Ismael and the Price of Hunger

Ismael al-Tahir of the Awaliq, 1st level Lawful Alasiyani Ranger

Shoulder length black hair with dark eyes, the tanned ranger dreamt of living the life of a corsair. He had grown up a nomad, foraging and hunting. Ismael did not own much, barely maintaining the equipment that he already possessed. With what gear he could muster, plain wool clothing and the sandals on his feet, Ismael headed east from Sulba toward the Sea of Dread, Ylaruam now a day ahead after his encounter with the Nightmare Priest in the village of Manahil. The village where he met a strange woman named Jamila ibn Alia.

Ismael encountered a strange, skeletal man that warned him about a supernatural while exploring a mysterious ruin that had appeared from a silver fog.

S 13 (+1 / 3:6 / +5%) I 08 W 10 D 09 C 12 C 11 (4 retainers / 7 loyalty)

AB +0 (+1 / +0) AC 13 / 12 without shield HP 5 / 6 MV 60' / 20'

Saves : D 12 W 13 P 14 B 15 S 16

Abilities : Awareness, Foraging and Hunting, Pursuit, Surprise Attack, Tracking (20%)

Languages : Common and Neutral

Gear (800 coins weight) : backpack, gems worth 50 dinar, jewelry worth 3900 dinar, leather armor, potion of diminution, potion of healing (2), potion of invisibility, scroll of read languages, shield, spear, standard rations (6), tinderbox, torches (6), waterskin, 378 dinar, 0 dirham, 0 fal

1,135 experience

[E Muzeki, The Kiss]

It was one more day to Ylaruam. A long trek burdened by the heavy backpack. As he neared the city, Ismael foraged to replenish the rations he had consumed : abal, acacia and dates. He had come across enough for four days of food, but he only took half; Ismael had a week's supply in total now, and someone else may need it more than he.

As evening approached, Ismael made it to the gates of Ylaruam. It's outer walls were two, maybe three, people tall, white plaster with an iron portcullis. A pair of guards stood by, watching people pass with bored expressions. The streets beyond the gate were still filled with people going to and from the markets even in this hour. The horse can wait until morning, and, perhaps, he could acquire some better equipment. For now, he followed Coppersmith Road to the nearest inn, Copper Vine, its name etched beneath a vine of grape leaves painted in copper with silver highlights.

[Odds Check for "Is the purchase at listed price?" Likely, 75%. Result : Yes]

The next morning, and seven silver dirham for a common room and meal, Ismael began his excursion. A riding horse with saddlebags were foremost in his mind. A pair of axes. Mail replaced the leather he wore. A short bow with a quiver of arrows for some distance. Two small sacks to organize his belongings. And, lastly, a lantern and oil.

"You seem ready for adventure," a reserved voice remarked.

Ismael tested the sling of the lance with the saddle horn. He turned and saw an older gentleman, greying hair, bearded, in a dark thawb embroidered in blue. The stranger's smile seemed genuine.

"My travels have been strange lately," Ismael noted.

"There must be a story in there," the stranger replied. "I collect curiosities. And stories as well. I am Ahmad, peace be upon you. Care to tell your tale?" Ahmad gestured across the way toward a tent where the scent of coffee lingered.

Ismael shrugged, seeing no reason not to entertain the elder. One of the reasons he had left that mysterious ruin was to tell someone about the strange things happening in the night. Ismael started with the story of Manahil then the ruins that appeared out of nowhere with emaciated orcs. The skeletal man that looked more like a boy that sent him away. He half expected Ahmad to mock him, so he produced the scroll of indecipherable script as proof.

"May I see that?" asked Ahmad. Ismael handed over the scroll. Ahmad spoke an incantation, fingers contorting with arcane gestures. A minute later, he smiled. "Ironic," he said, "it holds the magic to read languages. As you were not able to read it, I would take this off your hands at the market rate. I could use it for my personal studies, if you don't mind."

Ismael didn't know what the market rate for a scroll of reading languages was, but something was better than carrying something worthless. He nodded.

"Standard price for a scroll such as this? Five hundred dinar." Five. Hundred? Ismael didn't know a piece of parchment would be worth that price, but he agreed. "And did you find anything else in these ruins?"

Ismael showed him the vials of liquid of various colors. Ahmad studied each one carefully, holding it up to the light to check opacity, unstoppered the vial to smell the scent, a quick taste from the tip of his little finger. Ahmad waited almost a minute after each taste, nodding absently to himself.

"This one," he pointed at the vial containing a murky liquid. "Do as I did, it is not poison, and it will likely help you. You taste the mint? The fennel? This will allow you to walk unseen for a short while. Keep it." Ahmad tapped the two vials of scarlet liquid. "This one has notes of cinnamon and ginger. It will help heal wounds." Ahmad looked at the final vial with a slight smile, "And this, the one that is sapphire and tastes of juniper and rosemary? You would shrink to the length of my hand. Mostly a curiosity, but I would offer two hundred dinar for it. Not the fair market price, but I'm mostly interested in its novelty."

Seven. Hundred. Dinar. Ismael came away with almost a thousand dinar in the past two days. Imagine what he could do as a corsair, sailing from port to port. His daydream was interrupted by Ahmad placing a handful of gems, rubies and sapphires, into his hand. "Easier to carry gems with moderate value than hundreds of coins," he added sagely. "Invest in gems, jewelry and goods. Your wealth will be easier to manage."

"Why do you know this?" Ismael asked.

Ahmad smiled. "As I said, I collect curiosities, and, sometimes, I have to go to the site myself. In this case, I would ask that you return to the ruin and deal with Taaj. You were called there for a reason that only Al-Kalim knows."

"I was headed east," Ismael said, "to the Sea of Dread."

"Ah. Adventure, hm? Believe me, life is filled with adventure right under your feet." Ahmad's expression was amused yet paternal. "Deal with Taaj, explore what you can. The Sea of Dread will still be there. And if you happen across other oddities? I will pay you a fair price for them. Some of them I will resell, others are for my collection. Then you can head to the sea and find a ship, though I suspect you would not be happy."

"Why is that?"

"Because the morals of a corsair are more flexible than what I believe your's to be. You seem to be upstanding; a life of plunder is not as romantic as some would dream. Not always. But in some cases..." Ahmad's gaze turned inward, a sad smile peeking momentarily. "When you head east, you will discover yourself." His fingers tapped the wooden table, the sad smile replaced with a cheerful one. "However, my offer stands. Deal with Taaj. Return with a story. Then you can choose to continue east. Two, three days work and payment for what you find."

The weight of the gems still fresh in his mind, Ismael made his decision. "Alright, Ahmad, I will go back to the ruins. I will return to the Copper Vine in a few days."

"I wish you well," said Ahmad as Ismael rose to leave.

Ismael was thankful for a mount. A blue roan he named Hibah. Hibah cut his travel time from a day's journey to half that. When he arrived where the ruins had been, the sun was still hours from setting. He used that time to feed and care for Hibah and foraging for more food. Then, finally, the night approached.

He awoke in the early morning, the sun concealed by a now familiar fog. The ruined, crumbling walls had returned. Ismael knew where he must go. The cellar with no walls and the stairs leading down. This time, he knew what to expect and approached cautiously, listening for the voices or footsteps of the thin orcs. Nothing.

The steps leading down opened into the small basement where the treasure hoard had been. The lone tunnel stretching back deeper into the earth. There had been, what, four, six orcs down here? His footsteps slowed, ears painfully focused on listening. He could hear his own heartbeat then the almost forgotten one-two of another's heart against his chest. This was it. The tap against his chest confirmed it.

Ismael stepped from the basement and into the tunnel. He could see a small stone chamber just beyond. A fountain, dry for far too long, and four orcs kicking at dirty, empty metal plates. "Nothing!" one shouted, the ceiling bringing an echo down the corridor. "No food! No water! Nothing!" It picked up a plate and viciously threw it at the wall.

Ismael weighed his options. He had spare food, especially after foraging these past few hours. He gambled their hunger against their aggression. "I have food."

[Monster morale : 2d6 vs. 6. Result : 9]

An orc glanced up at Ismael's words then leapt to his feet. "It's him! The Orcslayer! Taaj! Taaj!" and it retreated through a door at the back of the chamber. The remaining three hung back, peering suspiciously at Ismael. Hands on crude blades, they seemed undecided between fleeing or attacking. The heart within the basement thumped against his sternum. It was beyond the door the orc had fled through.

"I can give you food. I only want passage beyond that door."

[Ability Check : 1d20 vs. Charisma. Result : 19]

"No!" the angry orc replied. "You want to kill Taaj. Taaj will kill the Orcslayer. You stay; Taaj come soon."

Those prophetic words heralded Taaj's arrival. The door burst open and a large form shouldered its way into the fountain room. The frame flexed and bent then broke as a creature almost nine feet tall struggled into the room. The stonework gave, dust fell from the ceiling. Ismael's first thought was "ogre" but it was thin and scrawny, like the orcs. It looked more like a human that had grown too large.

"We take your food!" the angry orc screamed. "Then eat your flesh and drink your blood!"

[Initiative Check : 1d6 vs. 1d6. Orcs : 5; Ismael : 6]

[Player rolls Attack : 1d20 + 1 vs. AC 14. Result : 9. Fray Die : 1 damage]

[Player rolls Defense : 1d20 + 5 vs. 11 three times and 14. Result : 4 pass]

Ismael grabbed his spear and charged at the ogre. The thrust went between the creature's legs. The shield bashed the angry orc in the face, then the spear reached out and silenced him. His shield parried three blows from the orc then the ogre's club lashed out. The force of the blow pushed him back against the fountain.

[Player rolls Attack : 1d20 + 1 vs. AC 14. Result : 8. Fray Die : 2 damage]

[Player rolls Defense : 1d20 + 5 vs. 11 and 14. Result : 2 pass]

Pushing off the fountain wall, Ismael drove his spear into the chest of a second orc. A third received a kick to the legs followed by a shield bash. As it fell to the ground, another strike drove the shield's rim into the orc's neck. Reflexively, the shield came up and warded an attack from the last orc, and the ogre's club crashed against it, pushing Ismael to the floor.

[Player rolls Attack : 1d20 + 1 vs. AC 14. Result : 8. Fray Die : 1 damage]

[Player rolls Defense : 1d20 + 5 vs. 14. Result : pass]

[Player rolls Attack : 1d20 + 1 vs. AC 14. Result : 18. 1 damage]

[Player rolls Defense : 1d20 + 5 vs. 14. Result : pass]

[Player rolls Attack : 1d20 + 1 vs. AC 14. Result : 16. 2 damage]

[Player rolls Defense : 1d20 + 5 vs. 14. Result : pass]

[Player rolls Attack : 1d20 + 1 vs. AC 14. Result : 18. 1 damage]

Ismael rises from the floor and swept his spear across the legs of the remaining orc. Splayed against the ground, the spear tip entered its chest and ended it quickly. Taaj swung its club; the shield intercepted it and spun Ismael into position. The spear lashed out and traced a quick cut across the thing's thigh. Another blow, Ismael fell to one knee against its weight. The spear rose and skewered the ogre through the abdomen. Taaj weakly brought a fist down against Ismael's shield. Ismael responded with a kick to the knee, a shield bash to the ogre's face then a spear thrust to its neck.

And it was over. Ismael's breath heaved as he looked down at the corpses. That quick and for what? The heartbeat thumped against Ismael's chest. His work was not yet done. The broken doorway yawned before him, and Ismael had little choice but to press forward.

A dining hall greeted Ismael. The plates were empty but dirty with stains of aged gravy and streaks of old food. The trestle table seemed ready to receive guests, but the placings were barren. Candles were lit and burned with a welcome light. The fireplace offered warmth. But it was a hollow reflection.

"My pack is in the corner," a voice said.

Ismael turned and looked at the young elder. "What do I do with it?" he asked.

"Take it. Destroy it. It matters little. In either case, we will be free."

"What happens when you are freed?"

"Who knows?" the skeletal boy shrugged. "I just want this to end."

Ismael grabbed the pack, within was an amethyst and a bundle of gold coins. "Keep them," the boy said. "As thanks for setting me free."

Ismael nodded resolutely, taking the pack and marching back to Hibah. The fog dissipated with an audible sigh. The ruins vanished beneath the weight of the sun. Together, the two of them rode back to Ylaruam and were greeted by Ahmad and a stranger. A true stranger. He wore a strange breastplate made of brass molded to show his muscles beneath. A red skirt of leather. Brass greaves and bracers.

Ahmad smiled. "This i-..."

"Dasofylakos," the stranger volunteered. "Member of the Order of Lost Horizons." He bowed. "Some just call us Horizon Walkers. Ahmad told me about you, and we suspect you have a short story to tell..."

[E Muzeki, Kashmir] 

Ismael al-Tahir of the Awaliq, 1st level Lawful Alasiyani Ranger

Shoulder length black hair with dark eyes, the tanned ranger dreamt of living the life of a corsair. He had grown up a nomad, foraging and hunting. Ismael did not own much, barely maintaining the equipment that he already possessed. With what gear he could muster, plain wool clothing and the sandals on his feet, Ismael headed east from Sulba toward the Sea of Dread, Ylaruam now a day ahead after his encounter with the Nightmare Priest in the village of Manahil. The village where he met a strange woman named Jamila ibn Alia.

Ismael encountered a strange, skeletal man that warned him about a supernatural while exploring a mysterious ruin that had appeared from a silver fog.

S 13 (+1 / 3:6 / +5%) I 08 W 10 D 09 C 12 C 11 (4 retainers / 7 loyalty)

AB +0 (+1 / +0) AC +5 / +4 without shield HP 6 / 6 MV 60' / 20'

Saves : D 12 W 13 P 14 B 15 S 16

Abilities : Awareness, Foraging and Hunting, Pursuit, Surprise Attack, Tracking (20%)

Languages : Common and Neutral

Gear (744 coins weight) : backpack, chain armor, gems worth 50 dinar (15), gem worth 100 dinar, hand axes (2), jewelry worth 1950 dinar (2), lantern, oil flask (5), potion of healing (2), potion of invisibility, riding horse with saddlebags (carries jewelry (2, estimated 1950 dinar), 200 dinar, 220 coins weight), shield, short bow with quiver of arrows (20), small sack (2), spear, standard rations (9), tinderbox, torches (6), waterskin, 72 dinar, 3 dirham, 0 fal

1,215 experience

Ismael and the Cost of Hunger

Ismael part 2. I'm still feeling more like playing another game, but I thought I would give this another shot. 

Ismael al-Tahir of the Awaliq, 1st level Lawful Alasiyani Ranger

Shoulder length black hair with dark eyes, the tanned ranger dreamt of living the life of a corsair. He had grown up a nomad, foraging and hunting. Ismael did not own much, barely maintaining the equipment that he already possessed. With what gear he could muster, plain wool clothing and the sandals on his feet, Ismael headed east from Sulba toward the Sea of Dread, Ylaruam now two days ahead after his encounter with the Nightmare Priest in the village of Manahil. The village where he met a strange woman named Jamila ibn Alia.

S 13 (+1 / 3:6 / +5%) I 08 W 10 D 09 C 12 C 11 (4 retainers / 7 loyalty)
AB +0 (+1 / +0) AC 13 / 12 without shield HP 5 / 6 MV 60' / 20'
Saves : D 12 W 13 P 14 B 15 S 16
Abilities : Awareness, Foraging and Hunting, Pursuit, Surprise Attack, Tracking (20%)
Languages : Common and Neutral
Gear (800 coins weight) : backpack, gems worth 50 dinar, leather armor, potion of healing, scroll of read languages, shield, spear, standard rations (6), tinderbox, torches (6), waterskin, 378 dinar, 0 dirham, 0 fal
150 experience

... and the Cost of Hunger

[Opening : E Muzeki, The Kiss]

"This is why we have horses," Ismael muttered to himself. He hoisted the heavy pack filled with the treasure from Manahil. His mind drifted, envisioning himself as a member of the Order of the Desert Rose. To be on horseback, charging through an enemy line, scimitar raised to the heavens. "As if any of the Orders would take a nomad."

His pace was noticably slower with the weight of the coins in his backpack. Ismael was reminded of it with every adjustment of the pack. The setting sun brought him out of his reverie. It was setting in the wrong place; Ismael had wandered off course. He sighed and made camp, the pack fell heavily to the sand. For others, being lost in the desert was death; for Ismael, the sun rose in the east and set in the west. That was enough to know he needed to head north and east to return to the path toward Ylaruam. With that reassuring thought, Ismael set up camp and drifted off to sleep.

In the morning, Ismael was greeted by a silver haze that concealed most of the desert surrounding him. The sun still shone, hazily, through the dense fog. Ismael scowled as he hoisted the pack onto his shoulders. This fog did not belong here. Nor were those ruined walls that loomed nearby. How had he missed that last night?

Shadows moved behind the crumbling architecture. Man sized. Crouched. Ismael grabbed his spear and approached the ruins cautiously. The shadows retreated in response. The fog was dry, like the desert wind, and golden hues seeped through the ethereal current. A quiet sound, loud in Ismael's ears, like a rushing wind then ... a heartbeat. It wasn't an audible thing; it was a heartbeat that tapped against Ismael's chest. One-two. Pause. One-two.

Ismael brought his hand to his chest, reaffirming that there was nothing touching him. Yet it beat again, a double tap against his sternum. He moved closer to the ruins; a loose rock fell from a broken wall and clattered against the masonry. Another heartbeat. One-two. Shorter pause. One-two.

Manuevering between two buildings, their roofs caved in an untold time ago, and Ismael found the village center. Again, like Manahil, the surroundings were broken, but here was a set of steps that led down beneath the sands. A cellar with no building. The heartbeat again, an even shorter pause between them. As Ismael peered into the shadows at the base of the steps, darker shadows moved across the entrance.

"Attack it. Make it bleed," came a hoarse, whispered voice from below.

A loud slap echoed up from the steps. "Clubs. No bleed. Drink the blood while it roasts on the spit."

Ismael swallowed and tightened his grip on the spear and shield. Surely, they did not mean him.

[Initiative Check : 1d6 vs. 1d6. Orcs, 4; Ismael, 4.]
[Player rolls Defense : 1d20 + 3 vs. 11 two times. Result : 2 fail. 2 points of damage]
[Player rolls Attack : 1d20 + 1 vs. 13. Result : 16. Fray Die : 2 damage. Total 4 damage.]
[Monster morale : 2d6 vs. 6. Result : 8]

Two ... things ... charged up the stairs, maces waving madly in the air. Skin like orange tumeric. Sharp fangs instead of teeth. Human sized but emaciated with skin dry like parchment pulled tight across an animate skeleton. Ismael could barely wonder if these were some different kind of orc when their clubs bashed into his head and arm.

Instinct took over, and Ismael screamed. One orc was dispatched with a spear stab into the throat. Another was kicked down the stairs as he advanced. More shadows loomed, and Ismael lashed out with his spear, taking one across the throat. A third received a spear wound in the abdomen, even as the fourth struggled to its feet. Ismael shoved him against the wall and drove his knee between its legs, harshly shoving the spearhead into its neck. Two shadows further into the gloom glance at the carnage Ismael has brought and retreat down a corridor further into the cellar.

The heartbeat pulled at Ismael and drew him further into the cellar. The lone passage shortly gave way to a torchlit cavern beneath the ruins. A small hoard of treasure was heaped in the corner; skeletons and sinew were splayed near the treasure hoard with signs of having been gnawed upon. Four emaciated orcs squat on the ground, pawing at bones, the two fleeing from Ismael rushed in and pointed behind them.

"Run!" They exclaimed. "He has already killed Faathi and Ihaab!"

[Monster morale : 2d6 vs. 6. Result : 11]

"What?!" exclaimed one of the skeletal creatures. "Run! Warn Taaj!"

Ismael watched the six retreat even further into the darkness. He had no idea where the tunnel led, so he approached cautiously. Amidst the bones and detritus, there were hundreds if not thousands of copper fal for the taking. Ismael never thought he would do this, but, given the weight of his backpack, he chose not to take any of the copper coin. The current trade value was about a hundred fal to one dinar, and he had hundreds of dinar. The jewelry and flasks of liquid, however...

[Event Focus : Thread. Action : Befriend. Subject : Allies]

Ismael shuffled some of the weight around to take the three potions and jewelry with him. He never thought he would say this, but treasure is a horrible thing to maintain. Perhaps that was why corsairs had ships and bandits had horses. Ismael would purchase a horse with these new riches when he made it to Ylaruam. For now, though...

"Don't go further," came a voice.

He turned. Ismael's eyes rested on a thin youth peeking at him from the tunnel. Thin was an understatement; the youth was a skeleton wrapped in a tapestry of skin. "Why not?" he asked.

"The ogre, Taaj. He will consume you in his hunger."

"How do you know this?"

The youth smiled wanly, "Because I made him."

"You made Taaj?" asked Ismael. "How?"

"When my tribe started dying, I begged the Immortal Guardians for help. Instead, they cursed us, the orcs and Taaj. We were cursed to be hungry, thirsty, restless. Taaj only knows one thing now : consume."

Ismael weighed his options. "And if I leave, what of Taaj?" he asked.

"With good fortune, we will go back to the World of Nightmares."

"And without?"

"Taaj may continue his rampage, his orcs raiding and pillaging in their hunger."

The heartbeat tapped against his chest. Ismael, curious, asked the stranger, "What is this that taps against my chest?"

"My pack," he replied. "When we were dying, starving, the pack stored my anguish. As long as it exists, this," and the skeletal man gestured around the cellar, "will continue. Destroy the pack, and it all goes back to the World of Nightmares."

"So if I de-..."

"Go." The skeletal man seemed barely more than a boy but his eyes. Something about his eyes showed a deeper wisdom. "Go. Then come back. Go, find your answers in Ylaruam."

"How di-" but the skeletal man had vanished into the shadows.

Ismael cautiously turned and headed back the way he came. He had discovered more wealth than he could carry, true, but Taaj gnawed at him. How could he not deal with this threat on their lands? Next, he wondered aloud, "And what would happen if no one knew?"

That singular thought spurred him forward. When he emerged, the silver mist had evaporated. The rising sun in the east as it should be. The crumbling walls gone as he stepped from the cellar. Somebody in Ylaruam must be told. He would return to help after the Emirates were warned of the potential danger.

[Closing : E Muzeki, Kashmir]

Ismael al-Tahir of the Awaliq, 1st level Lawful Alasiyani Ranger

Shoulder length black hair with dark eyes, the tanned ranger dreamt of living the life of a corsair. He had grown up a nomad, foraging and hunting. Ismael did not own much, barely maintaining the equipment that he already possessed. With what gear he could muster, plain wool clothing and the sandals on his feet, Ismael headed east from Sulba toward the Sea of Dread, Ylaruam now a day ahead after his encounter with the Nightmare Priest in the village of Manahil. The village where he met a strange woman named Jamila ibn Alia.

Ismael encountered a strange, skeletal man that warned him about a supernatural while exploring a mysterious ruin that had appeared from a silver fog.

S 13 (+1 / 3:6 / +5%) I 08 W 10 D 09 C 12 C 11 (4 retainers / 7 loyalty)
AB +0 (+1 / +0) AC 13 / 12 without shield HP 5 / 6 MV 60' / 20'
Saves : D 12 W 13 P 14 B 15 S 16
Abilities : Awareness, Foraging and Hunting, Pursuit, Surprise Attack, Tracking (20%)
Languages : Common and Neutral

Gear (800 coins weight) : backpack, gems worth 50 dinar, jewelry worth 3900 dinar, leather armor, potion of diminution, potion of healing (2), potion of invisibility, scroll of read languages, shield, spear, standard rations (6), tinderbox, torches (6), waterskin, 378 dinar, 0 dirham, 0 fal

1,135 experience

Tarn and the Watchers

Per my previous post, I have had issues with World vs. Hero. Not because it is a bad game but because it feels too constrained. Per the game rules, I should have each player access each of the five cards, but what happens if you can resolve the scene with less? I could reaccess and use cards just to replay the same thing that already happened, or I could just cut it short. This is the option that I chose. There's a good game hidden somewhere beneath the mechanics. But, working with the rules as written, the game is lacking. It begs to be edited and tinkered with. Why five cards? Why must you use all five cards when three will suffice? I don't know. I enjoy the concept; I don't enjoy the execution.

Tarn wanders through the dirt packed streets of Narak. His feet draw him toward the bazaar, his mind plotting where to find the next handful of coins. Picking pockets worked to a small degree if one were willing to live day to day. He needed something more profitable.

The white stone buildings lining the alley gave way to the open air bazaar. A sea of people in cotton robes, linen clothes or, in rare instances, loin cloths and scaled scraps. Tents and kiosks were strewn about in a chaotic fashion. Shop owners and barkers shout at passers by in a raucous attempt at drawing in more customers. The shopping populace move from stall to stall, haggling for watever goods they seem interested in.

An insidious fog creeps along the ground, a silver mass with greens and blues mingling like oil and water...

[Cards drawn : 8S *AD KS +AS QH, World Player accesses AS and uses AD]

The scintillating mist begins to carpet the bazaar, the silver, green and blue hues list within with bead-like flashes of internal light. As the fog reaches the outer edge of the stalls, brushing across the feet of the shoppers, a surprised scream is abruptly cut off as one of them is pulled to the ground and jerked hastily into the fog.

The initial outcry sparks panic within the market. People run haphazard through the stalls, colliding with other people. Some fall and get snatched into the mists by invisible hands. Others shove their way to safety as they shout for everyone to run or stay back. A small crowd presses their way toward Tarn, intent on forcing him aside.

[Cards played : 8S+ *AD KS* +AS QH, Hero Player accesses KS and uses 8S]

Tarn steps back as the crowd makes its way toward his alley. His eyes glance from one escape route to another. The growing rush of bodies making escape more challenging to find. Tarn spies the window of a nearby stone building and the wooden supports extending from the roof above. He runs toward the wall.

Stepping onto the sill, Tarn leaps up and grabs hold of the wooden strut. Kicking up from the wall, he hoists himself on to the roof and watches the crowd funnel into the alley. More people are crushed and battered against the wall, the alley not wide enough to fit the fleeing masses. The shouts rise in intensity as several other people are taken by the roiling mist.

[Cards played : *8S+ *AD KS* +AS QH, World Player accesses 8S]

A lone figure strides out of the shimmering fog. Black trousers, dark hair carrying an iron mace in one hand. His scale armor is crafted from individual discs of polished horn. The mace sweeps in an arc and crushes the knee of a fleeing customer. Crawling and whimpering, the wounded man feebly tries to escape. An unseen hand grabs his leg, an abrupt yelp, and he is dragged into the mists.

[Cards played : *8S* *AD KS* +AS +QH, Hero Player accesses 8S and uses KS]

Tarn watches the carnage from his rooftop vantage point. The armored figure below was something that could be dealt with; the fog was immaterial, something he could not touch. He leapt from rooftop to rooftop, taking him uncomfortably close to the mists creeping along the market below. An obsidian dagger comes away from its sheath. Tarn slows his breathing, calms his nerves and waits for the mace wielding man to step closer.

The mace comes down and cracks another fleeing woman across her back. Tarn seizes the moment and drops from the rooftop, stabbing the obsidian blade into the man’s neck, one of the few locations the scale armor does not protect. The mace flails wildly as the man screams at his assailant. Tarn’s dagger comes free, and he drops into a crouch, stabbing into the man’s leg.

Another pained shout, the mace swinging where Tarn had been. Tarn takes advantage of the opening the wide strike creates and stabs upward beneath the arm. The blade comes free and stabs beneath the other arm. The armored figure stiffens, stills; his wounds bleeding heavily. Tarn pulls the obsidian dagger away, their eyes locked.

[Cards played : *8S* *AD KS* +AS *QH, World Player accesses QH]

“I am Baraka,” the scaled figure proclaims, grabbing Tarn’s wrist and pulling him closer. “You may have beaten me, but can you defeat him?”

His eyes glance over Tarn’s shoulder even as the last of his breath escapes. His body slumps to the ground, kneeling and defeated. Behind Tarn, a floating specter of luminous bone emerges from the mists and grabs a passing customer. Its immaterial throat shrieks as bony claws draw the passerby into its cold grip and returns to the silvery mist.

Tarn, Human Rogue of The Architects

Tarn’s brown eyes hold a steely gaze; his umber hair cropped short. A lithe body wrapped in simple, common clothes. Tarn found himself on the streets of Narak, making a living amongst the stone and brick buildings. He was safe within the walls held by Amuneta the Liberator with her promise of keeping the wrongfully accused safe. It was that same liberty that introduced Tarn to The Architects, an organization that wants to depose the current regime of the seven demon lords.

Suit Abilities

Clubs [2] Knife in the Dark : Remarkable knife fighter

Spades [2] From the Shadows : Excellent thief

Hearts [1] Sixth Sense : Good intuition

Special FX

King of Diamonds Now You Don’t… Fade from view like dissipating ink.

Ismael and the Lost Oasis of Jammudaru

I am still working my brain around World vs. Hero. It's an interesting game, but parts of it feel more like work than play. At first, it was generating ten conflicts per location, then I read about using the Event Focus table from Mythic to generate conflicts from Solo RPG Gamer. But I had already created 20 conflicts for two locations. Then it was drawing four high value cards against my Hero, and I was left wondering, "Why would I enjoy a story where my character can't really impact (World vs. Hero term, read affect) anything?"Because the game requires (read recommends) using all five cards, I'm forced (read suggested) to use all of them. Naturally, I got to tinkering, so... I'm still tinkering because the game is interesting, but it isn't my kind of fun. Until then...

Old School Essentials with Advanced Fantasy Genre Rules, Unearthed Arcana's Players Roll All the Dice and Black Streams : Solo Heroes in The Emirates of Ylaruam with The Nightmares Underneath. I have an idea where I would like to take it, but I'll play to find out. So, I've got the original Ismael written at the beginning and again at the end to reflect how the module included with Solo Heroes changed him.

Ismael al-Tahir of the Awaliq, 1st level Lawful Alasiyani Ranger

Shoulder length black hair with dark eyes, the tanned ranger dreamt of living the life of a corsair. He had grown up a nomad, foraging and hunting. Ismael did not own much, barely maintaining the equipment that he already possessed. With what gear he could muster, plain wool clothing and the sandals on his feet, Ismael headed east from Sulba toward the Sea of Dread, Ylaruam three days ahead.

S 13 (+1 / 3:6 / +5%) I 08 W 10 D 09 C 12 C 11 (4 retainers / 7 loyalty)

AB +0 (+1 / +0) AC 13 / 12 without shield HP 6 / 6 MV 90' / 30'

Saves : D 12 W 13 P 14 B 15 S 16

Abilities : Awareness, Foraging and Hunting, Pursuit, Surprise Attack, Tracking (20%)

Languages : Common and Neutral

Gear (411 coins weight) : backpack, leather armor, shield, spear, standard rations (7), tinderbox, torches (6), waterskin, 1 gold

0 experience

... and The Lost Oasis of Jammudaru

Ismael wandered the desert east of Sulba, the setting sun allowing the heat to slowly dissipate as night approached. Two more days, he told himself. Two more days, and he could rest in Ylaruam before continuing east.

"With what money?" he muttered to himself, glancing at the practically empty leather pouch hiding beneath his loose fitting robe. Water? Ismael had water. Food? A small supply, to be sure. But coin? The life of a nomad was not filled with riches. A corsair, however...

Ahead, an oasis slowly came into view. The Awaliq usually avoided that place. A relic from another time, it had been looted and ransacked years ago. Ismael was not walking with the Awaliq now, and The Way did not discourage curiosity. Ismael's feet took him closer to the ruins. What had it been called? Manahil? Manasir? He scratched his beard absently.

Crumbled mortar, old ashes mixed with sand, broken and burned framework were all that greeted Ismael. In the center of what had been the village was the well that had once offered some comfort to the populace. A small, hairless head peeked out from the well, staring at Ismael before dropping below the lip. A loud splash echoed up from the mouth of the well; a body striking water.

Ismael rushed to the well and looked down into darkness. "Hello?" he called. Silence.

Could this be his first adventure? Wasn't the life of a corsair filled with them? But to leap down a well. As his eyes acclimated to the darkness below, Ismael could see a faint glow lining parts of the wall. Moss, perhaps? Perhaps. He scratched his beard again before coming to a decision. This would be his first adventure: to find whoever it was that lived in this well.

[Ability Check : 1d20 vs. Dexterity. Result : 2]

Ismael's fingers were strong, and his feet were practiced in climbing the hills and rocky faces south of Sulba. Not so accomplished as some but enough for this task. What Ismael had thought was glowing moss was a phosphorescent slime. The Ranger within him made note of it, unfamiliar with what this could be.

The bottom of the well was filled with water. Ahead, a shore of sorts lit by the glowing slime. Two tunnels retreated further into the cavern. Ismael waded through the water, feeling the brushes of something living in the water. Tiny fish, perhaps? Then the brushes became more adamant, becoming grabs.

Ismael swam faster, feeling the grip across his ankles and wrists. He tore free from the pull and pushed further toward the shore. The water began to churn as pale hands rose to the surface and attempted to pull him down. He scrabbled to the rocky shore and pressed himself back against the rock wall. The bubbling waters stilled. Catching his breath, staring at where the water had tried to grab him, Ismael readied his spear and shield. He had been careless; he would not be so careless today.

Left with a choice between the passage on the left and the one on the right, Ismael decided left was as good a choice as any. The passage opened into a cave, the floor covered with muddy water. This time, there were three tunnels: left, right and straight. Ismael recalled the grasping hands that had greeted him and gripped his spear tight. Left again.

[Surprise Check : 1d6. Result : 1]

[Player rolls Defense : 1d20 + 2 vs. 11 three times. Result : 2 pass, 1 fail. 1 point of damage]

As prepared as Ismael tried to be, he was not ready for the three pale bodies that rose from the mud. Portions of their bodies had sloughed off from having been submerged for so long. Bones showed beneath thighs, and teeth appeared where cheeks should have been. They rushed toward Ismael, grabbing with weak, skeletal fingers. One managed to score a hit, sharp talons slicing thin lines into his face.

[Initiative Check : 1d6 vs. 1d6. Result : Hungry Zombies, 1; Ismael, 6]

[Player rolls Attack : 1d20 + 1 vs. AC 14. Result : 10. Fray Die : 1 damage]

Ismael drives his spear forward, but the initial surprise caused him to stab wildly. The thing closest to him received a strike into its face as the shield rim drove into the creature's mouth. Part of its jaw broke away, and it collapsed back into the muddy water.

[Player rolls Defense : 1d20 + 3 vs. 11 two times. Result : 2 pass]

[Player rolls Attack : 1d20 + 1 vs. AC 14. Result : 18. Fray Die : 1 damage. Total : 2 damage]

One zombie rushed forward and tried to wrestle Ismael into the water. Ismael responded with a sharp crack across the thing's head with the end of his spear. The reanimated corpse fell to the floor, its head misshapen by the impact and broken bones. The remaining zombie raked its claws across Ismael's back, the leather warding off the worst of the impact. He turned and smashed the end of his spear down on top of its head, it, too, falling into the murky water.

Taking the opportunity to regain his composure, Ismael spied another person watching him from the corridor he had just been ready to enter. This one had hair, dark hair. Human, though very disheveled and dirty with tattered clothing. She half hides behind the wall of the passage.

"Peace be upon you," she says, quiet with a small hint of a giggle as if she had made some kind of joke.

"And upon you peace," Ismael replies, just as quiet with a small hint of disbelief as if he could not understand what he was seeing. "Who are you?"

"Jamila," a slight pause as she tried to remember the rest, "ibn Alia. Of Manahil." Stilted, as if her name had not been said in some time.

"How long have you been here, Jamila?" he asked.

"Since the attack."

"Since...," Ismael looked behind him then upward as if he could peer through the cave's ceiling. "You have lived down here for over five years? Wha- How?"

Jamila smiled. "By the Eternal Truth and the blessings of Al-Kalim, of course," she said cheerfully. "Through the grace of the Immortal Guardians and Al-Kalim, the creatures do not come near my home."

"Why haven't you tried leaving?"

"And leave my friends and family? Where would I go?"

"If you came with me, I could lead you to Sulba or Ylaruam. Both are close by."

"Leave? With a specter conjured from my mind?" Jamila laughed. "No, I think I will stay right here. Where it's safe."

Ismael looked back at the muddy water, "Safe?"

"From the Nightmare Priest. He is the one that brings back my friends and family."

"Where is this Nightmare Priest?" he asked skeptically.

"Go up that way," she points to the middle passage, "Then turn left. He waits there."

"Waits for what?"

"The return of the Prince of Nightmares."

"I see," said Ismael. He turned to go. "You're sure you do not want to leave?"

"As sure as you are just some kind of spirit."

Ismael nodded to himself and turned toward the passage Jamila had suggested. The corridor snaked back and forth, the phosphorescent slime highlighting crude carvings of buildings and stick figures. Four large slime covered masses lined either side of the corridor before turning to the left.

[Surprise Check : 1d6 vs. 1d6. Result : Toadspawn, 3; Ismael, 2. Neither side surprised]

The slimy masses quivered and pulsed, the skin split like some form of egg hatching. Four pale skinned humanoids emerge, covered in the yolk and ichor. Webbed fingers stretch and end in black nailed talons. Their dark hair slicked back wetly.

[Initiative Check : 1d6 vs. 1d6. Result : Toadspawn, 4; Ismael, 2.]

[Player rolls Defense : 1d20 + 3 vs. 11 four times. Result : 3 fail, 1 pass. 3 points of damage]

[Player rolls Attack : 1d20 +1 vs. AC 12. Result : 12. Fray Die : 1 damage. Total : 3 damage]

[Monster morale : 2d6 vs. 9. Result : 7. Stand and fight.]

The toadspawn screeched with primal fury and launched at Ismael. The sheer weight of numbers overpowered him temporarily. He felt one grasp his arm. Another slashed into his leg. Another slammed bodily into him, pressing Ismael against the wall. The last bit into his neck, the leather armor keeping most of his neck safe.

He growled in response and struck at the one in front of him with a vicious kick to the knee. The shield arm ripped free and slammed into the newborn thing's face. He reversed the swing and drove the shield into another toadspawn's chest, granting himself enough room to stab it through the abdomen. The spear also reversed course and slammed a second toadspawn in the chest. A shield bash and spear thrust later, and the creature fell to the floor. The monster recovering from the kick to the knee attempted to rise, but Ismael ended it with a quick jab to the heart with his spear.

[Player rolls Defense : 1d20 + 3 vs. 11. Result : 1 pass]

[Player rolls Attack : 1d20 + 1 vs. AC 12. Result : 4. Fray Die : 1 damage]

The toadspawn was too enraged to consider its three companions had fallen. It swept its hand down in an overhead slash. Ismael brought up his shield to parry then stabbed the spear through its ribs. The toadspawn gurgled and fell beside its newborn family. Ismael's confidence grew, and he followed the bend as directed by Jamila.

The passage opened into a large cave lined with the glowing slime. On a stone dais of sorts, the bloated form of what had once been human sleeps. Snores softly filled the chamber. Its immense form had been twisted by some vile force, its skin covered in sores and pustules that seep with the phosphorescent ooze. A shimmer caught Ismael's eye. Just beyond the stone throne was a small pile of treasure. Coins. Gems.

Ismael weighed his options. This must be the Nightmare Priest Jamila talked about. The one that reanimated these ... things. The Way spoke of the Ritual of Judgment. To use knowledge and reason. And Jamila had been the only human being he had encountered, a little disturbed, to be sure, but human. These other things had done nothing but grab and pull and attack him. He gripped his spear. This must be how his first adventure would end!

[Ability Check : 1d20 vs. Dexterity. Result : 11]

Ismael stepped as quietly as he could into the room. He had made it half way across when the monstrosity stirred and opened its eyes. It affixed Ismael with a baleful glare.

"You dare try to sneak up on me?" it asked, voice rumbling. "I am the Nightmare Priest. Bring me Jamila, and I may allow you to leave."

"Bring you Jamila?" Ismael scoffed. "For what?"

"Your life. Or hers," the Nightmare Priest grumbled.

"Perhaps neither?" Ismael quipped, not quite feeling as confident as he sounded.

"So be it."

[Initiative Check : 1d6 vs. 1d6. Result : Priest, 6; Ismael : 2]

[Player rolls Defense : 1d20 + 3 vs. 13. Result : 1 fail. 0 (!) damage]

[Player rolls Attack : 1d20 + 1 vs. AC 13. Result : 19. Total : 1 damage]

[Player rolls Save vs. Paralysis : 1d20 vs. 14. Result : 1 fail and 1 damage]

In spite of its bulk, the Nightmare Priest was deceptively quick. It rose to its feet and charged from the dais, a heavy fist meeting Ismael's abruptly raised shield. The force of the blow knocked Ismael back. He returned the charge and drove his spear into the Priest's midsection. The spear pierced one of the pustules which erupted with caustic fluid, scalding the back of Ismael's hand.

[Player rolls Defense : 1d20 + 3 vs. 13. Result : 1 pass.]

[Player rolls Attack : 1d20 + 1 vs. AC 13. Result : 20. Total : 2 damage]

[Player rolls Save vs. Paralysis : 1d20 vs. 14. Result : 1 fail and 1 damage]

The Nightmare Priest howled in pain and flailed angrily at Ismael. Once more, the shield came up to greet the blow, the weight pushed Ismael toward the floor. He grunted and pushed upward, driving his spear up into the Priest's ribs. Another pustule exploded, coating Ismael in glowing slime.

[Player rolls Defense : 1d20 + 3 vs. 13. Result : 1 fail. 2 damage]

[Player rolls Attack : 1d20 + 1 vs. AC 13. Result : 11]

[Player rolls Defense : 1d20 + 3 vs. 13. Result : 1 pass]

[Player rolls Attack : 1d20 + 1 vs. AC 13. Result : 16. Total : 1 damage]

[Player rolls Save vs. Paralysis : 1d20 vs. 14. Result : 1 success using dodging doom]

In reply, the Nightmare Priest smashed Ismael's face with a clenched fist. The jarring attack caused Ismael to miss with his follow up. The Priest attempted to press the advantage and beat at Ismael's shield. Ismael seized the opportunity and kept the shield raised above his head. Once again, the spear drove into the Nightmare Priest's body, the pustules exploded and covered Ismael in glowing ooze. The Nightmare Priest and Ismael both fell to the floor.

[Player rolls for Jamila's Cure Light Wounds : 1d6 + 1. Result : 2]

"You're finally awake," Jamila says, again too cheerfully.

"I could have sworn the Nightmare Priest was going to kill me," Ismael muttered.

"You were unconscious from his slime, but I offered what little healing Al-Kalim would allow."

"Thank you," Ismael slowly rose from the floor with a groan. His eyes spied the treasure, and he glanced back at Jamila. "There's coin here. I could help you to Sulba or Ylaruam."

"Follow a ghost into the desert? No, I think I'm safer here. You just killed the Nightmare Priest. Maybe my family and friends will rest peacefully now."

Ismael shook his head and hobbled over to the small hoard. "As you wish," he said.

"Be safe. Maybe you'll return again," Jamila said over her shoulder, walking back home.

"Maybe," he muttered to himself. At least he had coin, but it almost cost him his life. He did leave a small pile of gold in the hallway where he met Jamila. Just in case...

Ismael al-Tahir of the Awaliq, 1st level Lawful Alasiyani Ranger

Shoulder length black hair with dark eyes, the tanned ranger dreamt of living the life of a corsair. He had grown up a nomad, foraging and hunting. Ismael did not own much, barely maintaining the equipment that he already possessed. With what gear he could muster, plain wool clothing and the sandals on his feet, Ismael headed east from Sulba toward the Sea of Dread, Ylaruam now two days ahead after his encounter with the Nightmare Priest in the village of Manahil. The village where he met a strange woman named Jamila ibn Alia.

S 13 (+1 / 3:6 / +5%) I 08 W 10 D 09 C 12 C 11 (4 retainers / 7 loyalty)

AB +0 (+1 / +0) AC 13 / 12 without shield HP 5 / 6 MV 60' / 20'

Saves : D 12 W 13 P 14 B 15 S 16

Abilities : Awareness, Foraging and Hunting, Pursuit, Surprise Attack, Tracking (20%)

Languages : Common and Neutral

Gear (800 coins weight) : backpack, gems worth 50 gold, leather armor, potion of healing, scroll of read languages, shield, spear, standard rations (6), tinderbox, torches (6), waterskin, 378 gold

150 experience

Cinderheim and Session Zero

I recently acquired Cinderheim from the Bundle of Holding. I also acquired World vs. Hero because I've always been hesitant to use Word Mill's Mythic. I try it, I feel uncomfortable with the complexity, then I stop. This session, I am devoting entirely to Word Mill : besides possibly using Mythic as a GM emulator, I want to play test The Adventure Crafter for creating adventure seeds and The Location Crafter for scene locations. So this will confine me to 80% Word Mill with a splash of Cinderheim because : 1. I like pulp sword and sorcery and 2. Dark Sun simplifed sounds enticing. And maybe just a tiny bit of OSR D&D because classic D&D is cool. And a small token reference to Marvel Superheroes because that's where I got inspiration from for quantifying the suit abilities.

And can I just add (once again), I hate how Blogger has no idea that there is no line break after some of these colons? I've literally spent an hour editing this to no avail.

Cinderheim

Genre : Fantasy

Size : The Seven Kingdoms

A large desert containing seven oases. Each oasis is governed by a warlord who swears fealty

to one of the seven demons. The sun burns at a hundred degrees or more, limned by solar barbs. The desert is harsh and cruel, drawing in explorers from foreign lands, but they never escape. The immigrants that survive maintain that the lands outside of Cinderheim are green and verdant; Cinderheim is the anomaly.

Hero Types

Cleric : Devoted; Elementalist; Seeks Balance

Fighter : Nomadic; Survivalist; Seeks Community

Rogue : Communal; Opportunist; Seeks Expansion

Warlock : Devoted; Individualist; Seeks Understanding

Hero Species

Dwarf : Uncommon; may detect inconsistent construction and traps and has dark vision.

Elf : Rare; may cast spells as a warlock of Kemavanya the Earth Queen and has dark vision.

Halfling : Uncommon; hear better than others and are more accurate with ranged weapons.

Human : Common; are more decisive and have a commanding presence.

Hero Affiliations

Amuneta the Liberator : May hear the voice of Narah within birdsong.

Andastros the Elven Restorationist : May find omens written in blood.

Black Powder Apostles : Unitarian faction that believe they are sacred exorcists.

Grand Magus Toman Dak : May speak with Druuz through nightmares and phantasms.

Hamada the Reaver : May listen to the words of canines.

Lesedi Gheda : May find messages left within tracks from snakes.

Niu Bo Wei, the Prince of Pleasure : May hear the voice of the wind.

Riders of Golgoth : Owe no allegiance to any demon or warlord.

Tenoch the Devourer : May listen to the words spoken by locust wings.

The Architects : Lesser powers allied to wrest control of Cinderheim from the demon lords.

The Maiden’s Templars : Crusaders serving Lady Jaina to atone for previous sins.

The Wheel : Influential, wealthy and cunning, they seek economic power.

Tarn, Human Rogue of The Architects

Tarn’s brown eyes hold a steely gaze; his umber hair cropped short. A lithe body wrapped in

simple, common clothes. Tarn found himself on the streets of Narak, making a living

amongst the stone and brick buildings. He was safe within the walls held by Amuneta the

Liberator with her promise of keeping the wrongfully accused safe. It was that same liberty

that introduced Tarn to The Architects, an organization that wants to depose the current

regime of the seven demon lords.

Suit Abilities

Clubs [2] Knife in the Dark : Remarkable knife fighter

Spades [2] From the Shadows : Excellent thief

Hearts [1] Sixth Sense : Good intuition

Special FX

King of Diamonds Now You Don’t… Fade from view like dissipating ink.

The End of the Beginning

Reading over posts from the past couple years made me realize how long it's been since I've dusted off Visemar and Laneira. While it's hard to get back into their particular situations after that length of time, I can end that segment of the story then, possibly, continue on.

+-----

My eyes open. I test them to be sure by blinking a couple of times. I slowly raise my hand and turn it under my querying gaze. Plate gauntlet the color of ash. The fingers end sharply like talons. My back is supported by something solid. Feels like stone. I turn my head and verify it is a stone altar. I know this place.

I sit up slowly, the plate making hollow sounds as it shifts with my weight on the stone. Beaked visor covering my face; black wings flowing down like a cloak. I don't need to turn around to remember the statue of a giant raven behind me. I'm back in the cemetery within the temple of the Raven Queen. Had I died? I must have. But The Edge of Eternity. Didn't that me-...

"Visemar." The voice is soft but somehow mocking.

"Vincent." The voice changes tone, something more questioning. Perhaps pouting.

"Brencia," I reply with a parched voice. It comes out like gravel, like I haven't had anything to drink in a very long time.

"I was afraid I had broken you. That you had finally given up. Good."

My eyes peer at her through the slit in the visor. Same as always : red hair, green eyes and a body that she designed for herself that she thought seemed more divine. Brencia steps toward the altar, bringing herself within arm's reach. I smile faintly beneath the charred metal of my helm. My hand reaches out, surrounded by a wireframe model of a pistol. Napana grows solid, seeping in from Elsewhere, her muzzle pressed against Brencia's forehead.

She smiles, Napana fading back to blue white lines. "No. No, not today. Today is my day, Vince. I finally have control of the system, and that includes whether or not I permit you to summon your spirit."

[ Thirty Seconds to Mars, The Kill ]

"You're making a mistake," I grumble.

"A mistake?!" her laughter echoes through the temple. "I found the Edge of Eternity, Vince. I recovered it after you threw it away. And you finally need to go," she emphasizes her last point with a kick to my armored chest. Armored or not, that hurt, and I find myself lying on my back on the altar.

Brencia sits on the edge of the altar, looking down at me. Her hand comes up and a blade of starlit darkness seeps in from the surrounding air. I can't help it, and laughter rumbles from within my armor. I look at the Edge of Eternity, really look at it, and the laughter redoubles and grows stronger.

"What's so funny?" Brencia asks, suspicion written across her face.

"Laneira knew your name," the laughter dies, replaced by a seething whisper. "I know your name."

Brencia's suspicion is replaced with a smile, "And your oath to never hurt me..."

"Vince's oath," I say, confidence building.

"Vi...n-"

I take her surprise as an invitation and push the blade away, as I sit up and push Brencia off the altar. "You banished Vince to the Dark a long, long time ago."

"Who?" Brencia whispers, disbelieving.

"I am No'thilu Grey, the Raven, and the Edge of Eternity is my inheritance through the sacrifice of my great grandfather."

My fist clenches, and I feel a reassuring pulse. I pull at the Edge of Eternity. A blade the color of night appears in my gauntleted fist. One side, the night sky above the Ravenwood, no'thilu ka'tikani, my name, my home; the other, the sunlit mirror of the same. As Brencia stood, shocked, the Edge of Eternity pierced her heart. I cradle the head of my great grandmother's sister as she slowly goes to the floor.

"Visemar swore an oath to not harm you; he took my place so I may do what he couldn't. You are nitaaru. Broken. Dead."

As I watch my great-grandaunt slowly die, I feel hollow. Perhaps it was a victory. A win. I did the thing. But as long as the Edge of Eternity exists, they will be reborn. A part of me wants to shatter this cursed thing, to break the cycle and let the dead die. I could live my own life. Another part of me wants to see Visemar, Vincent, return from the Dark. To be free. To thank him for saving me.

Brencia's corpse turns to ash, blown away on ethereal wind. I glance down at the night blade and feel it pulse in response. I have a choice to make, and it could affect generations to come...

[ Minniva, This Is War ]