Uses and Costumes of Fantastic Lands: Part 1

 Uses and Costumes of Fantastic Lands

From Sarnakand The Magnificent’s Travel Book

In the realm of Vex, the dead have no right upon their corpses. Well, this should be obvious -you can no more use your body after death, after all- but what I mean is that you don’t get to decide what will become of your mortal shell when you die. Neither get your relatives. This is because Vexan priests and governors believe that you are not your body’s owner. You didn’t choose it or make it for yourself, did you? The gods gave you that body, or better they lent it to you. When you die, it returns to the real owners.

So members of the clergy enter the house merely hours after the event, without even giving spouses and children the time to finish mourning. The body is confiscated and animated as a servant to help constructing pyramids for the Ever Benevolent Consuls, or reduced to ash in order to fertilize a public park, or thrown to animals in the zoo- scavengers need eating too, and would you rather give them poor helpless rabbits instead? Haven’t you got a heart?

Nobody can refuse to lend this service to their country. It would be an act of egotism. Worse, it would be immoral. The gods loved you so much as to give you a place in their beautiful world, how can you not return at least part of this immense favor? Why wouldn’t you be of help to your living fellows? A buried body isn’t useful to anyone, while a zombie body can lift the burden off a living worker. And why a splendid creation of the gods should be sacrilegiously left to worms and flies to eat?

Of course, someone protests every now and then. They are caught while trying to perform funerals, or escape out of the country with their beloved extincts in lands with different beliefs. They are judged leniently. After all, this is a civilized kingdom and they acted out of misplaced love. They’re just put to service, as corpses, next to the corpse they tried to steal. Law is law. And what’s right is right. In effect, many useless vagrants are thoughtfully transformed into useful workers by officers of the law on occasion- after all, a living creature is just a dead creature in potentia, isn’t it? So what does it matter if they decide to unlock its potential in advance?

I was just a little time in Vex- too little to fructfully exchange my religious views with its ruling class. I am planning to return there soon with a party of friends, though. We will bring good examples of swords, clubs and holy water bottles with us to trade- in great numbers, since there are many poor people who need charity there. I am sure that their priests will find our arguments of faith very convincing.

Chosen Oracles: Lapine Crescent, Heavens Oracle/Celestial Disciple

This short story appeared on the boards as the origin of a Starsoul sorcerer, but I wanted to refine it. A build will follow. ^_^

Lapine’s eyesight was blurred. She didn't know what was greater, either her fear or her pain. Blood was dripping from her lips. What was that monster? Where did it come from? It had appeared before her on her way back from school, and came after her with wild pleasure as the girl desperately tried to flee through the city alleys. Why no other seemed to have noticed it? And why did it attack only her? When she tried to cry for help, people had just looked at her with puzzled eyes, as if she was crazy. Maybe she was.
And now she was hit and fallen to the ground. Why was this happening? Why to her? She was just an ordinary girl. A clumsy and not too bright student. What could this fiend possibly want by such a nobody?
The being, strangely woman-like in its form, came nearer, sneering. Bizarre, ugly features and tentacles danced before Lapine’s eyes while it readied itself for the final blow. Yet, the blow didn't come. Time slowed to a blur. Everything stopped in a silvery mist. And something walked into view- a little dark form. It looked like a cat. But the light in its eyes was definitely not animal. 
So I've found you, it seems", said the silvanshee, calmly. "Do you know why you're here? Do you know who you are?"
"Am I dreaming?" Lapine said weakly. "Or am I dying? I'm seeing things".
"Neither, dear girl. Unless you want to. Creatures from above the stars are here to sunder your world- and they feel by instinct who are the chosen ones that could defeat them. It's up to you, now. This is your destiny from a thousand years before your birth. If you choose to die, I will respect your choice. But if you accept to help me fighting them, I can unlock your power. Then, together, we'll find others like you".
Lapine tried to smirk. “I don’t understand, but I want to live”.
And then time restarted. And the young woman looked in astonishment at the starry lights that flashed from her own hand, destroying the aberration. This was only the beginning. The beginning of a new legend, when the Crescent Champion and her faithful companions would save an entire universe...
“Well done, my Princess”, said the content silvanshee.

Sorcerer Origins: Jorinth the Born-Redeemed, Dhampir Empyreal Sorcerer (Short Fiction)

"Die, you abomination!" the beautiful solar cried, while a blast of pure life energy invested the vampiress, turning her into dust and smoke. The perverted undead lady had kidnapped many mortal men in the years, keeping them as thralls for her own defense and pleasure. No more would she plague the peaceful life of the peasants living around her castle. 
"Jarael, you must see this", called her companion from another room of the tower. She had gone in search of the prisoners' rooms, but apparently found something different. 
The room was full of jars containing little twisted bodies. The lady vampire didn't keep human lovers just for sport. They had fought her many dhampir witches handmaidens, but did not imagine that they were in fact all her daughters. 
The baby boys were here, instead. Killed at birth and used for experiments. Their mother didn't have a soft spot for her sons. 
While Jarael stared at that macabre sight, a wailing drew her attention to a corner of the room. A little bundle lied on a table, moving weakly. The angels lifted the cloth uncovering the grey body of the last-born baby dhampir, ready to join his brothers in their grim destiny. 
"Looks like we came just in time to save him", said the solar, lifting the baby in her arms. 
"He, too, is an abomination. It would be pitiful to kill him now." 
"Just because he's born as he is? I don't think so. When you save a life, you're bound to take care of it till the end". 
"No mortals around here are going to take him in. What do you think to do?" 
"Take him with us in Heaven", said Jarael, flatly. "And raise him." 
"This is madness." 
"I would rather call it mercy", Jarael replied. The baby's colorless lips twisted in hunger. "I name you Jorinth the Born-Redeemed", she said, looking at that little desperate face, "son of Jarael". And almost absently, she scratched her wrist with her nails, giving it to the baby to suck.

Fiction: The End of the Story

My first love was poetry, the second one was fiction. I still hope to be able to publish some fantasy novel someday.
In the meanwhile, here's a short story about my oracle that didn't make it in Wayfinder.

The End of the Story

“So our ways part here”, said the dwarf, deadly calm, while the grinding stone secret door slowly lowered between her and the human woman. “You’re out of spells, and I’m taking your spellbook with me just in case”. She waved it in her hand. “And however, the seals in this chamber block all arcane magic. This is farewell”.

“Chthoriane…” begged Pearl, struggling to get up from the floor. “I thought we were friends!”

“We were NEVER friends. We just had a common interest. You know nothing about me”. The dwarf spat. “And I sure didn’t know enough about you. There is plenty of loot to find in these old ruins, if one dares to take it. But you had to go and ruin everything for some old book!”

“But…” tried Pearl. “It isn’t just any old book! This magic library could have belonged to the Great Father Bard himself! The only proof that The Noble Prince and His Companions ever really existed could be in here! The unknown end of their story! That’s more precious than any treasure! I thought that you wanted to know as much as me! Aren’t you a bard too?”

“Who told you?” said the other woman, ironic. “Here’s another proof that you don’t know me. I’m not a bard. I’m a rogue. And neither you are, lady wizard. And sure I’m not so stupid to put my life at stake for some old tale. A nice tale, sure enough. A pretty child’s tale. But just that. It never was more than that. Only fools like you really believe to legends. And I’m not renouncing all this gold just for a legend and a fool. The Noble Prince is just a name on a piece of paper. And out there is the REAL world. A world for real, grown-up people, unlike you. Good staying in the world of books and dreams, Pearl. Let’s see how long you can eat and drink dreams before starving”.

The last chink clanged close. Echoing footsteps strayed in the distance, climbing up the stairs.

And the exhausted wizard was left alone in the vast underground chamber, surrounded by books. And she cried.

So here was the end of her quest. She would die here alone. And worst of all- she would never KNOW.

That story- that legend- it was the only thing to save her life when she was a lonesome child all wrapped up in her studies. When the other students laughed at her, bullied her, she could refuge in that old bard’s verses and find herself in company of friends. Heroes. That could fail, but never surrendered. That never forgot to smile and always got up after a defeat. And that eventually won. They reminded her that there were still good people in the world. That the world deserved another try.

She had to come here. She had to try finding the proof of their existence. And the fabled last volume left behind by the Great Father Bard, which nobody ever had read… she HAD to know how the story ended.

But now, her own story was to end first.

She had trusted that adventurer known by chance, one day, in a tavern. She seemed to share her enthusiasm for the ancient legend, to believe the clues indicating that the Bard’s last fabled manuscript could be in a lost city in the desert, half buried in the sands. Pearl had never known anyone willing to talk with her about her passion before. She had believed to have found a friend, a kindred soul. Pearl never was much of an adventurer -she barely had put her nose outside of home in her life- and it was good to think she could rely on someone who knew what she was about.

They had travelled together for months up to here, and Pearl never ceased to voice her fancies about the wonders waiting for them in the Great Father Bard’s last residence, but most of all, about the story of the heroes itself. They were more than characters, they were like friends to her. Discovering that they really had existed would have been the greatest joy of her life. Sometimes, she almost thought to hear their voices when she was alone in the dark-

She should have noticed how the dwarf became colder and more silent day by day. How she seemed annoyed by her childish ramblings. But Pearl had never been very good at understanding people. Just books and magic.

And when they finally found the ruins, right where the ancient papers said they would be- well, her companion was expecting something else from the place. That was clear now. She resented having had to fight wandering monsters, slides and traps just to find the library. She wanted something more concrete than paper and verses. Maybe she would find it elsewhere in the city. Maybe not. The wizardess would never have known.

Pearl eventually struggled to her feet. Maybe Chthoriane’s treason was a proof too. A proof that the world didn’t deserve the effort. Better to let out her last breath surrounded by the only friends that had never betrayed her: books.

She wandered the huge chamber, once again admiring the number and beauty of the ancient volumes, the golden ribs and brilliant colors. If the Great Bard read those same lines, stroke those same papers, maybe it was worthy to die in that buried palace for this alone. If only she could have known him. If only…

A lectern under a lightwell attracted her attention.

A great scratchpad was open on it, illuminated by a thin, dusty sunray that somehow had made its hard way all down here. An old quill laid near it on the table, as if just deposed while the writer went out for a minute. Pearl neared the book as magnetized.

And her heart leapt.

This was the Great Father Bard’s handwriting. She recognized it. So he had been here! She knew it had to be true! But there was more…

Trembling, she began turning the pages. Her blood started to fizzle. This was the book she had searched for. The book Chthoriane didn’t believe in.

The Noble Prince and His Companions really had existed! It was all written here! She knew all their stories by memory but this was the story she never had read before, the story nobody ever had read. Pearl lost herself in the verses, forgetting her captivity, her incoming death. How the Bard met them. How he travelled with them and witnessed all their mighty deeds. And in the end, how he faced together with them their most terrible enemy…

The last leaf was blank. Pearl’s singing heart sank. So it was true. The Great Father couldn’t complete his final work. She would have died happy knowing the truth. But how could she die so... unsatisfacted?

And then, her hand moved by its own.

Pearl stared blankly as her hand took the quill from the table, laying it on the paper. Ink seemed to drip from the point, coming from nowhere. She would have shrieked, but her voice stood still in her throat- while her hand started to write, by its own volition, in the Great Bard’s handwriting. A word after another. A line after another…

The end of the story!

How it really had to end!

Did the Great Bard... or maybe his work itself... choose her to finish what he couldn’t?

Her eyes devoured the words she herself was writing, eagerly, up to the last one. And then she signed, with her own name- and another…

And the last drops of ink sparkled and dispersed in the air, brightened by a ray of light from the well.

And there they were. In a mist of a million images and colors.

The Noble Prince and His Companions. Smiling. Beautiful. Ironic. Funny. In their colorful, bright armors. All around her, looking at her.

Pearl’s cheeks were moist with tears. “If I’m dying”, she said, “I don’t care”.

“You won’t die”, said the Wise Seer Maiden, smiling. “You believed in us, and that’s why you could find the way”.

“So was it the Great Father Bard? Did he send you to me?”

“Maybe”, said the Master of Masks, with a smirk. “Or maybe it was your own heart to create us”.

“Thank you”, added the Young Sage, “for giving us the chance to come back in this world”.

The wizardess didn’t know what to think. And she didn’t care. “Stay with me, please”, she begged. “Stay with me… forever”.

“We will stay”. The Prince gave a nod. “Look”. And he pointed to where the Half-Giant Warden was heaving up the heavy secret door again- or maybe it was raising of its own, sensing something that was not arcane power.

“If you want… we can stay with you forever. Even if we could be a… little nuisance sometimes. And you will stay with us one day. Now go. Go tell the world our last story…”

The Sword of Love

Here's a short story and artifact that didn't make into Wayfinder. I could expand the narrative, sooner or later, if you like it. Enjoy. ^_^

«So it is done», said Fhago Kwideus, sticking the gold-edged blade in the earth. «This is the end».

«I wouldn’t put it so», said Kaalu Brazo softly, watching the young man above his hands, crossed on the heavy staff. «You did well. You recovered the legendary sword, Aghapea».

«But it was no use», muttered Fhago. «The barbarian tribe and the griffon pride massacred each other while I was away».

The village was a mound of bloody ruins. Corpses of men, women and great winged beasts were scattered here and there, along with deep claw and axe cuts. Both tribes had to fight to the last one.

«Couldn’t you stop them till I was back?» asked Fhago in a whisper.

«It was none of my business», answered the arcanist calmly. «I only had to see that you accomplished your last trial. And you did. I have taught you well».

The young hunter made an angry gesture. He had lived with the barbarians for months, trying to learn their ways, in an effort to understand the mission assigned to him by his mentor. He was appointed an honorary tribesman. Much to his amazement, he had learned and discovered more than he had expected from them. Their joy of life and sense of honor earned his admiration, and while drinking and hunting with them, he had found in himself something beyond his martial training and nature powers. Something wild. Something which only could be called… rage.

The tribe had lived in peace with the great griffons, once. They were their totem. Both communities thrived and flourished together. Each young warrior bonded with a cub, and the two would be companions for life, hunting and fighting together, sharing their food and drink like brothers. Humans and beasts protected together the holy relic, the blade entrusted to them generations ago, that no one was permitted to touch or remove from its place.

And when the sword was stolen, tribe and pride blamed each other for the misdeed. And it was a decade-long war.

Fhago had hoped to end all that and bring peace again, by finding the sword and the real thief. He had succeeded. But too late.

His adoptive brethren and the proud eagle felines would never have known of the succubus who had delighted in breaking their bond, taking the relic for herself. She laughed at them, when Fhago found her. Now she would have laughed no more. But what for?

«My mother taught me magic», he said to Brazo. «You taught me the ways of your Guild…»

«As your father asked me to do», nodded the arcanist.

«And they taught me their anger, and what’s left of all that? And my father said that I was chosen by the Redemptress, just like him».

«And you have proved worthy indeed».

«But I can’t be a paladin», said wearily Fhago, extracting the holy sword from the soil. «The Order told me. Not with this… anger inside me. And I saved nobody, in the end. What worth have I proved?»

«You tried», said Brazo, firmly. «With all your might, and magic and rage. Hasn’t this a value in itself? And while I don’t bother with gods, the Redemptress is a… very strange-minded goddess, you could say. Your father was no ordinary paladin. Neither you will be».

«But…»

«Your might was not enough now. But you will grow. And then you will be able to save someone. Rescuing the Sword of Love was not a deed for weaklings. She recognizes that. She will help you to grow even stronger, henceforth».

The arcanist had talked about the sword as if it were a woman. Fhago lifted it and watched as for the first time the golden and rose hues of the dazzling blade.

«Besides», added Brazo, «maybe all’s not lost. Hardly ever is something completely lost, in this world».

Fhago turned as the arcanist pointed.

A griffon cub, hardly a few weeks old, was coming towards them, staggering on all four pads, with a whining shriek. Fhago took it in his arms in astonishment. The little thing purred, closing its eyes. It had a beautiful red-brown striped fur and two little white-feathered wings folded on its back, still unable to fly.

«He, the last of his pride», said Brazo. «And you, the last of the Griffon Knights tribe. Don’t waste this omen. Who can say what will you two accomplish in the future?»

Without a word, Fhago put the sword in its scabbard and turned away, cradling the cub.

It would be a long way to the capital city. But he had never feared long travels.

The sun, before them, was rising.

The Seven Swords of Virtue

“Look at the sun. Could it shine without the mountain barring it? Why, yes, it DOES actually- just, we can’t see it.

And could the mountain cast a shadow without the sun? Of course not.

So don’t believe all those stories on balance between good and evil, lad. Light CAN shine without darkness- but darkness couldn’t exist without light.”

-Kaalu Brazo

The fabled Seven Swords of Virtue have been searched by adventurers since when some sages speculated that, if only for a mere reason of cosmic and ethical balance, there could, there even must have been opposites to the vicious Seven Swords of Sin- with comparable powers, or even greater, according to those who believe good to be superior to evil.

The legend was believed to be mere speculation, until recently a young hero provided the first solid evidence to the theory, finding and rescuing the first of the Seven- Aghapea, the Sword of Love. Since then, the number of searchers for the remaining six blades is dramatically increased.

The quest to find the Swords of Virtue seems to be linked to the spreading cult of a mysterious minor goddess or saint, called the Redemptress. She’s believed to have hidden them in the most unknown corners of the world, each guarded by mighty good creatures- each waiting for a worthy champion to wield it against evil…

Aghapea, Sword of Love (Minor Artifact)

Aura Strong abjuration and enchantment; CL 18th

Slot —; Price — Weight 4 lbs.

Description

The handle and blade of this beautiful sword are pure, shining gold magically reinforced, with rose-tinged reflexes. Aghapea is a NG intelligent +2 merciful longsword and communicates empathically with her wielder (she has a warm female personality). Any evil character trying to wield the blade suffers the effects of burning disarm (5d4 hp of damage), in addition to taking a negative level as long as she holds it. (Were it not so, Fhago wouldn’t have been able to win against the succubus. A less-than-wise succubus, that one, indeed. –Note by Brazo).

A good wielder is under a permanent eagle’s splendor effect for as long as he holds the blade. Whenever Aghapea is used for total defense or fighting defensively, an attacking opponent (wielder’s choice) must make a DC 20 Will save or fall under the effects of a stay the hand spell, incapable to hit the wielder or any one other creature designated by the wielder. If the sword scores a critical hit, the target must make a DC 25 Will save or be affected by overwhelming presence, seeing the wielder as a wrathful angel or saint.

Destruction

Aghapea utterly crumbles into nothingness if used to kill the one true love of the wielder, knowingly and deliberately (not under any enchantment effect).