Following rather extensive renovations, the Library of Manath is once again open!

Pardon the dust as we complete the work, some of the tomes may not be available yet and some may not be in their final home.

You may register at the desk for access to more areas within the library or to take part in discussions.

If you wish to access the “Restricted Section”, you must contact us directly. The “Restricted Section” is our effort to effect a secure, far-reaching method of information sharing, while minimizing the chance that enemies of Tyrangel, Evendarr or even Tyrra herself see the discussions. If Baroness Amaris or I do not know you personally, we may ask that you contact us in another manner or gain a reference from a trusted source to verify your identity. Again, the intent here is to share sensitive information as securely as possible; I am sure those who have enjoyed the benefit of catching a foe by surprise can appreciate the reason for this extended application process.

If you are interested in being a Contributor to the Library or the Recent News & Events postings, please let us know and we will arrange the access.

In the year (-2587) the Elves were first known to have existed upon Tyrra.
In the year (-637) the Eledhel, or Surface Elves, return to the surface and the Vornedhel or Dark Elves, remain underground.
In the year (-237) several Kyralia clans, or Stone Elves, leave for parts unknown and found Stonewood Forest.
In the year (-237) the Dwarves and the Trolls are encountered in the underground. War begins immediately.
In the year (-137) clan leaders Mithsuliae Fornarl and Daeshimril Ar-Din mate. Clans of Quentari begin to unify.

The Kingdom of Quator was originally an Evendarr colony with ties to Reincrest and Baddira. About 300 years ago, the first King of Quator declared independence from Evendarr and proclaimed himself King. All ties to outside lands were severed and contact with other lands was lost. The Kingdom was divided into 4 Duchies mainly based on racial association. The 4 ruling races (Elf other than Drae, Human, Sarr and Dwarf) already lived mostly in 4 different regions of the Kingdom, so that division made sense. 4 Kings and 2 Queens have ruled over Quator. The current King felt the Kingdom was strong enough to reopen ties with other lands.

Rulers of Quator (Quator Reign year 1 = Evendarr Reign year 311)

[1 Q.R. – 39 Q.R.] King Samuel Huntington, Human, originally a Knight of Evendarr and leader of the original Evendarr Colony; Died of old age.
* 1 Q.R. – Independence declared from Evendarr, Kingdom of Quator formed. Surprisingly no retaliation comes from Evendarr. Nearly all communication outside the Kingdom halted
* 11 Q.R – High Council expanded from the 4 “Ruling Races” to include all 13 major races

[39 Q.R. – 83 Q.R.] Queen Krissta Darmix, Sarr, former Duchess of the Ironclaw Duchy; Died of the Great Death (plague).
* 79 Q.R. – Start of the Great Death (plague) which ravages Quator, about 1/4 of the population of Quator eventually perishes. Cause of the plague never found.

[83 Q.R. – 164 Q.R.] King Hunkar Coldaxe, Dwarf, former Duke of the Stonehammer Duchy; Died in war with Minotaurs.
* 85 Q.R. – Great Death ended as mysteriously as it began.
* 158 Q.R. – Minotaur raids escalate into all-out war. The Minotaur wars begin with battles on land and sea.

[164 Q.R. – 263 Q.R] King Rylandir Evenstar, Quentari Elf, former Duke of the Evenstar Duchy; Stepped down to pursue other interests.
* 169 Q.R. – Minotaur War end. An uneasy truce is agreed upon.
* 173 Q.R – Start of the Age of Enlightenment. A time of relative peace. No major wars take place and even few battles. Focus turns inward to scholarly endeavors.
* 204 Q.R. – The Age of Enlightenment ends. The peace is broken by a band of Necromancers called the Endless Dead. Their research into the Dark Arts (necromancy) led to the formation of an Undead army. They battled for control of Quator eventually taking over several Baronies in the Ironclaw Duchy.
* 211 Q.R. – The Endless Dead were driven out of Ironclaw but many members of the original band of Necromancers were never found.

[263 Q.R. – 282 Q.R.] Queen Alisa Moonshadow, Quentari Elf, former Duchess of the Evenstar Duchy; Died in orc attack on royal caravan.
* 278 Q.R. – Orc raids increase in occurrence and strength.

[282 Q.R. – Current (311 Q.R.)] King Devin Huntington, Human, former Duke of the Longshadow Duchy, current ruler of Quator.
* 282 Q.R – Orc War begins. Orc tribes begin to unite into larger War Tribes. Although the number of battles has greatly diminished, the Orc War still continues to this day.
* 309 Q.R. – Small Minotaur raids begin again on coastal towns. They are believed to be the work of independent pirates not authorized by the Minotaur Isles.
* 311 Q.R. – Kingdom of Quator opens itself to outside communication/visitors

The Squire’s Battle
Written by Squire Seneca Desertmoon, from a dream

Darkness. Images of his life floating freely through the void. His mother, his father, and of his first home. The first girl that he had ever had a crush on. His failure to protect his comrades in battles before. This was a spirit, ripped from his body. The Spirit saw victories with his Liege-Lord, and foes that could never plague them as they had before. Other Spirits, that they had ripped from the face of Tyrra. The Spirit was aware of what it was, and why it was here, but it was waiting for something.

His Squire had fallen, and the lines were quickly approaching his vassal. Soon the enemy would overcome him, and his Squire would be lost within their lines. He commands that the lines stand their ground, for he hoped that help would arrive for his comrade. The lines approached faster now.

The invading army had been whittled down far enough, for their General had taken the field of battle. His guard followed, his guard of Brood Executioners, as he approached the line of his newest prey. The Brood had taken the General during his last campaign. He was sent to kill the Brood Queen. They instead defeated his army, and taken him and his mind hostage. The Brood learned of the perimeter defenses of every town that he’s been stationed at; from Evendarr City, down through the Sutherlands.

As he took the field of battle, though his mind was not connected with the rest of his body, he thought of his mother, and his father, and all that The Spirit had previously viewed. He went over campaigns that stretched as far as Badira, and the time that the Wolven gave them quarter in the Falcon Forest. Of all of the battles that he had led, and the armies that stood by his side were now in jeopardy, and it was his fault. He had been defeated only once, and at the time, unbeknownst to him, was the most important battle for him to win. He blamed himself for the lives of every person killed by his hand, though he had no use of it. The Brood had since then taken care of his body in their own fashion; distorting his limbs, and creating a new armored chitin to keep their prized possession safe. He was to be the weapon that would strike fear in every army that took the field.

Blood. Everywhere, on every body on the ground. She pushed herself from the point of gagging, as she moved on to the next body. She warily hopped down next to the body of a soldier, who’s arm had been withered beyond the point of recognition. His fingers painfully pointed in directions not previously thought possible. He was unconscious. She knew that this soldier was one of the lucky ones. He was not awake to feel this pain, and she had just what he needed. She dispelled the withered arm, and watched as it re-formed. Blood returning to his fingers, and bones mending from his fall. She took her hand, and ran it across the wound on his neck. He was not dead, but he would be soon. She took out her last potion, It would be the last man that she could save that day, unless they were dead. She had saved her life spells for the Baron, as she was told to do long before the battle even started. She pulled on the cork of the small vial, but her fingers slipped away. She pulled again, but the blood on her fingers, and now on the vial had made it almost impossible to pull the small cork from its home. She kept trying to pull the cork out, as the realization set in that the blood from the other people that she touched earlier had stained her hands with their own life-giving lubricant. She wiped off the vial and then her hands with her tabard, but it had already become soaked with blood. She tried again and again, though her fingers could not get hold of the small cork. She looked at the man’s face, and thrust the unopened part of the vial into his mouth, letting it rest on his tongue with the cork barely sticking out of the top of his teeth. She then stood up, and hopped over to his right side, where she could get a good swing at it. She drew her foot back, and violently laid her nine-buckle boots into his jaw, shattering the vial, and it’s contents into his mouth. The wound did not close. She checked the man again, and he was gone. She waited too long.

None heard the Baron’s yelling, his screaming for a spell to bring his Squire back from the dead. He watched the line as it approached, and saw that the General had locked his eyes on him, as he fell another soldier. The Baron acted quickly, he grabbed his squire by the arm, and threw him up on his shoulder. He collected the only possession that the Squire claimed, and ran as fast as he could for the back lines, where at least one healer could possibly be tending to the wounds of one of the infected soldiers that they had been dragging from the field. He ran past a few soldiers, trying to put their armor back on for the fight. They had not gotten to a healer in time, and had died from their wounds. He then spotted a woman, his sister, a healer. He ran faster, much faster than he thought possible, and came to a stop right before she kicked a wounded soldier in the face.

Light. A small light, moving towards the Spirit. It shot through the void, and into the Spirit, blinding it. Then it forgot everything of the void.

The Squire shot up, screaming. He swung his hand around, thinking that the sword that was now in the Baron’s hands was still being used to fight off the Brood. He surveyed his surroundings, before understanding what exactly had happened. He remembered the last few seconds of the fight, right before one of the Broodlings had given him a telling blow.

The Baron reached his hand down, which was heartily taken by the Squire, and helped him up. The Squire looked a bit shaky, but strong enough to continue the fight. He dusted off the Squire’s back, and handed him his sword.

She remembered when her father first gave the new Squire the sword. They had passed it on from Liege-Lord to Squire many times. It had been in the court since her Grandfather came to these lands and first settled them. He was a young upstart then, but knew his limitations, much unlike the Squire who was standing before her. She checked him, and did what she could to close the wounds that he had suffered from the fight before they walked away. She watched them head back towards the faltering lines of soldiers, bellowing out orders as they crossed the field. She kept her gaze upon them until a sound behind her caught her attention. There, on the ground, was a cracked vial, a tabard, a pouch, and a sword. The ash from the body was still floating in the air as her vain attempt to help the man out, dissipated.

Was that them? Did he catch a glimpse of the Baron? Yes… Yes it was. He knew that his body would go after him… and that… who’s that? His Vassal? A page? Maybe a Squire, or a Lord of the magicks? Whoever it was, if he got in the way, his body would destroy him. He tried again to fight the power controlling him, but he couldn’t even feel the pain of the swords lashing against his newly formed armor. He could tell by the things running through his head from the Brood Queen, that his executioners were about to push through the line, leaving the good Baron to defend himself.

The Squire pulled his sword back out of the scabbard, waiting for the creatures to rush them. He stared at the General, who was busy dispatching another soldier, waiting for the moment when the blade would pierce his heart again. The first Executioner shot through the line, dragging it’s lame claw behind him. The Baron stepped out of the Squire’s View, and began to collect energy for the onslaught. The Squire pulled his sword down his right side, close to the ground. The Executioner came at him, in a full charge, drawing working arm backwards, ready to strike. The beast beared down on the good Squire, and as if by another force, fell down where it stood. The Squire had taken his swing; a telling blow to the ‘throat equivalent’ of the creature, cutting it’s brain off from the rest of its body. As the creature fell from view, behind it was the next Executioner, already starting its swing.

She pulled another body over from the fight, waking him from his involuntary slumber, and helped him up. He took his sword and his shield, and looked at the falling lines of soldiers. He handed his items to her, and started to limp from the battlefield, done with a fight that could not be won. She slid the shield onto her arm, but dropped the sword. She could barely lift such a heavy thing, let alone swing it. She went down the line, giving aid where she could, and keeping the troops rallied together. One of the men beside her fell backwards, pushed by one of the creatures, who crushed his head as it ran through the line, then another. The line had broken, the cried out to the soldiers to hold the line. But they could barely hear her. Someone from the back line over took her advice, and closed the hole in the line up. The General stood before him. She took off after the beasts. Fumbling in her pouch as she ran.

The Baron opened up on the creature, throwing his most powerful spells, some would say that it’s enough to put holes into small moons. The creature shook each one of them off. The Squire had just felled the first one, as the second one drew back its claw. The Baron knew that his Squires life was about to end, again. He froze, in fear of his Squire’s impending death.

The Squire could only watch as the creature took its swing. Straight at the face, and quick. He felt the claw strike his face, and stop. No pain? He was all but baffled by what had happened. Did the Executioner decide to spare his life? The Squire took a step back, and peered at the Executioner, who had been snared in an imprison, and the Healer, who stepped out from behind him.

She had used it. The only gift her father gave to her before he died. She had used the gem, which had the ability to cast Midtguard’s Forceful Imprisonment but one time ever, and had saved the Squire from certain doom. She took the Squire’s sword, and shot it through the wall of the spell, and into the vital organs of the creature. The spell dropped, as did the creature.

The Baron watched as his sister dispatched the creature. She had never killed before, but always showed up in time to help out when needed. The lines started to fall back, not because of the approach of the monsters, but due to the fatigue of the soldiers on the field. They were about to lose this battle, and the town as well. Then the General spoke.

He heard the words come out in a different voice than his own. He fought the infection again. Trying to purge his mind from his prison. He failed, just as he did every time before. He was to the point where he was about to give up, but listened to what his body was saying.

“Why do you continue to fight? You will not win! “ Bellowed the General

The entire field knew that what he said was true. There was no winning this battle. People talked while fighting of pulling back, and re-forming. Some left the field, running back to their families. Some just stopped fighting.

The Baron tried to form his people and his sister stood in awe, as the soldiers walked away. The Squire had different plans all-together.

“I’ll tell you why we fight!” Screamed the Squire. “I’ll tell you why all of us fight!”

“What are you doing? He’ll just come after us?” begged the healer. “You’ll be the death of us all. Please stop!”

The Squire ignored her, and continued to yell his response to the General.

“Thou shalt respect the weak, and thou shalt constitute thyself the defender of them!”

The Baron’s mouth dropped, he hadn’t thought of the code since the battle had started. He only thought of his people. The Baron decided that it was his turn.

“Thou shalt love the land in which thou hast sworn fealty!” The Baron screamed.

The Healer now spoke too. “Thou shalt not recoil before thine enemy!”

The Soldiers turned around, and returned to the lines, fighting with some renewed energy. The Baron, The Squire, and the Healer, all walked towards the line, still screaming out the code.

“Though shalt make war upon evil without cessation!” Said the Squire.

“Though shalt scrupulously perform thy noble duties, be they not contrary to the laws of the land!” Shouted the Baron.

The Healer, kept in rhythm with her friends. “Thou shalt never lie, and thou shalt remain faithful to thy word!”

The Squire’s turn again. “Thou shalt be generous and though shalt give freely to everyone!”

The Baron started the final tenant, as the soldiers started pushing the creatures back. He was joined in by most of the field.

“Thou Shalt be everywhere and always the defender of the good and the right against injustice and evil!”

The field charged. The losses were high. The Baron did not leave the field. Neither did the General. They both died their final deaths on that field. But that army never fought another enemy again, without always thinking of the Code. The Code that Binds us all. The Code that Guides us. The Squire did do something that none of the others on that field did…

The Squire woke up, with tears in his eyes. He threw the blankets off of him, and pulled himself out of bed. Walked across the room, and peering out through his window, towards the Gallyamath, and realized that he would never fight another battle without remembering the code.

Of Wookilars and Wards
As told by Portia Kentsdaughter

Several years ago, the people of the Vale visited a small town known as Quilldale. They had journeyed there to examine and investigate odd alchemy in the area.

Marentha had had a hard night and thought it best to retire back to their lodging to unwind over drink and talk. They went to their weekend home knowing that if they were needed, the townspeople would be able to find them without much trouble.

As the night wore on the sounds of battle echoed into the room in which the members of the barony rested. A ferocious battle was taking place and the shouts of Thornebriar indicated that they were in a heated battle indeed. The panicked cries of Thornebriar seemed to be pleading for Marentha to open their ward.

And so, fortifying themselves, those adorned in the red and black of Marentha prepared to open the door and rush into the battle with their comrades. Unfortunately, as the cries of Thornebriar were overlapping, no one could tell they were warning not to open the door.

Dame Amaris dropped the ward and opened the door, only to be struck by the very beast Thornebriar had be fighting so bravely. The Marenthans watched in horror as he spilled into the room… it was a Wookilar. It was huge, a massive hulk of a creature with a wicked grin. In the Wookilar’s revolting maw, the thing had razor sharp teeth of bloodied silver. Its hide was dense, so much so that only three blades in the room could pierce it, all the others brave fighters swung only in vane. From his tremendous claws dripped a foul substance: which once in a person’s blood, would render them too ill to continue the fight.

Marentha, not knowing what this appalling brute was joined into the fray, only knowing that it did not look friendly and Thornebriar was reaching exhaustion from the conflict. They fought together, pressing so close to the beast, that he could not raise his claws to strike.

From the back of the room, Jauntarius Darkstrider began a fury of spell casting. From “Fire Storm” to “Dragon’s Breaths” he cast every offensive spell he had into the Wookilar’s back. From the front of the thing Dame Amaris continues the fight, watching in exasperation as the mystical energies thundered into his back and had little effect. Even as Jauntarius’s only “Doom” spell exploded into his back the Wookilar gave little show of concern.

With a mighty yell Dame Amaris swung her blade as hard as her weary form could muster, and followed it with two more of her most powerful swings. At last the warriors saw their blades open the creature’s flesh. As the battle showed signs of turning the beast gave a cry, which sent several of the people fleeing in terror. With two more bloodcurdling howls he scattered more of the hardened fighters, leaving only the gallant Dame Amaris standing before him. Bravely she set her jaw and battled him in single combat until more townspeople arrived to aid her.

It was impossible to know how long it took, but finally, the thing collapsed in a great bloody heap, dead. All those involved stood and looked in wonder at the thing that had taken on both Thornebriar and Marentha, seemingly without too much effort. The exhausted people shuddered to realize how long the beast had withstood their combined attacks without being able to move enough to fight back.

After all people were healed, Marentha settled back into the relaxation they had been attempting before the attack. But not before the lesson was stressed: “When Thornebriar asks for you to open the ward, make sure there is not a Wookilar there first.”

Wookilars and Wards
as told by Amaris Baeyear

Quilldale. My first and thus far, only visit to that “fair” city. I’m sure that my first impression of Quilldale doesn’t paint a true picture of the area. But it’s been enough to keep me away for a couple of years.

Things had gotten stressful. Marentha decided to retire for the evening, thinking, rightly so, that if anyone needed us, they’d know where to find us. We returned to our lodgings for some coffee, cigarettes and quiet conversation.

It was not too long before we heard a commotion outside. We could make out the voices of various members of Thornebriar and what sounded like a great battle. Just our luck, the sounds were getting closer. Soon it was just outside our door. We armed up when we heard what sounded like panicked voices screaming to “OPEN THE WARD!!” So we did.

Because they were all yelling at once, we missed the “Don’t!” in front of that statement. It seems that they had a wookilar trapped against our the door. I opened the it and in the wookilar came. If you’ve never seen a wookilar, they’re hard to describe. In truth, all I can recall is it’s size. It was huge, and had this evil, maniacal grin with sharp, silver teeth. And strong! With a hide that only three of us could penetrate. Had I not been carrying the Baron’s sword, my blows would have bounced off of it.

I cannot say how long the fight lasted. We had it so surrounded that it could not get a good blow on any of us with it’s claws. Which was a good thing, as it’s claws were coated in an ichor that would sicken those it bled. It bore the brunt of many a mighty blow and assassin’s trick. Still it fought on.

From my vantage point during the fight I could only just see the spell energies exploding against its back. Several Flame Bolts, Ice Bolts, Lightning Bolts, Ice Storms, Lightning Storms, Dragons Breaths and one Doom stuck the creature in rapid succession as Jaunt emptied his pyramid. And still it fought on.

Dismayed, I stuck as hard as I could, once, twice, then again. We were finally hurting it. A wave of fear washed over us, sending those without protections against it running. Another and more fled. Two more waves and I alone stood before the beast. I would love to be able to say that I felled it from there, but reinforcements arrived and with their aide, the beast was done in.

Let this be a lesson to you. When Thornebriar yells for you to open the Ward, make sure there’s not a wookilar on the other side.

So, ya got any gases?
by Amaris Baeyear

So, there I was, on the top of Bane’s tower, trying to stay alive. And, believe me, it wasn’t easy. I was however in good company and had high hopes. That lasted right up until the gases started to fly. Sadly, we weren’t the ones on the breathable end of the gases. You see, the evil that had taken over my Baron wasn’t alone on the top of that tower. Oh, no. It couldn’t be that easy. He had with him a couple Death Knights and 2 of Tag Team’s Death Rogues, and they had been stockpiling.

After the first fight, after I regained consciousness, I noticed that things had taken a turn for the worse. I did a little mental inventory and realized that, not only was my magic sword missing, my shield had disappeared as well. And, I was pretty sure I had two arms when I got up there. So, I stood there, unarmed, and un-armed, blood dripping down my side, thinking, “well, shit.” This went on for some time as the Baron and Baroness of Wulfshire and the Baroness of Marentha tied to talk Bane down.

About this time it all starts up again, and spells start flying and we start dying. My last thought as I took a couple hits for Rosalind was, “I need a plan.” So, I wake up about 5 minutes later and, Eureka! I’ve got it! The Plan. So while Suwara and Portia and whoever else can get a word in edgewise have a go at getting Evil Bane to give up, I decided to strike.

I noticed that the Death Rogues were staying away from the goings-on on the other side of the tower. So I sidle up to one and look around, like roguey-types are tend to do when they are up to somethin’. And then I says to them, I says, “So… ya got any gases?” And he looks at me like I just grew a second head and says, real cautious-like, “Yeah.” So I shrug and nod and glance around again. Then I look back at him and, in the time honored tradition of puffers everywhere, I said, “Gimme some?”

So now he is thinking that maybe I’ve lost it or something. He takes out a couple of vials, moving real slowly like you do around the terminally insane, and hands ‘em over. I take ‘em and check ‘em out, and, as luck would have it, they’re nausea gases. Now, I HATE nausea gases. They’re just plain gross. So, I asked him for something else. So, now apparently, I have sprouted a third head, and he hands me a paralysis gas. Finally he got up the nerve to ask, “What do you want them for? They don’t effect me.” I decide to let him in on the Plan. So I smile and shrug and toss the vials over the side of the tower. “I know.” Discretion being the better part of valor, I headed back over to the main body of our group. I really didn’t know that an undead could turn that shade of red. Long story short (too late). We trapped Evil Bane and headed back to town.

As a side note, that Death Rogue survived that night. I’m told that he plans on killing me. So, if you encounter a big undead with a handful of gas vials one dark night on Ambush Alley, just tell ‘im where I am. But… if you can, before he leaves, ask him, just ask him, “So, you got any gases?”

3 Pegasus, 609

Dear Rotgut,

Sorry it took me so long to send you word from Haven once I got established here. I got me this gig setting up their trap school, passing on my nefarious wisdom and inspiration and excellence to the new generation of bright-eyed little snot-nosed half-naked little know-it-all freaks of the local Thieves’ Guild. Like you could call it a real “guild” even! It is pasta night at the local tavern, so some gravy boy posts a notice in the center of the town square for all to read saying, “Thieves’ Guild meeting at 6:00, BYOT!” for Tools? Tapas, some weird food their tavern serves? Tintinnabulation? I think T is for tavern food as near as I can guess for you will indeed want to bring your own.

After seeing that notice (written, I note, on what might have been used to scrape something sticky off the bottom of someone’s bootheel by the look-see of it), I decided to play this all casual like. So I walk in with the fake eyepatch and tell the lads that I am Jimmy the Snake. “The great Haran Roeh, Traps King, the most creative and free-thinking undefeated trap maker whatever lived, yea, he has been delayed by some nefarious plan to trap a dragon’s very eyeball while it sleeps,” I say, I tell them. Now I am thinking this will get a laugh and they will know me by brilliance and great reputation, but instead I get this flock of birds chirping at me with little comments about how righteous that effort is. Alright.

“Do you really know Haran Roeh?” some lad with a jester’s cap asks me, he says. “Er, yea, yea, definitely I do, we go way back,” I tell him. “Uh, we used to play cards together,” That sounds like what Jimmy the Snake would say, but mayhap not mean enough, no, not mean enough, so I add kicking over a chair near me since it seems like something Kallendar would do. But it is not. The chair sort of falls over with a clatter, and some barbarian lad helpfully walks over to set it up right again. So I make a note to self, “Self: Joshua Kallendar never kicked a chair in his hard life. Right.” That poor bastard. I still owe him a big one.

“Rotarian backstab!” some other little joker calls out from the back which recalls me to the fact that actually not that much time has passed since I mentioned playing cards with Harah Roeh, so that must be what this lad is shouting about. I look toward the lad who seems a fan of a card game I am willing to play to demonstrate that he does not know how it is played and I notice that all the lads in this town have an unnatural preference for jesters hats. To each the own what he wants to make his own, I always say. Or at least I used to say until I met that lad what used to walk around Wilderwood going, “DOOO-WOP! DOOO-WOP! DOOO-WOP!” everywhere he walked — I say, remember that lad, Rotgut? What was his name, Floppy or Flapjack or Flappy Pancake Something. I hated that lad with his greasy hair and mustachios that would not grow in all the way since he was, what, mayhap twelve? Yet he always managed to have a ladyfriend with him. How do those lads do it?!

So, DOOO-WOP! DOOO-WOP! There he goes down at the tavern with all that DOOO-WOPping, and I remember sitting in Ambush Alley for what might have been about four months all that one night, yea, yea, I am pretty sure it was four months all passed and with one of them Time Travel spells like Paralysmo used to cast, and I am there getting my behind gnawed off by all manner of whatever miniature six-legged freaking fire ant was out there in that swamp waiting for that joker to DOOO-WOP down the lane. We had to pay a certain ork in the dirty tabard to leave town, but the faker would not go, he would not go! He kept coming back, if you recall. If there is one thing I cannot abide, it is a persistent ork. Well, unless by “abide,” you mean pay off and tolerate, and actually end up inviting over for card night later after a few drinks since it turned out he was alright, that ork. If that is what you mean by abide, then deal me in.

I got Cal to flip that certain ork a few more coins if he would just shut the null up and wander around in the lane like he was bait. Sure enough, you have an ork in a dirty tabard wandering the lane in a dark alley and what comes up the road but DOOO-WOP! DOOO-WOP! With whatever freaking faerie wand or whatever he was waving up my nose like I even WANTED that cookie or whatever it was he was trying to give me that other day. “Take the cookie,” he says, but I do not want the cookie, “Take the cookie,” he says like mayhap I did not hear him the first time, and I breathe – oh yes, definitely with the breathing because Milord Drax told me it was bad for business for the Dominion to randomly oh, say, crack the back of somebody’s favorite head up against the tavern wall and ask real cold and slow like if they has paid their dues what like Laurie did that one night Kitheria ran out again to check out Myrtle’s tomb and it brought her back all safe if with candy and a magic dagger some lad “lost on the trail,” she says. Milord, I have not seen Laurie in ages! Ha! I crack myself up… just like the back of that blue lad’s head in the tavern. Oh well.

So there we are, remember? Down Ambush Alley and I hear it getting closer, step by step, one DOOO-WOP by one DOOO-WOP getting closer like the scrape-scrape-scrape of Fetid’s hook on the outside of the Snack Shack that one time we got Philomena and the Ladies of the Healers’ Guild Summer Ragtag Band and Trumpet Society out there. (Before Banzai, that is, not after… definitely, definitely not after.) DOOO- WOP! DOOO-WOP! “Hi Mister Orksie would you like a cookie?” that freak for nature asks, and that is IT. So into the null with the plan, instead I stand up and scream, “I DO NOT WANT A FREAKING COOKIE, ALRIGHT?! EVER! STUFF YOUR FREAKING COOKIE!!!” And, milord, you can HEAR all the punctuation the way I am carrying on. After that one time Floppy Pancakes there slumped on the porch and started crying like some hobgoblin or something when I would not take the cookie, if I ever so much as see the slightest bit of flour sprinkled on that pasty hairless bony chest of that druid again, I will flip the freaking switch right next to his ear, so help me Guxx Unfadoo, I will do it. Only I cannot, because there will be no next time with the cookie.

While I am screaming in the middle of the ambush like the seasoned professional I am, fortunately there is Cal. He never misses a beat. Somebody gives the signal, and while I am still trying to remember if we hit them if we say I think it is going to rain, but it is raining, or only if it is not, Cal has already beat that mark into a dull smudge on the ground, and searched its innards for the chance coin that accidentally got wedged inside of a vital organ. That Cal. That is one lad you can always rely on to light the fuse when the revolution comes, that is for sure. Cal, and I have to admit that ork who jumped on board without so much as a By Your Leave and learned the drill right fast made short work of that DOOO-WOPing crying glittering druid. No more would I lay awake at night, hearing Fetid’s hook scrape slowly toward the door and think to myself, “Self, I sure hope he does not have a cookie.” I was safe. Good times, Rotgut! I liked you right away.

Naturally it was just about “Just one more cup” of black coffee later that some bunch of gypsies and, ooooh save me for I am so scared of Rakin’s Hammer and the whole of – oh no! – the Smiths’ Guild come running up from the other end of town with their glowing Shadowraith-fighting hammers to find out “if everyone is alright.” What do you think? You hear DOOO-WOP DOOO-WOPping come creeping up on you from the tavern like some slow inevitable plague weekend what is getting passed from one hand to another, then mayhap you pick up on some handsome baritone hunk of a specimen of manly warriorness shriek like a little girl something about a cookie, then you hear the ring of steel and crackle of hot death magic on a stick then… only silence. And you run up here into the blackest night of non-seeingness to Ambush Alley where you find a bunch of lads in black with a guilty-looking ork in a dirty tabard and fistfuls of feathers and glittery leaves and whatnot in our hands, debating what has to take the faerie wand thing whatever it is, and you ask, “Is everyone alright?” Why, yea, yea we are. Thank you for asking. Mayhaps yous guys have some magical protectives to spare?

These lads in the jester caps remind me of old Soggy Pancake Lad. If just one of them squeaks in a fashion that might possibly even remotely like in the dead of night just before the Killing Hour when I am mostly asleep but caught half between dreaming and waking that if I should hear the slightest peep that sounds even a smidgen like DOOO-WOP, that joker is going down and only the ghostly ringing of the one solitary dangling bell that rolled off his hat lonesomely into the dark lane will be left to tell the tale. Mark you my words.

The public meeting of the Thieves’ Guild pauses to hit the all-you-can-eat pasta bar in the tavern before they proceed to tell me all that they know about the great Traps King Haran Roeh and all his greatest adventures what with the snake and the other snake, and the rats, and working for Milord Drax Darshiva, Wizard of the Third Age and Ironmaster of the crap nobody cares about anymore since apparently any yahoo what knows a second circle minor enchantment now can go to his local emporium and get his spirit installed in a golem body and be back all part-elf, part-butterfly scavenger by sunset again. And then they tell me about the time that Haran Roeh once showed up at a field battle in their town, and personally challenged the leader of some army of 600 mercenaries to a battle of wits over a matter of their company treasury or something. Because that is what motivates Haran Roeh to march into a strange town and challenge a whole army of mercenaries at 1 gold a head or something.

So I set down my drink and I am just right for this, already leaning over the table, head kind of bowed with just the right amount of intimidating shadow over my face making the fake eye patch look even vaguely a little menacing, and I say, real deliberate, I say, “Oh, he did, did he?”

It was one of them great moments when all goes silent at just the right time, just like that wrong moment that one time when

Sorry. Got interrupted. A neighbor came to the door bearing pistachios. How could I say no? I love pistachios. They are so mysteriously green for no good reason. Like you, my friend!

Right. So I’m at the endless pasta bar with Jesters Local #84 and I ask them do tell me more about the time Haran Roeh came to town to fight some pointless surprise field battle. And it is about as these things usually go, another town, another imposter. Haran Roeh is a mystic wood elf, apparently (because he would be!) and he had this army of clockwork baby golems who exploded when you killed them (which I have to admit is pretty good) and he up and stopped a perfectly good field battle to fight some kind of dueling lutes sort of trap-off with the local Head Idiot, some cheese-eater what goes by name of “Reggie.”

“Let me axe you something… Reggie!” I says whilst pointing my garlic bread at him like I have just launched some accusation of murder at him or something. I get just the reaction from these whelps I am hoping for, too. They all take this real serious and all sort of simultaneously lean back in their seats to get just a little farther away from me and the deadly breadstick if they can. I says, I says to the thieves, “Whiles all these dueling trap shenanigans is going on at that big field down yonder,” yea, I go all Wilderwood on them with that one, “what exactly was all your friends up to right about then?”

The no-style having skinny fast-lads that have not got one Larker’s belly worth of mass together among the twenty of them start to tell me about the great fight, and how they all danced through some mesmerizing flurry of blades of screaming warrior death all around the field in this great battle against the clockwork army of the great Haran Roeh until I cannot hear any more. “Hey! Wake up!” I shout at them. And they snap back into what I will call the Breadstick Pose, all leaning back in their chairs. “You call yourselves thieves and while there is a field battle, you are actually… battling… and not out robbing every cabin in town during that time?”

“Not even waiting to clean up the sloppy spoils of weakened tired fighters with no protectives left?” I add when I get no immediate reaction, just extended Breadstick Pose from the fools.

You would have thought that the skies ripped open and the great mechanical booming voice of Haran Roeh himself had just spoken to them. This never occurred to them. Not once. Not one of them. Not ever.

“Let me put this another way,” I says, and I am done with the fake eyepatch at this point because I think skinny legs over there the dark elf is making a move on the bread basket while I am watching Reggie and the fools with him. “You are walking down Ambush Alley at night,” because every adventuring town I do not care if it is in the great reaching undershadows of Elfheim or the canyons of Dar-Khabad, or probably even in the vast steaming panda-filled jungles of… whatever that faraway land is called… look, hey! My point is that every town has an Ambush Alley. So I says to the lads, I says to them, “You are walking down Ambush Alley at night, and you come to something what is maybe a turtle scavenger probably, and it is on its back. What do you do?” There is only ever one answer to that question. One. Answer. And they do not get it. It is at that moment that I think mayhap bringing The Box with me to a lecture to a supposed local Thieves’ Guild might not have been the bad idea that it seemed when the door shut and I realized I had forgotten The Box inside the cabin and I was too lazy to go back in and get it. Sometimes you have just gone too far.

Haven is a waste of time, my friend. It is time to get Wise. (By which I mean Jackson Wise in case that was not clear.) The revolution will move through here like wildfire, with brittle minds for the kindling. There may be a few of them that worth tagging first, and I am working on it. I hate to think of this trip as a total waste.

Until later, then, stay salty,
Your friend,

Haran

I: Beginnings
II: Union
III: The Early Struggle
IV: Interim
V: The Final Battle: Early Stages
VI: The Final Battle: SkySpawn
VII: Aftermath

I: Beginnings

For several centuries prior to the founding of Evendarr, petty squabbles and civil strife in one location or another almost continually wracked the territory that was to become the original kingdom. Trade, agriculture and purses were suffering. The infighting often left frequently shifting borders vulnerable, and caravan routes open to attack by monsters, pirates and brigands. Most of the human population had long since forgotten the original reasons for the enmities, except for a trait characteristic of nearly all races of sentient mortals, suspicion of, and hostility towards, all strangers. The non-human inhabitants among the more civilized races tended to either keep to themselves, or stay away altogether, a loss of valuable trade opportunities for everyone.

It was not until four rulers of about the same age and enlightenment – the lieges of Endarr, Greymoor, Nevis, and Sardonia – had assumed their positions of power that hopes for a wider peace began to brighten. Even so, it took fifteen years following the marriage of Prince Berthold Endarr of the Principality of Endarr to Queen Merriel Monay of the Kingdom of Sardonia, before most of the stubborn old reactionaries finally died off and negotiations for a greater union began to bear substantive results. An additional decade and a half had to pass before the last pretenders to the throne of Endarr were finally eliminated, and a time of peace began to settle upon the New Kingdom.

II: Union

At the time of the signing of the Union Treaty of Velowyn, which united those four realms to form the Kingdom of Evendarr in Yr. 1 the positions of the founders were, and became:
Sir Berthold Endarr (Age 40) Prince of Endarr (King of Evendarr)
Dame Merriel Monay (Age 35) Queen of Sardonia (Queen of Evendarr)
Lord Regis Buttons (Age 34) Chancellor of Endarr (Lord Chancellor of Evendarr)
Sir Aylward Huntington (Age 39) Archduke of Greymoor (Knight of Evendarr and Viscount of Cwyll
Dame Winifred Bartholemew (Age 38) Princess of Nevis (Knight of Evendarr, and Knight Commander of the Royal Army of Evendarr)

Although there was widespread popular support for the new rulers, a number of disaffected nobles refused to acknowledge the new treaty or kingdom. Many of them felt that Sir Aylward was the better choice, particularly his own vassals in Greymoor. It was he who had been the chief negotiator for the treaty, as well as the man who had earned the trust of all the principals involved. Sir Aylward had, however openly pledged his support to Berthold and Merriel from the beginning, and he insisted that his success had stemmed from this public declaration at the outset of negotiations that he would not act on his own behalf. No amount of persuasion could impel him to break that oath of fealty to the new King and Queen.

Lord Valdric Dorsette, one of Aylward’s own vassals of Greymoor, led the opposition. Valdric was the elder brother of Berthold’s first wife, the late Princess Clothilde, and the uncle of their 22-year-old son, Regweld. He was also a spurned suitor for Queen Merriel’s hand. It was said that he had gone mad after Merriel had chosen Berthold. Valdric was a brilliant and charismatic Arch-Wizard who was able to join all of the kingdom’s adversaries into a united front. Many believe it was Valdric who engineered King Berthold’s assassination and obliteration before his reign was less than a year old.

Once the crown passed solely to the Queen, Lord Valdric began an impassioned campaign both to court her hand in marriage again, and to press for her declaration of Sir Regweld as the next heir. Not only did the Queen refuse him once more, but also she followed her own judgement and the advice of the loyal majority of her nobles. She proclaimed Berthold II, her fourteen-year-old son by the late king, to be the Crown Prince. Enraged beyond reason, Valdric killed the Queen and himself. Upon resurrecting, he led the disaffected nobles into rebellion, acting as both Mage and Chief Advisor to the young and ambitious Regweld. A fifteen-year war of succession began.

III: The Early Struggle

Major support for the Anti-Royalists never reached sufficient strength to enable their forces to wage all-out war. Valdric’s strategies and deployment tactics were effective in maximizing Regweld’s guerilla operations, thus preventing the completion of the kingdom’s consolidation under Merriel. In addition two other pretenders surfaced at this time. Sir Darriel Endarr, a cousin of the late king, declared his legitimacy by bloodright. Lady Soledra De Sardon, of Sardonia based her claim on the fact that Queen Merriel’s family had wrongfully banished her grandfather, Vincent De Sardon for high treason some fifty years earlier, when the Monay family became the lieges of that land.

In May of Yr. 5, Crown Prince Berthold married Dame Chandria Buttons, the daughter of the Lord Chancellor. That wedding celebration ended with an attack on the capitol by Darriel Endarr’s forces. Sir Aylward and Lord Regis had scried the enemy’s intent. The attackers became the victims, and Darriel was killed. The following April, Princess Chandria gave birth to a son, Berthold III, who was immediately declared the heir. Darriel and his forces retreated to the west, but the strife was far from over. Under Valdric’s tutoring, Regweld sought an alliance with Soledra, and agreed to marry her. They would share the monarchy in exchange for the joining of their forces.

The rebels laid siege to Cwyll throughout the summer of Yr. 6. The siege was not broken until October, after three days of fierce fighting. The royal forces were victorious, but at great cost. Sir Aylward had taken several deaths, and Queen Merriel, did not resurrect. Regweld and Soledra’s forces had been nearly annihilated, and they retreated south to the Black River. For most of the next decade, they lived as outlaws, traveling around the fringes of the kingdom. During this time, Soledra gave birth to a son, Vincent Regweld Dorsette De Sardon.

IV: Interim

In the aftermath of the royal victory at Cwyll, Valdric was dismissed in disgrace as the rebels’ advisor. It is said that learning of Merriel’s final death completed his journey into madness. He fled into the hills in the west, which were called the Green Hills in those days, and transformed himself into a liche. He began to raise an army of undead and vowed revenge on the kingdom, now led by its twenty-year-old king Berthold II. One of the reasons that the rebels had nearly succeeded in taking the royal city was Valdric’s success in recruiting powerful spellcasters and wizards to his side. During his days of service to Lord Aylward Huntington, Valdric Dorsette was known to be an accomplished Celestial Arch-Wizard. It is believed that he began training in the arts of Earth Magic shortly after the onset of the succession war, and achieved Arch-wizard rank in this discipline as well.

Recognizing the need for similar forces loyal to his king, Sir Aylward sought the help of his younger brother Lord Lawrence Huntington, who was Crown Mage to the throne of Evendarr. Lord Lawrence was commissioned to found a royal school of magic in Cwyll, and by year ten, a flourishing academy, with its great dwarven crafted tower stood a short distance outside the city walls. Lord Lawrence was even able to attract several wizards and spellcasters from the elven kingdom of Quentari, who perceived that helping to build and stabilize an honorable human realm to their east would benefit both lands.

In Yr. 14, Regweld, Soledra, and a force of over 2000 made their way into the Green Hills to renew their alliance with Valdric. They had pillaged their way across southern Greymoor and western Endarr. With gold stolen from a dwarven mining community in the Arawyn Mountains, they had managed to hire nearly all the available mercenaries in the lands to the south of the kingdom. When they arrived, however, they discovered that Darriel had preceded them with an even larger army, and fighting nearly broke out among the three pretenders. Valdric put a stop to it, declaring that they had to defeat the royal forces before they could choose among themselves. It is said that while he still favored his nephew Regweld, Valdric was far less interested by now in who sat upon the throne of Evendarr, than in establishing himself as the real power behind it. The Arch-Wizard had taken pains to conceal the true strength and nature of his forces even from his allies. Only a few of his most trusted minions knew of his secret army. He intended that the bulk of his soldiery not be used until a pitched battle with the royal forces had been engaged. This would be accomplished by drawing Berthold’s forces onto the ground of Valdric’s choosing against the combined troops of the pretenders. These would be smaller in number, but would have the advantage of terrain. It was the thousands of undead that Valdric had created over nearly a decade’s span, waiting to be loosed upon the battlefield at his command that would turn the tide against the Evendarrians. As the rebel leaders met to plan their strategy, Valdric radiated confidence in their success.

V: The Final Battle: Early Stages

In the Green Hills it was the year 14, and autumn harvest was underway. The rebels decided that the first step in drawing Berthold’s Army into their territory would be to deny the kingdom the foodstuffs from the plains of Endarr, just east of their encampment. In a series of lightning raids during October and November, their Dragoons and cavalry swooped down on the rich farms and pastures north of the Endyr River, securing winter provisions for themselves and leaving the area’s survivors in a desperate plight. Word was carried back to Cwyll and King Berthold did indeed ready an expeditionary force to drive the attackers from the kingdom once and for all.

Forces greater than Kings and pretenders were at work. The end of Yr. 14 marked the close of the ninth cycle of ages, and the magic had already begun to fluctuate. In fact the exact moment of the change occurred so closely in time to the New Year that even today historical and astrological accounts conflict on whether the date of demarcation should be recorded as Yr 14 or Yr. 15. (It should be noted that the Quentari, after considerable research. settled on Yr. 15 as the appropriate year, a date which seems to have been borne out by the end of the tenth cycle in April of Yr. 591.)Because of the transition in the cycle, and the instability that occurred before and after it, both sides experienced losses. As usual spell and ritual effects changed or were gone altogether. Several other such effects were later rediscovered in an altered form. The kingdom’s forces, although more powerful than those of the rebels, sustained the most damage, since they relied solely upon living troops, who now found themselves without many of their magical protections or weapons. Valdric’s forces had fewer of these resources to begin with but his control over his undead troops seemed to strengthen as new and more menacing types now being created.

During this period one of Valdric’s wizards, hoping to impede Berthold’s progress, and weaken the royal forces, had cast a ritual for summoning an ice elemental. Instead, a blizzard of horrific proportions instantly formed over the ritual circle. It swept away across the Green Hills and down the Endyr Valley as far as the capitol, making any sort of travel impossible throughout the entire Yuletide season. Enraged, Valdric spent days torturing the hapless mage before finally obliterating him. There was, however, good news for the rebels during this time as well. Shortly after the blizzard had driven everyone to their caves and tents, Darriel’s twin sister, the Arch-mage, Margali Endarr reported to Valdric the emergence of a new battle magic spell. Lost in the previous cycle of the ages, it had been a manifestation of power previously available only as an innate ability of certain races and monsters, or as a ritual effect. It could shape-change its target for brief periods, and was capable of being cast by mages below the level of wizard. She called it Margali’s Eldritch Transformation, but it later also came to be known by its traditional name from earlier cycles, “Polymorph.”

Valdric, having just cast a scry spell which had functioned with unnatural clarity, received a crystal clear picture of the interior of the Royal Tower of Magic at Cwyll. In this vision, he learned the identities of most of the king’s spellcasters and the whereabouts of their most powerful artifacts and magical items. With Margali’s new weapon, Valdric decided upon a daring strategy. He selected several of his most powerful spellcasters who were also strong in spirit. The Liche-Wizard had them spend days practicing the new spell, and fashioning likenesses of the forms of those whom Valdric had seen in his scrying. Finally satisfied with their competence, he killed them all, and raised them as undead, and they set out for Cwyll in the last weeks of January, Yr. 15. Whether it was a residual effect of the ritual flaw, or simply natural processes, the heavy snows continued. Travel was all but impossible for the living. Valdric and his party, although greatly slowed in their pace, had no need for food, sleep, or shelter. Ten days later they arrived at the outskirts of the royal capitol, and even Valdric himself stared in wonder at the grace and beauty of the Royal Tower of Magic, the creation of Ruta Hammerstone, one of the greatest of all dwarven stone shapers.

In the Royal Tower at Cwyll, Lord Lawrence and his colleagues had not been idle during this time. As aware as his enemy of the changes in the magic, the Royal Arch-Mage consulted at great length with his Quentari allies. Though they were adventurers only, and not in any way connected to the Royal Court of King Elenaro, their training at the legendary Elven Institute of Learning and Magic on Lake Helevorn brought to the Evendarrians a priceless advantage. This fact may have made the difference between victory and defeat for the fledgling kingdom. Their access to the great archives of millennia housed at Helevorn gave the elven wizards a far more extensive knowledge of the effects of the changes in the cycles of ages than existed in the newly civilized, human ruled lands.

The Quentari quickly cautioned the Lord Mage against assuming that any magical secrets short of the most artfully concealed artifacts and circles of power still existed in the New Kingdom. They instructed everyone to keep careful records of all spell and ritual casting attempts during the transition, particularly of any new magical backlashes or flaws encountered. They encouraged experimentation with various substances in the hopes that new formal magic components might be discovered. They urged Lord Lawrence and his mages to continue to cast Scry and Obfuscate spells until everyone had mastered the new forms. The Quentari advised their Evendarrian counterparts to cast two ritual circles about the tower and its environs. The first was a proscription against elementals, for those creatures were frequently attracted to those places where great stores of magic were focused. The second circle was a proscription against undead. These creatures were known to stir during any instability in the eldritch forces, often with new and perilous abilities for which no defense had yet been developed. Both rituals were successfully cast in late January. It was the casting of the latter of the two, which was to prove critical in the events that unfolded shortly after.

What follows is a fragment form the only surviving eye witness account of the battle for the tower, recovered in its ruined archives after the great explosion of the Yr. 32. It is presumed to be written by Raighanni Auster, Chief Archivist to the Lord Mage, and one of his closest associates.

“The night of Jan 30th was the dark-o-the-moon, and a light snow was falling. The Liche-Wizard and his minions had gathered in a small copse near unto the Great Tower, were they affected upon themselves the new shape changing magic as yet unknown to my Lord and our company within. By such arts, they fashioned likenesses of several members of our assembly. He took for his own form, the visage of our commander, Sir Aylward, the man to whom he once swore fealty. By this and other evils, which were carried out in the years since his oathbreaking, did Valdric Dorsette establish himself as the wickedest and most evil of mortals to walk upon this land.

“Yet all of his subtle planning did not save Valdric from failing in his chief objective, which was to lead his band into the tower and oversee the slaughter which he so greatly desired. Although his lackeys might have been restored among the living, Valdric himself was snared by his own machinations, and could not pass through the magickal protections that forbade entry to his kind.

“Great was his wrath and confounding. He swore many oaths of vengeance that those who had stayed his purpose would be made to suffer his retribution at the end of their lives. The only means to destroy the great circle, which was proof against undead lay safely behind the eldritch force, and beyond his grasp, inside the great Tower of Cwyll.

“Command was given to Valdric’s second, an Earth wizard who named herself Scorpia, and from whom much of this testament was later extracted. To her had fallen the task of seeing to the obliteration of Lord Lawrence Huntington, having taken his form as part of her orders. Valdric’s own duty had been the looting of the Tower treasury, and its archives, but this assignment must be delayed until all of those within were dead. The victors would then raise their prey as undead to be taken back to the hills and made to fight for the Liche-Wizard, and the pretenders to the throne of Evendarr.

“The first part of their schema was carried out as the enemy had planned. Entry was gained through their disguise, and the gate guards were overcome. Their devising was thwarted soon afterwards for Valdric had made yet a second error. His scrying had failed to take into account the presence of our guard dogs. These were a Yuletide gift from the king. They used scent rather than sight to identify their friends. The alarum was raised as the great bell atop the tower began to clamor. Soon the capitol watch would attend to our relief. The attackers began to flee, pursued by such forces as we could muster. The air was filled with the crackle of magicks and the cries of the dying.

“Valdric’s fury knew no bounds. In his true form he paced at the edge of the circle and shouted out a challenge to Lord Lawrence, who stepped forward to answer. Many of his friends and companions sought to dissuade their master. Lord Lawrence had taken grievous wounds and had eschewed healing in the face of greater need by others. Yet our Lord was undaunted, and spoke to those who would have him give over in to his archenemy.

“”Non Me Prohibe!” cried the Lord Mage in the arcane tongue, “Do not forbid me!” and from that day forward, his words were embellished upon the battle arms of Huntington, by decree of the king.

“Lord Lawrence stepped beyond the protection of the circle, and met his foe with such honor and courage as befits his noble line. Thrice did Valdric cry out the dreaded words, which brought the magic of obliteration against his foe. Thrice did Lord Lawrence employ his art to cloak himself against utter destruction. Each time the Mage stepped towards his archrival, and his hands glowed like the rising sun as he made ready his attack.

“It was then that the Viscount’s guards arrived to relieve our beleaguered defense. With a howl of outrage, the evil liche uttered a strange incantation, and seemed to vanish. Not until some time had passed, and quite by happenstance, did one of the tower journeymen repeat Valdric’s words as he comforted the last survivor among our brave guard dogs. He astonished onlookers by shape changing into its twin. It was then that we understood that the foul one had employed a similar strategy to escape the king’s justice. From that day forward, the spell was ours, as well as Valdric’s.

“We had suffered grievous losses, sadly placing a dozen of our number in their burial chambers or funeral pyres. These were mostly our guards, whose heroism will be commemorated by a memorial, which shall stand forever within the tower court. The greatest tragedy was the final death of our most valued Quentari Arch-Wizard, Larissa D’Quey, she whose wise counsel proved the difference in our defense, and whose friendship is now lost forever from these halls.

“As to the enemy’s fate, we have guessed that half of their number will never resurrect and our captive has given us much intelligence. Soon it will be the moment to confront the liche and visit his destiny upon him and the puppets whose lead-strings lie in his malicious hands.”

VI: The Final Battle: SkySpawn

Of the dozen powerful wizards who left the Green Hills, only six escaped from the tower. Of these, two deliberately took their own lives and resurrected elsewhere. Valdric relieved the rage and humiliation of his defeat by leaving a trail of emptiness in his wake as his band murdered every living mortal that they encountered, adults and children alike, and raised them as his undead slaves. The sortie had not been a complete failure. His servants had managed to seize a large number of magic items, several ritual scrolls, and a large number of components. They would be put to use in preparation for the spring campaign. He set his minions to work, and he himself began a frenzied effort to create even more fearful undead. By the time he engaged the royal army of Evendarr, the combined forces of Darriel, Regweld and Soledra together with Valdric’s legions would nearly equal the numbers fielded by the king.

At the Royal Tower of Magic, morale was at its lowest ebb. Even as the Evendarrians were still mourning their losses, they had to bid farewell to their elven colleagues, who insisted upon returning their fallen comrade to her homeland and family. Refusing any escort despite the generous offers by Viscount Aylward, and by King Berthold himself, they departed alone, bearing Larissa’s body on a litter. Shortly afterward they disappeared from view, both physical and magickal.

A month went by during which scry spells were being cast constantly. The information that was revealed thereby made even the stoutest hearts quail with trepidation for what would come with the melting snows. At the beginning of March, a grim Council of Royal Advisors took place in the most heavily protected chamber in the tower. It was only then; combining the information gleaned magically with that gathered by spies, that everyone realized how great Valdric’s forces had become. Worse, the coming battle must not only be fought to the death of Valdric and the pretenders, or of the kingdom itself, but it must be fought on terms dictated by the liche. Such a horde of undead would spell disaster if it were to fall upon the heart of the realm.

Grimly, each of the leaders departed to begin preparations for the long westward march. Lord Lawrence was feeling every moment of his fifty years as he slowly made his way to the upper reaches of the tower, and stood overlooking the city that he loved, sleeping and unaware of its great peril. Not a cloud could be seen in the moonlit sky.Only when its brightness began to outshine the waxing moon did the Arch-Mage notice that something was floating toward the tower at a fair pace. Fascinated, he forgot to sound the alarum bell until it was nearly upon him. Even as he was reaching for the pull rope, the brightness collided with the circle of proscription and somewhat clumsily set itself upon the ground and dissipated. To Lord Lawrence’s astonishment, half a dozen figures were striding through the circle. One looked up at him and waved in greeting. The Quentari wizards had returned.

Lord Lawrence himself rousted out the entire assembly to welcome their colleagues, and an impromptu feast was held as the visitors were inundated until daybreak with questions about their journey, and the sensation of travelling astride and air elemental. The Arch-Mage declared the day a holiday for his staff, but not for himself, or his guests. After a brief rest they assembled with the senior wizards to give their news. The Quentari had brought additional companions, including a young elf named Entarios, the son of Larissa D’Quey, who had come at his mother’s request to finish the work she had begun. Puzzled, the lord asked how he could have spoken with her, and was told of the last use during the tenth cycle of ages of the ritual called, ”Spirit Farewell.” This ritual remained unrediscovered until only a few years ago. Lord Lawrence apprised his guests of the peril they faced, and their confirmation of his evaluation of the situation in the Green Hills gave him no relief. Never the less, he told them, he was grateful for their continued loyalty. Perhaps together they could make a difference.

It was then that Gildor Gelion the Healer-Wizard presented the Arch-Mage with a bejeweled chest bearing the seal of the elven king himself. Lord Lawrence’s friends had taken their case to the court at Din-Oth, and to everyone’s astonishment, King Elenaro had bestowed upon the Royal Tower a rare and precious gift, a scroll containing a powerful ritual which enabled the caster to Contact Other Planes. A message from the King bore his greetings with the assessment that Valdric’s army was as great a threat to Quentari as to Evendarr. If the Liche should prevail, Quentari, still recovering from the “Dagorim Gurthrauko,” or Dark Wars, and beleaguered by increasing elemental activity, would face peril on yet another front. Its resources were stained to their limits, and only fools fail to support friends in time of need, the royal message concluded. The team of wizards set to work.

The tower staff soon realized what the Quentari casters had noted at the outset. This ritual, along with its counterpart Contact Earth, was much too powerful to be used by any but the most adept, and then only under the most carefully controlled supervision. Several copies were made for security, for even a flawless casting did not guarantee that the scroll – or the caster – would survive coming into contact with whatever intelligence responded from across the planes. Despite several accidents and one or two minor disasters, the tower was able to determine the course of action that must be taken.

Preparations continued until the royal forces departed from Cwyll in mid-April, just as soon as the roads became passable. It took five days for all of the units to arrive, and the army to deploy as best it could. There was little movement from the enemy. It seemed Valdric could afford to be patient. All was in readiness on the evening of the 23rd day of April, in the sixteenth year of the realm of Evendarr. The final battle would begin at dawn on the 24th.

The Liche-Wizard’s failure to strike quickly was his final and fatal error. Deep in the darkness of the aether that surrounds Tyrra, a celestial body was travelling on a journey of unknown length and destination. Had the proper question not been asked of the entity which had spoken through the Ritual of Contact, it would have passed across the skies of Tyrra, unknown and unseen, and disappeared into the vastness that separates our world from the other occupants of the heavens. Great magicks had changed its destiny. Already, beings had been summoned to alter the thing’s path. It was small in size, but powerful for all that. Most important, it would accomplish the task set for it by those who guided it without causing harm to any save its intended targets. The royal wizards had learned quickly and well: even the Quentari had been impressed at the expertise shown by their Evendarrian counterparts, human and non-human alike.

The only need now was to await the proper moment: an alignment of Celestial bodies which would ensure success. The army must hold the field until the third hour after midday, the moment of the full moon, when balanced by its companion, the sun, and the two cradled mars in their opposition. The fullness of Light and Life would guide fire and sword in a rain of celestial death upon the enemy. King Berthold’ s forces must hold the field during those long hours until the summoning could be completed. The king assigned his own personal guard regiment to secure the wizard’s position as the battle was joined. The remainder of the royal forces engaged the army of the pretenders. Twelve thousand living soldiers of Evendarr against six thousand for Valdric, as one of the bloodiest battles in the kingdom’s history raged across the hills. Soon not a single blade of grass survived amid the crush of warriors, spellcasters, and mounts. Ballistas and catapults sang their songs of death. By midday it seemed as though the royal troops might win the battle without the intervention of the royal wizards.

Suddenly, a great cloud of darkness spread across the battlefield as Valdric’s casters prepared the way for his final onslaught. The stench of ten thousand rotting corpses burst into the blinded faces of King Berthold’s soldiery. Troops and mounts alike fell to the ground, sickened. A howl from the deepest pits of anguish sent terror through friend and foe alike. Valdric no longer cared how his own living forces fared. His undead hordes would win the final victory, and the casters among them, living or not, would raise the fallen into his ranks as well. He could not lose.

The only relief from the undead attack came from the occasional lifting of the veil of darkness as the caster who held that spell was killed. The brightness would cause every corpse that it touched to dissipate, shrieking in agony. By now, the order of battle had been lost, and the clamor was so great that signal calls were useless. The armies of Evendarr were being routed, and only the most disciplined were holding ranks as they fell back. Now all that could be heard was a constant roar that seemed to be growing louder with each moment. Many thought that the liche had held yet more terrible creatures in reserve.

King Berthold and his commanders had anticipated much of Valdric’s battle plan, but the confusion was so great that there was barely time to pull the bulk of the royal forces behind a series of sheltering hills. The final magic had been cast, and there was no force left on the world that could stop it. The wizards of Evendarr could only hope that the retreat had been in time. They fled to their sheltering trenches and waited for the final strike.

No one, not even the most seasoned Quentari spellcaster had anticipated the noise. The roar became a cacophony that became a scream so intense that horses died standing in place. There were many whose only injury was a complete loss of hearing. The darkness was shattered by a light so intense that hundreds who had not been deafened were blinded. Afterwards, when healing restored them, to the end of their days, they could only speak of the battle with reference to the horror of their last vision before sight failed them, the images of masses of undead collapsing as their bodies were incinerated by the amazing light and heat.

In the skies above the Green Hills, the meteor exploded in a fireball that was seen as far away as Cwyll to the east and Din-Oth to the west. Molten rock poured down upon the armies of Valdric and the pretenders. Huge hunks of stone buried themselves in the ground, which bubbled and burst into flame as the land consumed itself. Nothing could escape the shower of death. The battlefield fell silent, transformed to a smoldering ruin. Not even the bodies of those who had suffered their final deaths survived. Awestruck, the wizards of Evendarr stood beside their Quentari allies, and looked, speechless, upon what they had wrought that day.

VII: Aftermath

In the end, the royal army had taken far fewer losses than the catastrophe that ended the battle might have indicated. For the most part the retreat had been successful and total losses among the living were less than a quarter of its total troop strength. Ironically, many of Valdric’s lesser undead were successfully resurrected by surprised earth casters all over the kingdom, as they were finally released from long years of bondage to return to families and friends who had long since lost hope for their return. It seemed that these were the first to dissipate in the moments before the fireball struck, as their masters lost control over them.

No trace was ever found of the rebel leaders, and no rumor ever manifested that they had escaped the wrath of the royal Arch-mage and his brave company. All traces of opposition collapsed in the wake of the battle, and more than a century passed before civil insurrection again posed a threat to the Royal House of Endarr. Shortly afterward, a caravan of gifts from a grateful king wound its way to Din-Oth, accompanied by the Quentari wizards who had helped to secure a new and stable realm to guard the eastern flanks of the ancient elven realm. Offered titles and positions of power in Evendarr, the Quentari declined. They cited the growing threat of elemental activity in their homeland as the reason that they must return, although friendships remained.

All of the elven wizards departed save one. Entarios D’Quey stayed behind after he was recognized to a wood elven bard. They remained in service to the crown, and a century later joined the staff of the new Royal Academy on the island of Janitria, where he remained until his final death in 366.

Lord Lawrence continued in his position as Court Mage of Evendarr until Yr. 32 when he, together with many other heroes of that fight for the realm were obliterated in the terrible explosion that destroyed the Tower of Cwyll. No cause was ever discovered for the accident, despite many investigations and magical searches over the intervening centuries. Other heroes were lost in the great battle as well. Three full regiments of the King’s Own, The sovereign’s personal guard were lost in that battle. The greatest tragedy was the presumed obliteration of Dame Winifred Bartholemew, Knight Commander of the Royal Army. She was last seen riding to the rescue of a company surrounded by Valdric’s worst cohorts. Her body was never found.

The monuments to the battle still stand upon the hills and in Cwyll where the fallen heroes are honored to this day. Although they have recovered their fertile meadows and gentle slopes, the Green Hills are known, now, and for as long as the kingdom stands, by the great firestorm that marked them with celestial power on that awful day. Both the battle and the hills are called, “The Fire Downs”. The date is forever fixed in the annals of Evendarr: the 24th day of April, Yr 15, the first year of the tenth cycle of ages.

Finis

by Shifter Gileen, Master Trader

Over my many years as a trader throughout Evendarr, I have seen many peoples and delighted in most of the cultures I have encountered. This guide is intended to help you, the traveler, know what to expect in the various Duchies of Evendarr. You will of course excuse me if I ramble a bit I am getting old, and having an audience is something I am not used to.

Before we begin our travels, let us discuss the amount of time it takes to travel to these exotic places. Generally, a caravan or single rider with provisions can travel about thirty miles a day cross country. This assumes good weather on good roads. Bad weather, and bad roads can cut that in half easily. A single rider dressed light without many provisions can travel maybe ten or twenty more.

A messenger, pushing a horse hard, can do about eighty miles a day, but the horse will not be good for much use afterwards. I do not ever advise traveling on foot as the distances are much too great, but for some there is no option. A hiker with provisions can expect to travel maybe twenty-five miles, but since you are without a horse, expect to do a lot of resting the next day. I have found that traveling by water is surprisingly similar in time to traveling over land. On a standard barge, one can travel about thirty miles a day over lakes or rivers, half that if traveling upstream.

On the previous page (found here) is a chart of some distances between major cities in Evendarr along established trade routes. Some of these routes are mostly over water. These distances are estimates based on my experiences, and as the roads change, they may become obsolete. Note that all of the distances and travel times I have offered are subject to change as transport advances and roads improve. Politics and people change as well, so keep in mind that what I am writing here in early 592 may not be at all applicable a year from now. Now then, a guide to the various Duchies of Evendarr.

Ashbury:

Ashbury is a very interesting place to visit if you enjoy music. The duchy of Ashbury was founded by a very high level spell singer, of whom many songs are sung. When trolls rebelled against the settlers trying to establish the duchy, Oliver, Lord of the Four Peoples, battled an evil monster so that the king’s army could contain the trolls and make the area safe for habitation.

If you have any interest in the arts, Ashbury is the place to go. Most of the bards and spellsingers in the kingdom study in the capital city of Ashbury, also named Ashbury.

The reason that the honorable title, “Lord of the Four Peoples” is used is because there are four separate races living within the borders of this duchy. Humans live throughout the four provinces, but other races are more localized. The Ash Forest is the home of various types of Elves, while Mountain Dwarves live in the Baronies of Trellheim and Nordenn. There are both elves and dwarves in the hierarchy of Ashbury. The elves are rather prolific, but the dwarves seem to be rather reclusive. The Ash Forest Barony is inhabited for the most part by elves. The trolls of course were confined beneath the Tower Hills of Trellheim.

Recently, however, there have been problems traveling within this Duchy. The trolls seem to have broken free of their confinement, with what seems to be the aide of some monstrously evil magicks. Powell, the great grandson of Duke Oliver was killed and the trollish hordes were barely restricted to the area of the Trellheim Barony by the Ducal Armies. Alaric Dragonhart, a man attached to the garrison of the Tower Mountain Citadel was instrumental in this action, and for this he was named successor to the slain Duke. Little else is known of the new Duke.

Consequently, one does not wish to travel near Trellheim when it starts to get dark. I understand that there is presently a great need for adventurous souls in Ashbury. If you are planning to travel to Ashbury, make sure and visit the Five Lions Inn, which is one of the best inns in the kingdom. The service is above reproach and the food is delicious.

Blackstone:

Blackstone, named for its active volcano, was once a separate kingdom, having been ruled for many years by the Blackstone family.

About 500 years ago, as Evendarr grew around them, the King offered them a place within his kingdom. King Hender Blackstone, glancing about at the good king’s troops, decided that such an arrangement would be beneficial to everybody. In fact the people of Blackstone have taken Evendarr to their hearts and thoroughly enjoy the new markets that have been made available to them through this compromise. For Blackstone is possibly the largest trading and shipping capital on the continent of Avalon, and as such it is also one of the richest.

Blackstone is an anomaly politically – it is a County without a Duchy. It has no Baronies, either. When Count Blackstone visits other duchies he is offered the treatment afforded a visiting Count, not a visiting Duke. Politics is what Blackstone is all about. The nobles of the county seem to be in constant political struggle with each other to gain status and standing in the court. Gossip and innuendo can make or break a noble house here, and word as to who was at each party, and who has the Count’s ear at any time are valuable commodities. It consumes their lives to the point where it provides meaningful employment for the local thieves guilds, which provide nobles with the necessary spies and assassins.

When visiting Blackstone, you may wish to travel to the capital city of Braughm-Raor, where the marketplace is open from dusk to dawn. It is a colorful ongoing pageant of sight, sound and smell, and I have seen nothing like it in my travels. Row upon row of shops, inns, taverns, gambling parlors and other places of pleasure and leisure abound in the city. Of course, remember what I said about powerful thieve’s guilds, and watch your money carefully when there.

Evendarr:

The Duchy of Evendarr houses the capital city and seat of the crown. Being the center of the kingdom provides it with many advantages. It always has the latest fashions, the best entertainers, the newest music and theater. In general it is the culture capital of Evendarr, as well as the political capital. It is also the safest place in the kingdom to be, (apart from the occasional political assassination.) as it is the farthest from the monsters in the outer regions.

Be prepared to pay more for goods and services, but after all, you are paying for some of the finest accommodations in all of eastern Avalon. If you can afford it, try to stay at the King’s Rest – an inn by which all others are judged! It is said that King Roderick stayed there on the eve of his coronation. Try the boiled swordfish!!

Tread lightly when dealing with the nobles in Evendarr, as they are the oldest and most entrenched in their ways. However they are in general a nice lot and can be counted on to be trusted. Of course, as you are traveling through heavier populated areas, you can expect more common thieves and flimflam artists. Just be aware and ready.

Many fighters travel to Evendarr to enter the King’s army, where the training is excellent, the pay is good, and one can enlist for ten years and return home a fairly important person. There are also a few good schools set up by past fighters who train up and coming adventurers.

The Royal Academy of Arcane Arts and Sciences, located on a small island in the middle of Lake Hollym is home to the greatest school for magic known to humans. It researches both celestial and earth magic, and has created and discovered many new spells. Although technically it is not part of any duchy, it is generally considered to be associated with Evendarr, since people tend to think of Evendarr as the center of all knowledge.

The Academy has been in existence since about the year 100 or so, and predates most of the kingdom. It is a glory to behold if you can manage to talk your way into it. Don’t try bribing your way in, they are only interested in knowledge. If you have a new spell to share , or new information that for some reason does not already exist in their voluminous library, then maybe, just maybe, they’ll let you in. It is most impressive. You’ll feel so insignificant next to all of those stacks of books.

Anyway, as far as I can tell, the main business of Evendarr is government, and tourism! It is still the best place to visit in all of the kingdom.

Kitheria:

Kitheria has the largest population per acreage in the kingdom with a staggering 8.5 people per square mile! One rarely travels without seeing another farmhouse or village on the horizon.

Although there are no large cities the size of Evendarr, there are a few towns that are wonderful to visit. Ithiel, the capital city of the barony of Lorin is an artist’s paradise, and despite what they may tell you about Evendarr, this is the place to be if you are an up and coming sculptor or painter. Many alumni of this city have moved up to Evendarr after being discovered and adopted by royal houses. Primarily this is due to the Kitheria School of Art, at which many talented people from all over Evendarr enroll. (This is the school from which Gerin Hrestri graduated!)

The gorgeous seaside port of Pym in the barony of Zyr has one of the most unusual restaurants I have ever visited, “The Dolphin’s Crest”. The dining room is on a pier, and the kitchen is actually located in the ocean! This is because the establishment is owned and operated by a family of mer-people. Although other land based races do the actual serving, the cooks are all mer. Not surprisingly, seafood is the main (and only) entree.

Zyr also has some of the largest slate mines in Evendarr, and this provides the locals with a healthy economy. All is not perfect, however. (Is it ever?) There is reason to be wary. A peasants revolution was prevented here in 588 when it was discovered that a group calling itself “the Fist” was behind a baronial conspiracy to have a certain noble kidnapped and obliterated, and replaced with his necromancer son. Although The Fist was exposed and many of its members caught, there is still the occasional midnight assassination accompanied by a fist in a triangle symbol, drawn in the victim’s blood.

Niman:

Niman is a duchy of contrasts. On the one hand, they are one of the richest duchies, with a great love of the arts, wonderful architecture, beautiful fields, and colorful and exciting people. On the other hand they are one of the kingdom’s poorest duchies, because they persist in perpetuating a system that relies on slavery to exist.

It is very easy to devote your time to the arts when your slaves do all your work for you. It is easy to live richly when you don’t pay your slaves or spend anything for their well-being. I guess you can tell that this issue makes me a bit upset. I’ve seen it firsthand, and its not an easy sight.

The nobles and upper class citizens of Niman who keep this system going are able to control the slaves (many of whom are descended from the barbarians who lost in the wars) by a system that relies heavily on “clues” that allow them to tell their people from the slaves. A slave who escapes, and tries to impersonate a free person is easily found out by his or her rough speech patterns, poor dress, and lack of courtly manners. When you arrive at the borders, be sure to be polite to the border guards, and get the proper papers so that you can prove that you are not a slave if the question comes up. Don’t travel alone, unless you are somebody important, or you may find yourself captured and turned into a slave.

Duke Vordan Nicadaemus is a doddering fool of a man who like most of his nobles sees nothing wrong with the system of slavery. They all tend to have a number of reasons why they can justify the act, and trying to argue with them about it is a sure sign that you will conveniently “disappear”.

Niman’s main business is agriculture, and their main crops are wheat and other grains which they export to other duchies in exchange for silks, jewelry, and other riches. They also have a few mines which produce copper and other light metals.

One of the finest sights in Niman is the capital city of Coventry. Duke Nicadaemus’ castle is a model of modern architecture with its new rounded style gate house, and its murder-holes overhead. There is a radical new style in slop conveyance for the moat monsters, and the building has all of the new conveniences such as indoor plumbing. There is glass in most of the windows replacing the traditional oiled sheepskin! Inside there are wondrous tapestries, statues, paintings, and other expensive adornments. It is a glory to behold as long as you put out of your mind the fact that it was all bought from the blood of their slaves.

The Barony of Hadran also has some of the most beautiful caverns in all of the kingdom if you are interested in spelunking. There is one cavern known as “The Singing Cavern” where the water drips down the colorful stalactites and makes beautiful music as the drops hit the puddles beneath. (What the people of Ashbury wouldn’t do to have this cave in their duchy!)

Even with all of this it is advisable to avoid traveling through Niman unless you are a trader of fine goods.

Rotaria:

Rotaria is in a bit of upheaval. After the mysterious and untimely death of the evil Duke Martin Rotari last year, things appeared to be turning to the better. His wife Lillian took office and vowed to make sweeping changes.

It is not an easy job. Although she has destroyed the necromancer’s guilds that pretended to be healer’s guilds, and although she has obliterated many of her husband’s former associates, there is still unrest in the country, and much of the advice I gave travelers before her ascension still applies.

The main problem with Rotaria is the bureaucracy. Those petty minor nobles whom the Duchess has still to root out, who pledge loyalty to her while still attempting to consolidate their own power. They care only for their own self-advancement and as such their peasants are the poorest, most underfed and oppressed people in the kingdom.(Well, except for the slaves in Niman.) Things are improving and some new nobles are not as oppressive as before, but society does not change overnight. The most hope is the northern Barony of Warwyck, where Baron Galen Warwyck recently assumed the throne taken from him by Martin Rotari years before. He has begun to make changes – difficult as that may be – and the people are beginning to show more hope.

The Barony of Baltaria is the one to avoid. Baroness Annoria Cabbot has had five husbands executed already, when she got tired of them. She has done the same with many of her knights and other court personnel. Her hold on power is so strong that the Duchess is still afraid of offending her for fear of losing her own power (or so it is rumored).

If you do decide to venture into Rotaria, (who knows? You could be searching for adventure? Out to right wrongs? Or you may just be a damned fool!), be sure to get some of the apples from their wonderful groves. They also have some of the loveliest beaches in the kingdom as well. Off the coast, if you can avoid the pirates that are allowed to exist as long as they pay off the Rotarian nobles, you might even see a mermaid!

The best advice for traveling through Rotaria is to bring lots of money to pay bribes to get yourself out of tough situations. If anyone invites you to their home, Don’t go! Make sure that you do everything that the city guard and the nobles tell you to do. Remember, even if the higher-ups in this duchy are friendly, to get to them, you have to climb up through a lot of mud!

If traveling in Rotaria, make sure you have all of the proper paperwork. Because of its political precariousness, Rotaria demands everyone – even its own people – to have papers whenever they travel from one land to another within the duchy. Also, if you are from the northern duchy of Ravenholt, be sure to keep that fact a secret, and try to hide your accent. Many entrenched nobles in Rotaria still harbor great hatred for Ravenholt, because Rotaria wanted the rich barony of Capulus, and because Ravenholt helped to bring Galen Warwyck back into power. It is better to be safe than sorry. Many of the common people are good, decent, people who have simply learned that the only way to get by in Rotaria is not to trust anyone, report everything to their lieges, and never show kindness to anyone.

Ravenholt:

Ravenholt is run by Duke Basil Ravenhurst, a man of impressive stature, and with a real appetite for life. Among Dukes, he is one of the nicest, and although he tends to spend his time hanging out in the local tavern in the capital city (town really) of Ravenholt, no one seems to mind.

He has had quite a few problems in the last few years, however. With goblins attacking, and elementals trying to take over…but then again, most of the other duchies have had similar problems.

Because Ravenholt is a frontier duchy, there is obviously more fighting and monster activity than in the central parts of Evendarr. When traveling, always try to travel in large groups. This danger actually attracts many adventurers who come to the area seeking fame and fortune, so expect any local gathering to have lots of armor and weapons shining, as there are so many adventurers present.

This newer society also means that most if the nobles obtained their positions not from inheritance, but by appointment, and as such, usually tend to be more sympathetic to the plight of the under classes. (There are exceptions of course…) The people there are less concerned with formality and court pomp and circumstance than in any other duchy save perhaps Volta. As long as you are a friendly sort, not wishing to cause trouble, you should find many friends.

The best time to visit Ravenholt is in the spring, when the Duke hold his annual tournament, patterned after Volta’s. If you are a gambler, that is the best time to travel to the capital city (also called Ravenholt) because the town is full of people willing to bet on the various teams.

Ravenholt once held the only completely non-human barony on the kingdom of Evendarr, but the Drae Barony of Elfheim was recently granted it’s independence from Ravenholt, much to the surprise of everyone. It is yet unclear as to what this loss will do to the duchy’s lifestyle and economy. Ravenholt produces much of the iron that the northern duchies use for weapons and tools, and is also well known for it’s fine wines.

Sutherland:

Sutherland is an interesting but dangerous place. It seems that believe it or not, necromancy has been made legal by the Duke!

A few years ago, you see, they had a major problem with a local goblin tribe. The goblins were actually winning the war, and things looked bad for the duchy, when a group of necromancers entered the scene and promised to “save” the duchy. To make a long story short, they did, and demanded some positions within the nobility, and actually reversed the king’s law against necromancy!

From what I hear, the King is not happy about this, and had ordered the law rescinded, but so far he has been ignored. I am sure that sooner or later there will be a major problem, or even a war. So visitors to this duchy should be wary.

In any event if you do travel the area, there are many nice spots to visit. The Isles De Hoenig are pleasant lands ruled by the Baron Jacques Montaque, and are known across the duchy for fine wool products. These isles stretch across the entire coast of the duchy, from the northernmost tip of Rossanoe to the edge of the goblin lands in the south. The beaches here are frequently visited by the locals and I am sure that any traveler would want to see them.

The Barony of Rossanoe holds the capital city of Sutherland. This is a magnificent city full of delightful shops and commerce.

The Barony of Sahde features the shire of Hobbington with its picturesque homes and quaint hobling shops. Nearby is Granite Point Mountain, a huge edifice that can be seen for miles. It is an extremely large rock that juts out of the ground, forming a bald mountain.

Sudbyr is by far the poorest Barony of the duchy. It is plagued by infertile soil, a line of mountains that splits the barony in half, and a citizenry that is composed mainly of gypsies, dwarves and orcs, all of whom war with each other on a constant and regular basis. This is not a pleasant place to visit, particularly since necromancy is legal.

The Barony of LaRochelle is easily recognizable as you cross the river forming the border between these two baronies. The saying that, “The grass is always greener on the other side” was never more true than at this juncture. LaRochelle is known for its marvelous agricultural products. Even though there have been constant wars against the goblins in recent years, LaRochelle still produces some of the most bountiful harvests in the land.

I suppose that Sutherland is the place to visit if you are a necromancer, but I doubt that the king will allow that status to continue for long.

Therendry:

Therendry is located to the south of Evendarr and Kitheria, and is home to some beautiful countryside, and a most unusual people.

The capital city of Goldhaven, where Duke Jordan Champerlen resides was actually founded by a pirate! It was once a prospering haven for all manner of thieves and undesirables. There was constant war between those who wished for a better city, and those who preferred things to remain the same.

Eventually Duke Champerlen was able to get the place under control, reputedly by working many back room deals. Although the thieves guild there still has significant power, things seem to be generally calmer for the residents. Duke Champerlen is a fine fellow (although getting on in years) and he seems to enjoy the courtly life he leads. There are always many parties to attend if you visit the beautiful inner city.

The main port of the duchy is a pleasant town called Mistport. Many merchant vessels trade their goods here and a traveler is certain to find a number if interesting items for sale. The -uh- “pleasure houses” along the coast are extremely interesting to visit.

Another good spot to visit is the walled city of Kranaesh. The huge gates of this city dominate the landscape at the junction of the magnificent Fury River, and the major shipping road called the “North Trail”. The massive wall is a single slab of granite carved by dwarves who first settled the region. It is a wondrous sight to behold, and a marvel of modern architecture.

The city itself is a hodgepodge of different architectural styles with dozens of buildings both above ground and built in to the hillside clashing together to demonstrate the ancient age of this city. The city also connects to the underground city of the dwarves (I can’t pronounce the name.), but humans such as I are never allowed to visit. Not surprisingly this city’s chief business is its mining operations.

The large city of Irongate has a most unusual government structure. The Duke allows the city’s guilds to choose a Lord or Lady Mayor who serves for a five year term. Of course the Duke or Baron can overrule the Mayor’s decisions but generally in order to keep the peace, within the city, they leave well enough alone. Being Mayor is a difficult job, and more than one Mayor has suddenly and mysteriously appeared at the healer’s guild for resurrection.

Visiting Therendry can be an exhilarating experience as long as one remembers the founding fathers of the region. Thieves’ Guilds have much power in almost every city. More often than not, political appointments are decided by assassination. As long as you stay out of politics – and this means also not competing with the many businesses run by the thieves’ guilds – there is a lot to do in this southern duchy.

Volta:

The people of Volta are a strong individuals who love nothing better than a good clean fight. Their favorite pastime is sitting in the tavern with a tall glass of their famous ale, and arm wrestling. (Sometimes at the same time!)

The Voltans are after all descended from the northern barbarians, and they share many of the same tastes and prejudices, without that nasty disagreement with celestial magic. They are much less hostile to other viewpoints and ideas, and are generally very friendly unless crossed or cheated. If asked to join a wrestling contest with a Voltan, make sure that you understand what you may be getting into. To a Voltan, a wrestling contest may mean wrestling with his or her pet bear.

When set a task, expect the typical Voltan to perform to the best of his or her abilities, delving into the task with the utmost passion until it is completed. Although they tend to remain politically neutral in regards to their dealings with other duchies, deep down you will find that the average Voltan is basically good and has a great distrust and dislike for their neighbors in Niman. (This is not to imply that there are no evil Voltans, far from it. Volta has as many problems with necromancers and thieves as any other border duchy.)

A good time to Visit Volta is in the fall when they hold their tournament. This annual event was the inspiration for Duke Ravenhurst’s own tournament, but the Voltans go at it with a much different attitude. The Voltan tournament emphasizes battle skills with separate events for different weapons, a wrestling contest, and even contests for picking locks and disarming traps! (The Voltan’s don’t consider these skills inherently evil.) A team in Volta consists of five fighters, a healer, a mage, and a rogue. They represent each of the four baronies.

The prize for winning the tournament is typical for the Voltan lifestyle – possession of a golden shield and sword, the privilege of hosting the tournament in their own baronial capital the following year, and all the free ale that they can drink for the next year. Because of this last provision, no team has ever won two years in a row.

When in the barony of Anym, be sure to visit the falls of Lochniria. This beautiful natural waterfall is not only lovely to look at, as it captures the sunlight and creates wondrous rainbows, but it is also said to be composed of water that is very -ahem- “potent”. It is sold all over the kingdom as an aphrodisiac. This is a very fun place to visit if you are into the delights of the flesh.

Prostitution is not illegal in Volta, nor is it explicitly legal either. It is actually unnecessary, as the people of Volta tend to be very free with their attentions – until the point where they form attachments and become VERY possessive. If you do travel this area, be sure to remember the famous admonition, “When in Lochniria, don’t forget your cure disease potions!”

Be forewarned of one unusual item when traveling through Volta. People disappear. For the last ten years or so, the peaceful people of Zarkym have been mysteriously disapppearing. No one has actually disappeared while in public view, but small groups out hunting or fishing, or even small groups of children out playing have never returned. The Royal Academy of Magic has investigated these disappearances, but so far have been unsuccessful. Slave raiders are thought by some to be responsible, but since the disappearances have all occurred near the southern shores of Lake Ardynn, far from the slave traders of Niman, this seems unlikely.

Duke Adrick Voltan is a large boisterous man with a full black beard and a gigantic laugh. He is well loved by his people. It has been said that Baron Boddin Douglas has made plans against the Duke, but this may be mere rumor. Certainly no overt action has ever been taken. I hope I don’t get into trouble for saying this, but, there are also rumors about his treachery against the crown, but I don’t really believe them.

One final thing, Never, never make fun of the name of the Voltan’s capital city – “Unity.”