StarDestroyer.Net BBS

This story is based on the background for a D&D (modified, latter changed over to Monte Cook's Arcana Unearthed rules) campaign I ran and was, as far as the players were concerned, history. As the potential for spoilers is rather massive, I would appreciate it if they would avoid talking about it in public threads. LawGeek, Umbras, The Limper and a Lord of Change can always be introduced to my games.


A Piece at a Time


Kailen waved his hand through the air, trying to disperse some of the dust. It wasn't helping. He had a cloth rapped around his mouth and nose, which was doing a better job at providing a respite. He felt a cool breeze at his back and instinctively turned. She was there.

The grey elf's skin and hair were both devoid of colour. Her eyes glinted blue in the half light provided by the sun amulet that Kailen wore around his neck. She wore a light grey over robe on top of a white shirt and charcoal pants. A bone white staff of bleached wood rested in her hands. A notch at the top with filled with a transparent crystal. Magically summoned gusts of wind kept the dust away. She would have been beautiful if she wasn't so pale. "How bad is it?" she asked.

Kailen bit back the urge to snap at her. She outranked him, galling as it was. "Looks bad," he said. "Probably lossed a few miners in the collapse, probably a few more trapped on the other side. That's a lot of rock to move." He swept his gaze across the scene. Several lean drow miners were looking at him anxiously. There was going to be hell to pay. Production was his responsibility. "Probably a hidden flaw in the supports." He hoped to the Abyss that was the truth. If someone had been sloppy in setting them up, then there was really going to be Hell to pay.

Kailen examined the walls and ceiling closely and then stepped back. "It should be safe to move the rubble. Start clearing this mess," he ordered. The drow went to work as the overseer retreated, the muscles on their scarred bodies rippling as they began to shift the stone.

"Don't you have magic for this?" Cassida asked.

"With respect maitress, we do not," Kailen replied. She looked at the gold skinned high elf incredously. "This is a mining operation, nothing more." Unspoken was the statement that black skinned, sunless bondelfs weren't worth wasting magic on.

She scowled as raised her hand. Words of power issued from her lips and a soft white glow appeared around her outstreched hand. The rock of the tunnel wall and ceiling took on the same glow. "That should shore up your mine," she said and spoke another spell. The boulders of the cave in began to soften and ooze together. "Mud should be quicker and easier to clear than rock."

"Get shovels!" Kailen barked. The drow scampered to obey the high elf. "Thank you maitress."

"You are welcome," she responded coolly. Soon the drow had returned and the black skinned elves began digging rapidly.

"It would be nice if they worked this hard normally," Kailen grumbled. Cassida pretended not to hear. The drow were making rapid progress. It wasn't too long before they found their first body. He had been crushed to a pulp.

"Keep digging," Kailen ordered. It was his workforce they were trying to save, after all. They found another body shortly thereafter and then they broke through to the other side of the rockfall. Several haggered looking drow were on the other side, their white hair turned grey by a coating of dust. "Get them out," he snapped.

"Maitre," one of the freed miners spoke, "this boy is gravely injured." Kailen stalked forward. A drow lay near the mudpile. An adolescent, not yet to his full growth. Tall for his age. Kailen couldn't remember his name. Smashed legs. Damn. He became aware of Cassida standing over his shoulder.

"I'll see to him," she said.

"Suit yourself, maitress."

She bent by the drow and spoke another spell as she moved her staff over his body, starting from his head and moving down over his legs. Bones knit back together, muscle reattached and shifted, and rents in his skin closed. The drow opened his eyes. They were a brilliant gold.

"Don't try to say anything," Cassida said. "I need two men to carry him to the surface."

"Maitress-" Kailin began.

"Do it," she commanded. Two drow gently picked the boy up and began heading for the surface. "Now, lets see if anyone else needs my assistance."

*Quickly trades LawGeeks chapstick with a stick of crazy glue, then looks around innocently*

The drow placed the adolescent down on the narrow bed. "Thank you," said Cassida. They bowed and retreated. She sighed and turned back to the boy. "How do you feel?"

The boy shifted his head. He was inside a building with white plaster on the walls. There was only one structure like that nearby, the hall where the high elves lived and did business.

The room was pleasant enough. A rug with a flower motif covered the carpet, and a tapestry depicting hunting griffons hung on the wall. A cloak rack and a small chest were nearby, as was a mirror and a washing bowl. "Not to bad, I think. Thank you maitress."

She extended her hand. "Why don't you try walking." She gently pulled him up. He stood uneasily for a moment and then let go. He carefully paced the room.

"Sore, but everything works."

"Good," she said smiling. "Do you know why I'm here?"

"No maitress," he said warily.

She shook her head. "Nothing bad, I assure you. How long have you been in bond?"

"Eight years," he replied.

"Seventeen or forty-two left?"

"Forty-two."

She sighed. "How many from your clan were sold?"

"Every family gave a male child. Twelve, in all. That time."

"And you got metal weapons? A clan member trained as a smith? Magical instruction for a daughter or two?"

"Close," he said. He looked away.

"Look at me. I want you to do something."

"What?"

"You drow, you dwell in the Wyld Lands. You shelter in caves to avoid the worst predators and the change storms, but you are all touched by the wild magic. Most of you can use some kind of magic. I know that you avoid displaying such abilities around the high elves. Do something for me."

His gaze met hers, gold meeting blue. She saw cynicism and calculation as well as a fierce intelligence behind them. Cobalt sparks came to his call and he deflty wrappred them around his right hand and enshrouded it in ghostly blue flame. "Is this good enough?"

"Yes," she said, "it is. Thank you." She paused for a moment. "Do you have any idea why I am here?"

"I don't know why, maitress." He dropped his gaze.

"I'm here at the request of the Eldest." She saw the brief look of confusion on his face. "The Eldest is held in high regard. Anyway, the High King has agreed to allow us to take some bonded and train them."

"So, I will become yours maitress?"

"No, we don't own people. Unfortunately, we can't annul the bond, but skilled labour is more valuable so we hope your prospects will improve afterwords. And when you are free you will have valuable skills that can aid your people."

"You've been sent to find magicians."

"Yes. Will you come with me?"

"I have a choice?" he said sardonically.

"Yes, or there is no point to this."

"Then I accept."

Cassida took his hand and lead him out into the blinding sunlight. The bow raised his hand to shield his eyes. "I'm sorry," Cassida said and took him back inside. "That was thoughtless of me. I shouldn't have taking you into the light."

The boy wiped his eyes. "Are you ready?" she asked. He nodded in the affirmative.

She rapped her staff on the floor and spoke a short incantation. A great wind came up and then they were somewhere else. The elves were standing on the carpet with a pattern of repeating chevrons in various shades of yellow and red. It appeared to be the living room of a reasonably large house with comfortable, stuffed furnature, and shelves full of books and nicknacks. The house was stone, but much of the interior was wood work.

"Eldest?" she called out. There was no reply. "He's probably outside. Here, I usually use this spell for concealment, but it should help you with the sun." She pointed her staff at him and intoned a single, multisyllable word he couldn't quite comprehend. Shadows stretched and eveloped him, covering him like a great cloak or mantle. She reached out and opened the polished oak door. The sun blazed in, but the boy was able to manage it without too much discomfort. He followed Cassida outside.

They were high up on a mountainside. Below them stretched a great forest that encompassed most of a mountain ringed vale. A stream fed lake and a distant cluster of buildings near its shore could be seen near the valley shore. Towers of white stone could be seen on the sides of several nearby mountains, but the great expanse of trees could be shielding countless lesser structures. "There he is," she said.

The white stone house they had just exited was a moderately large, two story house devoid of any ostentation. It occupied the top of a large clearing, which had a gentle slope. A pathway of white stone lead down to the clearing's edge and the pond at the far end. An elf with a great mane of white hair and dressed in a simple white robe was skipping stones across the surface of the pond. He turned to face them.

His face was unlined, but somehow conveyed great age. There was a strength in the lines of his face, but his smile was warm and gentle. His silver eyes glittered. "Cassida," he called. "Come join me."

"Of course," she called back. "Let's go," she said to the boy. They headed down the path. The drew near to the pond's edge.

"Who are you?" the young-old elf asked. Cassida coloured slighly in embarrassement that she had forgotten to ask his name.

"Varanthus, maitre."

"Varanthus, I am called the Eldest. There are no maitres or maitresses here. Our high elven kin place much stock in titles, but we of the Vale do not."

"Yes, Eldest."

"Good. Our high elf kin prefer the day to night, but we love the stars more than the sun. At least some of us do. Cassida, is there room in your house for one more?"

"Yes Eldest."

"Would you give Varanthus here a room while he is here studying with us."

"Certainly Eldest."

"Thank you Cassida. Will you consent to return this evening for lessons Varanthus?"

"Yes Eldest."

"Good. I will see you and the others after the sun sinks over the mountains."

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The hall was cyclopean in size. Pillars supported a roof eighty feet above the floor that stretched a thousand feet in length. Clan banners hung from iron posts and under each banner mustered a twenty dwarf honor guard clad in mail with heavy helms and stout shields. Four hundred dwarven warriors stood guard over the hall of their king.

Great stone steps lead up to a massive throne. At the foot of the throne stood ten thanes, the greatest and most trusted of the king's warriors. Each part of the thane's panoply carried enchantments of great power.

A darkness appeared on the opposite end of the hall and a being emerged from it. The darkness vanished in the being's wake. He was built like a dwarf, but towered above them at a full ten feet in height. His skin was dark grey-green and its beard was thick, black, and wild. He wore mail the colour of night, set with rubies and thick rings of black adamant inscribed with runes of gold on his fingers. A staff eight feet long and topped with a three foot long blade floated at his side.

The dwarves bowed, not in respect, but broken by the beings awesome magical might. He strode forward and stopped at the foot of the throne. The king down upon him and then rose from his throne. He knelt. "Grandfather," he rumbled.

"King Stragos," said Grandfather Troll to the Troll-King of Bara-Nor. The other troll was not quite as big as the Grandfather, but he was more splendidly garbed with gold rings in his beard and gold washed mail. "Things are changing. The High Kingdom has gained much power and mastered much magic. They will soon threaten us."

King Stragos looked at the god with disbelief. "They are only elves." A troll respected only other trolls, dragons, and gods. Not elves.

"They are many and they are hungry. The believe the world should be theirs." Unspoken was the understanding that the world and all within it belonged to trolls to do with as they wished. "We must gather in strength. All will heed this call or be devoured."

For a brief moment I thought you would be narrating the origins of your other drow characters, Trizkel and Nalifan .

Question : I'm a bit confused . What's the business with troll and dwarves

The Nomad wrote: Question : I'm a bit confused . What's the business with troll and dwarves

It will become clear in time.

Aye all things will come in time. This has had to have been one of my alltime FAVORITE worlds to have played in and it was one hell of a campaign.

Of course everything has a begining and this is it enjoy the ride Ladies and gentlemen, its gonna get better as it goes on.

Umbras wrote:Aye all things will come in time. This has had to have been one of my alltime FAVORITE worlds to have played in and it was one hell of a campaign.

The best compliment a DM can recieve and I thank you for it.

Cassida lead the young drow down the mountain side and into the forest. Great and and ancient trees loomed over them, casting shadows over the forest floor. Shafts of sunlight penetrated through gaps in the coverage, creating pools of golden sunlight.

Cassida lead him down one fork of the branching path. Somewhere in the distance he could hear the laughter of children. "We're almost there," she said.

The grey elf lead him to the base of a tree. He craned his head and looked up. Steps seemingly formed out the wood circled the trunk of the oak and ascended to its branches. Supported by the great branches was a three story house. She quickly climbed the steps. Varanthus hesitated for a moment and then followed.

Cassida held the door open for him and he entered a modest entry room. A thick carpet covered the wooden floor and their were doors on either side. She placed her cloak on rack and took off her boots. "Rethana," she called. A moment latter an elf girl about Varanthus's age stuck her head around the corner on the left. Her skin was as pale as milk and her hair as dark as night, the reverse of drow colouring. "Yes Cassida?" she asked. "Hello," she said to Varanthus.

"Varanthus here will be staying with us. Can you see that he's settled in?"

"Yes," Rethana replied. "Follow me." She lead Varanthus through a room containing a long table and up another set of stairs. A wrapped around the tree trunk with doorways sprouting off of it. "We apprentices get the guest rooms. That room is mine and that one over there is Delzin's." She lead him over to another room and opened the door. The room wasn't large, but had a bed, a bookshelf, a small table, and a closet. "Why don't you get settled in?"

Varanthus nodded mutly and the girl dropped back down the stairs. He examined the bed. It was firm, but not hard. Multiple layers of sheets and thick blankets along with three pillows. He peaked out the window and saw the forest below. He yawned. It had been a long day. He lay down to rest and the world fell away.

He awoke to a hand on his shoulder. A drow wearing green and gray was standing over him. The male was maybe a decade or two older than he was and stocky. His eyes were red and his hair was cut short. "Dinner time. I'm Delzin."

"Varanthus," he said as he stood up

"I've heard. I was sleeping when you came in." Delzin lead him down the stairs to the dining room. Cassida and Rethana were already seated. There were three platters on the table, one with nuts, once with sliced meat, and the third with fruit. Varanthus sat down and put several cuts of meat on his plate along with slices of several different fruit.

Cassida gestured and a flagon of cool clear water levitated across the table and filled Varanthus's glass. "Eat your fill," she said, "it's going to be a long night."

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The three young elves walked back up the path. It had been twilight when they had supped and now it was true night. The moon and the stars peaked through the tree cover.

Varanthus wore a borrowed cloak of gray cloth. Cassida had said she would find more clothes his size. This whole day was unreal. In the space of a few hours he had gone from a bondsman in a mine to an apprentice to the Eldest. It was like a strange dream.

The Eldest was standing by his pond. A six other young elves were there as well. Two drow, a gray elf, an olive skinned girl with dark red hair, and two high elves. "The last have arrived," said the Eldest, "now we can begin. Does anyone know why high magic is like skipping stones?"

The question drew a blank from the others for a moment. "Because both cause ripples and those change things," said Varanthus

"Not quite the way I would have put it, but yes, that is it. It is not merely enough to wield power and to desire to do good. One must understand the consequences and ramifications of your actions. Sometimes, many times, this will not be possible. Often, the ripples will be negligable. But sometimes you will have the time and the consequences could be terrible. To be a magi is not merely to exercise power, but to do so responsibly. You must all remember this."

"Now that I have impressed you with such serious and weighty concerns, let us move on to something less dire. The consequences of conjuring lights are rarely disasterous, unlike say stumbling through an alchemical laboratory in the dark. First we need to begin with a focused will and an outstretched mind. Yes, I'm aware all of you have done this before, but I wish to observe your technique. Humor an old elf, would you?"

And so the glade began to fill with balls of lights from all parts of the spectrum and as the Eldest examined technique and control. He corrected with a gentle word or a simple demonstration and pushed his students to conjure more lights and put them through increasingly complicated patterns of motion.

Varanthus sent three spheres of blue light slowly spiraling into the night. Who could imagine his life would change so much in one day? It seemed unreal after eight years in the mines, but it was no dream. He saw the Eldest's nod of approval and smiled. He could get used to this.

One by one they began to show up at the meeting spot. They wore armour of black mail or robes of heavy furs. Their bodies were adorned with jewelry of the finest make, like their armour and weapons the products of their own forging. They carried huge armour, axes, and swords; weapons suitable for cleaving or smashing through even the heaviest armour. A few bore staves, disdaining weapons other than sorcery. All their possessions carried mighty magics.

Their gathering place was a ring of standing stones at the top of a hill. From the top of the hill a great shaft of blue light shown into the sky. Streams of stars swam up and down the shaft, like fish in an aquarium. On a good night, like this one, a sharp eyed observer in the distant northern mountains could see it.

In a land innundated with wild magic, which generated change storms that reworked both land and flesh, this was a site of particular power. Great and terrible magics had been worked here and would continue to be. Gods had been birthed at this site. Now the trolls gathered here.

One moment the space was empty and the next a huge troll stood there. Like his brethren he was greenskinned, short legged, and stocky. He wore a dragonwinged helmet and was armoured in black mail. A sword so large that even he needed two hands to wield was strapped across his back. "Where is he?" He demanded.

"Behind you," said Grandfather Troll, first and eldest of his race, a being that had long ago transcended even immortal flesh. He strode past Malgon and joined the circle. "The world is changing," he said without preamble. "Once only the dragons and the gods could challenge us. Now the elves are a threat."

"Then we should burn them from the face of the land," said a bored sounding female with a voice like grinding gravel. "Easily done."

"Fool," growled the Grandfather. "Do you think the gods or their high mages will allow us do that without interfering?"

"The gods have not bothered us before," replied the female.

"We haven't burned a a third of a continent full of their worshipers before. They will pay attention to that. No, we will let them carry on without regard to what happens to the world of flesh. We will not fight the elves and the gods together."

"Our slaves are too few in number to match the elves," rumbled Malgon.

"That is true," replied Grandfather. "That is why we need to prepare. Why should the dwarves be our only slaves?"

"What do you have in mind?" the female rumbled.

"There is our giant kin," said another troll, this one arrayed in armour of scales of ebon metal and bearing a rune encrusted axe and mace. His eyes were featureless pools of red. "We can bend them to our will."

"There are others as well," said the Grandfather. "There are those among the fey races that would make suitable slave soldiers. Once they are suitably modified."

"Even breaking them and conditioning them with magic will only accomplish-"

"I wasn't speaking of breaking them," said the Grandfather. "From their flesh we will fashion new soldiers. Quick, fast breeding, and viscious."

"You have a target in mind already," said Malgon.

"Yes and you will assist Krelegar in obtaining them."

Malgon looked over at the red eyed troll-god of violence and warfare. "As you wish, Grandfather." Malgon considered taking a swipe at Grandfather with his sword and decided against it. He would do his will. This time.

A dragonling of blue fire circled the darkened grove. It swooped down low, cirlced Varanthus's ankles, and then climbed up high above his head. The dragon swooped down and hovered above the drow's cupped hands. "Nice," said Rethana. The grey elf walked into the grove. "A creation of true fire. You could light a campfire or send it against a foe."

"Not that it would do much," Varanthus replied. The dragonling dissipated into motes of blue fire before fading away. "It's delicate and I can't maintain it for long."

"It's useful and a start," she said. "You've only been studying under the Eldest for a week. A very good start."

"Just a lot of hard practice. You would be doing it as well if it would keep you away from the mines."

"They're that bad?"

"Most drow don't survive them."

"I'm sorry," she said. "You won't have too. You'll be a sorcerer trained by the Eldest. People will be lining up to have your talents at your disposal. The prestige alone will draw the attention of noble houses."

"Better to be a house cat than a miner's canary," he said with a wry grin. There was an extended ackward silence.

"Have you chosen a focus yet?"

"No."

"It will make the magic easier."

"So I have been told. Maybe I'll touch the Green."

"You don't seem the mystical type."

"Not all of them are," he said, "but yes, you are right."

"Come on," she said, "take a break. Do something different."

"Like what?"

"There are traditional arts other than magic."

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The trolls, both immortal, one divine and the other merely mighty, strode beneath the overhanging bows of the tall trees. Rainbow scaled serpents slowly slithered from branch to branch. Ravens whose ebon feathers were accented with crismon and gold watched silently with too wise eyes.

The neared their destination, a cluster of stilt legged huts by the river bank. Suspension bridged and lengths of rope connected them to each other in a web. The inhabitents were fey beings, cat eyed with grey or blue skinned marked by scales. There were lithe as elves although not as handsome. Their mouths were full of fangs and their ears ended in points.

"Goblins," said Malgon. Several of them had spotted the two trolls and the word was passing. They were being regarded with considerable warriness. A goblin approached. He was six feet tall, the sign of advanced age and power as the immortal goblins grew throughout their lives. He had a rune carved spear in his hand and wore armour of river dragon scales that reflected all the colours of the rainbow.

"Mighty ones," he said with a bow, "what brings you to our humble village?"

Krelegar spoke a pair of words as he extended his mailed hand. A blast of scarlett energy blew the goblin apart, sending fragments of flesh and pieces of visceria flying through the air. The goblins began to scatter.

Malgon spoke the words to another spell and lines of mystic force crisscrossed the village, forming a web and trapping many. One goblin shrieked and poinited a withered staff at Malgon. A brilliant flash of lightning harmlessly struck his armour. Malgon spoke another word of his own. Flame burst out of the goblin's mouth as he was burned from within. He toppled to the ground.

Krelegar sprinted forward, moving with unbelievable speed. The troll god tapped fleeing goblins with his mace and they collapsed bonelessly. Several arrows struck Malgon as an archer fired upon him from the trees. Another incantation and the archers position exploded in flame. All but one of the arrows had bounced off his armour harmlessly. The last had embedded its self in his forarm.

Malgon pulled the shaft out and tossed it to the side. Blood pumped out of the wound and then slowed as the wound began to heal. In a few minutes only the blood stains would reveal that he had been wounded. He walked forward. Now all that was left to do was to take the Grandfather's prize to him.

Varanthus loosed an arrow. The shaft flew across the clearing, past the targets, and into the trees. "My father's bones!" he swore.

Rethana swept a stray lock of her dark hair away from her eyes. "That has got to be some of the worst shooting I have ever seen," she said. "Two in the target, ten in the trees."

"I've never used a bow before," he said defensively.

"I can tell. Now watch me." She raised her bow, knocked an arrow, drew back and loosed in one smooth motion. The arrow flew across the clearing to strike the stuffed target in the head.

"Nice," said the drow.

"Give it a few decades and I'm sure you'll become a decent shot," she said with a smile.

"I'll hold you to that."

"Good," she said. "Want to try something else."

"As long as its easier on my finger tips."

Rethana laughed. "I promise. But first we have to collect the arrows."

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"Here," she said as she handed him the heavy padded jerkin. "Safety counts, unless you want me to practice healing spells on you after an accident.

Varanthus put on the padded leather armour and checked the shelf for a helmet that fit well. "Not that I love pain, but how good are you at them?"

"Fairly good actually."

"Good to know."

"Let me give you a hand with the straps," she said. She came around the back and tied the armour's lacings with quick, practiced motions. The two elves were alone in the wooden long house, which seemed consist of nothing more than open floor and shelves of weapons and armour.

"Thanks. Why do we have this place to ourselves?"

"Most people prefer to practice during the day."

"Ahh."

"Now these practice blades are just wood, with some lead in the core to give them weight. They'll still hurt if you get hid by them so don't take them lightly."

"Okay."

"A sword isn't a club. You can't just wack away with one and expect good results. It's a full body art, not just your arms and shoulders. Foot work counts. Better to side step out of the way and make a strike of your own than parry. Copy my stance."

She looked over him with a critical eye. "Not bad. Adjust your weight a little more forward. Basic principles are that a lunge has a better reach than a slash, but it also exposes the sword arm. Stabbing is better against heavy armour and the woulnds tend to more severe, but slashing wounds tend to better at immediately disabling you opponent."

"Who do we use swords against anyway? I don't see them repelling rogue dragons."

"Not dragons, nor giants either. Other bipeds, dwarves and humans mostly." She llunged, he side stepped.

"Good." He ventured a slash, she knocked the blade out of his hand. "Not so good. "Firm grip, but not a rigid clench." He bent down and picked up the blade again.

"Right. Dwarves serve the trolls right?"

"Most of them do. Their ancestors swore fealty in exchange for being instructed in their arts. The free ones do what they want and the thralls aren't a particularily nice bunch. Our borders are close. Unpleasantness happens."

"And humans?"

She smiled. "Fire and flint napping are advanced human technologies. Bone carving and finger painting are arts. Finding the good fish is their version of potent sorcery. They're pretty volatile. If you encounter a band of them be on your guard." He nodded. "I'm serious. They're taller than we are and pretty strongly built. They're primitive, not stupid."

"Sort of like drow."

She winced. "Yes, I guess you could say that. I'm sorry."

"No offence taken. We are backwards compared to you. But you can keep your landscape painting and your silk tunics. We'll take sorcery and steel. That's what we need. That's what I was sold for."

A blast of violet energy flashed from Varanthus's hand, scoring the rock of the mountain side. The drow dragged the beam across the rock, blasting loose fragments of rock and widening the gash.

"Good," said the Eldest. "It is the nature of the world that proficiency with violence is necessary regardless of what we would desire. There is no tool more powerful than the fundemental energies of the universe and no weapon so powerful. In a time of crisis, whatever its origin, you and your skills will be called upon. Whether it is to heal the injured or to slay the enemy, you must be ready."

"Varanthus, you are progressing swiftly, even if you spend too much of your free time mastery the sword instead of magic." The Eldest smiled and wagged his finger at Rathana. "You are a bad influence."

She tapped her sword hilt and attempted an expression of contrition. The effort fooled no one. "I would say I'm sorry, but you aren't the only one who enjoys having gifted students."

The Eldest chuckled. Lehanna, a sun elf with golden skin and long dark hair gathered in a braid, scowled. "Are we going to praise your pets all night magistrae or are you going to favor the rest of us with instruction?"

"If you find this exile from your courts and balls so ardous Lehanna, you are free to leave. There is a small army of who would gladly take your place."

He turned away from the sulking elf. "There is no elf who commands more power than the High King and so there is no one whose word carries more weight. That does not rob any of you of choice. All of your deeds and words carry weight, not merely those of you who are highborn. Choose your actions wisely. And, to satisfy Lehanna's desires, we shall attemp some tasks more difficult than scoring rock. A great bird of flame, to fly at your enemies and consume them in its embrace." The Eldest made a pass through the air and a great blazing condor appeared above them and swooped low. "Conjuring fire is the easy part. Shaping and control is another matter entirely."

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"She doesn't like you much," said Rethana as they walked down the mountain side.

"I noticed. She doesn't like Delzin either. Or you for that matter."

"It goes beyond that," said the grey elf. "You threaten her sense of superiority. A lowly dark born picking up swordsmanship and sorcery so quickly."

"I not that good," he said.

"Not yet," the dark haired woman replied. "You are picking up sword play pretty quickly. And as for magic, you haven't chosen your staff yet."

"Why not an althame?" he said.

"We both know that's not for you. Swords are a distant second to sorcery. Your gift truly lies there."

The walked in silence under the tree boughs for a bit. "Nothing feels right," he said at last. "Every time I try to select one, it feels dead to me. Like I could use it, but it isn't right."

"It was the same for me," she replied. "No sword was right to be my focus. And then I had Evening Star forged to my specifications and it lived in my hands. We are talking about the focus for your magic. You can use another staff, but they aren't true to you. That's your problem. You need Varanthus's staff."

"Interesting. Any suggestions?"

"Go to the Moon Pool and gaze into the water. Think about yourself wielding your staff. Look at your reflection."

"Will I get an image of the future?" he teased.

"No," she replied seriously. "Don't joke about this. It's sacred. It will show you your true self, but it won't show anything of the future."

"Other than what I may become."

"Yes, it might show you that. We are complicated creatures and the world is always in motion. What you see in the pool is an image held by mutable water, not set in stone. If you don't like what you see, you may be able to change it."

Excellent Keep up the good work.

I wonder what his staff will be like. Something dark and twisted I hope

Question : an althame ( or is it 'athamé' ?) is a ritual knife, is it ? Or is it some sort of personnal magic sword in this setting ? Can someone get both a staff and an althame, or is the link exclusive to one object ?

Next question : am I wrong, or does this setting make no distinction between clerical spells and arcane ones ? The Eldest seems to imply that mages can both heal and blast, so can I conclude that healing magic is not the apanage of priesthood ?

There are no clerical spells in the setting, although there both gods and clerics. There is no divide between arcane and divine spells. A priest may be a warrior or a mage, or neither. A few people are imbued with divine magic or allied with supernatural forces and gain benefits from their patrons/allies, but that magic is different from spell magic.

Like a magister's staff, an althame is a tool to focus magic through. It is also a weapon, which makes a mageblade's althame handy in all sorts of ways.

Which is odd, since many pagans believe using an althame to draw blood or otherwise cause harm defiles the blade beyond all cleansing.

Imperial Overlord wrote:Like a magister's staff, an althame is a tool to focus magic through. It is also a weapon, which makes a mageblade's althame handy in all sorts of ways.

And hm... you can't shapeshift a wizard's staff into a mageblade's sword and get the benefits of both, can you ?

So basically a staff is a pure magical tool, but an althame helps casting spells to a lesser extent while doubling as a magical weapon ?

LadyTevar wrote:Which is odd, since many pagans believe using an althame to draw blood or otherwise cause harm defiles the blade beyond all cleansing.

Many modern pagans may believe that, but the magical tools of a warrior-mage are compatable with blood shed.

A magister's staff and a mage blade's althame are similar tools. The staff is more focused on spell casting, the althame is both a weapon and a spell focus. If one was trained in both traditions, one could have a staff that is also an althame. On a related note, some magister's incorporate blades into their staffs.

It was late afternoon when Varanthus descended towards the valley floor. He travelled through open meadows and under hanging branches. Occassionally he caught a glimpse of elven dwelling melding into branches and trunk.

The sun sank behind the mountains and the stars and moon shone through the darkening sky. Magical lights danced along the valley floor as he grew near. The commercial and social center of grey elven life was in found in the rows of building of wood and white stone. It would be wrong to call it a town, for it was not at all like the towns of goblins or sun elves. It was the social center of a difuse community, not the whole of the community itself. The important buildings and people were not to found there. Neither was Varanthus' destination.

The Moon Pool was part of and next to the Temple of Myelalae. The Temple was just far enough up the slope from the marketplace to be brisk walk without being distant. It was an ancient principle to insure that a visit should be meaningful at least in effort while still being accessable to all.

The temple itself was merely a glade with a perimeter of white marble pillars. Varanthus had heard the stories of that place, that one would always see the moon, even in daytime, if you looked up into the sky from place. He could sense the magic swimming around it and did not doubt it.

The temple was empty save for a priestess wearing a gown of deep green with the crescent symbol of Mylalae on it. Varanthus bowed to her and the silver haired maiden inclined her head in response. She was taller than he by half a head and her eyes were shining silver. "You have come to seek a vision?"

"Yes," he replied.

"I thought so. We have been expecting you."

"Really?"

"Of course. The Eldest's students are always a matter of interest and you are drow as well. You have chosen neither a staff nor a sword."

"So everyone in the Vale knows?"

"Everyone who cares to," she replied with a smile. She gestured with her hand. "Follow the trail. It will lead you to the Pool. May you have the wisdom to profit from what you learn."

He bowed again and went in the direction she had pointed. A path began between two pillars and left the glade. The branches of the trees overhead had twisted together, almost forming a roof as they messhed together. He stepped onto the path.

It wasn't very long. It ended at another tree lined clearing, although this one was devoid of marble pillars. A small, clear pool was in the center. The moon, gibbious and nearly full, danced in the water. A wave of warmth washed over him.

Varanthus approached the edge and looked into the water. The dark water stopped rippling and became as smooth as glass. The perfection was unnerving. He saw himself, a tall drow boy dressed in simple clothes, reflected back. Golden eyes met his own.

Then the image changed. It was still him, but his garb was different. An over robe of dark blue silk marked with silver wards was worn over armour not of treated hide, metal scales, or bronze plate but blackest dwarven mail. Swords hung from his hips and a staff of blackened metal was held in his hand. The butt was spiked and the top was an ominous looking disc set with five red jewels. A two foot long blade projected from the disc, forming the end of the "staff" if one could call it. The semblance looked back at him with golden eyes filled with cool confidence.

Then it was eyes of a boy looking back at him and the warrior-mage was gone. Varanthus returned along the path, bowed once more to the priestess, and then descended towards the valley floor. It hadn't been quite the answer he had been looking for, but it was close enough. It lead him in the right direction and he knew just what to do.

Wow... only took three months, but I think it was worth it

Very lovely image of the sword-staff.

Keep it up pal, keep it up

Varanthus walked down the valley floor to what passed as a village. Two lines of perfectly white buidlings on either side of a single road. Glow globes in a host of different colours illuminated the streets and painted the walls of the buildings with colour. Grey elves were people of the night and the street was alive.

He acknowledged a number of polite greetings with a slight bow as he headed toward a building on the peripherary of the settlement. It was white marble and rectangular, a tall construction for one that possessed but a single story. The drow rang the bell before entering.

A slight woman with silver hair bound in braid was inside, filing the edge of a sword. She wore pure white silk under a coat and breeches of dragonhide. "Varanthus," she said as he entered.

"You know me."

"There are very few drow here and even fewer who are the apprentices of the Eldest. You have been here long enough for your name to have reached my ears. Your eyes are extraordinary. They suit you well."

"Thank you," he said. "Gold eyes aren't common among the drow, but they are considered a lucky sign."

"Are they?"

"They didn't give long life to my father," he replied.

"I'm sorry," she said. "How can I help you?"

"I need a staff made." He shrugged apologetically. "I have no money to pay the smith. I was hoping we could work something out."

"There is no charge," she said. She smiled when she saw his expression. "We aren't high elves here. This is the Valley. The apprentice of the Eldest will have a staff of metal if he so desires and that is the way it shall be."

"You're the smith?"

"Yes. You are skeptical. My arms are perhaps not as large as you think they should be?" Elves tended to be stronger than they looked, but even an elven smith tended towards bulky muscle.

He nodded. "Then I shall show you how you are wrong. Tell me of this staff you want forged."

"Black steel. Five feet long with a butt spike. A two foot sword blade at the end."

She nodded. "Hollow to save weight, but it will still be heavy. I shall forge this thing for you. Watch."

She walked over to the forge at the other end of the shop and began to sing. Blue-white flames burst into life. Three ingots of metal followed and stuck them into the fire with her bare hands.

Still singing softly she streched each ingot into a thin sheet as if she was a baker moulding dough. She layered the three sheets one on top of the other and twisted them around to form a rod. Still singing she smoothed the join and then began to shape the blade and butt spike.

She then removed the staff from the fire to let it cool and then plunged it back in again. This time she wielded a hammer and began to beat the blade into shape. She repeated this process three times until she was satisfied with the result. She showed the staff to him for his approval. The air around it swum with heat shimmers. Varanthus nodded his approval.

She let it cool and then heated it until it glowed red again. This time when she removed it she sung another spell. Swirls of snow surrounded the staff as the temperature around it plunged. She waited and examined the weapon. Satisfied with the result she heated the staff again and froze it again. Twice more she tempered the blade.

She handed it to him. It was as warm as blood. It wasn't the ornate instrument of his vision, but it was the truth of that vision, a weapon. Handsome in its own way, strong, and deadly. It would serve him well when all of this was over. When the Eldest no longer trained him, when he had finished serving his indenture to the high elves, he would return back to his home. A woman could hope to die in bed, although all too often it was birthing a child, but a male's destiny was to shed blood in the hunt and defending his clan from all the dangers the Wyld Lands had to offer. The grey elves had paradise and the high elves had wealth and security, but no such luxuries existed for the drow. Perhaps, one day, that would change and perhaps he would have a part to play in that.

He intends to come back to defend those who sold him once his servitude is over ? Well, I certainly wouldn't waste my opportunity to avoid slave labour that way.

BTW isn't a swordstaff a bit awkward to wield ? What kind of fighting style does it require ?

The Nomad wrote:He intends to come back to defend those who sold him once his servitude is over ? Well, I certainly wouldn't waste my opportunity to avoid slave labour that way.

His mother sold him into slavery, in exchange for steel weapons and training for another of her children. The drow are the most primitive of elves and live in an extremely challenging enviroment and can't afford to be picky.

BTW isn't a swordstaff a bit awkward to wield ? What kind of fighting style does it require ?

In this case, its not too different from a spear.

The Eldest skipped stones across the pond in front of his house. The reflections of the moon and stars were shattered by the ripples made by the bouncing stones. "You asked for me Eldest?" Varanthus asked as he approached.

The white haired mage turned. "Yes I did. How are you?"

"Well enough," the drow shrugged. He wore simple clothes of grey and midnight blue. His staff was scabbarded and held by a baldric across his back. "My time here ends, doesn't it?"

"Yes," said the Eldest. "I hope the years have been good ones."

"They have. I have learned much and gained new friends."

"And a staff."

"Yes, and a staff. You don't approve of the latter."

"No, I don't approve of the necessity of the latter."

"And I am grateful for all you aid in ending it. With steel and the new magics we are learning, more of us will live. We will not have to pay the price forever."

"So you say," said the Eldest.

"Why do you not believe? It is logical. Many of us will have the skills. More of us will live. We'll pass the knowledge on, train our own successors, forge our own steel. More men will survive hunting and defending our homes, more women will survive childbirth. There is no need for this to continue more than a few generations."

The Eldest sighed. "Do you think the high elves are unique in their arrogance and self centeredness? These are new things to them, luxuries made possible by the power and wealth of their civilization and the bredth of their accomplishments. We here are not immune, although we watch ourselves for it. What makes you think the drow are?"

Varanthus scoffed. "We have nothing like the wealth-"

"Wealth and power are relative. What happens to a clan when all the educated ones are the daughters of the leading clan? What happens when the best weapons go to the matriarch's sons and their companions. And they are the first to recieve both magic and instruction? And perhaps they will sell the sons and daughters of the minor families to pay for such training?"

"My mother would not do such a thing. She sent me, her own son, with the others."

"Your mother made a hard choice and chose to spread the burden equally through the clan and perhaps spread out the benefits evenly as well. How many other matriarchs share her integrity? How many wouldn't be tempted to take just a larger share of the spoils? How many wouldn't be tempted to spare their son?"

Varanthus was silent for awhile. "You are right Eldest. Far more temptation awaits us. What should I do?"

"Serve and guide your people as best you can," said the Eldest. "Keep your eyes open to unpleasant truths. That's all one can ask."

"Thank you."

"You are welcome. I have one more gift for you. I have secured the place where you will serve the rest of your indenture."

"Where?"

"Better than the mines," the Eldest said with a smile. "They were quite willing to yield your services in exchange for other considerations. The high elves may be quite full of pride but even they acknowledge that there is at least one practitioner greater than they are and that the opportunity to learn from one of his students is thing to be treasured. The Shining Towers have a position for you as an instructor."

"You convinced them to trade with the mines," said Varanthus with a smile.

"They were happy to do it. I'm afraid High Kingdom law makes the bond unbreakable, but it is transferable."

"Thank you Eldest. For everything."

"I doubt that Telthan will be the most hospitable of places, but I think you will manage. You are a brilliant magician and a likable enough young man. Someone who might expect to face a bullette should be able to handle a few dandies."

Varanthus bowed. "When do I leave?"

"Soon. You have a few days. Go, and say your goodbyes. You are too young to spend these last few days in the company of an old man instead of enjoying the farewell arranged by your friends."

Varanthus nodded and walked out of the glade. Rethana, Cassida, and Delzin were waiting. "Somehow I think I wasn't the first person the Eldest told," Varanthus said with a smile on his face.

"If we weren't told in advance, how were we going to get the party set up in time," said Rethana. She ran her fingers through her long, dark hair. "Come on Gold Eyes, time to see how you fare in single combat against a keg of cider."

Varanthus laughed and joined his friends.