#FictionFriday - Chapter One: A Long-Awaited Party (Edited)

Chapter One: A Long-Awaited Party

Three years. For three years, Khetrik had been on the run. Of course, for him, it never felt like he was running away from his past. No, Khetrik was forever running towards his next great discovery. However, for a Delver, running towards something new often leads to slamming face first into the past.

Stumbling into the unexpected is how Khetrik came upon his chosen profession. He was orphaned at a very young age, and made his way by wandering the streets of the mystical Trade City of Jolithria. Living as an urchin on the streets of a magical city was fraught with danger, but Khetrik somehow survived relatively unscathed. Until some of the noble children found him while playing in alleys of the Green Bazaar.

Khetrik, barely six years old, was beset upon by two well-dressed teenage boys, when a strange elderly man in black robes, and a tall conical hat came upon the scene. This small olive skinned ragamuffin was being trampled by obviously physically stronger young lads, and the old man without hesitation intervened. With a flick of his wrist, the air around the boys cracked and their bodies began to contort hideously until they no longer resembled children, but instead a large pig and a lamb.

The elderly wizard extended his walking stick to prod the broken and bleeding form of the small unusual looking child.

“Are you still alive, boy?”

Khetrik could barely manage to nod his head as he felt the cooling relief of the wet cobblestone pressed against his bruised ribs.

“Well then, get up and get moving. Is that any way to show your appreciation for my valiant rescue?”

Khetrik winced as he forced himself to his feet.

“That’s better, boy. Follow me.”

“What about them?” Khetrik asked

“They got what they deserved! Don’t waste time worrying about the fates of lesser men.”

With that, the old man led Khetrik away and into the Dragon’s Cauldron, his magical curio shop and bookstore. Khetrik would later learn that the ancient wizard was called Veltayne, and that the old man’s kind rescue was less than altruistic in nature. Veltayne was getting on in years, and needed someone smaller and nimbler to help him explore dark places to find the treasures he could sell in his shop. Although, as Veltayne’s ward, Khetrik grew up as little more than slave labor, the arrangement proved mutually beneficial as Khetrik learned how to become one of the most skilled dungeoneers in Bhakaras.

So it was, that when Khetrik was forced to flee his home due to false accusations of murder, theft and destruction of property, he had his skills a professional explorer of places dark and creepy to fall back on. All in all, the situation worked out very well for Khetrik, despite his being a wanted fugitive. Khetrik had quickly fallen in with a guild of archeologists, historians, treasure-seekers, and tomb raiders called The Delvers. They were an honorable, if rowdy, lot who explore the places where others fear to delve for profit and glory, but most importantly to rediscovering the long lost histories of Bhakaras, and Khetrik had developed a reputation for being the most fearless of his kind.

It was his fearless pursuit of knowledge, treasure and fun, which had resulted in the revelry that was now occurring around Khetrik. The oaken walls of the Delver’s lodge were packed full of party goers. The main hall was designed to comfortably seat a couple hundred folk, but was currently filled with nearly three times that number. The rhythmic stomps of a drunken crowd augmented the percussive beats of the Brownnotes, a Bard College band made up of many up exclusively of members of the order who made an art of turning tales of various expeditions into inspiring songs. 

While all the people around him where there to celebrate his triumphant return from the caves of Pax Surpennoria, Khetrik found himself focused on the two people closest to him. Seated in the Elk-horn Throne of Champions, Khetrik was positioned roughly in the center of the hall, and at each arm was found a beautiful creature doting on the hero.

To his left was a slightly rotund and adorable young woman with curly auburn hair, a sunkissed complexion, and vibrant blue eyes. Sophie was a member of the delvers, but she wasn’t part of the expeditionary crews. Sophie instead spent her days organizing and cataloguing the vast libraries of the Delvers, as a Keeper of Knowledge. Sophie in particular has a unique skill of recall and is widely believed to have the entire library memorized. While Khetrik valued his friend’s mind greatly, tonight he was admiring her other features.

“Khetrik, I’m always so happy when you make it back to us after a long expedition…”

Sophie, bless her soul, wasn’t very subtle or clever with her innuendo, but what she lacked in flirtatious linguistics she made up for with genuine joy, enthusiasm and humor. Khetrik couldn’t help but grab onto her ample hind and draw her into his lap as he continued the banter.

“Sophie, my dear, the length of one’s expedition is irrelevant, it’s all about the treasure to be found in the end!”

“Always the poet, Khetrik. You certainly know how to make a lad jealous!”

Lyrian on the other hand, was usually quite a clever flirt. He was beautiful to behold, with golden hair cropped short and styled with scented oils that gave his hair the illusion of his head being wrapped in golden flames. His skin was smooth, and fair, with glittering hazel eyes that seemed to stare right through you. When we met, he and I bonded over the fact that we shared symmetrical faces, and ears that although not as pronounced as an elf, were still pointed in a way that evoked those aetherial beings. As usual, Lyrian planted himself upon Khetrik’s lap, and smiled.

“Shall I sing you a love song about a unicorn, this evening, Khetrik?”

Lyrian moved closer so their noses were practically touching.

“As you both know, unicorns are my favorite creatures of legend!” Khetrik then boldly kissed Lyrian, followed quickly by an equally bold kiss for Sophie. The trio laughed and curled up in Khetrik’s strong arms. Khetrik, at first glance, would appear to be slim and lithe, but he was actually very well built, with a small rounded belly, and a strength that seemed unlikely for his size. With relative ease, Khetrik was easily carrying around both of his friends.

“Khetrik, be careful not to drop me, my adoring fans would be beside themselves if I couldn’t perform tonight!”

“Especially Sophie and I!” Khetrik winked.

Where Sophie was a keeper of written lore, Lyrian was a walking collection of songs, and stories from around the world. A bard by trade, Lyrian got his start with the Brownnotes, and although he had years ago left them to enjoy his solo pursuits, tonight was a special occasion and he would sing with his bandmates again. Lyrian spent most of his days traveling the world using his skills and connections to learn of secrets that the Delvers would use to plan their expeditions to dangerous forgotten tombs, dungeons and other lost places. Khetrik was typically a loner on expeditions, but when he returned home to his friends, alone was the last thing he wanted to be.

Khetrik’s most recent expedition was to the ancient dwarven city of Pax Surpennoria. Many years before, the city had fallen during a civil war that erupted between the factions of Dragonkind that lived beneath the cave city. The dwarves had been forced to flee their home and had long thought that their heirlooms were lost forever. However, Khetrik was able to recover an in-tact tablet that traced the ancestry of the great dwarf king, Ghalar. Of course, Khetrik also brought back some valuable magical artifacts and precious stones, but to him the greatest prize was the recovery of a small piece of history thought to be lost forever. Khetrik didn’t expect to have much of a legacy, but if he could help restore some of the past people had lost, it would be enough for him.

Speaking of the past, Khetrik never really explained to his friends in the guild why he had left his home and run head first into danger. The wonderful thing about his friends was that even if the past were to be revealed, they would be more concerned about the here and now and the fleeting and beautiful time they have together between adventures. Unfortunately for Khetrik, one cannot avoid their own past forever, and his friends were about to discover something that would disrupt their fun together for some time.

Khetrik didn’t immediately register the man who walked into the hall dressed in a long, black duster, and leathers. The lodge was build of Steelwood from the forests of Hylar, and all the furnishings inside were constructed of similar material, adorned with the pelts, trophies and leather of a wide variety of game from across Bhakaras. The reason the lodge was so full is because of the Delvers open door policy allowing local riff-raff to join visit the lodge for drinks and food as long as no one violated the rules of the Delvers, and end of expedition parties tended to attract a lot of ‘first-timers’. 

As such, it wasn’t unusual for a strange man to enter the lodge. However, unlike the other revelers, he was carrying a scroll with a picture and appeared to be asking very pointed questions of the less-than-helpful inebriated party goers.

“What is that man doing, Khetrik?” Sophie asked.

“Besides ruining the aesthetic?” Lyrian jabbed.

Khetrik remained quiet as he focused in on the man, and the scroll in his hand which bore an image of his own face curved into a leering grimace. Involuntarily, his face was now making the same shape as he realized was happening. Nox had found him at last.

Inquisitor Nox was an up and coming investigator in the Jolithrian Inquest when Veltayne had been found murdered in his shop, with the contents stolen or destroyed. Since that time, he had relentlessly pursued Khetrik across Bhakaras. Of course, Nox was good at his job, and as such, he and Khetrik had a few close calls over the years.

In the city-state of Galiria, Nox had managed to track Khetrik down during an expedition to the long buried Oubliette Roux. His attempt to capture Khetrik using a Decanter of Endless Water caused a massive flood that nearly drowned them all. Thankfully, Khetrik was able to conjure a quick spell to allow him to breathe underwater and escape.

Most recently, Nox had blown up a charter ship to Surpennoria in an effort to prevent Khetrik from escaping his grasp. Little did he know, Khetrik had befriended a Lightning Drake, and was already en route via the air. Every time the inquisitor got close, Khetrik was one step ahead. Unfortunately, he wasn’t so lucky this time.

Nox’s pale blue locked eyes with Khetrik’s verdant orbs and leaped through the air towards his target.

“Khetrik! You are under arrest by the authority of the Jolithrian Inquisition! If you resist in any way, I’m permitted to terminate your life!”

Khetrik’s first concern was that Lyrian and Sophie avoid getting caught in the crossfire. With very little finesse, Khetrik let them go, which resulted in both of them hitting the floor at his sides. He then tried to spring to his feet to dodge the incoming blow, but Nox was too quick and his studded leather boots collided with Khetrik’s chest causing the gazelle skinned chaise beneath them to shatter.

The wind was knocked out of Khetrik’s sails, but he was quick to recover. With a snap of his fingers the air crackled and hummed, and Khetrik was suddenly gone in a puff of azure mist. From a balcony above the lounge, Khetrik’s playful voice could be heard.

“Why are you so obsessed with me, Nox?”

“You know why, Twoworlds!”

Khetrik noticed that Sophie was ready to pounce on the unsuspecting inquisitor, so he gave a quick signal to Lyrian to pull her away as he continued to taunt the inquisitor.

 “I told you, Nox. I appreciate your interest, but you’re just not my type! You’ve got to stop this ridiculous chase around the world! No, means no!”

If there was one thing Khetrik knew would get under Nox’s skin, it was a little playful innuendo. Nox was nothing if not a prude. The change in the color of Nox’s cheeks from a light pink to bright red made it clear that Khetrik was having the desired effect. Nox was entirely focused on Khetrik, he’d need to ensure that Nox stayed right where he was to avoid causing any collateral damage. Khetrik summoned a bolt of lightning from his outstretched palm, using the dazzling display to distract as he once again teleported away from his perch.

Unfortunately, Nox was prepared for this particular trick of Khetrik’s and allowed the blast to strike him directly, almost catching the bolt with his outstretched hand. Instead of blasting him off his feet, the energy seemed to cascade around him before being absorbed into the glowing runes on his silver bracelet. Nox then spun around and brought his fist perfectly into the space where Khetrik was rematerializing behind the inquisitor. His fist connected squarely with Khetrik’s forehead and the energy stored coursed through his knuckles stunning the unsuspecting rogue.

Khetrik dropped to his knees, and groggily shook his head for a moment that felt like eternity, and then, glassy-eyed, looked up at Nox. Khetrik was definitely not in a position to provoke Nox any further, but then again, he also wasn’t one to always make good choices.

“You know, Nox, if you really wanted me to get on my knees for you, all you had to do was ask!”

Khetrik grinned, obviously pleased with himself, as Nox’s now crimson face flushed and he pulled back and landed a punch on Khetrik’s unprotected jaw. Khetrik could taste iron, and he knew he’d be unconscious in a moment, but he was never one to let that stop him from getting the last word.

“You made one big mistake, Nox,” Khetrik spat some of the greenish purple blood pooling in his mouth onto the hardwood floor, “you came after me in my home, and you seem to have forgotten… the Delver’s have rules!”

Nox’s triumphant smirk immediately fell from his face as the realization dawned on him that he really had made a mistake. The guildhall of the Delvers was considered a sanctuary and he had violated that by attacking Khetrik in his zeal. Without making any sudden movements, Nox turned to follow Khetrik’s gaze at the figure looming behind him. The guildmaster of the Delvers, Galen van Straud, was staring him down, clad in ornate red and gold robes and brandishing a wand which he used to punctuate his words.

“Inquisitor Nox of Jolithria, you have violated the sanctity of the Delver’s Lodge and attacked one of our members without provocation. The penalty for this is a severe ass-whooping, followed by your summary ejection from the premises!”

Galen didn’t wait for Nox to offer a protest to defend himself, all the poor inquisitor managed to get out was a single word...

“SHIT!”

With a flick of Galen’s wrist a wave of myriad colors of energy flew towards the unprepared lawman, striking him square in the chest, and both Khetrik and Nox hit the ground with an undignified thud.

---

Prologue of a Blog:

What is the point of a prologue, anyway? As a child, I would often skip the prologue as I confused it with an introduction. To me, introductions were simply people writing about what I was about to read. What use was that to me when I could simply read it for myself (I wouldn't develop an appreciation for commentary on a creative work until I was much older).  The prologue is an invention unique to the form of written storytelling. It's that extra piece of information that, while not essential to the telling of the story, informs much of the events of the story being told. It wasn't until I re-read Dragons of Autumn Twilight for the third time that I paused to read the prologue, and my mind blossomed at the joy that was the subtle foreshadowing of the events to come. It was through this book that I first began to appreciate the uses of a prologue.

I have found, in my experience as a consumer of written creativity, that the best prologues retain three key elements:

First, they must not be essential to the plot of the story being told.

Depending on your philosophical bent, it is either a failure of the prologue or a failure of the storyteller if you cannot skip the prologue and still have all the necessary information to enjoy and appreciate the story. I personally prefer to call it a failure of the prologue as it is an easier thing to remedy, even though it is probably more accurate to blame the storyteller. The prologue is like an appetizer, many times it's unnecessary to having a complete meal; however, the experience of the meal is enhanced by its inclusion.   

Second, they must, in some subtle way, set the stage for the story being told.

While the prologue cannot be essential, it is just as much of a failure for the prologue to be completely irrelevant. If the prologue tells the story of a female spider that kills her lover in mid-coitus, and then uses his corpse to feed her young before dying from the effort, yet the story is about a group of teenagers who hang out at a mall. You are left with a feeling of "why did I read that"? (Which is a feeling you could just have easily have gotten without reading the prologue.) However, if the prologue tells that same story at the head of a novel about a woman (abused by her lover) who finally plots to murder him knowing that it will ultimately destroy her but will lead to a better future for her children, then the prologue serves as an allegory from nature that reflects (albeit with slight variations in motivation) the overall arc of the main character. As a bonus, the prologue in this example can also serve as an effective foreshadow of the protagonist's final fate.                

Finally, they must be fun in a compelling way.

Not unlike the two-minute teaser to an hour-long drama, the prologue is often the "short-attention span" tester for whether or not someone will devote their precious, valuable time to fully engaging with this particular creative work. If the prologue doesn't hook you, you aren't likely to keep reading the book. For example, if the prologue to a book like The Hobbit, was simply a five page description of a shorter than usual old man listing a bunch of odd names and places that he visited when he was young, you'd set the book down immediately and never look back (unless you enjoy reading lists written by the elderly). By doing so, you'd miss out on reading a story about a quiet homebody, who gets drafted by a wizard to help some boisterous and rowdy dwarves go fight a dragon, and ends up having the time of his life. However, if instead, the prologue involved a spritely fellow secretly following  a curmudgeonly man and changing all his "Keep Out" signs to welcome mats touting free food, free ale, and a place to rest your mud soaked dwarven boots. A scene ending with a satisfied curmudgeon musing about how, "No one will ever bother him now".  Then you might want to keep reading, just to see what kind of mischief occurs when the curmudgeon gets all manner of unwanted guests.

So you see how important this small quirk of written stories can be to the overall effectiveness of that story's telling. In that way, I've provided this prologue to my reinvigorated blog. I've attempted this several times before, with limited success. Usually it is because my own failings prevent me from achieving the goal of writing something creative and useful on a daily basis. All I can promise is that I've learned from my previous missteps (which you can still find here), and that I hope to bring you something every day that is creative, fun, and entertaining in a compelling enough way that you will always come back for more. Additionally, I promise that this will not contain any stories about teenagers hanging out in a mall. However, time will tell as to whether or not my prologue will fit my own criteria for success; because the most important gauge of a successful prologue is that a great story follows it.

Thank you for joining me for the ride!

Rough Draft

Hi All, got a small sample of a rough draft that I may use as a springboard for NaNoWriMo this year!

Enjoy

Prologue: Shield of Secrets, Shield of Faith

Draconas’ leather booted feet sunk deep in the muddy path leading to The Wailing Woman. He was surprised that they didn’t even have cobblestone roads, yet they had a large enough population of visitors that The Wailing Woman’s hearths usually burned brightly until sunrise. Tonight was no exception, and the small tavern looked to be overrun this evening. Draconas wondered why he’d even bothered coming here as he pushed open the thick wooden door, allowing the light of the tavern to wash over him. He could feel the eyes of all the tavern patrons on his tall, muscular frame as he stepped inside. This was most certainly not one of his best ideas.

The village of Essex had seen more than its fair share of excitement in the past year. The local tribe of Dragonspines had become twisted by a kind of fel energy created by the experiments of the brother of the Lord Mayor Christopher Essex, and Draconas’ had heard that a group of orphans had managed to save the city from total obliteration using an artifact they had discovered in the Dragonspine caves to the north. Draconas’ was a man intrigued by unique artifacts and from what he had heard this one was definitely unique. Supposedly, the artifact was a tower shield made from the scales of a white dragon which held the still-living spirit of the deceased dragon within. Any artifact possessed of a soul was of interest to him, even if it was a strange one.

Draconas passed several chattering patrons and made his way to a vacant table near the back of the room. Draconas was used to getting strange looks, as his unusually tan skin and vibrant blue eyes drew much attention naturally, and his choice of clothing did little to push that attention away. His chest was covered by a skin-tight vest of velvet-lined bronze-like metal that so closely resembled his own skin tone that people often thought he was wearing no covering at all.  Similarly disguised, the pair of bracers upon his wrists became visible only as he cast off his heavy, navy and brown embroidered cloak. Draconas’ removal of his cloak also revealed the vibrant crimson sash and pair of glassteel scimitars that were attached to his waist. Draconas sat in the chair and angled himself so he could observe the room, an act which also discouraged the patrons continued stares.

Once he was situated, he began to browse the room for the creature who had contacted him. He figured that a small blue-white lizard-man would be fairly easy to spot among a crowd of humans, yet there wasn’t one to be seen in the tavern. The tavern was fairly packed though, with nearly twenty tables full of boisterous townsfolk. The owner, Marlea (the woman the bar was named for), shuffled from table to table taking drink orders and barking them to the obviously overworked barkeep, while several other young barmaids slipped from table to table dispensing the food and drinks that the matron had already called for. As one of the girls passed a table, one grey-bearded man pinched her on the behind which startled her and caused her to spill the contents of her tray on the man’s head.

“TEEK!” Marlea bellowed, “Where are you? We have a mess to clean!”

Out of the kitchen, a small draconic creature emerged carrying a bar rag and a bucket. “I is here mistress, please do not be cross!”

“You ask the impossible, Teek! Now clean up that mess. As for you,” Marlea swiftly snatched the grey-bearded man’s ear, “you know the rules about grabbin’ at me girls, Gerhardt!” With a tug she yanked him out of his seat, to the door, and unceremoniously kicked him out the door. “Anyone else got a mind to mess with the maids?”

The combination of rapid head shaking and downtrodden looks seemed to appease the matron and she resumed her duties pleasantly enough. Draconas suddenly realized that the name of the bar was less about the emotional outbursts of the owner than it was about her ability to dish out physical punishment. Draconas was also a little surprised by the kobold, Teek. When he’d been informed about the shield, he was told that Teek was its bearer and the last survivor of the Dragonspine tribe. He’d expected a much bolder figure rather than a mobile bar-mop. Nonetheless, he needed to know more about the shield and Teek had the information.

Draconas left his seat and approached the little kobold, kneeling down to help him with his cleaning.

“Oh, no sir, Teek will clean. Please return to your table, sir!”

“Nonsense, I’m glad to help the brave Teek.” Draconas said with a smile.

“Brave?” Teek snorted, “Perhaps you drink too many elf fizzes, Teek is many things but he is no brave.”

“TEEK! Do I pay you to clean or to chatter?”

“Clean, mistress, clean! You go now, sir!” Teek shooed Draconas back to his table.

“Alright, Teek. Promise to come visit my table when you are finished and I’ll leave you be.”

“Teek promises, now go.” Teek resumed his cleaning, ringing the booze soaked rag into the wooden bucket.

Draconas sat back down and waited patiently for Teek to finish his chores, ordering several glasses of Hylar reserve and a plate of spiced eyeroot. After nearly an hour, Teek tottered over to Draconas’ table, climbing into the chair opposite him.

“What you want, T’lorian?” Teek asked.

Draconas eyes went wide for a moment, but he quickly regained composure. “What makes you think I’m a T’lorian?”

“Vinterwysp shows Teek many things,” Teek’s eyes sparkled as he spoke, “He showed Teek T’lorians, and he showed Teek you…”

“Who is Vinterwysp?”

“He the one you’ve come to see, he Teek’s lord.”

Draconas assumed that Teek was referring to the soul within the shield. If he’d had any doubts about the validity of the tale, they were assuaged the moment Teek uttered the word T’lorian. Only a dragon, and a fairly old one at that, would be aware enough of the T’lorians to identify one on sight. T’lorians mostly resemble humans, although they can actually resemble any of the races of Bhakaras, and very few in the world are aware of them by anything other than name. T’lorians pride themselves on being capable of blending in with the other races and keeping themselves hidden in the shadows. If nothing else, Teek had just proven himself to be dangerous.

“Can I speak to Vinterwysp, Teek?”

“Of course, come with Teek.” Teek hopped off his chair and began to walk towards the door. Draconas also got up, wrapping his cloak around himself and dropping a gold piece on the table for his refreshments.

“Where’d you think you’re off to, Teek?” Marlea shot him a stern look.

“This man wants to see scales, Teek show him.” Teek gestured to Draconas

Marlea eyed Draconas closely for a moment and then spoke “Make it quick, Teek. There’s a lot more to clean tonight after the locals clear out.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Draconas and Teek went back outside into the rain and mud, trudging through the town square to a large burnt out manor home. As they made their way, Draconas noticed that the fountain in the square was shattered and seemed permanently darkened by ash.

“That was where they killed Ikthahir.” Teek’s voice was no longer impish and broken as he responded to Draconas’ stares.

“Ikthahir, he was the High Priest of the Dragonspine wasn’t he?”

“Yes, for a time, but he was twisted by that sorceress and driven mad. He got what he deserved for betraying us and our lord Vinterwysp.”

“Why are we going to that manor? It looks abandoned.”

“It wasn’t abandoned; it was heavily damaged in Ikthahir’s attack on the town. It belonged to the Lord Mayor’s brother and served as home to the orphans he was caring for and the place for his dark experiments. The orphans gave the home to me when they left Essex in gratitude for my help.”

“If you are a land-owner in the town why do you work as a bar-cleaner?”

“Matron and Lord Essex thought that the villagers would have a hard time living with a kobold if I was strong and intelligent like Ikthahir. The village had already entered into a shaky alliance with a kobold only to have it nearly destroy them and they wouldn’t have accepted it again. Instead, we all agreed that I should pretend to be meek and subservient to the villagers so that they would allow me to remain here. I had no home among my kind anymore and the orphans were rather insistent that I be allowed to live here in Essex.”

“… and what of Vinterwysp?” Draconas asked

“You like to stay focused… that’s good. Vinterwysp is in my care, eventually someday he and I will help gather together the survivors of the Dragonspine and we will rebuild our clan. However, for now we wait and build up resources.” Teek’s clawed feet sunk deep into the muddy road as they climbed the small hill to the manor.

“So, you believe there are more of you still alive?” Draconas reached out and pulled Teek up out of the mud as he strode up the hill.

“I have hope and faith in Vinterwysp. He protected me from that evil sorceress and helped me save the Desmond boys from those Succubae, and he helped the orphans find their father, unfortunately.”

“Why unfortunately?” Draconas stopped Teek.

“Nathaniel Essex was a demented sorcerer who spent his time doing all manner of vile experiments just because he could. The orphans themselves were an experiment he was conducting. He was attempting to use them to transcend normal mortality, but they learned of his goals and were forced to fight and kill him. That is why they left their home, too many bad memories.”

“I see.” Draconas and Teek resumed their walk to the manor door.

As they approached the manor, Draconas still thought the place looked abandoned, there was no roof, the northern tower had collapsed in on itself, and the entire remaining standing structure was either burnt out or rotten. However, he could feel something as he approached. A psychic resonance that was very strong.

Welcome, Draconas Darkestarr. It is good to see you.

Draconas was used to telepathic communication as his people used it as their primary method of conversation; however, it was still a little unnerving when he didn’t expect it.

Vinterwysp?

Yes. Please follow Teek into the laboratory.

Teek smiled and pointed to a brick façade on the side of the collapsed tower. He walked up to the wall and then, as if it was not there, slipped through the wall. Draconas was impressed, he was usually very skilled at detecting hidden places like this and yet he hadn’t noticed it at all. As he walked through the wall it made more sense to him. There was a ripple of cold through his whole body that was the telltale sign of a planar shift. They had walked into a pocket dimension of some kind. Unfortunately, this room didn’t seem to be in much better repair than the rest of the house. Everything was coated in a layer of dust except one path from the entrance to a large blue-white tower shield propped up against an empty glass tube large enough to comfortably contain a person. The only other furnishings in the room were five additional glass tubes, two of which were broken, and a table that probably once contained a rather high quality alchemical laboratory and some research notes, but they were long since removed.

“So this used to be Essex’s laboratory?” Draconas mused.

Yes, it was here that he experimented on my children and transformed them into horrific abominations.

Draconas approached the shield and crouched down to inspect it. It was obviously crafted from a single scale of a great wyrm white dragon, and had draconic runes gently carved around its edges.

May I? Draconas asked.

Of course.

Draconas smiled and picked up the shield. It was enormous. He was unsure how Teek could have ever moved it given the fact that it was larger than the poor little kobold. However, it was deceptively light and cool to the touch. Draconas wasn’t a shield user himself, but he was incredibly curious about the creation and purpose of sentient artifacts.

So, what would you like to know T’lorian?

How did you come to be?

I was once a living dragon, a very old white. Though not as old as you I’d wager. I was sensing that my time was ending and my children were poised to take over the protection and care of the kobolds of the Dragonspine Mountains. So, I offered a scale to each of them, enchanting them with some of my considerable powers.

You hoped to give them enough power to be capable of protecting the kobolds?

Yes. They were created from us thousands of years ago, and we feel a responsibility towards their safety and care. Plus, they do so adore us and shower us with gifts. I like gifts.

Draconas had a brief internal chuckle. Dragons were notorious collectors of all things shiny. However, it wasn’t enough was it?

It would have been, if my children had been wiser. Instead, they became jealous of each other’s scales and began plotting against each other to steal the scales and eventually they even resorted to attacking me in my sleep to steal more of them. Unfortunately, I was enraged upon waking and destroyed them all. However, one of my children was clever and called upon an elven sorcerer named Kai Vek’Caylenn to help them steal my power. As I raged against them, he used dark defiling magics to strip my soul from my body and cast it into one of the scales I’d given my children.

Kai Vek’Caylenn? Seriously. Are you certain? Draconas held the shield further from himself.

Yes, of course. I was already an accomplished psion before my soul was stripped from my body and since then my powers to learn secrets from the minds of men have only grown.

A dragon with true psychic power is rare, you are quite unique.

Indeed, I was trained in the art by one of your kind, your brother I believe.

Dekall? You’ve seen him?

Not in millennia, but yes. I take it you haven’t?

Not since the day I was born. The council told me he had abandoned the T’lorians and was eventually killed while exploring Bhakaras. I never believed it.

You are a wise man then, Draconas. And you were named well I might add.

 I was named after our mother’s favorite of the native species of Bhakaras.

I know.

Draconas could feel Vinterwysp smile.

I’m curious, Draconas, why did you have such interest in the sorcerer Kai?

You mean you don’t know?

Apparently not, please enlighten me. I do so dislike being ill informed.

Kai Vek’Caylenn is the bastard son of my brother Dekall.

That would explain a few things then, especially why they refer to his errant spirit as The Darkestarr.

KAI IS THE DARKESTARR?

Oh yes, you didn’t know? Kai Vek’Caylenn was disembodied thanks to a group of adventurers shortly after he turned me into this. One of my children led them to Kai to avenge my death, and the sorcerer used me to destroy them, but he didn’t realize that wielding me granted me the ability to affect him with my Psionic powers and I subsequently severed his soul from his body.

Draconas gingerly placed Vinterwysp on the table.

Oh, don’t worry; I’d never do such a thing to you. Besides, I don’t think I still have that kind of power anymore.

Better to be safe than sorry.

Too true. Anyway, Much to my surprise, Kai’s soul remained alive in its disembodied state and attempted to destroy me. Fortunately, my child collapsed the cavern and trapped his spirit long enough for him to take me and escape. Since then, I’ve been passed through the hoard of my descendants, content with using my powers to protect them and my kobolds.

However, that bastard Kai had the last laugh. Several hundred years ago he cast a spell upon me that made it impossible for me to be noticed by anyone who didn’t possess true faith in dragonkind. He believed that he could prove that their love of us was superficial and worthless. He would have succeeded as well if it wasn’t for Teek here. His unwavering faith in my line and our power to protect him and his people is what broke the seal and allowed me to return to the world.

So, you have run into Kai again since severing his soul?

Yes, several times actually. Each time he finds a new host he comes and tries to destroy me. It wasn’t until he realized that he didn’t have the power to destroy me that he placed the curse on me instead. Hoping that I’d at least become forgotten over the years.

I never realized that he was the Darkestarr. I always believed it was my brother.

That wouldn’t be possible. There are no circumstances under which your brother could ever wish for the kind of destruction that The Darkestarr seeks.

How do you know that?

Because, he left your people because they wouldn’t allow him to teach the other races of this world about the secrets they knew. He cared deeply for the natural races of this world and wanted to help them grow and join your people in their exploration of the universe and the other planes, at a natural rate of course. However, the T’lorian council ended up rebuking him for his efforts and cast him out of their society. Of course, the damage was done. Those T’lorians that knew of his struggle began mingling with the other races and that is what started the odd form of cultural exploration your people now experience.

Hmm. I never knew that. I wonder why my family never told me.

If I had to guess, I would assume it’s because they didn’t want to lose you like they lost him.

Thank you, Vinterwysp. This has been a most enlightening meeting. Is there anything I can do to help you?

No, my hoard is made of secrets instead of shiny things these days and the revelation that Kai Vek’Caylenn is Dekall’s son is worth all the platinum of Pennoria.

Fair enough, you’ve given me even more in return. Please don’t hesitate to contact me if you need anything.

Draconas dusted himself off and turned to leave the laboratory, but stopped and turned to Teek.

“Thank you for having faith in him, Teek. It may not have yet saved your tribe, but it has given me back a piece of my brother. If I find any of your clan brothers and sisters I’ll send them to you and tell them of your story.”

“Thank you, Draconas.” Teek smiled at Draconas and took out a cloth to begin polishing Vinterwysp.

Draconas smiled back and stepped back through the wall. As he felt the cold chill of dimensional travel pass through him one last thought popped in his mind.

One more thing, I thought you’d like to know that Dekall is still alive…

  

  

Discipline Blog Redux #2

Discipline Blog Redux #2

Pokewalker Steps Taken: 11455 (Woo-Hoo! Most in one day since I've started using the thing!)

Running Dungeons and Dragons

Today I’m running a session of Dungeons and Dragons (3.5, homebrew world), so in honor of that occasion, I’ve decided to write a quick piece about the world that the game is taking place in. I may also diverge from the key topic to share some particularly noteworthy gaming moments if I feel so moved.

The World of Bhakaras –

Like many fantasy worlds, Bhakaras is full of medieval weaponry, magical spells, and odd looking races of humanoids and monsters. Unlike many other fantasy worlds, except perhaps some of the worlds found in Final Fantasy style computer games, Bhakaras also has technology (of various kinds and at various levels) available to it. Even that doesn’t make it stand out completely however. Time travel, high technology, steampunk technology and medieval societies all have a place in this world and basically anything is possible.

Current Age of Bhakaras – The Age of Galiria (5735 a.r.c. – Annotated Renaissance Calendar)

Central to the campaign I’m currently running is the nation-state of Galiria. Originally founded as a small feudal city-state in the year 1077 a.r.c. Galiria grew in the aftermath of the fall of Prosempst (Pronounced Pross-M-Pissed). Several small outlying noble settlements and villages all united under the banner of Lord Valys Galerian III and a standing militia was founded in the wake of the influx of Prosemptan refugees. Within a decade, Galiria had officially established its borders (the forest line of Hylar to the north, the Viridian rift to the west, the Kalinost seas to the east and the Blightline to the south).

Galiria’s population consists of Humans (approx 70%), Elves (10% - mostly High Elves), Dwarves (5% - Mostly Hill Dwarves), T’lorians (5% mostly found in the capitol), and about 10% of Monster Races (Goblinoids, Draconic/Kobold, etc. – mostly found in small settlements away from villages, towns and cities).

Although the technology and wealth found in Galiria does vary greatly between the various sized settlements throughout, overall Galiria has a semi-industrial level of technology with a Steampunk Neo-Victorian feel to the architecture, clothing and technological devices. Although natural talent for Magical and Psychic ability is rare among the populace of Galiria, both areas of study are well-known and integrated into the daily lives of many of Galiria’s citizens. Many of the Steampunk devices are fueled using Magical or Psionic power sources, and the Galirian Academy of Scientific Study has departments devoted to the use and construction of Magical and Psionic devices.

The Galirian Academy of Scientific Study also serves as the central hub for all interactions with the T’lorian population in Galiria. The T’lorians (an advanced race from the Kovertan peninsula) came to Galiria shortly after the fall of Prosempst and offered to share some of their knowledge and experience by forming the Academy. In its current incarnation, the Academy has several satellite locations throughout the region and is the central hub for all academic study on the mainland. In addition, it serves as the training ground for nobility, scientists, engineers, sorcerers, psions, and more.

Over more than 4000 years, the Galirian political structures have changed drastically. Originally a feudal city-state ruled by a noble family. When the nation grew, it became a full-fledged monarchy. After nearly 500 years of rule by the Galerian royal house, a military coup occurred and the Royal family was forced into hiding. Until the early 2000’s, Galiria was a police state and all of the citizens of Galiria were forced to serve in the Militia. Finally, the Galirian royal family put together a legitimate resistance movement and for more than one-hundred years the nation fractured into smaller city-states, it was believed that the age of Galiria had passed during this time. However, the Galirian civil-war finally came to an end when the Viridian rift erupted in 2136 spewing out an army of golem-like warriors who began to lay waste to all in their path.

The Darkestarr Family Line –

Dekall Darkestarr, a T’lorian renegade, began traveling throughout Galiria shortly after the eruption. Little is known about the man except that in the years following the eruption he would often arrive in towns being attacked and save them from destruction before disappearing. For more than a decade “The Darkestarr” was considered a legend and little more, a sort of guardian angel. However, in 2145 the elusive and enigmatic T’lorian wed the Galirian princess Serra Galerian. The ceremony was very public (held in the destroyed central square of Old Galiria) and served as a uniting event for the nation. Within less than a year, the Galirian royal family had regained much of its lost power and the Galirian militia was rebuilt. Over the next fifteen years, the T’lorian and the Princess worked to reunite Galiria and re-establish its borders while working to eject the still massing golem armies. In addition, the first known children of a T’lorian/Human pairing began to be born as the Darkestarrs started having children. Despite being the co-ruler of Galiria very little is known about Dekall Darkestarr. However, his family line continues to this day. During Dekall and Serra’s reign Galiria had returned to a sort of Monarchy, however, both agreed that if Galiria was to survive a new system of government had to be formed. As a result, Gailria eventually adopted a system of government that was essentially a representational monarchy and a republic fused into one.

Well, that’s all I have in me for now… there will probably be more World of Bhakaras themed posts done every Thursday (my gaming day) if not more frequently… I’m currently working on the writing out of the actual system of government in Galiria which I may post as well. Anyway, thanks for listening to my ramblings. See you tomorrow!

Discipline Blog - Day 5

Discipline Blog - Day 5

Getting off my ass time: 2 hours (I took a walk early this morning to my bank only to discover that the branch closest to my house closed, apparently within the last week).

Today’s blog, unlike the previous couple, will be a small short story of sorts based upon one of my characters on World of Warcraft. This is simply a free-writing exercise so I apologize if it’s terrible or boring. I hope you enjoy it!


Magister Saphyron felt his robes become moist and was unsure if it was blood, sweat or urine that was the culprit. He hoped that it wasn’t urine, but given the circumstances, he couldn’t be sure he hadn’t wet himself. Saphyron was surrounded by a growing swarm of varied undead abominations. Slobbering ghouls and zombies were being trampled by bloated, stitched together horrors, all attempting to intercept and devour the Magister and his few remaining family members. Saphyron’s verdant eyes flashed and a wave of flowing ice erupted forth from him. The wave crashed upon the undead freezing them in place for a moment.

“Brother, I won’t leave without you!” Vhelian, Saphyron’s eldest younger sibling, gripped the back of Saphyron’s midnight blue robes tightly.

“You don’t get a say, I’m sorry Vhelian.” Saphyron gestured at his young brother and his angry eyes rolled back into his head. As Vhelian’s grip weakened, Saphyron pushed his brother’s sleeping form onto the boat with the others. “Live on. Belore.”

The loud crack of smashing ice signaled that the undead would soon be upon Saphyron. He turned from the small ship and began chanting. A burst of vermillion flame began to spin between Saphyron’s raised hands, and he cracked a crooked smile as he felt the first undead reach into the open wound in his side. Blood. The frothing mass of undead descended upon Saphyron’s form, and he unleashed the giant fireball. Instead of striking the undead directly, the explosive force destroyed the dock behind Saphyron and pushed the boat away from the Isle of Quel’Danas. Saphyron crumpled under the weight of the undead swarm. He turned his head away from the oncoming doom and looked towards his siblings. The last thing Saphyron felt was a sharp pain as the chain of an Abomnation came down upon his skull.

*****

This one is mine. He was a beloved son of Quel’thalas. He shall serve us in death, and the desecration will be complete.

Saphyron felt cold. It was worse than the deepest chill he had gotten from calling forth elemental cold. There was nothing around him except a periwinkle mist and a quiet whispering that issued forth from all around him. He heard only one word clearly. Serve.

A sudden burst of pain similar to hiccoughing and belching at the same time jarred Saphyron back into reality. Saphyron could feel the cold stone floor beneath his skin. I’m naked. Curious. Saphyron pushed himself off the floor. His whole body felt like he’d just crawled out of river in the coldest part of Northrend. Saphyron’s skin had taken on a bluish tinge yet he was whole. No sign at all that he had been cut open, gnawed on, or bludgeoned to death that he could see. He wanted to say he was alive, but even as the words formed in his mind he knew it wasn’t true. Even now he was beginning to hear the whispers of the Lich King in his mind.

Come Saphyron, be my weapon against the living.

Saphyron’s senses slowly came back to him and he began to look around the chamber. It was minimalist to a fault. No furniture could be found, only black marble walls and a cold slate floor. Some silver etched dark blue cloth was piled in the corner. Saphyron realized that the cloth was all that remained of his robes. Gingerly, he gathered up the tattered cloth and wrapped it around his waist. It’s cold enough without having to worry about freezing my bits off. Not that I expect to get any use out of them now. Saphyron began to approach the door. Unlocked? No such luck. The bastard isn’t going to make this easy.

Saphyron pressed his hands against the door and attempted to call forth the energy to blow apart the lock, but nothing happened. Hmm, no magic? Being dead is going to be much worse than I imagined. Saphyron let a small sigh escape from his lips and watched in amazement as small ice crystals began to form on the door. Of course! Fire magic may be impossible, but my cold spells should be intensified significantly. He pulled as much air into his lungs and expelled it as a cloud of ice. The door lock and much of the area around it had become frozen. The lock mechanism should be brittle now. With a powerful kick, Saphyron attempted to force the door open. Saphyron’s foot passed through the door as it shattered from the force of his kick. By the Dawn! That didn’t even hurt me. I should have barely cracked the lock. Apparently, death has done quite a bit for my physical strength.

Saphyron began to walk down the halls of the stone prison. Aside from the occasional skull, adorned with blue flaming eyes, the hall was as unremarkable as his cell. Every slapping footstep on the stone brought Saphyron closer to his destiny. He could feel the power inside himself. It was different than the power he had when he was alive. His body was stronger. He paused occasionally to marvel at how good his body looked. He was always a confident mage, but this was different. He couldn’t understand why this made him feel so good. It must be the Lich King’s manipulation.

This whole scenario was reminiscent of Saphyron’s graduation ceremony at the Magister’s Terrace. Saphyron approached the end of the hall and saw his mortal enemy standing on the balcony beyond. He couldn’t suppress a feeling of awe and terror at being so close to the Lich King. It was not unlike coming face to face with the would-be ruler of the High Elves. He could remember vividly the final words of Prince Sunstrider’s speech as he encouraged us not to fear the possibility of giving up our lives for Silvermoon and her allies. He told us, "Death is only the beginning".

The Lich King is going to use me as a puppet. I know this, and yet…I can’t stop myself from feeling that my death has lead the greatest moment of my life.