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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with a great story by Joviex entitled

Twilight Air

Music by Smartsound.

You’re peaceful. You’re living what you barely dreamed of and it’s okay. It’s real. If you die here you’ll have this moment – your body wants this as much as your spirit does.

Stay here – it’s safe with the dead in the cool dark. You remain lying on the surface, their restless thrashing a lullaby that keeps you afloat. Death is a word used by people who haven’t been through it.

Time flows onwards, lost.

Two hands reach down, falling through the dark like heavy stones. Her voice doesn’t disturb you. It’s brisk and firm and her and you’re glad to hear it after the dead’s whispers.

The eerie light of a distant tower burns low, its soft, blue glow embracing her silhouette. You don’t have a proper name for it, the void between where you are and where she sits. You stare at her, and at the dead all around you: what have you done?

Before the dead began to speak to you, you had dreams of what your life might be like. Toiling under the warm sun, working the fields like your parents did, with a wife and a son – a strong boy skipping happily into the future like all children.

Your chest hurts. Your lungs grasp each breath from the arid air like rain beating upon the sun. Your aching hands, a mass of scrapes and scratches, sting from inactivity. The dead lay strewn about, unrepentant about what they’d done. The dead don’t much care for the stones that mark them; they only care about their legacies.

You feel hot with the rush of your heart, beating so hard it’s pounding your dreams into dust. This isn’t what was meant to be. Not this empty, starlit place where you’re going to die.

Framing your face with her hands, they smell of oil and dry earth. This is the verge. You either stop here forever or dive into the vastness beyond.

Her eyes glance towards the firmament, unblinking. You look up. It’s all beautiful. Minutes pass before you say what you’re thinking. “You’re not afraid?”

Her voice is soft. “I’m not afraid.”

It’s not death; you’ve felt its grip upon your soul all too often. That’s not the terror. The terror is unnamed, yet exhilarating – an undiscovered country beyond.

Most who are about to die are hypocrites. You watch them meet that new frontier with heavy sobs, mourning the loss of something that was never owned. You see them start that journey screaming and flailing and tearing at their clothes.

The dead don’t lie. They continue their solemn march toward that land. You are never forced to bid your farewells. You know it to be more insidious. Death’s touch grows warmer with each moment you dwell.

“There’s much left undone.” Your words are inadequate. Like a stone – colorless and cold, twisting, descending into the shadowy, airless abyss of a river.

The stars can’t hear you and won’t, but she does. Everyone struggles. You see her somber smile. You hear her heavy heart. You know the battle raging behind her eyes.

You know, you understand, you reassure, “We will be alright.”

She places some flowers on the fresh earth; the smell is warm and full of life.

You watch her take up your son. The dream is done.

You’re no longer peaceful, just at peace.

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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with a thrilling story from Lendrick. It is entitled

Rise of the Ravagers, chapter 1.
Music by Smartsound

CHAPTER ONE CHILD’S PLAY Forest of Diamond Falls, The Forsaken Vale. Village of Highvale.
The Elven village was generally peaceful year round, and would sometimes see an influx of trade during the summer months. These months would be one of the few times the elves generally interacted with the outside races, and while their tolerance was generally very thin, these months where their trade was more important than petty differences, the elves would put on a joyous face and wan smiles to keep up the façade. Glyndrel was only a young elf-ling, only thirty summers old, but he looked and sounded like a human boy the age of eight. During this one particular summer sale day, was the day when he first laid eyes on her. Glyndrel had come to the market that day due to the wanderlust gripping him and propelling him there. Always towards the “Jerky” stalls first and then his market therapy. Glyndrel loved chewing on “Jerky”, strips of dried venison salted and mixed with herbs. Coming to the markets was somewhat of a tradition that had begun two years prior between Glyndrel and his best friend Alexyius. They would meet at the Markets when they were on, trade for some Jerky, and then wander about shopping with their eyes for their next “nick-knack”, or in Glyndrels case, something to add to his treasure hoard. Glyndrel has been gathering and collecting shiny objects for years, small amounts of money, some silvers and coppers, and this is all added to his treasure stash. This stash is hidden well and nobody knows about it. Glyndrel was still waiting for Alexyius, when something strange happened. As Glyndrel was waiting in his usual meeting spot, an image appeared as though through a hazy vision dream, an image of a beautiful Etryan girl. She was just there. One minute it was a mass of moving bodies and legs. Elves, humans – and Glyndrel even thought he spotted an Ogre – moved amongst the elven stalls trading, buying and selling. Glyndrel was standing there, chewing on some jerky and wondering what mischief he and Alexyius could get up to that afternoon when she appeared. Standing about the same height as Glyndrel, the Elfling female had cascading auburn hair that seemed to capture the sun, reflect it and shine it directly into Glyndrel’s eyes. His mind’s eye flinched as though blinded and Glyndrel caught himself, letting out a little chuckle. It wasn’t just her hair though, it was everything about her. Standing there as if from an exquisite dream. Yes, the cascading auburn hair, like fire falling from the heavens. The hair fell down around a perfectly shaped Etryan head, framing her smooth featured face, but those eyes! Piercing sharp green eyes, looking at his very soul. Glyndrel felt all breath leave his body as those eyes peered deep, almost through, looking not only at Glyndrel, but at all his possibilities, looking at his heart, his triumphs, his tragedies, and all that he loved and lost. Glyndrel blinked. She was still there, her ears were cute, with what looked to be sparkling emerald ear-rings that caused the light to reflect through them as well, spreading the light across her cheeks and amplifying it up to her eyes, only to project a beam of green light into Glyndrel’s direction, mesmerizing him. Glyndrel hadn’t realized he had stopped chewing his jerky. She wore simple breeches, a tunic and vest, and if not for her long hair, she would have passed possibly as a male, albeit a very attractive one. Attached to her belt was a small knife and belt pouch, her body lithe and spritely and her head was cocked to the side in amusement as she continued to stare at Glyndrel with her mouth half open showing perfectly white teeth. Why was she staring? It was an amazing sight to behold, and Glyndrel felt his stomach tighten and realized that without knowing he had actually been holding his breath. Letting out a gasp followed by some quick panting to calm the unsettled feeling in his stomach, he shook his head, brown hair jangling, and had she not just appeared there, he would have thought he was coming down with the pox or some such illness. As it were he looked again, she was still there, so he hadn’t imagined her, yet now she stood stock still, and appeared to be looking directly at him! Time stood still, and Glyndrel did not even register his legs moving as one moment they were several dozen feet away from one another and the next, they were in front of each other. “Uh? Who are you?” Glyndrel blurted, turning as red as a rootumber (a cross between a cucumber and beetroot). “Hey, well met! My family just moved here, what’s your name?” she replied, her voice was melodious and enchanting. “Glyn, Glyndrel, but my friends call me “Glyn”” stuttered Glyndrel. “Well then, “Glyn” it is” replied the elfling, as she grabbed one of Glyndrel’s arms and tugged him along, away from the market. Taken aback by her sudden forthrightness, Glyndrel stumbled as he attempted to regain his footing and whilst on the move managed to get out: “Whoa, hey, slow up there, you haven’t even told me your name yet!” “Oh, right, sorry, I get carried away, you can call me Slyphania, or my friends just call me “Slyph”, you know, like the fairy folk!?” Slyphania exclaimed, her eyes dancing in the sunlight and a ready smile that was nothing if not infectious. “Hah, ok, then, Slyph it is” Glyndrel replied, delighted and elated that he had been able to make a friend so easily. There weren’t that many Etryan children about the village and friends were hard to come by. They raced away from the market into the surrounding forest. The wood were glorious this time of year; with the rains having just finished, everything was fresh and smelled of sweet Sun-nectar that was released from the Willowood flowers found growing on the large oak trees. The animal fauna was also emanating joy and excitement, Glyndrel could almost feel the forest buzzing as if possessed by a thousand bees. They ran in no particular direction, the whole forest was their playground, yet Glyndrel did have particular spots he had picked out as his favorite, the watering hole, the log tumble (great place to play hide and find) and his personal favorite, the Great diamond falls, a massive waterfall that cascaded off the mountainous rocks and into a pool of still, blue green water. When the sun shone through the waterfall, it looked as though there were a multitude of diamonds sparkling inside the water, which is where the name comes from, and consequently the forest as well. Glyndrel loved all waterfalls, especially the excitement of looking what’s behind them, hidden away from the prying eyes of the cruel world. Behind the Great falls was Glyndrels special spot, a natural cave, worn away from millennia of backsplash. Glyndrel keeps his treasures in there, hidden away and not even Alexis, his best friend knows about them. Everyone needed to keep special secrets, even Elflings. “So where is this special Great Falls at then?” asked Slyphania suddenly. Glyndrel was taken aback, how could she possibly know about that? Just cause he was just thinking it? Had he said something out loud and didn’t realise? Or could she read his mind? All these questions and more flashed through his head when he struggled for a response, not wanting to discuss it with someone he had only just met, yet, unable to deny it since she had asked him directly. Instead he chose to deflect the question. ‘How do you know about the great falls? I thought you were new here?” Glyndrel asked, a question for a question. “I am, but they are special to you, so they are special to me also” came the reply that made Glyndrel groan inwardly at the thought that there was no getting around her uncanny knowledge of his most special secret place. “Well, I know where they are, but only my “special” friends get to see them. Are you are “special” friend? I only just met you, so how do I know if I can trust you with such a big secret?” Glyndrel replied haughtily, looking sideways and down at Slyphania. “You can trust me, Glyn, I am a good elf!” Slyphania replied with a laugh, and Glyndrel found it hard to dispute that. The feelings for this new elfin were growing and it was hard for Glyndrel to ignore them. “Well, ok, but first you have to pass several trials to prove you are worthy of such knowledge’ Glyndrel said cryptically. “Ok, what’s the fir—“ Slyphania let out a squeak as the ground beneath her gave way and she began to fall. Due to having a hold of Glyndrels arm, Glyndrel was pulled sideways and to the ground as Slyphania’s body dropped below into what appeared to be a massive hole over a cave or something similar. “Hold..on”. Glyndrel grunted through gritted teeth, the grip slipping. “My feet can’t touch anything Glyn, it’s too high, and I’m slipping!” Slyphania exclaimed as her grip on Glyndrels right forearm slipped down. Glyndrel attempted to bring his other arm round to grab hold of her, but it all happened so fast, the grip was lost and the next thing he knew she was gone. ******************** Slyphania let out a scream as she fell, all of ten foot before hitting soft dirt and rolling with a grunt. It took a few moments for her to get her bearings with the sound of Glyndrel yelling if she was ok from above. There was some diffused light entering what seemed to be an old cave or possibly a shelter. It had been covered with dirt so much that the ceiling became the forest floor. This could be something left from the Obsidian fall. Tentatively standing, it didn’t appear as if she had broken anything, and aside from the initial shock, appeared uninjured. “It’s ok, Glyn, I’m ok, it wasn’t that far down! “ Slyphania yelled back up. Walking over to the hole in the roof, she could see Glyndrel’s concerned face peering down as she peered up. “You should come down here too – I will catch you, this could be an amazing discovery only we two know about – much like your Great falls! “ Slyphania stated, using one hand to cut the glare of the sun down. It seemed as if Glyndrel considered this, and then the explorer spirit of him took hold and he shuffled around so his legs came through the hole. “Ok, I’m going to bring myself down as much as I can, be ready!” Glyn said, lowering himself slowly. Slyphania stood to the side, in order to catch and balance Glyndrel when he let go. At his maximum arm extension, he started counting. “What are you doing?” said Slyphania. “Mentally preparing myself, I am going to count to five then let go. Ok? Be ready!” Glyndrel started counting, at number five he let go and let out a yelp. Slyphania caught him as his legs touched dirt and they both stumbled and fell, Slyphania on the bottom with Glyndrel lying on top, their faces only inches apart. There was an unspoken, awkward tension in the air, only for a moment, but they both felt it, Slyphania was sure of it. Glyndrel, a young male Etryan, with golden brown locks, deep piercing almond shaped green eyes with a mischievous glint in them. Smooth featured and his ears had the cutest curled tips to them she had ever seen in an Etryan. “There you go, did I past the first trial? You used me to break your fall, what a good friend I am too you, already!” The moment passed and Glyndrel rolled off. Picking herself up and dusting off her breeches, Slyphania glanced around letting out a low whistle. “Well, this place is, um, what is this place Glyn? Awfully weird to have this beneath the forest floor.” Slyphania wasn’t looking at Glyndrel so missed the uncomfortable glance he shot her and instead strained to see how big the cave was. “Not sure, could be from the old ruin excavations”, Glyndrel replied, thankful for the change in topic. “You mean from when the Do’Etryan invaded?” Slyphania worded breathlessly, her eyes widening and mouth opening as she looked on in awestruck wonder. “Aye, those pesky Dark Elves really gave our forefathers a run for their lives!” Glyndrel stated, moving off toward one end of the cave. “How big do you think this is? How far back?” Slyphania asked “Not sure, quite a bit I would imagine, given their penchant for digging deep and intricate cavern systems” “Can we explore?” asked Slyphania expectantly, excited like a new born elfin getting their first leaf ride down the river. “There’s not much light in the day left, how about we keep this a secret between us and meet up here on the morrow at first dawn?” replied Glyndrel, a sound and serious answer. “Well, ok, genius, but how do we get out?” Slyphania answered taking small delight in the look that passed over Glyndrel’s face at the cold realisation that they may be stuck down here. “Well, um, how about if I stand on your shoulders? Or you stand on mine? Would that give us enough height?” Glyndrel has walked back over to where the hole was, the cave much darker now due to the failing light outside and they could only see a few feet around now. “Well, I am probably lighter than you, so how about I get on your shoulders?” “Hmm, ok, we’ll give it a go – if you manage to get out, promise me you won’t leave me down here!?” Glyndrel exclaimed with consternation. “Now, why would I leave my new found friend stranded in a hole the first day I meet him? That wouldn’t be very friendly now, would it? Perhaps on the second day…” Slyphania mocked. “That’s not funny, now, up you get!” Glyndrel crouched down to allow Slyphania to climb onto his back and then awkwardly, Glyndrel stood, balancing her on his shoulders Standing on his shoulders, rocking slightly, Slyphania reached out with her arms and hand to their fullest extension. Almost there. Brushing grass from the edge of the deadfall, clumps of grass and dirt came free, but nothing allowed purchase and caused them both to tumble down. ‘Gah! It’s hopeless, we are stuck here!” Despair crept into Glyndrel’s voice, causing it to break slightly. Tears started to well up, all Glyndrel wanted to do was get out and get home to his warm tree-house. ‘Don’t give up, we are almost there, I just need a little more height, and I could pull myself out, let’s give it another go”. Her infectious enthusiasm was somewhat contagious and with a grunt, Glyndrel got back into position to have her climb back onto his back. Once balanced, Slyphania stretched out her arms again, and yelled “I need a bit more height, can you lift me?” Glyndrel grabbed her feet, closed his eyes and lifted her, slowly, above his head. The higher he went, the higher she could reach and when he had her almost at full arm’s length heard a squeal of delight and suddenly her feet were ripped away from his hands as she pulled herself completely out of the hole. “We did it!” Slyphania exclaimed with abject delight. Taking a breath and looking about, she was able to locate some vines that were easy enough to tie together and lower down for Glyndrel to use as a makeshift rope. Soon after, they were both laying on the solid forest floor, panting, Glyndrel from climbing, Slyphania from holding on to the makeshift rope to ensure Glyndrel didn’t fall back down. “See?” Slyphania stated out of breath. “Uh?” Glyndrel grunted in response. “I came back for you after all!” Slyphania exclaimed and they were both rocked with laughter. ************************ Underneath the two laughing Vertas, in the darkness of the cave, something laughed back. ************************* The next day, as promised, the two friends met up at their secret hole in the ground. This time however, Glyndrel was more prepared, having brought two canteens of spring water and a sturdy rope, which was promptly tied to a close and large tree so there would be no issues getting out again. Slyphania to her credit also contributed, having an expensive looking fire lantern and a backpack filled with sweet bread and honey cakes. Glyndrel offered her a ready smile, genuinely pleased to be spending another day with his newfound friend. A flash of guilt passed through him at the thought that his friend Alexyius wasn’t with them, yet it was only a flash, and then a possessive wave of jealously swept Glyndrel. Slyphania was his friend, and this was their secret hole, something nobody else knew about, not his parent, his best friend, nobody. It was a secret and shared between just the two of them. At that moment, Glyndrel’s whole world was the hole and Slyphania, and nothing else mattered. Glyndrel smiled at the thought of that. “Something funny?” Slyphania asked incredulously. “Just taking in your visage, you really look the part now, don’t you? A regular dungeon adventurer just like Mason Trollslayer!” Glyndrel explained, deflecting the true reason for his smile. “Who is Mason Trollslayer?” asked Slyphania “Only one of the most famous Dwarven dungeoneers! A legend! Even if his inventions never worked, I swear he must have thought he was a gnome!” Glyndrel explained. Slyphania did look the part though, hair tied back into a ponytail, and with her backpack, breeches, boots and knife at her belt, she looked ready to take on an Ogre-ling, that being, a new born Ogre, generally bigger than Glyndrel and Slyphania combined. “Ok, we should get going” Glyndrel stated and started to climb down the rope. At the bottom he steadied it and in short order Slyphania was also down. Lighting the lantern, the fire oil spread shadows dancing across the walls like some twisted puppet show. The cave was much bigger than they first anticipated, heading off for at least twenty feet. Where they stood was somewhat of a mound, sloping downward after five feet. Given the dimensions of the cave, it became almost a tunnel as the pair cautiously crept forward. Glyndrel realized that Slyphania had a knife on her belt, but Glyndrel had nothing. Mixed emotions washed through him like sea water through a rock cleft. What if they got into trouble, would she have to get them both out of it? This made him feel somewhat insecure and inferior. Glyndrel should be the one protecting her, not the other way around. Perhaps due to a sense of elven-hood he needed to feel like the protector, Glyndrel couldn’t be sure. In desperation, Glyndrel bent down and grabbed a handful of stones which he pocketed. He could at least throw them, and besides, he had always excelled at his archery lessons at the age of ten, his tutors always praising him for his accuracy. Slyphania hadn’t noticed Glyndrel bend down, as she was slightly ahead of him since she had the lantern, but it was something else as well, something Glyndrel noticed in her eyes. Something he hadn’t seen there before. “Slyphania , what is it’ Glyndrel asked, the cold hand of fear jabbing at his heart. “Look, Glyn, a skull…” Slyphania breathed. Glyndrel looked, and saw what appeared to be some kind of altar at the end of the cave wall. Glyndrel glanced back and could see the sunlight streaming in from the hole, and it looked to be about fifty feet away now. Had they really come that far? The sunlight called to Glyndrel, radiant, pure and good. Glyndrel felt an overwhelming urge to drop everything and run, as fast as he could. Turning back to Slyphania, the words caught in his throat, as he saw that she had moved right up to the altar, which, now, upon closer examination emanated a coldness and what could only be described as unfathomable evil. Slyphania had her free hand stretched out, almost touching the skull. “Slyph, Don’t..—“ Glyndrel croaked, but it was too late, she had already touched the skull. A force, unseen, blasted back both of them, sprawling to the dirt floor. Glyndrel felt as though all breath had left his body, yet he could still somehow breathe, yet it felt as if all joy and heat had been sucked from the cave. An apparition appeared before the two of them, what appeared to be some kind of ghost or spirit. It was there but it wasn’t, glowing iridescent blue and Glyndrel could see right through it. Could this be one of those “Revenant’s’ that his father always warned him about? The so called “Undead Warlords”? It began to speak, but Glyndrel could not see its mouth moving and it seemed to be only addressing Slyphania. “You have freed me, Slyphania. I have spent an eternity trapped down here, and all it took was a touch from you. For that, I thank you. You deserve something special, a reward as such.” Glyndrel didn’t move, not a muscle, the fear gripping him was overpowering and all consuming. Slyphania was as if transfixed, tears started to flow down Glyndrels face as the enormity and fear factor set in. This was an innocent elfin girl, and he needed to do something, fast. The spirit continued to mind-speak. Glyndrel willed his hands to move towards the stones in his pocket. “So, what should I reward you with? Well, firstly you both get to live. That to some is reward enough, yet I sense something in you Slyphania. A darkness that you hide well. Perhaps there is further potential in you? Take my tome. Study it, learn from it, and I will return, when the time is right, you will be ready.” The next few moments were a blur; the apparition, which appeared to be some kind of ancient skeletal wizard, opened its decayed mouth and started to scream. The screaming continued and increased in loudness. Glyndrel put his hands over his ears and closed his eyes tight. The screaming continued. Glyndrel felt a familiar hand on his arm which made him realise that it was he that was screaming. Slowly opening his eyes, he saw Slyphania crouched over him, clutching a large book, bound with gold runes and filigree, the cover purple in colour and the pages gold trimmed, her other arm stretched out, touching him gently. “Slyph, where…where did you get that?” Glyndrel stammered, his throat hoarse from screaming. “It was on the altar, cool isn’t it? Now I have some treasure of my own too! “ Slyphania smiled and to all intents didn’t seem to be affected by the spirit encounter and there was no mention of it at all. Glyndrel was still recovering, and let it slide for now, getting to his feet and glancing back towards the altar. Nothing appeared to have changed except that the skull had disappeared. Glyndrel would have to talk to her about what happened, but another time may be more appropriate. Letting her go first, Glyndrel couldn’t help but notice she clutched the tome tight and seemed inseparable from it. Even when Glyndrel offered to hold onto it while she climbed out, an uncharacteristic flash of anger and outright refusal stopped Glyndrel from any further offers of help. Finally out of the hole, Glyndrel was starting to really regret ever bringing her this way and finding this hole. Of all the places to walk, for the ground to give way there? Even that seemed somewhat unnatural. It wasn’t fun anymore, no more child’s games here. Glyndrel desperately wanted to spend some time with Alexyius, just to be away from Slyphania for a while. Glyndrel couldn’t explain it, it just seemed as though a change had come over her. Not a change for the better either. Glyndrel eyed the mysterious Tome suspiciously. “So what is that thing anyway? What’s the book about?” Glyndrel pried. “Oh, nothing important I’m sure. I’m off home then, ok? I’ll see you soon, safe travels!” Slyphania stated abruptly and with that she was gone, into the forest. “See you soon then”… Glyndrel whispered in reply after she had left, which she wouldn’t have heard. Glyndrel couldn’t explain why, yet there was a feeling of cold dread building up in the pit of his stomach. Glyndrel was very frightened for his friend Very frightened indeed.

…To be continued….

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

Mirror, Mirror..of the lost.

Background music “What Lurks Beneath” by Smartsound

Gordon, ropemaker by trade, was travelling from Owls Head to Kingsport to offer this months production.
It would be the last of the busy market days for Kingsport before winter dragged its frozen claws across the land.
He had been dallying, reluctant to leave hearth and home as the days were already growing short and chilly and thus, with dusk already falling fast, he decided to turn in at an old, run-down Inn he had never noticed on previous journeys.
Neither its unexpected discovery nor the somewhat haunted look of the gloomy building and not even the merry atmosphere in the warm and homely pub room could keep him from his bed.
He had his mind set on getting an early start and make up for the lost time.
As he followed the comely maid up the well-worn, creaky stairs whilst paying way more attention to her equally comely rear than a married man should, he couldn’t help but glance into the old, cloudy mirror facing him as he came up to the landing.

He stumbled, luck alone keeping him from tumbling down the stairs, as facing him from the mirror was not his face but staring back at him as through a window was a view of the pub room.
Not the merriment he had witnessed before, the warm glow of the fire and the golden puddles of beer on the polished old wood of the tables.
What he saw was bloody mayhem. The tables slick with blood, the landlady slumped over the bar with a knife in her back and the patrons mangled, cast across the bloodied furniture in sickening contortions not unlike puppets with their strings cut.
Squinting his eyes shut he wanted to turn away, and follow the unperturbed maid upstairs but found himself stunned with fear and surprise.
As he dared to look again at the hellish glass it was but his own face, pale and scarred, looking back at him.

Despite his plans to sleep early and move on soon after dawn and despite the weariness from the journey so far Gordon couldn’t fall asleep.
Every time he closed his eyes he saw the scene from the mirror. Every time drawn to a new horrific detail he hadn’t noticed before.
He couldn’t help it, he needed to take another look at the mirror, convince himself that it was merely a spectre of his imagination.
Slowly, carefully he crept up to the landing of the stair and peeked into the cloudy glass on the wall.
There it was again, the pub room drenched in blood and death. Yet it was not entirely the same scene.
Just at the edge of the mirror, where the lower landing of the stairs was visible the maid stared at him with dead eyes, still clutching a key akin to the one of his room, her limbs twisted and broken.

Gordon had to steady himself on the wall as he rushed back to his room, all thoughts beyond flight banished from his mind.
He grabbed his things and ran for the stairs, avoiding another glance at the mirror.

A few days later ….

A young merchant making his way back from Kings Port came upon the Inn.
After drinking through most of his earnings with the regulars, he followed the maid upstairs almost knocking down an old, cloudy mirror as he staggered up to the landing.
He screamed as in the mirror he saw like through a window a view of the pub room, guests slaughtered, the landlady stabbed and blood on every surface,
…….and swinging gently from a rafter on a very new rope, the ropemaker whom he had missed at the Kings Port Market.

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Hello Everyone:  Lord Baldrith here with a very creepy and awesome story by Lendrick entitled The Stranger.

Here is the text:

Background music:  Zander Noriega:  Song titles:  Abelian, Theorem 199 Variant 1, Bestial Paragon Interface

The Stranger by Lendrick Dawnfire

The Shadow Wood

The forest spoke of eerie adulations of un-bespoken cries of anguish. Fearful glances about, as the bedraggled stranger could sense the worms in the soil with benevolent smirks of doom. Teeth gnashing as they came flying out and bored into the eyeball of his mind. The stranger screamed.

For three days he had run, stumbling and tumbling through the forest, scratched and shaken by thorny brambles and brambly thorns, the stranger grew ever so weary. The witch sisters never mentioned it would be this painful, the hallucinations. Or were they? Scrambling and grunting the stranger picked himself up and continued to run, the worm in his eye blinked away.

On and on he ran, the spirits of the dead climbing their way to the surface and shrieking and screaming ran at him in translucent glory. Each time, the stranger seemed to scream louder.

The sisters were forever in his thoughts, but to get to the end, to achieve the unachievable spoke volumes of his determination. Driven by fear, pushed by loathing, the stranger needed to keep going, needed to survive.

Glancing about again, he saw that now he was in a clearing, with a path leading to a small cottage that had a single candle burning like the sun in one of the quaint windows.

Maybe the occupant was home? Salvation? Redemption? Hope? All these thoughts and feeling burned through the stranger’s mind that he might be at an end to the perpetual torment.

Willing his tired and slashed legs to obey, the stranger half hobbled, half ran along the path to the cottage. Only twenty feet. Two hundred feet? The cottage seemed further away, then further away, and so on and on the stranger kept running, it must be close, and it was only twenty feet. Stopping dead. The carnivorous worms, now poking through the spectral shades eyes, shrieked ever closer behind him.

Closing his eyes, the stranger knew that the cottage was only a short distance away. All he had to do was reach out and….

Opening his eyes, the cottage was right in front of him. Grasping the door knob as if death itself stalked him, the stranger flung the door open and leapt through.

The shrieking was getting louder and louder and….the door slamming shut, the shrieking stopped.

The stranger was standing in a modest room, with a roaring fireplace, a bearskin rug, wine, food and fruit were on a table in-front of him. Warmth flooded through him like a wave off the Bay of Storms. The stranger was home, safe. Secure.

The scene faded, replacing the cottage with a ramshackle hut. No fire and no fruit, dilapidated and ruined, it looked as though nobody had been here for a millennium. Since before the Cataclysm. A figure in front of the fire turned. A blood zombie!

Looking about, the door shut behind him, the stranger needed food, bandages and perhaps a weapon. Why was this happening? The sisters had deceived him!

There was a great explosion, the stranger was knocked to his back as the hut disintegrated around him. Fear threatened to overwhelm him and cause him to recede into the depths of his psychosis, where darkness and despair reigned supreme and he but their lap dog.

Something though, deep down, stirred. A spark. The spark grew and spread, igniting inside his soul, the light of the soul fire purged the fear from the stranger. Warmth and joy replaced the cold.

Rising up, the stranger turned around, the two sisters standing before him. Wreathed in soul fire, the stranger stood before them, unafraid and vengeful.

The fear was gone, replaced instead with a feeling of righteousness and strength. There was nothing this world could do to him now, any-more that would bring him to the same dark place he had just encountered. The wailing spirits, the blood zombies, the eye gouging worms. On this, inaugural day of change, initiation and no doubt a day that would become famous, it was the day he was born again.

‘You have not beaten me” The stranger proclaimed with the light of justice burning bright.

“Very good. You have passed the test, you’re Majesty”. The sisters replied.

At that very moment, the world exploded.

END

Excerpt from The Grim Sisters’ Anthology of the Mysterious & Macabre
By Lendrick Dawnfire, noted scholar of Brittany
Lord Commander
Knights of Novia

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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with a fine story from Sir Hemlock, entitled

A Fisherman’s Lament

Background music “Leap into Eternity” by Matthew Pablo at www.matthewpablo.com

JOURNAL OF THE PROCEEDINGS

DAY 1: [Morning] Strong E. header. Sighted gulls circling brine offshore from Kingsport. Sighted sudden diving of Herring to depths to escape large predator. Fishing net strangely shredded.

[Late morning] Meandering. Adrift from Kingsport at 4knots. Weather inclement. Squall forming. Sighted shark fins.

[Midday] Sighted heavy rainclouds flashing with lightning bolts due NE. Sea tempestuous. Light downpour. Inspection of hull revealed steerage loss due to rudder linkage failure. Absence of insect or bird life. Sighted sail moving away in distance. Sighted landforms ahead.

[Mid-afternoon] Frequent heavy rain. Seized by current, stranded on course. Westerly squall blowing boat E. toward larger of two mist-shrouded isles. Progress swift despite moderate waves. High tide should ensure safe passage through reef. Sighted sail again through fog.

[Late-afternoon] Sighted seabirds diving for herring off starboard bow. Mild zephyr. Weather icy. Sea foamy with presence of flotsam and jetsam. Sky clement, thinly clouded. Sighted peculiar thrashing of large shark in tentacles in turbulent dark water patch. Sighted lighthouse.

[Nightfall] Landed ashore. Sighted glow of arrow-slits in Palladium balistraria from sandbank. Sighted sail from earlier belonging to docked Baron ship upshore. Winds fierce. Repaired rudder.

Personal entry;
Under a palm on a sandy loft sat I pouring my last skerrick of rum into a Flagon I pilfered from Fire Lotus Tavern whilst a patron distracted that foolhardy barkeep.

…a skeletal Lich ascended from blackness and sat itself upon a throne of carnage, said he! The fool has taken seriously the drunken ramblings of seamen. The last such spectre sighted was vanquished decades ago.

Chart indicates I am on the largest of two sister isles due W. of Kingsport. Not that I am in the least perturbed, for she surely is prettiest of the two.

DAY2: Darkness seceded into dawn as I whiled away the hours in dreary stupor after troubled broken sleep.

With sunlight encroaching slowly over the isle I swaggered to a trail winding up a nearby hill blanketed in dense jungle. A point where I had the previous night glimpsed a dim glow.

Before I could reach the point the wind ebbed, and with it my curiosity. Whilst the weather was clement I set back down to the boat and launched for Kingsport.

[Mid-morning] The return voyage was placid and without incident. Sighed sail fish.

Personal entry;
DAY 3; Ashore. From Kingsport I set off Sth. through a grand habitation amidst an Oakridge abloom with bluebells and flowered shrubbery to a wooded Towne, Pax Lair, in which I watched a local chef garnish exquisite culinary dishes with locally grown herbs. After which I mingled among the entourage of farmers and visitors arriving at the market.

A venerable community garden grows in the center of town, overlooked by a hilltop monastery a short walk East. The belfry tolls 3 times daily signifying the beginning, middle and end of the working day.

A bullock drawn mill grinds chaff into flour sold on to local bakers. And the distillery produces Hidden Vales finest wine extracted from grapes harvested from nearby vineyards.

One enters and leaves via iconic archways cut by the regions skilled masons from bluestone extracted from a disused road.

The distinct call of the shy blue-jacket and speckled bush hen are often heard within waterway reeds. The astute observer would note the red bellied finch nesting in thicket, and the occasional shadow of Great Eagles passing over paddocks occupied by newborn lambs.

Most noteworthy, however, is a curious hedge maze constructed by farmers to entertain children and visitors. For a mere 2gp one can wander about the maze in search of hidden prizes.

As much as I enjoyed the fine local hospitality and partisanship, I had to press on for I was overdue in meeting my beloved wife in OwlsHead, for whom I acquired a flask of the finest primrose oil.

The way led Nth. along a decrepit path that often disappeared beneath dense vegetation. Eventually it opened into a clearing where my journey resumed…

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Hello everyone. This is Aclepius, with a wonderful story, written by Stile Teckel and Gabriel Nightshadow

It represents Stile’s biography, and it is entitled

The Lord of the Manor

Background music by Smartsound

Chapter One: Legacy
As Stile Teckel entered the immense display room of his late grandfather’s home, he still couldn’t believe that he was gone. Joseph Teckel had passed away two weeks ago at the ripe old age of 100. A world-renowned, retired archaeologist, he had spent most of life traveling to exotic locales and discovering rare artifacts, many of which were now on display in the most famous museums around the world. Quite a few of these rare artifacts remained in his personal collection stored here in his Tudor-style home which he had shared with his late wife, Mary, who had passed away ten years ago. Stile still couldn’t quite understand why his grandfather had left his home and its contents to him in his will rather than his daughter, Stile’s mom, Nyssa.
One display case suddenly caught Stile’s attention. Inside was a full length oval shaped mirror with solid gold frame. The frame itself was encrusted with rare and precious gems and strange looking runes which Stile did not recognize. The small computer display screen next to the case indicated that this item was “Nystal’s Mirror of Infinite Wonder”.
Nystal…that name seemed vaguely familiar. Stile suddenly remembered that dark and stormy night thirty years ago when his grandfather had come to visit and told him a fairy tale about a far off land he had once visited long ago known as New Britannia, ruled over by the wise and powerful monarch known as Lord British. Lord British often relied on the counsel of the mysterious prophet known as Nystal (or Time Lord, as he was more commonly known). But that was merely a fairy tale…wasn’t it?
Stile was intrigued by the artifact. Could it be a portal to this other world which his grandfather had spoken of? If Stile could decipher the runes, perhaps he could discover how to activate it. Stile searched all of the other display cases in the room, but was unable to find anything that might help him decipher the strange runes.
Stile sat down at the table in the center of the room and pulled out his laptop. He began an online search. After many hours, he discovered that, although the runes bore many similarities to several ancient languages, there didn’t seem to be an exact match in any known Earth database. Stile was growing frustrated. He remembered that his late grandfather had told him that tale for a reason, for Joseph had made Stile swear never to repeat it to anyone else. Perhaps there was a clue in the tale…
Stile glanced over once at the computer screen next to the display case. He walked over to it and noticed several keys marked on the keyboard underneath it. One was a red button marked Administrator. Stile pressed it and the computer requested his user ID. Stile glanced at the description of the item on the line above it again. No…it couldn’t be that simple, Stile thought to himself. He typed in: TIMELORD.
Suddenly, Stile heard an audible click and a hidden panel opened up in the floor directly in front of the display case. Stile went over to investigate. Inside, he found three items: two massive, leather bound volumes which had been well-preserved in the hidden compartment and something which resembled a metal, circular, compact powder case. One of the leather bound volumes was his late grandfather’s journal, which was entitled “My Adventures in New Britannia”. The other volume was entitled “A Guide to the Runic Language”, written by someone named Dame Lori. Stile opened up the compact case and saw a miniature version of the mirror embedded in the lower half. The runes surrounding the miniature mirror began to glow. Stile quickly closed the compact and put it in his pants pocket. He placed the two leather bound volumes on the table in the center of the room.
The display screen suddenly went blank and a prerecorded video made by his late grandfather, Joseph, began to play.
“Hello, Stile!”, said Joseph, “It’s me, grandpa! If you’re watching this, it means I’ve finally moved on and joined your late grandmother up in heaven. As you might have guessed, that tale I told you many years ago when you were a child really did happen. On an archaeological dig many years ago in ancient China, I happened to stumble through a lunar rift and ended up in the land known as New Britannia. I helped their monarch, Lord British, and his advisor, Nystal, locate and recover an ancient artifact which they used to defeat a powerful foe who was terrorizing the land. In recognition for my help, Lord British knighted me and requested that I stay in New Britannia and help them rebuild the kingdom after the devastation caused by their foe. But I knew that my place was here on Earth with your grandmother, so I declined. Nystal told me he had foreseen a time in the distant future when you would come to New Britannia and aid their champion, the Avatar, and his companions in their battle against an even more powerful foe. I have left you a few items that will help you in that respect. When you are ready to travel to New Britannia, touch the runes surrounding the miniature mirror in the compact in sequence to spell out the word AVATAR. Good luck, Stile! I know you will make me proud! ”
The video ended and another panel suddenly opened up in the wall next to the display case, revealing a hidden compartment. Inside, Stile found a jeweled katana, a full suit of shiny chain mail armor, a sturdy long bow marked with glowing magic runes, a quiver full of steel arrows, a dagger, a knight’s tunic, a leather backpack, and a small leather pouch filled with gold, silver, and copper coins.
Stile stood there for a moment and took it all in. New Britannia was real! He had the opportunity to visit a whole new world and start over again. Stile took a few moments to think about his life. He was stuck in a boring, dead end job with a nasty, young, female boss who was a real control freak. His lovely wife had recently left him and run off to Las Vegas with some young stud half her age and his daughter was having an affair with her married college literature professor, who was nearly Stile’s age! His son had quite college to become a rapper, but having failed in that, was now a low level drug dealer for some methamphetamine manufacturer who called himself “Mr. Schweitzer”. Yup, there was nothing really keeping him here! What should he do next?
Stile sat down at the table and began reading his grandfather’s journal…

Chapter Two: Preparing For the Journey
After spending the next several months reading both volumes, Stile was able to gain a basic understanding of the written Runic language, the spoken language, and the history and culture of New Britannia. However, Stile soon realized that he needed more detailed knowledge before he could cross over to this new realm.
Using instructions which his grandfather had left in his journal, Stile discovered that the mirror could also be used as a viewing screen into New Britannia. By pressing a specific rune sequence on the compact, he could access a specific lunar rift and view the activity in the surrounding area. In this mode, he could see what the inhabitants of New Britannia were doing, but they would be unable to see him (i.e., one way viewing only). His grandfather had conveniently listed the rune sequences for all of the major lunar rifts scattered throughout New Britannia in his journal, so over the course of the next several years, Stile was able to gain a deeper understanding of the spoken language, clothing, and local customs of the people inhabiting each region of New Britannia.
As Stile began observing the people of New Britannia through the magic mirror, he began searching for a native who he believed could help him enact his master plan in this strange, new world.
After five years of careful observation, Stile finally believed he had the ideal candidate.
Roderick was the younger son of an important Duke. Unlike his older, well-respected brother, Robert, young Roderick was only interested in having a good time, and wasted much of his father’s money on booze and whores. Eventually he was kicked out of the family castle by his father and stricken from his will. Penniless and lacking any real skills, Roderick only had his good looks and charm to rely on. Through a female prostitute he knew, he made contact with the notorious thief known as Red Badger , and became his apprentice.

Roderick soon discovered that he had a knack for thievery and surveillance, and he and Red Badger soon developed a reputation as the best team of thieves in all of Novia. For a while, all went well and both Roderick and the Red Badger were living a life of luxury with their ill-gotten gain.

But then came the day when Red Badger got too ambitious and decided that they should break into Lord British’s private vault at night and steal some of his most rare and powerful artifacts. After breaking into the vault, Red Badger “accidentally” alerted the guards to their presence. Red Badger managed to escape with a few of the artifacts, but Roderick was caught by the guards and sentenced to life in prison. After a year behind bars, Roderick managed to escape and was now on the run.

This man Roderick definitely has the skills I’m looking for, Stile thought to himself. I will look him up immediately upon my arrival in New Britannia.
Shortly after this 35th birthday, Stile invited his mother, Nyssa, over for dinner. Afterwards, he showed her everything his grandfather had left him in the display room and revealed his plans to her.
“But Stile, you’re talking about the rest of your life!”, exclaimed Nyssa. “Are you sure this is what you want to do?”
“Mom, I’ve never been more sure than anything in my life!”, replied Stile. “There’s nothing keeping me here. In New Britannia, I have a chance to start over again and live out my dreams! …And don’t worry, mom, once I’ve established myself, I’ll bring you over as well.”
“Wouldn’t you like to spend your retirement years in a place like this?”, said Stile, as he pointed to an image of a busy town in New Britannia which was displayed in the magic mirror.
“I must admit it does have a great deal of appeal to me, son.”, said Nyssa, as she gazed longingly at the images of the townspeople going about their daily business. “You know, I never told you this before, but it was your grandfather’s tales of this realm which stirred my imagination and got me interested in role playing games when I was a young girl. I’ve been writing computer code for so many years now…I was planning on finally retiring in a couple of years and taking that trip to Great Britain like I always wanted to…”
“Then it’s settled then!”, exclaimed Stile. “I’ve already put my affairs in order and given you power of attorney so you can use my bank account to pay the bills on this estate until I’m ready to bring you over. Every Friday night at 8:00 PM, I will activate the magic mirror from the other side using this (shows his mom the compact) and let you know how I’m doing.”
“OK, Stile.”, replied Nyssa. “While you change into your tunic and armor, I’ll pack you a nice meal. We have plenty of roast lamb, buttermilk biscuits, butternut squash, and apples left over from dinner.”
Stile nodded and then retrieved all of the items from the compartment next to the display case. When he was done changing, his mom handed him the leather backpack, which was now stuffed full of food. Stile put the backpack on.
Nyssa gave her son a big hug and then began crying.
“I’m going to miss you, Stile!”, she sobbed. “Your grandfather would be so proud of you right now!”
“I know, mom.”, replied Stile. “I believe this is what he wanted for the both of us – to live out the rest of our lives in New Britannia like he never got the chance to!”
Stile pulled out the compact and pushed a sequence of runes. The image of a forest appeared in the magic mirror. A large port city loomed in the distance. Stile pressed the runes on the compact which spelled out the word AVATAR. Suddenly all of the runes on the magic mirror began to glow and the image shimmered for a moment. It was time to go.
Stile walked towards the mirror. He turned around one last time to see his mom standing there, smiling.
“Take good care of yourself, son! “, she said.
“I will, mom!”, replied Stile, ““Remember, every Friday at 8:00 pm sharp!”
He waved to his mom one last time, then turned and stepped through the mirror…

Chapter Three: Spy Master and Merchant Prince
“There he is men, hiding behind that tree!”, shouted the commander of the guards, “Grab him!”
Roderick broke cover and ran through the forest as fast as he could, but could tell from the sounds of the rapidly approaching footsteps that they were closing in on him. He felt a hand clamp down on his left shoulder.
“I’ve got you now!”, a guard exclaimed.
Suddenly, Roderick felt an arrow whiz by him as it struck the guard in his right eye, killing him instantly. The guard fell backwards and hit the ground. Two other guards who were a short distance behind him immediately stopped and drew their swords.
‘What did that arrow come from?”, one shouted, right before an arrow struck him in the chest, and he, too, fell to the ground, dead.
“Show yourself, coward!”, yelled the commander of the guards, as he grabbed Roderick and held his sword to his throat, “Otherwise, I’ll kill your friend, here!”
There was no response, as the guard commander scanned the area around him for any signs of movement.
The commander did not see the mysterious figure sneak up behind him and slash him in the back with a katana! The commander dropped his sword and fell to the ground, dead.
Roderick turned around and saw a knight clad in chain mail standing there.
“Thank you for saving me, kind sir!”, said Roderick. “I am just a poor, unfortunate soul who was framed for a crime I did not commit and was forced to flee from the authorities when they didn’t believe me!”
The mysterious knight stared at Roderick and said, “You are not as innocent as you claim to be, Roderick! I know exactly what kind of man you truly are!”
“You know me? I don’t believe we’ve ever met before…”, replied a surprised Roderick.
“No, we haven’t met before in person.”, replied the knight, “But I’ve been following your exploits for some time now. You have the right skills I’m looking for in an associate. Join me and I promise you wealth and power beyond your wildest dreams! I also promise you that, one day, you will have your revenge against your former associate, Red Badger!”
“Yes, that all sounds very tempting!”, said Roderick, as he raised his right eyebrow, “But why would a knight want to associate himself with someone like me?”
“My grandfather was a noble knight who once served Lord British.”, replied the stranger, as he held out his hand. “I’m a more practical man. Will you accept my offer?”
“Yes, I think I will!”, replied Roderick, shaking the stranger’s hand, “So, my new friend, what shall I call you?”
“You may call me Sir Stile Teckel.”, replied Stile, as he beamed.
Acting through Roderick, Sir Stile began establishing his extensive spy network. Roderick would make contact with people with access to important information, such as servants of nobles, merchants, and politicians and pay them well to spy on their employers. These spies never knew who their true employer was. Roderick simply referred to him as “The Big Boss”. At first, this spy network was limited to the port city which Sir Stile Teckel had settled in, but over time, he had Roderick establish contacts in all of the major towns and cities he did business with.
Sir Stile used the information he acquired to secretly blackmail the rich and powerful and gain an unfair advantage in purchasing goods and services. As far as the public was concerned, Sir Stile Teckel was simply a highly successful merchant who gave generously to help feed, house, and educate the poor. He had Roderick establish a private security force, composed mostly of former soldiers, who helped the outnumbered city guards finally eliminate the gangs of thieves and robbers who regularly prowled the city streets at night. Indeed, in a few short years, Sir Stile had become one of the most influential men in that port city and had established a vast trade empire stretching from Brittany to Port Graff in Northeast Novia and Ardoris in the Southeast Novia (The Teckel Trade Triangle) and even beyond to the Kingsport and Owls Head in the Hidden Vale.

Chapter Four: A Greater Purpose
Five years after his arrival in New Britannia, Sir Stile Teckel had become so rich and powerful that he was elected mayor of the port city. He acquired a castle lot and had a grand castle built there, surrounded by high stone walls and a moat.
Stile brought him mother, Nyssa, over from Earth, and gave her one of the guest houses on his estate. There she was able to pursue her interests in painting, pottery, and sewing. She also became active in community events, such as the Summer Food Festival, and the local poetry group which met weekly in the public library. On Friday evenings, Stile would accompany Nyssa to the local pub where they would listen to the bards spin their tales and play their music. The local pub also was an excellent place for Stile to secretly seduce the beautiful, young, local girls, for he had a healthy sexual appetite, and he found that the daughters of the nobles whom he met at the charity balls and other major gatherings of the nobility to be rather passionless and boring.
Life was good for Sir Stile on both a personal and business level. The only major rival he had to contend with in the business arena was Duke Garen, who was a member of the Great Council. As the head of one of the most powerful families in the kingdom, Duke Garen had used his wealth and influence to expand his trade empire. Until recently, Duke Garen had focused on building his empire in the Western half of Novia, but now he sought to expand into Sir Stile’s territory. Roderick and his spies had not been able to uncover much information about the mysterious Duke Garen, who was rarely ever seen in public. There were rumors that Duke Garen was not actually the late Duke’s legitimate heir, that his mother had actually had an affair with another noble and passed off the offspring as the late Duke’s. But without some sort of proof, that bit of information was of no value to him.
As Sir Stile sat at his desk in his study pondering his next move, he received two most unexpected guests.
A white bearded figure clad in an orange robe and carrying a sturdy wooden staff suddenly appeared before him in a puff of white smoke. Behind him stood another slightly younger looking, white bearded figure clad in a purple wizard’s robes and wearing a pointed wizard’s hat. He held a long, curvy staff which was covered in magic runes and had a glowing red gem on top.
“Greetings, Sir Stile!”, said the white bearded figure. “Do not be alarmed! We mean you no harm! Allow me to introduce myself. I am Nystal, and this is my good friend, Lord Baldrith!”
“Nystal?”, exclaimed Sir Stile. “Are you the same Nystal who befriended my grandfather, Joseph, many years ago?”
“Indeed, I am, Sir Stile!”, replied Nystal. “You have done quite well for yourself these past five years, as I knew you would. As I predicted, Roderick has proven to be a good right hand man.”
“You know Roderick?”, asked Sir Stile.
“Not in this form, of course.”, replied Nystal. “Five years ago, I disguised myself as a guard at the prison he was being held in and secretly aided him in his escape.”
“I see.”, said Sir Stile, stroking his chin. “So everything that has transpired these past five years has been part of some sort of master plan of yours?”
“You are a bright fellow indeed, Sir Stile!”, answered Nystal. “A grave threat to all of New Britannia will soon be upon us. You role is to help support the Avatar and his other companions, such as Lord Baldrith here, by providing them intelligence gathered through your spy network, resources, and access to important people and places through your personal contacts.”
“I think I can handle that.”, replied Sir Stile.
“Good to hear that.”, replied Nystal, who suddenly had a very serious look on his face, “ Sir Stile, your hand to hand and ranged combat skills are quite good, but they will be of little use against someone like your new business rival, Duke Garen. You may not realize this, but he is a powerful sorcerer, well versed in the dark arts. In order to stand any chance against him, you will have to learn the schools of magic as well. I’ve brought Lord Baldrith here to instruct you.”
“I see,”, said Sir Stile, “ I was unaware that Duke Garen practiced sorcery. No disrespect, Lord Baldrith, but are you a highly skilled mage?”
“I would say so, since I studied with the best!’, answered a grinning Lord Baldrith, “ I was Nystal’s finest apprentice.”
“Indeed he was!”, said Nystal, as he nodded approvingly, “I’ve never met anyone else with such a talent for magic.”
“I must go now and continue my search for the new Avatar!”, declared Nystal, “I leave you in Lord Baldrith’s capable hands!”
Nystal vanished in a puff of white smoke.
“Does he do pop in and out like that all of the time?’, asked Sir Stile.
“You get used to it after a while.”, answered Lord Baldrith, as he shrugged his shoulders, “Be thankful that he’s not as bad as his cousin, Mingo!”
“So, Lord Baldrith, where do we begin?”, asked Sir Stile.
“I think we should start with the Life school of magic…”, replied Lord Baldrith, as he stroked his long, white beard, “We do want you to stay alive during combat, after all…”

THE BEGINNING

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Hello everybody. This is JLWChambers, coming to you with a story by Lord Tachys alFahn, entitled

The Windows are Open

He knelt down near the small, still form, allowing himself a few minutes to examine it. Emaciated limbs, atrophied from lack of use, extended at odd angles from a small torso wrapped in tattered, unwashed rags. The body was topped with a head that was unusually large by comparison, even for a child so small. Pulling a rag out of one of the many pockets secreted about his robe, he dabbed the thin line of drool from the corner of her slack-jawed mouth, examining her teeth as he did so. Yes, she was young, but not quite as young her wasted body suggested.

Then his gaze moved up to the eyes, those unfocused, empty eyes.

Anyone looking at those eyes would have thought her a soulless husk. This man knew better… the power pulled him to the soul trapped within.

“Do not worry, child… all have their place in the order of things. All have a purpose,” he whispered to her, gently brushing the stringy, dirty hair away from her face, “and I think I may have discovered yours.”

Scooping her up easily, he rose to his feet, and strode towards the Shard.

________________________

She ran, as she always had. Something was after her, she knew… vile and terrible. She had seen it once, long ago, but could not recall it clearly. All that remained was the overwhelming horror, and the need to be far, far away.

It had not always been so. She could still remember Mother, who had protected her and made the world bright and beautiful and safe. But something happened, and Mother wouldn’t play anymore. She wouldn’t play or move. She wouldn’t do anything, then she disappeared.

That was when the Thing appeared. Its arrival turned her bright and happy world into a maze of halls and doors and windows. Windows were especially bad, and needed to be shuttered always, for that was what had let it in. The doors needed to be open, Mother always had the door open, the girl needed to open the right one to find her.

And so she had run, opening so many doors to find Mother, only to find so many empty rooms. There were other rooms, with things she didn’t understand… happy moments where she thought she had finally found Mother, but instead had found only paintings of things that didn’t seem right.

A girl yelling…

…pushing…

Mother falling.

Then came the Quaking.

The halls shook and twisted about her. The doors wouldn’t open now. None of them would budge, no matter how hard she pulled. And the windows…

The Windows were OPEN!

IT would find her!

Through the windows came a voice saying words she couldn’t understand. Terrified, she ran. All the while, the halls continued to shake and rattle. She had to hide, find a place where the Thing could not reach her. She could hear it, smell it nearby. A door nearby opened and she dashed through, desperate to escape.

She was in a room… with a window, an OPEN window! Turning in a panic, she tried to escape, only to bounce off a solid wall. She cast about, but there was only the window, and…

Mother!

It was her! She was finally here! But…

Something was wrong! Mother was yelling, scolding, denying her wish to do something, but what? She found she didn’t care, anger surged inside the girl, white and burning. Suddenly she was upright with a denial of her own, one that pushed her arms out and up. She stood, horrified, as her mother stumbled back, her face a mirror of the girl’s own. She stumbled back, and then out, through the open window. Before the girl could reach her, Mother had fallen, landing with a sickening thud on the ground below.

The girl stood there, tears streaming down her face, emotions boiling within her: blinding rage, shock, shame and then a soul-crushing sorrow finally wrenching an agonized howl from her.
She looked up, the Daedalian light giving her eyes a red, feral cast, to see a dark, slender man standing before her, hand extended…

________________________

The creature’s leathery wings unfurled to reveal a small, scaly face with deep, burning red eyes that regarded him with something akin to wonder. The echoes of its transformational howling finally subsiding, the imp tentatively climbed up his outstretched hand, to perch on his arm, dutifully awaiting the grinning man’s orders.

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Hello everyone, this is Aclepius, with a wonderful story from Malkhelm. It’s called

A Smuggler’s Tale, Volume 1

As the story lent itself to multiple voices, I have joining me in this podcast:
Lord Baldrith as Harry
Amber Raine as the new girl
And Lady Adnor as Sole

Background music “Evasion” my Matthew Pablo at www.matthewpablo.com

A Smuggler’s Tale Vol. 1

“Hello, Love. How would you like to make this the night of your life?” I don’t recognize this one. She must be from one of those backwater villages, or an Outlander from a very open society. Goddess knows there are more and more of us showing up every day, all of us thrust into this alien world where if you don’t find a place to fit in quick things can get real messy real fast. She knows her stuff though, leaning at just the right angle, pulling at her dress to entice the eyes to all the right body parts, and a natural knockout, almost no make-up. Sorry darling, but I’m taken.
I pull a coin purse from under my black leathers and slide it across the table to her, barely taking my eyes from my bottle of spirits. Best to do these things quickly. “Despite your very tempting offer, I’m afraid I must decline. Nothing personal, Milady, but there is only one girl for me. Take the gold and the night off, on me. No hard feelin’s lass.”
To my surprise I got none of the usual responses. “Awww,” she purred, sliding closer. “Well I’m afraid you’re the only man for me tonight, and I’m very gifted when it comes to getting the things I want. Come now, I know how much fun you tall, dark, and brooding types can be behind closed doors.” She reaches towards the first button on the low neck-line bodice, still trying to close the deal. Trying too hard.
Before she can react or even breathe one syllable I strike, grabbing her wrist and gently pulling my coin purse before she could slide it out of sight down the front of her dress. I pull her into an embrace, at least that’s what the rest of the rowdy barflies in the tavern would think. “Alright madame, you have my attention. Now who put you up to this?” My eyes were already making a third sweep of tonite’s patrons.
“How dare yo-”
“You see, a newbie would have been embarrassed by my refusal and all the pros here in Kingsport know that I’m off the market. So enlighten me. Who’s paying ya?” Her big eyes darted to the side for only a split second, but it was all I needed. I spotted my new friend just as he was turning out the side door. “Well I dare say he looked a little flustered. Gotta go, Love.” I only stopped long enough to grab my black, wide-brimmed hat and toss the coin purse to the poor, wide-eyed girl. “Consider that payment for guarding my bottle until I return,” I spoke over my shoulder before I was out the door and into the pitch black alley. I really didn’t need to hurry, the man I hunted could always be found in the same spot. A couple of twists and turns in the dark and there he was, acting as if he hadn’t moved all day. Stands to reason that if you’re a fence then people have to be able to find you I guess.
“Harry! How ya been old chum? Everything all right? You look a wee bit winded, a little flushed, I’d say.”
“Look Ma-”
“Harry,” sigh, “can we skip the song and dance. I’m gonna be real pissed if one of my last bottles of the good stuff isn’t right where I left it.” I cross my arms letting the casual act sweep aside my cloak giving the sword on my left hip the clearance she needed. Harry got the message.
“Ok, ok… it was nothing persona-” the weasely back-alley fence pleaded.
“What does Anton want?”

*********
“We don’t see ya around much anymore. Boss has always shown favor to his more valuable employees. You know that. Me and the fellas thought maybe the new girl-” My laughter brought him up short. Confused and fidgeting. Easy target.
My blade cleared her sheath in the blink of an eye. Point levelled at Harry’s chest and ire in my voice. “Anton wants to go land-lover on us, fine. Thinks he can turn this island into his own little fiefdom, fine. Let him play house. I want nothing of it. I’m a sailor Harry, there’s only one place for me and until our little undead problem is fixed, I’m out of work.” That was the stick. Time for the carrot. I relax my sword grip, prop my blade back on my shoulder, and crack a half grin. “Come on, mate. Tell me what that little fool really wants.”
Harry never takes his eyes off the blade in front of him. Of unique design and make, to be sure, but I never have quite figured out why everyone who looks upon her becomes seemingly mesmerized. She’s long, thin and wickedly sharp. Single edged with just the slightest curve and a grip that is easily three hands long. She resembles the blades used by the folk in far off Ardoris, to the east, but that’s not what makes her special. What catches the eye is the fact that she is made of the blackest material I have ever seen. More akin to rock than metal. No smith I have ever shown her to has been able to identify it, nor have I ever had to hone her edge. Not even a single tool mark on her. She wasn’t for the faint-hearted either, having no hand guard or tsuba in place. A signature weapon can come in handy in the life of a smuggler ship captain who deals in the underworld of Novia. It can also make one a target. As I was about to find out.
“Still got that ugly thing, huh?” Harry gestured towards my sword. “You should have thrown that cursed thing in the sea like I told you, Captain. Else I wouldn’t have to be doing this,” Harry says as he whistles between thumb and forefinger. Wide eyed fear is replaced by cold, cruel certainty. Men wearing black appear at either end of the alley. A quick glance tells me about half a dozen. Three in front, three to the rear. Including Harry that made seven. Bad odds. And I was the fool who walked right into it. I remain calm, sword still propped on my shoulder like a fishing pole. Can’t panic in these situations. No such thing as a no-win scenario.
“Well, seems ya got me, mate. That mean you’re going to tell me what Anton wants now?” The three men in front halt just behind Harry. Two look like average bruisers, cudgels and faces only mothers could love. The three behind me stop and take up positions four or five feet away. A quick glance coupled with the smell of them told me they were cut from the same cloth as the two ruffians behind Harry. I had been in and escaped from worse, however it was the look of the third man behind Harry that brought me up short. He was tall and lean, carrying a staff and, as opposed to his cohorts, dressed in finery befitting a noble. Dammit, Anton, I swore to myself. This was certainly going to complicate things. “Really, Harry? You brought a mage? What are you thinking?” I’m still talking to Harry in my friendly voice.
“Oi, him?” Harry jabs a thumb behind him towards the spell caster. “He’s just here for verification. Ya see, Cap’n Malk, Anton knows all about your plans to get off this island.”
I snicker at him. “Lots of folks want off this island. How am I any different?”

**********

“Well as you know, our gracious Oracle has us blockaded from leaving until that damn liche who’s raising an army of the dead is taken out.”
I sigh, overly exasperated. “I do hope you get to what this has to do with me. There’s a bottle waiting for me, remember?”
“The blade, Malk! Anton happens to prefer things the way they are right now, and would like certain assurances that some would-be hero isn’t going to go fix our undead problem with his hell-spawned sword and the rumoured cache of magic items he’s supposedly been hoarding!”
Laughter. A deep-belly laughter that has me clutching my gut and starting to bend over. “A hero?” More laughter. The irritation on Harry’s face is starting to turn to red rage. “So, criminal smuggler saves whole island?” Can’t stop laughing now. “I suppose after that I ride off into the sunset on my talking horse?” Got to keep this up just a little longer.
“Malk! This isn’t a request,” Harry slid a little closer to me. His attempt at being menacing was even more fuel for my laughter.
“After that it’s off to find a magical farmer’s hoe that can take down a dragon, I guess?” I barely manage this last line through my hysterical laughing fit.
“Anton’s respect for you is the only reason we ain’t killed ya already, but rest assured. That can change very quickly.” Harry’s closer now. Almost within arm’s reach. “The sword, Malk! Now!”
I start to calm down. Wipe the tears from my eyes, sober up a bit. I glance up at Harry and rise again to my full height. In a flurry of movement and with a deft hand motion, the black sword snaps off my shoulder. Everyone tenses, but the men only had enough time to slightly raise their cudgels. I’m not attacking they realize for I’m holding her out to Harry as if to relinquish her. She’s in a reverse grip, pointed at the ground separating Harry and I. Everyone visibly relaxes, couple of the thugs even look disappointed to be denied their blood sport for the night.
“Here ya go, mate” Harry steps forward. Right where I want him. As he raises his hand to grab the rest of her grip, he catches my crooked grin. Now. Strike.
I pull the sword away from Harry’s grasping fingers and execute a blind stab directly behind me. Caught one of the brutes in the belly. One down. Now my sword is flying straight at Harry’s face, but I’m still holding her in my reverse grip. My sword pommel smashes his nose. The blow and shock stagger him backwards into the mage and two henchmen. All four go down in a tangled mess in the tight alley. One now worthless Harry and three more temporarily down. Next. Pivot and turn left. The blade moves with me and I am able to turn fast enough to score a slash on one of the remaining men behind me. Deep chest wound. Another one down. My blade continues her same arc, flying towards the next and last guy still on his feet. This one has had the longest time to react however, so the best I can do is simply parry the overhead cudgel strike aimed at my head.

**********
We separate and square off. I do not have time for a duel. Already, I hear Harry’s group regaining their feet. My eyes dart their way to check their progress. It’s the mage who is first up, his hand already pulling bits of archaic powders from the satchel on his hip. He’s chanting, his staff’s head dipping in my direction and beginning to glow blue-white. I parry another cudgel blow coming from the man in front and twist away, letting his forward motion carry him stumbling towards his compatriots. The mage has completed his incantation. You should have known better than this, Anton. I hold my sword, Blackrock, up between the spell-user and myself.
Harry notices his wizard’s actions too late. He knows what will happen. Through the blood gushing from his face and watery eyes he shouts, “No you fool, don’t cast that spell!
Too late. Lightning begins gathering around the head of the staff before suddenly leaping towards me. One of the other reasons I have never parted with her and one of the unexplained mysteries about my sword and the substance she is made of: she causes magic to go haywire.
The lightning bolt is yanked off target and drawn to her, striking the tip first before running down the length of her blade. The results of magic cast at her are random. This time the lightning becomes a vortex of wind and water that swirls about the blade like a typhoon at sea. And as quickly as it attracted the magic, the sword expels it, right back at the caster. I feel nothing of the effects. Harry and his men are pummelled by wind and stinging water drops. All of them thoroughly dazed but nothing fatal. Time to run. “Later, old chum. Let’s do this again sometime, eh?” I shout at Harry as I sprint out of the alleyway, turn a corner, and run right into three more toughs coming to the aid of their fallen comrades. “By the Three!” I swear. “All of my brandy will be long gone by the time I get back to that bottle.”
Before things could get any worse, from out of the darkness above us, the whistling sound of four arrows screamed down and thudded into the packed earth at the feet of my would be attackers. “Run along now, boys! Tell your master that his prey has eluded him tonight!” The voice is female. One I was very grateful to hear. My attackers begin to slowly retreat, but a few more well placed arrows got them running soon enough.
A lithe shadow materializes from the thatch roof above me and nimbly drops to the ground next to me. “Care to sheathe that thing now?” the brown haired woman asks me.
“How’d you find me, Sole?”
“Well the floozy back at the tavern helped a lot. Seems to be rather taken with you too. She’s guarding a bottle of brandy like it’s the most precious thing she’s ever seen. However, it was Drakkhan who sent the search out. Why in all of the Black Void are Anton’s men after you, Malkhelm?”
“That’s Captain Malkhelm, my dear”
She straps her bow to her back. Blackrock returns to her sheath. “Oh really?” the sarcasm shining through her friendly banter. “Last time I checked, neither one of us has a ship. Kind of makes it difficult to be a captain. Wouldn’t you agree, Malkhelm?” I set off down the lane, setting a brisk pace. “Where are we going?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” I ask, chuckling a little. “Us being heroes and all, there is only one thing to do.” I don’t need to look at her face to see the bewilderment. “We’re going to go save a whole island.” I continued walking while she stopped a moment in stunned silence. She didn’t hesitate long before she was right back beside me.
“What’s the plan, Captain?”
“Brandy first, dear.”

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Hello Everyone, Lord Baldrith here with a wonderful story by Jatvardur.  I much enjoyed reading it and the unexpected turn of events 🙂

Here is the text:

Background Music by deadEarth entitled Always Remembered

 

The Lion and the Goose by Jatvardur

A soft candescent light brushed against the lion’s cheek. Glimmering rays on paths unknown; down from the sun and through the hills and glens. Wandering, lost; the rays would roam and fill the world. Night encroached as the sun descended to rest. The sky appeared as bloodied and torn; clear of cloud to reveal the sparkling diamonds upon the blackened velvet of the beyond. The palette of colours still held the ocean blue of daylight. A dash of white and grey appeared to have been dropped on the canvas without thought or reason. In the twillight the wind did not know if it should rest or blow. In the lion’s mind it was still day; he danced under the sun upon the golden fields of the Vale. Here. There. Everywhere. All would become night. Quietness abounded. Silence spread as fire to leave the lion in solemnity. The walls, charred. Windows, dusted and barred. Crops, ashen. All now cold. All was darkened afore the lion. “Was I not magnificent?” boasted the lion. His barrel chest protruded towards the mirror. “You were the most magnificent m’lord, yet no cheers,” chided the goose. “Do you not see the makings of a king?” “I see a goose,” said the goose. “Yet it was I, the lion, who was victorious. It was I, the lion, who destroyed their homestead and tore their walls asunder,” the lion raised his voice, a sonorous rumble that nailed the goose where he stood, “it is I who shall rule Novia.” “Yet here you are, a goose, pouting before a fallen mirror. A figure within a ruin, hidden away on the Vale.” “I am a lion from a great house of lions. My crest, a lion; my family, all lions. I am courageous, as a lion.” “My lord, you have forgotten yourself. You are a goose. I see it true for I am a goose too.” The sun no more atop its perch. The room passed to unrelenting darkness, yet through the crack in the roof a wandering lunar light peaked through upon the lion and the goose. Here. There. Everywhere. Fragments of light Silence and solemnity. Once more. The lion started back at the goose. No movement, naught a twitch; no sound at all. A lick of wind brushed through the door and whipped the dust along the floor like scurrying mice. “Is this madness?” whispered the lion. “This is madness,” whispered the goose. The door creaked ajar. A soft patter of footsteps followed after the wind. Who was there? Another goose? “My love what have you done to yourself?” that voice. It was familiar feminine voice. Sweetness; a dulcet and soft warmth of concubinal love. “Nothing… I’m here. I became caught in a dream. Nothing more.” “Why is there broken glass upon the floor?” the feminine voice became charged. She gasped. “The mirror! It’s broken. What have you done?” “I did not choose it. I was told to do it.” “Did you gaze once more upon the moon? You cannot, must not, let the shattered moonlight shine upon your soul for it will be reflected within you.” “Do you see a lion?” asked the man. “I see a man who should be my husband; a man, a lord and a leader of people… but who is troubled by the shattered moon.”

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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius. I’m very pleased to bring you another great story, and another guest narrator.

The story is The Well, written and narrated by Bubonic

Background music “World Travel” by Dan Knoflicek at www.opengameart.org

drip… drip… drip.

The noise rouses me from my slumber. I open my eyes briefly, spying the shafts of light from the shattered moon cascading in through my window. Still too early… I drift off again, my mind’s eye wandering.

drip
droop

drip.

I roll over, covering my head with my pillow, drowning out the nagging drips.

Ahhhh…. better.

Silence.

I smile to myself, thinking about the barmaid who bought me a drink tonight. I hope she’s there next time.

Sleep comes again, slowly pulling me, spiralling…. welco–

Drip.

My eyes snap open, seemingly of their own accord. That infernal well! Every night, every single night, I can hear it. More times than I can count, I’ve asked him to fix the drip, but he just rolls his eyes. And laughs to himself. Even now, as I lay here in the dark, I can hear his whispers. His condescension. His denials.

I rub my face, exhausted, and taste copper. Looking down at my hand, I can see the red lines in my palm, glinting in the moonlight. At least, I assume they’re red. It’s hard to tell, the moon is so bright, almost blinding. I have to shield my eyes as I walk across the grass.

Vaguely, I realize I’m outside. But why wouldn’t I be?

Drip.

I turn quickly and see it, the darkness bubbling up inside me. The well just stands there in the grass, mocking me, as if its leaky bucket and coarse rope somehow make it better. The rope feels… strong. I like the way it feels when the fibers push into my palm. It makes me feel alive.

I’m testing it now, judging it. Daring it to be as strong as it thinks it is. Looking closely, I can see the fibers forcing their way into his flesh. The supple and tender neck veins bulge excitedly as I push downward. Its fascinating, really, watching the skin expand and contract with the pulse. Slower, slower… just like falling asleep. So peaceful.

Back outside, I consider the leaky bucket, now lying harmlessly on the grass. Despite myself, I am impressed. I kneel down, gently placing the rope inside the bucket. You were right, I think. You ARE better.

I sigh in relaxation, pulling the covers up to my chin. I cannot help but smile as I think about the bucket and the rope, and how well they did. I feel proud. And I am tired, so tired.

I can feel sleep coming at last. Still smiling, I begin to fall…

Drip.