his way with his keen eyes.

 

Guard: “What is your business here in the Outpost?” the guard asked again.

 

Frank: “I’m on my way through, I’m just here for the night.” he said as he brought his finger to his ear, with a twist he adjusted something that none other than him knew was there. Turning his ear towards the two men, Sir Frank listened.

 

Seemingly Random Guy 1: “I wonder what the Master of Coin is doing all the way out here,” one of the men asked the other. “there is nothing for him here.” Sir Frank observed their puzzled expressions as he eavesdropped in on their conversation. He recognized the clothing worn by the two men and had made a guess on their identities based on information he had read over in the past. He turned his attention back to the guard who handed him a piece of paper.

 

Guard: “Don’t lose this,” the guard said pointing. “the Shady Cat isn’t far, just around that corner and a ten minute walk, they’ll have a room.”

 

Aristocracy by Alexandr Zhelanov

 

Frank: Sir Frank nodded as he collected the note the guard handed him and set off, walking right by the two men who had been speaking about him very nonchalantly, again catching part of their conversation as he walked by, “Very odd indeed.”

 

Sir Frank made his way towards the Shady Cat taking in, or rather being bombarded by, his surroundings. A hodgepodge of style and décor from many different cultures, and still to his surprise it all flowed together more like a live performance of the arts, lacking the disorder of the abstract.

 

The walk was quick, he came upon the sight of the Shady Cat in no time at all. Nothing unremarkable at first glance, just the typical smells and sounds which might accompany any such establishment. A waft of savoury foods, large quantities of ale, and of course the music of Bards. Sir Frank made his way past your average porch dwellers and straight into the Shady Cat.

Sailor Waltz With Water Effects C64 Style by skrjablin

 

The Bards had just started a new song, a pleasant introduction to the piece was being played by skilled lutenist, and chatter was not loud and at an even murmur. Sir Frank slowed his walk to the vendor as he took a mental note of the Shady Cat’s layout. A large man to his left slammed his metal jug onto the wooden table after releasing it of all liquid, two exits in the back and one in the front, stairs up to his right, seating and stage to his left. Chatter died as a vocalist began to sing, your average song about regret and hindsight, but decent skill for the location he thought to himself.

Come Around by p0ss

 

The vendor looked up from behind the counter as Sir Frank approached andbefore the vendor could offer Sir Frank stated his intent.

 

Frank: “Just a room for the night.” he indicated to the vendor.

 

Vendor: “Right. That’ll be eleven and a quarter. Just make’r half.”

Winter Waltz by Alexandr Zhelanov

 

Frank: Sir Frank grinned, he put down eleven and then asked “So why then eleven and a half?”

 

Vendor: “We round up round here, ain’t nobody got a quarter piece any more.” he said taking what Sir Frank had already laid down.

 

Frank: “I’ve always got exact change.” Sir Frank jibed as he flipped the rare quarter piece up into the air landing into one of the cups the vendor had picked up to polish.

 

Vendor: “I’ll be a son of, ya know this is worth more than the eleven don’t you?” he asked surprised.

 

Frank: “Keep it, it wasn’t my only one,” he said as he held out his hand, the vendor handed him a key. “thanks.”

 

Vendor: “Your loss friend. Up one, all the way down, seventeen.” said the vendor out his big smile as he pocketed the quarter piece.

 

Sir Frank nodded then climbed the stairs to the first floor and walked the unusually long hallway of unusually small rooms, the original rooms were probably cut into halves he thought, unlocked his room and walked in. Not exactly what he was accustom to, but he didn’t think he would be there long enough to notice. After having a quick look around the room he laid down on the bed and put his feet up.

 

With the music and comfort of a bed for a change, he thought he could just slip into his first decent sleep in a long while. What he didn’t do however, is forget who he is and what he has to do, his eyes opened, he heard several footsteps. Sir Frank sat up hung his feet over the end of the bed onto a large circular rug, his staff made a hollow thud as he lowered it to the floor.

Steeps of Destiny by Alexandr Zhelanov

 

 

The greeting party seemed well organized, they didn’t talk as they arrived and arranged themselves outside the door. Then Sir Frank heard a few words, foul words, magic words, the door unlocked as if the key was presented and then burst open after a kick. Two men with short pole arms hurried in flanking two others, one with a staff, and another well-dressed individual with his weapon not drawn. There was an unusual silence for a while as the men all faced each other in stare.

 

Frank: “I assume one of you is going to tell me what all of this is about.” Sir Frank calmly stated.

 

Telar: “Sir Frank, Master of Coin?” the man in the decent garb asked.

 

Frank: “Got me in one.” he responded.

 

Telar: “I am Magistrate Telar, I had to see this one for myself.

 

Frank: “Well Magistrate,” Sir Frank commented while standing up, “the show is actually down stairs, I know this because I can hear it from up here.”

 

Magistrate Telar let out a crooked smile but his men had no such appreciation of Sir Frank’s humour, the men with pole arms were visibly agitated that he had stood up. The man with the staff Sir Frank quite appropriately assumed was the magic user, held out his hand towards the ground.

 

The Black: “Going somewhere?” the noticeably thin and pale man asked Sir Frank.

 

Frank: “Well yes, now that you mention it my sickly friend, I am leaving, far past this place in fact. You won’t really have to worry abo—“ he was cut off as the magic user slammed his staff down onto the wooden floor. A few words came out of his vile mouth again as his staff glowed a subtle red hue.

Tragedy Alley by Alexandr Zhelanov

 

The Black: “You aren’t going anywhere Frank,” said the magic user, “you’ll be coming with us now.” he finished quite pleased with himself.

 

Frank: “Why is that?” Sir Frank asked as he lifted his rod off the carpet. Sir Frank stepped off the carpet to the side at great disbelief by the men in the room. He kicked the carpet aside revealing a magical design of some kind which was painted on the floor. “Because of this here magic trick? Have to admit, the staff glowing red was kind of neat though. I’m surprised you had enough time to design this circle too, don’t you have some reagents somewhere that need sniffing?”

 

The guard types stepped back and the magic man was about to speak again but Magistrate Telar cut him off. “Now, now, everyone I think we can resolve this without further escalation. Please leave me with Sir Frank for a moment.”

 

Without question all three vacated the room, Magistrate Telar closed the door behind them then unclasped his scabbard and sword. He leaned it against the wall then walked over to a small table to sit in one of the chairs, motioning for Sir Frank to join him.

Dissonant Waltz by Yubatake

Telar: “Sir Frank,” Telar started as Sir Frank took his seat, “It seems that a man of your prominence isn’t able to remain entirely invisible while travelling abroad. I was actually alerted to your arrival about a day ago by an, interested party.

 

Frank: “Some party.” Sir Frank shot out.

 

Telar: “Quite. I am sure you are well aware of the Outpost’s status on intergovernmental affairs, we don’t choose sides. We’re a place where everyone can come to do business, make the deals you just can’t make back south.” Telar asserted.

 

Frank: “Wild guess here,” Sir Frank started, “there are exceptions.”

 

Telar: Telar continued. “I like to think of these little occurrences as compromises. When I became aware of who you are and learned that you were travelling to some yet to be known destination, it raised my interest also. There might be more people than you think who are interested in where you are going and what you are up to Sir Frank.”

 

Frank: “That is of course my business Magistrate, none of theirs, none of yours.” He responded.

 

Telar: “And I agree with that Sir Frank. I’ve been paid quite a large sum in order to interrogate you before letting you leave the Outpost. But here is what I am going to do instead. The Outpost has to remain neutral territory to survive, there can be no doubt about our position here on that matter. You will come with me and I will deliver you to the lockup for all to see, in the early morning when it is quiet you will be released. I will inform the interested party that you gave us the slip, and collect my money based on whatever you decide to tell me.”

 

Frank: “How can I say no to such a,” Sir Frank added a spin to his next word, “compromise. I’ve heard about the Monolith building.” Sir Frank stood and motioned towards the door. “Shall we?” he asked.

 

Telar: “Ah, you know a good deal about the Outpost Sir Frank. Yes, come, let’s get this show on the road.”

 

Sir Frank knew everything about the Outpost exactly because of the Monolith building. Hundreds of years ago the Monolith vanished, leaving no trace of itself. Before that the Monolith was enshrined in a structure, it was one of the oldest structures in the world now and has today been relegated to serving as a jail. Sir Frank had no quarrels with spending the night in that jail, it was exactly where he needed to be.

The New Britannia Theater Troupe

June 26 2015

The Mug of Balldrick, Vol I – by enderandrew – narrated by Sharm

Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, and once again I’m delighted to have Sharm with us; she is bringing us a great story written by enderandrew. Background music is “Priscilla’s Song”, by Sharm.

The Mug of Balldrick: Vol I
By Zoe Marie the Bard

Tales of trophies, kings and powerful magics are certainly as old as time. One such tale proves that idiom for it predates The Fall and persists today. As I travel from tavern to tavern, I hear boastful claims of adventurers confident that they one day can lay claim to the elusive prize that is the Mug of Balldrick.

It has been missing for so long, most have forgotten its powers. Not that I think they care. Everyone knows of its fame, and people hope to reap such fame for themselves. Equally they forget the mug’s fabled origins.

Thankfully, I am a bard and can share the tale with you.

King Reginald was a feared and respected ruler, not only because of the army he commanded, but because of his ability to grow and expand his kingdom. Where other armies sought to siege, subjugate and melt down gold treasures from their previous owners, he had more acquired tastes.

He knew each society had their own heirlooms and magics, frequently more valuable than gold. Try as people might to hide them, he could always ferry out what mundane looking object held untold powers. He would demand these items in exchange for sparing lives of the conquered.

He was not a cruel tyrant, and word quickly spread that he could take the totems and treasures of each town and add them to his own strength. His banner on the horizon represented the inevitable conquest that would come tomorrow.

So as his scouts entered foreign woods, they were stopped by an ambush of forest rangers. They surrounded the scouts, but did not draw blood. One of the rangers stepped forward to speak. “I know you by your banners. Where scouts may enter, armies will surely follow. Let us return together to your king where I might negotiate for peace before war ravages these woods I have sworn to protect.”

Return they did to King Reginald where the situation was now reversed. The small number of rangers had their swords bound in peace cords and now found themselves surrounded by a large contingent of the royal guard. Still the ranger spoke with confidence.

“King Reginald, your fame has reached my woods though your armies have not. You shall not enter my woods, and I will have you swear it.”

Stunned silence filled most of the hall, save for the King himself who guffawed. “Who are you to make demands of the most powerful ruler in all the lands?”

“I am but a humble servant who has made an oath, but I know you have an appreciation for powerful magic. I assure you, an unbroken vow is powerful indeed. Heed my words, and you shall be rewarded with a powerful boon that eclipses all your other relics collected to date.”

The King was not taken back by this boldness or warning. Instead avarice filled his eyes. “You realize of course that telling me you have such a relic just means I will double my focus on your woods. My armies will swarm them and you will not be able to hide whatever relics you possess from my grasp.”

This time the ranger smiled. “That is where you are mistaken, your highness. The powers of the forest will be extinguished by broken vows, striking out with great vengeance. The cost to your mighty armies will be costly and you will return with nothing but husks of the relics that once were. But if you make a vow to me, I can capture that essence. A wish is the second most powerful magic in existence. And since your word holds such weight, I promise you a magical boon unlike no other in your collection. Tell me your desires and I shall shape it!”

The King was curious now. “And what if this is all some ruse to keep me at bay?”

The ranger was offended at the mention of dishonesty. “Surely you can feel that my magics are fueled by honesty. I would not sully them with lies. Swear to me your army stays out of my wood, and I shall return in one month’s time with your desire. If I do not keep my word, then send your armies then.”

The king was somewhat skeptical and with so many powerful treasures, he did not want for much. He wanted a symbol, a trophy he could keep at his side at all times. He demanded a magical mug that would never tarnish or fade. It would always be full of the finest whiskey and remain cold in the hottest days. With it, he would always be prepared to toast and celebrate the might of his kingdom.

The ranger departed and returned exactly one month later with a gorgeous mug who truly had no equal. It was cold to the touch even in summer air, and as the king raised it to his mouth, it filled with the finest whiskey he had ever tasted. He gave an exalted “huzzah” as his court toasted to him his newest treasure.

The ranger departed without another word and merely retreated to his woods.

Album with EQ - B&A - Stile T as SM

June 17 2015

Occupation – by Themo Lock – narrated by Asclepius

Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with another wonderful story from Themo Lock. This story follows on from the tale of Exodus, and is entitled
Occupation

Background music “Fossil Evidence”, by Smartsound

The skeleton flailed its fleshless arms in what could easily be mistaken for frustration, bony feet clasped firmly by the tangle vines that tightened with every jerky movement. High above in the treetops a scout watched on in silent amusement as she packed a pipe from a pouch of mixed herbs. The tangle vines grew thick and fast in Lockbrier forest, nourished by the seemingly endless waves of undead that wandered from the ruins of Paxlair. It was these vines and the wiry brambles that shielded the town of Lockbrier from the madness and dangers of the outside world. Paxlair itself crawled with undead, a blanket of flies and rotting flesh that sleeplessly wandered through the rubble and ruins in an endless circular patrol. Nobody knew where they came from, they had just risen from the scorched earth shortly after the exodus of Paxlair two generations past, preventing reconstruction and driving the survivors to take refuge in the forest. Clearing the undead scourge had proven impossible, no matter how many were slain they would simply rise and take up arms again the following day. The elders theorised that some dark power had embedded itself like a tick into the heart of Paxlair, calling forth and lending power to the undead hoard, though what that power actually was remained unknown. It was the scouts job to wait and watch, looking for any unusual activity or clues that may aid in deciphering this century old mystery.

Bored with the spectacle below, the scout drew a dagger and carved her name into the sturdy branch that supported her weight, lit pipe between her teeth. “Ghella” a name she had inherited from her foster mother whom she now remembered fondly as she ran her fingertips over the carved letters. Her attention was caught by a glimmer in the distance as the midday sun reflected off metal, off to the west something was moving along the edge of the tree-line. The scout capped her pipe and raised a spyglass to her eye, scanning the distant tree-line with peaked interest. Crouched in the under brush, she counted a party of eight men, seven clad in heavy armour and the eighth draped in the robes of a mage. Ghella did not recognise them as locals and wondered at their intentions, the perils of Paxlair was clear to see in the light of day. The scout’s grip on her perch tightened as the mage raised his arms and glowed with arcane energy, the nearby undead noticed immediately and lumbered towards the party like a rotting tidal wave. A thunderclap split the air as lightning forked out from the mage’s outstretched hands, dropping a dozen or more of the lead skeletons as the ironclad warriors locked shields and braced for impact. Explosions tore through the ranks of the undead as the fallen skeletons detonated like powder kegs, the party slowly advanced under cover of the mage, expertly dropping foe after foe. Ghella almost cried out in amazement as the very ground surrounding the party rumbled and violently shook, obliterating countless undead where they stood like so many twigs. The men were gaining ground, Ghella could not believe what she was seeing, eight men were slaying what had to be hundreds of living dead and pushing slowly but surely towards the city centre. A fire elemental now floated alongside the men, lighting up the ground behind them with rising flames as they advanced. Could it be that this party would accomplish what the Lockbrier militia had failed to do so many times? Could these men be the saviours of Paxlair?

An unearthly scream rang out from somewhere within the city and the warriors halted and looked back at the mage. Rays of dark energy leaped from the ruins of the fallen city and enveloped the party of adventurers, dropping them to their knees. Ghosts, dozens of them fed at range from the shadowy ruins of the city and the panicked mage now went on the defensive as he struggled to revitalise the fading health of his men. Something else emerged from the ruins, a huge lich the likes of which Ghella had never seen glided forward, flanked by two of its kind. The creature pointed at the prone warriors and cackled as once more, the undead masses surged forward. There was no stopping them this time and Ghella looked away as the party was overrun. Below her the skeleton had become aware of her presence and now screeched and clawed at the air in a frenzy, still firmly rooted in place. Ghella’s heart skipped a beat as in the distance, the undead army turned and stared directly at her position. The scout dropped her spyglass in a panic and rose to her feet, it was time to leave. Nimbly jumping from branch to branch, she made her way back into the safety of the deep forest towards the town of Lockbrier. For the first time in years she had something to report.

Album with EQ - B&A - Stile T as SM

May 21 2015

The Green Rogue Volume V – by enderandrew – narrated by Asclepius

Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with the final chapter in a wonderful story by enderandrew. It is entitled

The Green Rogue Volume V
Told by Joorus the Scribe

Background music “Reunion”, by Smartsound

Sir Greggor did not move quite as fast as he did in his youth. The various wounds from countless battles took their toll on him to the point where he wasn’t sure if he could keep riding on top of horseback another year. If he did not take Lord Zolaas’ offered promotion, he might be forced to retire early. The thought of that was just slightly more unbearable than the pain of spending hour after hour in a saddle. But age did have its benefits.

Years of falconry had made him a better hunter, even if he moved slower. Tonight it paid off. His men blanketed much of the woods near trade roads and his falcon flew high enough to see the bandits hiding in trees. His falcon directed him and soon enough he stood at the base of a tree where he could make out a masked bandit hiding.

He lit a torch and approached the tree. “Come down peacefully and you may yet live. I have not killed a man, and I would prefer not to. But we will not have our lands divided by brigands who hide in trees. I will burn the trees with you among them if I have to. Do not test my will.”

One bandit anxiously screamed in response “to arms” before the Green Rogue countered in command “no, wait! I surrender, but let these men live.” He dropped down to the ground at Sir Greggor’s feet. He dropped again to his knees, and then pulled down his mask. “I thought you died because of me and it has haunted me for years. I can’t fight you now. But leave these men. They followed me and fought in my name. The Green Rogue is the face of rebellion in these lands. Let them retire quietly in the night to their homes and families and no one will be the wiser. Claim me as your prize.”

This time it was Sir Greggor who dropped his blade. He looked upon Alex’s face. Though there were burns from the fireball years ago, he recognized it immediately. “I thought you were dead as well because of me. How is it that you’re alive?”

Alex stumbled on his words, his shame of prior cowardice burning at him now. “I ran when I should have fought alongside you. I left you to die and I ran. When they saw me run, they did not give chase. How did you live? You were overrun by Kobolds!”

Sir Greggor recalled his prior torment but wept in tears of joy. “They wounded me gravely, but then left. They told me they wanted me to serve as a warning. They wanted me to crawl back home, half dead to scare off others from venturing into what they considered their lands. But why not return home? Why are you doing this, robbing innocent people?”

Alex looked up defiantly. He was no longer a frightened boy. “I liberate more than coin. I liberate these people who are tired of living every day in fear of constant war. We do not wish to see more and more loved ones die in a battle we do not understand. Every one of my men and women in the trees have lost someone, and they would rob a thousand merchants if it saved lives.”

Sir Greggor looked to the trees and saw others. “No, as commander of this expedition, I see only one bandit. I’m ordering my men to leave. And while I thank the stars you are alive, it is time to bring you home to your father, as I promised I would years ago.” He places shackles on Alex’s wrists and then placed him on his horse. He would walk behind them on the long journey home.

Between two brave men, many tears were shed that night before returning to Lord Zolaas. Upon seeing his son, he wept as well. They caught up on lost years. Lord Zolaas revealed the challenge from Lady Vash that prompted everything, and how their family has now permanently lost those hunting grounds because Alex was branded a coward.

“But I would give up all my lands and more, I am so grateful that you are alive,” Lord Zolaas declared.

“Fear not,” Alex declared. He reached down into his boot, pulled out a hidden dagger and fell on it. “I am a coward no longer.”

Album with EQ - B&A - Stile T as SM

May 14 2015

The Green Rogue Volume IV – by enderandrew – narrated by Asclepius and Sophi

Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with the next instalment in a wonderful story by enderandrew. It is entitled
The Green Rogue Volume IV
Told by Joorus the Scribe
I am also delighted to welcome Sophi to the narrative team.
Background music “No More Regrets”, by Smartsound

Lady Vash put down her napkin, though she was still chewing and savoring the last bite of pork roast as long as she could. “Let me say again that I am truly sorry I never visited before your wife passed. I hear she loved to cook. But the cook you’ve hired is most excellent as well. That was a wonderful meal!”
Lord Zolaas set down his chalice with a grin. “I do not wish to be rude, but now that our meal is concluded, I hoped we could get down to business. I’m not a big fan of decorum when something is left unresolved.”

Lady Vash took a sip of her wine before responding. “You’ve gone to great lengths though, and I do wish to express my gratitude. How did you know I loved Midmaer wine so much? You rarely go to court in Valhold other than to dispute these lands, and you’re not one to pay gossips or spies.”

Lord Zolaas changed demeanor. The affable host in him was disappearing quickly. “There is no dispute other than what you make. You wish to steal my lands and I am supposed to just hand them to you with a smile?”

“Please, steal is such a harsh word and I do not wish to fight. We both serve King Granus faithfully and we both want what is best for our vassals. Through the years, both of our families have laid claim to those lands. They have gone back and forth. If we wish our subjects to believe we can bring this war to an end, we must first demonstrate we can put an end to small internal feuds as well. That is why I proposed a final accord that we both agree will settle this for all time.”

“Why would I risk that which I already own and give you a chance to take it from me for all time? Do you think I’m a fool?” Lord Zolaas did not look pleased.

“No, I see a loving father and a grieving husband. There are those who question you in court, and your ability to lead men to victory when your heart is burdened with loss.”

“I’d cuff every one of them, smacking some sense into them! How dare they question my conviction after everything I’ve lost?”

Lady Vash very carefully set her drink down. “Please, calm yourself. I am not one of them. I am a friend, and your guest. I am here to support you and offer you an opportunity to prove yourself. This is a question of our families as much as ourselves. We need to prove for all time which family is best suited to rule and thusly claim those lands and leave no doubt. You can silence all your critics and secure your son’s future. Imagine if he never had to worry about land disputes and could focus solely on the war efforts?”

The thought of Alex seeped in. Lord Zolaas would do anything for him. “What would you have me do to prove our family worth? Whatever it is, I am up to the task. I do not fear failure.”

“I would never suggest as such, but it isn’t you. After all, we’re talking about our descendants for all time. My son has become something of a master archer, and I think those hunting grounds are well suited to my family. Some have said your son is burdened by loss and lacks the appetite for hunting. If so, then maybe this land would go to waste with your family.”

“I haven’t taken my son hunting yet. He is 14, and our tradition is to do our first hunt at 15. It is when we first celebrate a boy becoming a man. Do you wish him to hunt a bear to silence those who would call him a coward?”

“My political adviser urged against that. If I invited your son to hunt in these lands to prove his worth, I’m symbolically conceding the land to you by default. A Kobold however-”

“Are you mad, sending my son into combat at 14?”

“Is that not always the concern, that we might all face a Kobold at any time in this kingdom? What parent hasn’t prepared their child for that moment, just in case? Men need to follow him, not just because he can claim a pelt from some animal, but because they believe he can defeat the Kobolds in war. If you don’t trust in your son’s ability-”

Lord Zolaas was done with these polite insults. “I will hear no such challenge to his name or mine. Very well, we will silence these nameless critics. My family knows only courage and if we need to demonstrate that in Kobold blood, then so be it.”

Album with EQ - B&A - Stile T as SM

May 9 2015

Not Like This – by enderandrew- narrated by Amber Raine

Hello everyone, this is Asclepius and we’re delighted to bring you a wonderful story by enderandrew, and narrated by Amber Raine, entitled

Not Like This

“Not Like This” By Zoe Marie the Bard. She could feel an ominous rush of wind as she ducked beneath the vicious cleave. The giant club would have pulverized her if it connected. But she emerged from her tumble thrusting her blade up into the calf of the monstrous giant before her. He dropped his club, but he stomped off quickly before she could pull out her blade. Scrambling to pull out a new weapon, she underestimated his rage. He pounded down with his fists, sending her into a daze. Then he picked her up and starting crushing her in his bare hands. Several ribs broke with terrifying cracks. Zoe Marie paused for dramatic effect. The patrons of Journey’s End leaned forward subconsciously, eager to hear what came next. “Not like this. I don’t die like this.” Zoe narrated, the hero coughing up blood with her words. The giant seemed dismissive of those words, throwing the hero’s body against the rock face. Her body slumped to the ground, limp and largely broken. The giant turned away, hoping to pick up his club again to finish the job. Her eyes were fading until a desperate spark sent them ablaze again. She channeled what little energy she had left to launch a dagger into the giant’s hand. He dropped the club once again. It fell with a menacing thud. The wound was minor, but the hulking beast was clearly agitated. He spun around in rage, glowering and howling. “This is how you die, with my foot crushing your puny skull!” There was no fear in her steely gaze. She was either prepared for death or she truly believed her claim, that she would not die like this. She was barely able to utter the words, but she blasted him back even further with a fireball, the black pearl and sulphurous ash crumbling in her palm as the spell consumed them. The giant’s body singed as flames licked at his flesh. This was no minor wound. His howls weren’t merely in frustration, but in excruciating pain. He gnashed his teeth before regaining his composure. Smiles spread through the crowd as tense apprehension gave way to cautious optimism. This was the part of these heroic tales they enjoyed so much, when the hero persevered in impossible circumstances over foul beasts and evil creatures. She could barely move, but she crawled to the edge of the cliff, reaching into her pouch. The giant stormed towards her at full speed. It was unbearably painful with the broken ribs, but she took in another deep breath. She knew better than to underestimate his speed this time around, but she had to wait until the absolute last moment. Then in a blink, she teleported twenty feet away, exhausting her body and the last of her reagents. The giant stomped down hard on empty air, tumbling over the cliff edge. He screamed, hitting rocks on the way down. But after the loud crash there was only silence. She knew the giant was dead. “Not like this” were her last thoughts before her body gave way for good. She succumbed to death despite her protest. A ghost rose from her still flesh as her mind fought off the fugue of pain. She stared down knowing that she would enter that husk and make it rise once more. And rise she did. She limped toward the encampment of giants knowing the town would not be safe until she finished her task. Zoe Marie finished her tale, speaking for our hero one last time. “I will not die like this, for I am an Avatar!”

Album with EQ - B&A - Stile T as SM

May 8 2015

A Rabbit Hole – by Deloria – narrated by Cordelayne Valkaris

Hello everyone, this is Asclepius. We are delighted to bring you a wonderful story, written by Deloria, and narrated by Cordelayne Valkaris. Background music is “Swamp Mists”, by Smartsound.

A Rabbit Hole

Written by Deloria

There is a tree. We can start with that.

At the foot of the tree is a rabbit hole, and in that hole lives a rabbit, of course.

The tree is old. Very old. Gnarled and twisted and alone in the way that old things tend to be alone when they get ignored or shoved aside or avoided altogether. There are no other trees near, though this is the deepest part of the forest – it sits in a clearing all by itself. And if you had to guess which type this tree was you would win a safe bet on “The kind that other trees avoid”, if trees ever got to have the choice in the matter.
Probably not, but it’s a wierd old tree.

The rabbit hole then. Bigger than you’d expect and easily mistaken for a badger den or something like that, but cosy obviously. Rabbits don’t usually need the sort of headroom this particular rabbit hole seems to be offering. The closer you get to it the larger it becomes – until suddenly you stand there right next to it and the hole is bigger than you are, even though the tree is still the same size and shape.

Or is it? Something about the way it leans – almost like a new angle in its branches – twisted and heavy and creaking and different. leaning over you. But that might just be the light. That tree though – You need to tilt your head to see it all up this close. Tilt and look up. Look up. Look sideways. Look again.

The light in this glade is strange by the way. It never quite gives you the whole sense of the tree or pulls it out from its own shadow – which is what light is supposed to do. It can’t even manage to pierce the hole nestled at its roots, although the sun is direct and scorching on your back. Not surprising though – that big black hole just digs too deep into the roots. Funny. It really seems too big to be a rabbit hole after all. You could fit through it yourself. Step closer and see.

So hard to see down there. All the way. The light just doesn’t… it doesn’t seem right. For a start it’s too bright. Hurts the eyes.
And too warm. The sun on your back like burning fur and the whole place is too just warm and the only place where you wouldn’t bake under this hot green canopied light would be in that snug little hole.

Not so little then, but probably snug. Green light hurts the eyes. It would be better there.
And cool. Maybe there’s water? That would explain it. That explains the hole. And everything really. Cool fresh water in the well at the bottom of the rabbit hole. Away from the hot green sun roasting your back.

Makes perfect sense. It makes your nose twitch. You can almost smell it: Cool water to quench a maddening thirst – this sudden itchy thirst. Your ears twitch – you can almost hear it, the cool dripping moisture deep in the roots of the tree, your home.

Find the water in the hole.
Your hole.

Find the water, little rabbit.

Album with EQ - B&A - Stile T as SM

May 7 2015

The Diary of Eva Grace – Vol IV – narrated by Lady Adnor

Hello everyone. This is Lady Adnor, with the conclusion of The Diary of Eva Grace, written by enderandrew.

The Diary of Eva Grace – Vol IV
Told by Eva Grace

I do not know what brought us there, but it seemed a few other wayward souls kept making their way to this small town, unsure how they stumbled upon it. Rift’s End indeed. I met more and more outlanders. We talked and swapped tales of our experiences. A handful had died like me. Others weren’t quite so eager to do so themselves with no absolute guarantee they too would return from the dead.

But I found people who spoke my language. We needed to learn this new world and how to fit in. But we remembered the same Earth. I didn’t feel as crazy anymore. I knew my memories were real. There was a place I needed to somehow find again.

But equally I felt there was a reason we were all here. This so-called prophecy called for an outlander to be an Avatar. There were enough of us here that I was content to allow another to volunteer for whatever that might entail. It just so happened this town needed a barkeep.

I had found my new home. The people here understood my tales of both Novia and Earth. They shared my fears, my concerns and my aspirations. Each one is so different. If we were called here for some purpose I’m not sure why we don’t all fit the same bill. Maybe this was all just random happenchance, some cosmic event masquerading as fate that we couldn’t possibly comprehend. Or maybe the powers at play were people, but equally enigmatic.

I finally found a place to stop and rest, fittingly in a bar named Journey’s End. Not all journeys end here, and some just begin as brave fools full of mead plan their next grand adventure. But for me, something brought me here and here I shall stay at least a while longer.

I thought it best to write down my thoughts and memories before they slip away again. Maybe I never find my way home. Maybe this new town and world define me. Maybe we will always turn to dust with our stories becoming myth to whatever follows us in the footsteps of time.

Truth be told, I have no answers for myself or any other. All I have to offer is my story thus far and a cold ale. Speaking of such, I need to stop writing. I hear a new visitor approaching. I wonder who has found their way to Journey’s End now?

Album with EQ - B&A - Stile T as SM