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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with a wonderful story from Themo Lock, entitled
The Exodus
(historical account from the Lockbrier archives, as recorded by Jerison the bard)
Background music “Lowland Invasion” by Smartsound

Therion Lock sat on his heels at the mouth of the cave system and stared up at a sky in turmoil, what should have been blue skies instead was smoke and fire. In the distance an enormous, jet black meteor sheathed in flame, parted the clouds and plummeted to the ground with a tremendous boom sending up plumes of strange purple dust high into the air. Shardfall, fragments of a shattered moon raining down on the land and laying waste to civilisation. He shifted his attention to the smoking ruins of Paxlair and clenched his fists in frustration and anger, the twin towers had been reduced to rubble and many of the cities homes still smouldered and smoked a sight that brought tears to his eyes. But it was not the deadly hail of stone that was the cause of this destruction; the bane of Paxlair travelled on leathery wings and had a name of her own… Adelind. The dragon had been driven from her lair by the shardfall several weeks previous and she now sought shelter in the cave system on the city outskirts. For many months the citizens of Paxlair had worked to shape these caves into a new home at Governor Winfield’s behest, the project was to be a haven from the chaos and a bunker in which to weather the shardfall. Deep within the underground system was a natural spring, stores of food and other supplies as well as an established mushroom farm. The senior mages of the city had also been experimenting with an unstable rift at the back of the cave as a possible last ditch escape route should worst case scenarios come to pass. Losing the caves to the dragon would surely seal the fate of the city’s population and all now worked tirelessly to secure the area.

Three times the beast had assaulted the city, each time driven off by Nanoc and the militia but at the cost of many lives. Therion and his family were masons and had been tasked with overseeing the construction, an overwhelming task hindered by tremors and darkness. Construction of the subterranean housing was now halted as focus shifted to the caves entrance, wooden framework was in place and stone recovered from the fallen towers was stockpiled nearby ready to be set in place. Governor Winfield now ushered the last of the Paxlair citizens into the cave system, a long procession of soot-covered refugees carrying the remains of their possessions while Nanoc and the militia worked to repair a damaged ballista and erect earthworks. Therion’s sons were were off with the foresters gathering timber and he nervously glanced at the distant tree-line before picking up his tools and returning to work. The wide cave-mouth needed to be closed off to a narrower, more defensible size and it was going to require a lot of stone to withstand the onslaught of a dragon.

“Dragonsign!” the shout rang out from a nearby watchtower and raised the hairs on the back of Therion’s neck, he spun on his heel and cried out to see plumes of fire descending from the skies into the streets of the emptying city. The militia took up position in front of the cave, readying their arrows and spells while Nanoc screamed instructions at a terrified engineer. Therion sought cover behind the piles of cut stone and fumbled to string his bow with trembling hands, he had not fired an arrow for over a decade. A deafening roar from above and the dragon came into view, wings folded back, maw open in a hideous sneer, the beast dove from the sky directly at the militia. “Loose loose loose!” screamed Nanoc as the militia launched a barrage of spells and missiles into the air, very few found their mark. Undaunted, Adelind unfolded her wings and slowed her descent, coming to ground directly in front of the militia. Molten saliva dribbled from her mouth as she inhaled deeply, a look of pure rancour in her eyes. With a loud twang the engineer fired his ballista with surprising accuracy, the oversized arrow piercing the dragon’s right shoulder and throwing her off balance. The beasts head flung to the side, spewing flame across the hillside as she whipped her tail at the ballista shattering the engine into splinters and sending Nanoc and the engineer tumbling back into the cave. The militia pushed the assault, leaping over the earthworks and bearing down on the beast with pole-arms and blades under cover of another barrage of arcane lightning and arrows. With horror Therion watched as the dragon regained her footing and charged, flinging the militia aside and disappearing into the cave. Screams echoed from within and the sound of dragonfire as those remaining outside fell to their knees in defeat, all was lost. Broken and bloodied, the engineer hobbled into view with a large yellow flask in hand “This prize will be her last!” he screamed, smashing the flask into the cave wall. The explosion knocked Therion to the ground, a stone splinter embedded into his forearm and ears ringing. Dazed, he looked around in dismay… the militia were all dead or badly injured, the city was once more in flames and the cave system was sealed. The governor and citizens could not have survived; there was no safe haven from shardfall. Paxlair had fallen.

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Hello everyone, this is Lady Adnor, and I’m pleased to bring you a wonderfully written piece by enderandrew, titled
The Diary of Eva Grace – Vol I
Told by Eva Grace

I didn’t write these things as they happened. I didn’t even know how to write then in rune, or use parchment and quill. Nor did I have time to sit and collect my thoughts at the time, but it seems I have all the time in the world now. But my story is true as well as I remember it.

They say I was one of the first to cross over in ages. The lunar rifts had been dormant for some time. No one had seen a new outlander in years. And how was I supposed to know the timing was bad and that there was some prophecy forthcoming?

I don’t remember precisely what happened or how I ended up here, save for that first sight of etheric energy of a moon tower, and the blue glow of the lunar rift behind me. I feared I was mad or trapped in some lucid dream. Years later I’m left wondering if my life before was the dream. I had a lover I left behind, but now I don’t fully remember his face. I only remember that I once remembered it. He is like the sun that has already slipped past the horizon. I can still see the glowing outline of what once was. Would he remember me? Did his life move on without me?

To say I was confused is a gross understatement. The town guard surrounded me. As Nicolas the guard questioned me, I could only offer questions myself in response. Though he felt it impossible, he worked out that I was an outlander, an off-worlder. It still seems so impossible that I am on another planet until I look at the moonlit sky and see the alien horror and wonder of Daedalus staring down at me.

I was taken before Lord Enmar, who had heard tales of outlanders before, although they were much fewer in number when I arrived. He charged Captain Dreyfus with finding me work so I would not be a debtor or a burden on the town.

My life of relative comfort on Earth hadn’t prepared me for a day of truly honest labor here. I assisted different people in town with their tasks hoping to find one I was good at, where I could apprentice and earn my keep. I’m ashamed to admit I wasn’t good at any of them. I was a writer back home and I simply didn’t know any other trade. I couldn’t even pass as a bard here as no one would understand my stories nor would they have any frame of reference.

At first I wondered if I could use my knowledge from Earth to further technology here, perhaps become rich or help find a way home. But even my basic knowledge of electronics and physics proved worthless here. After stumbling across a magnetic rock, I could produce nothing by rotating it around thin copper wire quickly. And yet this world has its own forces and energies unlike nothing I had seen at home. There were radios supposedly powered by the moon and etheric energies.

I sat in the tavern, laying out my problems and ordered a cocktail. Thomas was confused. He had mead, wine, ales and lagers. But no one here knew much about mixing juices and distilled alcohol. It was literally a foreign concept to them. I realized that perhaps the only thing I had to offer this world was the ability to mix and pour drinks they had never tried.

Thomas was a good barkeep in his own right. I had decided on my new fate, that I would save some coin and find a town that needed my services tending bar and pouring drinks. I knew I wouldn’t stay in Owl’s Head. I just hadn’t realized how soon I would be leaving.

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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with another chapter in the thrilling story by Lendrick; it is entitled
Rise of the Ravagers, Chapter Six
Background music “Vampires Hunt at Night”by Smartsound.

CHAPTER SIX BOOK OF THE RAVAGERS City of Brittany, 1 week ago….. “Again” Rannick exclaimed in frustration. “You will keep doing this, again and again if need be until you get it right” Slyphania was exhausted. Every fibre in her being down to the core ached with a weariness that defied belief. All she wanted to do was collapse and perhaps sleep for a week. “Again!” Rannick spat. Slyphania straightened from her crouching position and stretched. Rubbing her tired eyes, she took several deep breaths and a determined “grunt”, before re-focussing on the open tome. Rannick described the tome as an ancient text, from well before the Cataclysm and was sought after by his following, The Obsidian Order Cult. The cult dedicated itself to the preservation and resurrection of the “Ravagers”, a supreme undead spectral force that had mastered dark Chaos energy. Their goal was to be brought into this plane of existence and cover the whole world in their darkness. The Obsidian Order Cult existed to see that it was brought to fruition. The Book that thrust itself upon her those many weeks ago, was the fabled “Toemisa Ex Eravagerian”, or roughly translated by Rannick as “The Book of the Ravagers”. Re-focussing her eyes on the incantation, Slyphania started again. ______________ Later that night, finally rid of Rannick, Slyphania collapsed on her inn’s bed, so tired she could no longer stand, her legs were cramping up and would not support her frail elven weight. Lying there on the bed, her thoughts were filled darkly of the book, the incantations and spell she was being forced to memorise. Even though she was as tired as she was, sleep would not come. Slyphania had always had an affinity for the arcane arts, and had always dreamed of learning what it was like to be an “all powerful” sorceress. However, she did not picture it like this. Endless study, an obsession to strive to remember it all. So great was the feeling of need that she would forget to eat and drink, and as a result, had become weaker and sallow. Tossing and turning, the sweet embrace of slumber would still not come. Attempting a different tack to finally get a decent night’s sleep, Slyphania turned her mind towards her peculiar new friend, what was his name again, Glyph? Glyz? Glyn? Yeah, Glyn sounded familiar, ‘Glyn-drel?” That was it! He seemed nice, and kind and perhaps, a friend? Slyphania couldn’t remember too much past the falling in the cave and finding the book. The book. Always her mind comes back to the Book. As nice as the feelings for this “Glyn-drel” were, Slyphania pushed them aside. She did not have time for friends or family. She had to dedicate and devote her time to her studies. Of the Book. Tossing again, Slyphania peered over to where the book lay on her inn’s dining room table. Sleep was not about to take her, and staring at that book, the memories of blood, death and darkness came unbidden. But she didn’t remember them, not in her lifetime, then who’s? The book seemed to call to her, beckon her in within its runic pages, to learn and become strong and conquer. It was then that it dawned on Slyphania like the breaking of the sun. The book was a summoning ritual. That was why Rannick was so fanatically determined to have her learn the runes, he needed someone to perform the ritual, to summon the Ravager into this dimension. But why her? Why now? These were vitally important questions racing through her mind that needed to be addressed but she had to console herself that it wouldn’t be tonight. Still sleep eluded her, like a furtive chicken, forever out of reach. So, Slyphania thought, it all revolves around this book. It was certainly an elegant, auspicious tome, with gold filigree on the front cover and spine, re-enforced and each page was gold trimmed. Inside was pictures, the runic alphabet, some rudimentary spells and, the all-important Summoning ritual. As Slyphania stared at the book, she stated to feel lost and afraid. So far from home and dealing with unknown people and unknown forces beyond her imagining. The kept her attention more, and Slyphania thought she could hear whispering coming from the book, quiet, subtle and sibilant. Promising her things, immortality. Slyphania knew it was wrong, but couldn’t fight it. The book was too strong, possessed by an unknown entity, malevolent and evil. Rannick suggested earlier that there might even be the spirit of a Ravager inhabiting the book. Continuing to stare at the book, Slyphania felt as though she were on the precipice of a great, yawning chasm, teetering and the ground beneath her was crumbling, looking back she could see her friend, and it appeared as though he was in slow motion, mouth moving, no noise, silently screaming, reaching for her. Turning towards him, the ground continued to give way. Wanting to feel his embrace, her arm raised and arm outstretched, reaching for him. He was reaching for her, arm outstretched. Almost. Almost. Can’t move forward the ground giving way, hand outstretched, fingers almost touching. Almost. The ground collapsed. The distance between fingertips increased. Slyphania fell. Startled awake by a loud noise. What was that!?!? A knock came to the room door, loud and insistent. Slyphania slid off the bed and padded over to the door. Opening it, there stood Rannick. Dressed in a midnight black robe, for a moment, Slyphania gasped, taking him to be a Ravager itself. “We leave on the morn, we are to make our way to the Necropolis and gather some supplies” Slyphania had a sinking suspicion that when he said “Supplies”, he meant something else. “Ok, fine” she replied shortly, hoping to put an end to the conversation quickly and get back to bed. Without any further discussion, Rannick turned and was gone. Closing the door, Slyphania returned to bed and sat on the edge, picking up the book and staring down at it in her lap. Curiosity got the better of her and she opened it to a random page. At that moment, darkness exploded out of the book and engulfed her. Slyphania knew no more, and got the rest she needed, just not in the way she had expected. TO BE CONTINUED>

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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with another chapter of this wonderful story by enderandrew. It is entitled

The Green Rogue Volume III
Told by Joorus the Scribe

Background music Android Dream, by Smartsound

Lord Zolaas’ platemail glove slammed hard into his wooden throne, cracking it ever so slightly. It was embarrassing to constantly replace and repair his throne, but he was an impassioned man and he couldn’t hold his rage inside. His lands were dwindling, as was his power. They shifted to other feudal lords in Norgard. He felt like he had so little left and now bandits sought to take that away as well.

“Do these bastards not realize what they’re doing? It isn’t just gold or items. What if our men aren’t properly armed or prepared to fight Kobold forces? What if their will is weakened? How many would die because of the greed of a few?”

Sir Greggor stepped forward, with his palm outstretched. He did not like seeing his Lord so distressed. “Peace, my Lord. I promise I will take care of this and with haste. I agree that the cost is more than gold, which is why I take this threat so seriously. The Green Rogue is more than a common criminal and he will be stopped. We cannot fight a war on two fronts, especially one against our own people. With your blessing, I intend to take a small risk.”

Lord Zolaas’ head picked up a bit. Risk had not worked out well for him in recent years, but he also grew more desperate. One risk seemed to just lead into the next. “I’m not sure I can trust my own judgement anymore. I would not take any risk of my own volition, but if you trust it is the right thing to do-”

“My liege, I would not presume to decide for you,” Sir Greggor interrupted.

“No, it is time; it is your time. As my time wanes, you should succeed me. If this risk pays off, the glory and credit will be yours and I will step down. Not only will the Green Rogue be no more, but the poor leadership that inspired such rebellion will be no more. I cannot step down so long as he breathes, lest we incite more rebels. But if you take his head, then you should also take my throne. Perhaps you can even regain some of the lands we lost to the other Lords of the realm. Now go, and do what you must. I fear if I am associated with your plan, I will mar it with my failure.”

Sir Greggor bowed and left. He did not understand the need for politics and why any Lord should concern themselves with how much land was in their name. Everyone ultimately served the Titan, their King Granus, and thusly the people of Norgard. But perhaps this was a good test if he was fit to be a Lord himself. The thought of this risk terrified him. He was willing to risk his own life in combat, but what of the lives of others? Could he command people to leave the front lines to concentrate fully on this bandit if it meant a forward outpost might be overrun by Kobolds?

He knew the people would more easily stomach what they knew. If men died in battle to Kobold blades, it in theory should only renew the war efforts. But so long as this Green Rogue stole from men, they would have no support. Courage meant more than the might of lifting a sword in the heat of battle. At times, it meant having the will to make the hard decision.

He signed his writs and sent them off with messengers. The few mages they had would work on distractions while most every available soldier was being pulled back to merchant routes. The trap was in place, and he would have the Green Rogue’s head by nightfall. Would it be the only head taken? He hoped those writs weren’t death warrants he just signed.

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