The recording and editing of Season 2 has started and I am sooo damn excited. We have new players entering the mix and a good few surprises for the PCs. I just love that sound of shock and loss in their voice…Continue reading “Season Two of the Isles of Samsarras has Begun!”
She wished she could count the rain drops. They came through the air in an ever increasing rate, causing a beautiful anxiety to well up in her stomach. Gwenich was anticipating something, though what it was she did not know. There was something in the very air itself that she couldn’t quantify. It was like the charged electricity before a storm but different. It was softer and more deadly. It felt like whatever waited behind it all could tear the world apart. Continue reading “The Coming of the Astar Uln, Part 12”
It had been a ten day and the winds would not let up. Qua’ Jon had not been permitted to leave the cave in that time. The mage had spent as much of it as he was able trying to teach Eernon anything about magic, but it was hopeless. Her mind was very regimented, the hallmark of a good warrior. Magic could not be taught through practice and study alone, however. There was a certain weaving of reason and belief that was a necessity. It was not enough to know how a spell would happen, one had to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that it would indeed happen.
Somewhere, a distant tide crashed upon the shore. Qua’ Jon was vaguely aware of it, the rhythm of the waves matching the blood pulsing in his head. Each set of waves surged behind his eyes, increasing in pressure, never easing but only doubling their efforts with each contraction of his heart. Even more so, it started to become apparent in his shoulder, as if it wanted to burst out of his skin.
His eyes opened to a blurry world, the fire burning beside him more like a fog of light. The mage’s brow was soaked with sweat, yet a chill ran through his body. Outside of the cave’s mouth, the rain continued to pound down, having increased from when Qua’ Jon was last conscious to witness it.
Qua Jon wandered alone with his familiar through the forest, the increasing winds rattling the tall pines around them. Fat drops of rain had started, slapping against leaf and pine needle alike. He drew his tattered and worn green cloak tightly against himself, drawing his hood down low over his eyes.
Despite the worsening weather, the man had a wide grin on his face, like a child in awe of the unexplained. He even giggled slightly, drawing attention from the badger that crept around at his feet. Wormchomper stared for a moment, her head tilted to the side. Appeased that the noise did not mean anything immediate, she went back to shuffling along the ground, rooting in the soft decomposed pine needles and sniffing the air.
Dungeons and Dragons has this wonderful abstraction of currency that helps to simplify the game and move things along. There are ten copper pieces in a silver piece, ten silver pieces in a gold piece, and 10 gold in a platinum. There is electrum as well, but let’s not talk about that. No one speaks about electrum.
Gold pieces are kind of the base. Everything else is measured off of that. Think of it like the dollar. Coins are percentages of the dollar, while other bills are multiples of it. Continue reading “CrumblingUpKeep: Gold Pieces are Boring”
“And if you lose em, don’t bother coming back. Bunch of damned fools that should know better. Who the hell would leave paradise? Everything you need, and you all run off to some demon spawned shit hole”
Drugar looked over his creations, pride showing on his face despite his bluster. The gods had gathered on the edge of the storm and had split off into two groups: those that would go and those that would stay. For those that would leave, Drugar had crafted a gift to help them on their way. He presented them, one by one.
Druhaus stared out her window, watching the fury of the winds whip about loose dirt and stone. Her home, which she shared with her brother, hung on the edge of the eternal storm. Never had the tempest advanced on their dwelling, however. She spent much time looking into its depths, mouthing words no ears would ever hear. It was as if their shack was the divider between chaos and order, existing in a place that was neither.
“I will remind you again, sister, that we have a task. You voted yes at the council, so I would expect you would work to find a way into Samsarras. Unless, of course, you changed your mind.”
The table was carved from the Tadilisus tree itself. The gods that sat around it would fade from memory long before the table turned to dust. It was carved by Drugar himself with axe, knife, and chisel forged by his own hands. Hewn from a single piece of wood, the piece was near unbreakable.
Around it sat the nine gods of the Astar Uln. They had been called to council by Silwyn to discuss leaving the realm of Yurilda for the first time to explore Samsarras. There would be danger and none knew what would happen to Yurilda if all the Astar Uln were not present. The debate lasted a long time.
“Look at it. All that untapped power. It is chaos! Beautiful and untamed! The beings of this place are all too eager to throw their lives away to one demon or another. They tear down each others cities. Why do we not have this sort of glory?”
Druhaus’s fingers trailed over the glass ball, leaving a smear of grease. Her face was twisted in a jagged, uneven smile, her eyes wide with excitement and mischievous delight. Silwyn ignored her, instead watching as the lands of Samsarras scrolled past her in rapid succession. There were oceans and forests, mountains and deserts. Some of the people of this world soared on great wings while others burrowed into the earth. There was such wonderment!
She giggled, her golden hair blowing in the eternal breeze. Silwyn’s eyes danced about the horizon, scanning it for something new. She’d been to the ends of Yurilda and back. She had seen all that was to be seen. Still, she felt mirthful.
Tadis was paying no attention to her, instead gathering berries. For each one they picked, another instantly grew in its place. Red juice stained their teeth and chin, as Tadis made sure to sample each handful. They were content and in their place.
“Tadis, you know there are other places, don’t you?”
The Astar Uln Pantheon, also called “The Companions,” are worshiped by the wood elves and some others, though many more prayed to them in past eras. This is their story, according to the Elves of the wild.
The darkness was barren, save for a seed and an endless wind that gently moved through it. The wind was cool and soft, the kind that whispers love poems to bare skin in the spring time. That was the wind that existed before all other things. That was the wind that would bring the rain.
Gerund motioned to the innkeeper for two more drinks. The elf responded, albeit with a look of slight contempt. Aglanthol picked up on the exchange and placed five elnar on the table, enough to pay for what they had with some left over. The first mug had eased her spirits a bit, relaxing her. She felt more willing to listen to the sailor now. He was brash, but he did seemingly mean well.
“No, you are right. That was far from the end. The party who had descended into the depths came back out as heroes. The rumors of their battles would circulate every night and grow ever larger. It’s hard to say how much of their reputation was deserved, but such is true of most, for better or for ill. They rode at the back of the column when we entered the pass, still recovering from their injuries. When the ambush sprang, it was one of the humans who gave the command to retreat. Continue reading “The Silence and the Stillness: Part 3 of 3”
“Ay! Lass! What is it?”
The voice boomed from the man by the window. It sounded raspy and congested, raw and deepened from the sea air. Aglanthol hoped he was yelling to the woman at the other table, but knew it was unlikely. She sat silently, continuing to stare into the flames.
“Ay! You got an ear, yah? What is it? I got some time to murder.”
He was loud, as people of his race tended to be. He had no tact or subtleties. If he were an elven man, he would have gone about his business, leaving the room in peace. The sailor was certainly no elven man.
Late autumn had come to the Sylvan Empire, bringing the blessing of cleansing rains and the curse of near perpetual darkness. The autumn sky hung heavy with dark clouds, disguising the sun and forever making the time of day a mystery. Morning differed little from midday, which differed only slightly from evening. Life had become a never-ending cycle of twilight.
The port of Melilsaridon had quieted now, as less merchants were willing to set sail this time of year. In summer months, it was bustling with activity. Dwarves and humans roamed the seaside inns along with other, stranger folk. Their songs were lively, their voices harsh and loud. But now there was only the song of the sea, as cold, foamy waves broke upon creaking timbers. Those few sailors that were to be found walked briskly, interested only in what meager business lay before them. Rarely did anyone wander outside of their own accord in this weather. Continue reading “The Silence and the Stillness, Part 1 of 3”