Another Bastard Child of Tolkien - Litany for a Dead Campaign (The End)

[Paka]

Chapter IX
Squire Jasmine Writes Home

Dear Ma,

Work as a squire is going well. As Master Thane says, “We just deliver pieces of paper.”

Admittedly this delivering of writs has allowed me to see some almost all of the cities in the Jade Forest. I walked the musty halls of Deeproot, spent the night in the Oath Keep, eaten till I was stuffed in the Hightree Shire and walked the cobblestone streets of Ladymist, or as the locals call it, the Lady.

Of all of them, the Lady is my favorite. It is everything I thought being away from home would be, magical, mysterious and so very old.

Lady M’Randa is a kind mistress and serving her remains an honor that I work hard to live up to.

Tell my brother to work hard and you send word that he is coming along well I will bring him a special treat from the streets of the blessed Lady.

All my love,

Squire Jasmine Smith





Dear Widow,

In armor, with a sword on my hip and a shield strapped to my back it is impossible to forget that I am Squire Jasmine Smith. It is all of those days in between, wearing nothing but cotton breeches and a tabard when I feel like a small-town girl with mannish shoulders who has never been kissed.

Master Thane says, “We just deliver pieces of paper,” but he is just making light of our perilous lives. Adventuring with Hobbits means that a lot of time is spent merry making and eating, keeping thoughts of death at bay.

Your staff remains in my care and is a treasure. It reminds me not only of my humble roots but also that others have left home before me. Suddenly, I feel that I am a part of a great tradition, a secret society of sorts.

As a fellow society member it is my duty to tell you how I have put your staff to use. I killed my first living man less than a fortnight ago. I put a few ghouls to the sword but killing them didn’t feel like anything horrid. They were demons of a sort and deserved to be sent on.

I killed an Orc. They ambushed us in the morning as we left the Lady. It was one of those glorious mornings, birds were just singing and the sky was just becoming blue. The cowards hit us with crossbow bolts from rooftops and one hit Lady M’Randa so hard that I am not sure how she remained on her feet. If being a knight means that one must stand fast through pain like that then I will remain a Squire for some time yet.

The Orcs were part of a city gang called the Nightfangs; foot-soldiers charged m’lady from both sides. I swung your staff like a hand and a half sword. The fool wasn’t wearing a helm and his skull made a noise like wet wood giving in to a dull axe.

Oddly, I expected the bastard to get up and continue fighting but that didn’t happen. While Lady M’Randa explained the situation to the Watch, I piled the bodies, as was my duty. Seems like a brutish use for your fine apprentice's staff.

There are other situations I have been witness to from the dungeons of Deeproot to the Wedding Highway to the Orcish ghettos of the Lady.

If I should die, please try and explain to my mother that these past months have included more magic and life than all of the years before.

Yours,

Squire Jasmine Smith

 

[Paka]

Chapter X
The Tisgood Letters

[His handwriting is simple, used to putting marks in a ledger,
keeping track of the Tisgood Sheep.

He wrote love-letters to his wife long ago when she lived in the next county and still writes her love poems from time to time. Sometimes he would show them to you and ask advice on their compisition. Even his love poems seemed mundane to you but you helped him. It was one of the rare occasions wherein Randal bit his tongue and kept his word-hoard shut. His simple handwriting has just a touch of romance, a swirled capital letter here, a tilt there. Thank the poetry to his wife for that.

The words are drawn crudely, by Silver City Bard standards but he reminds you of home and for a second you ache for the more urbane and rarified Elvish company of the Silver Cities and even a Hobbit of the High Court Shire will do.]

Dear Randall,

I have sent a letter every time I have had to take the herd or the
wool to the city for a merchant festival.

I don't like the cities, too many shiftless artists about. You
know how it is here in the Silver Cities. I hope the Jade Forest,
a humble, hard working people, have had a good effect on you.

I could use a good hand when i get home.

I can only hope that my brotherly jibes translate with a smile
over my face on this parchment, as i never had any gift with words as you always did.

I can only hope that the shady looking men who I gave all of my
letters to have reached you. They were particularly smelly humans with ink shoved under their skin but they said they were going to Goldleaf and that was close to the Jade Forest and so my missives have travelled with them along with some gold to ease their passage.

I am giving this letter to a strange old coot. He is called the
Rilion Mandegar Nihilowen [Strange Owl Man] by the Elves he
travelled with. It seems an odd title for Elves to give a Man.

He is waiting for me right now. Doesn't seem to be doing anything much. Just sitting there.

Still, I like him well enough and trusted my instincts on the
matter.

He wouldn't accept my coin, though.

I'll slip a wool sweater into his bag.

Ma is the same as ever. She bakes and cooks enough for the Tisgood family and the dozen or so cousins it takes to shepherd the flock and then she bakes some more. I don't know where she get's her strength but we could all learn something about strength from her.

Leslie Cherryling asks for you often and tells anyone in listening
distance how you sang her a love ballad in Draconic one night and how she didn't understand the words but literal understanding is over-rated or some such sheep hooey.

I didn't have the heart to tell her that you sang her an excerpt
from the Wedding Epic of Tiamat and Bahumat because I only heard it in Halfling tongue once and the ending was hazy to me.

I see to remember it not ending well at all.

Silly girl.

Pa's gout is worse and he can't ride at all and can barely walk the
pastures anymore. He still runs the books as his mind is still
sharp as a tack but he has tons of free time now and drove Ma mad for a time.

He has decided to write his memoirs. I have enclosed a copy I made of what he calls, "his most adventurous moment," because he thought it was a good idea whwen i suggested you had a copy of it. It isn't Dawson Hightree facing down the Troll King but it is our Da's finest hour, or so he says.

The title of this memoir changes everyday. We await the new title he has dreamed up at dinner. Tonight it was, "My Time With the Sheep" but Ma thought it was too dull. A few weeks ago she hit him with a wooden spoon when he announced to the table that his new title was simply, "Flocked for Life."

I hope all is well with you in the Jade Forest. We hear all kinds
of rumors of Dragonic madness, war and strife, Troll Nations and
Dead Gods.

I'd hope your stories will keep you well away from all that
nonsense.

Love,

Alex Tisgood

156 Silver Reckoning
1224 Gold Reckoning



Dear Alex,

I hope you get this letter. I did get the letter you sent with the "strange owl man" as the Elves called him but I’m sorry to say that I received none of the others. I believe the man was a Paladin of Ulula, a benevolent Owl God worshipped in these lands – the mightiest of their Paladins fly upon the backs of giant owls in battle. Quite amazing, actually. He might have heard about me or somesuch, or maybe Ulula brought that letter of yours to me. I’m not much a fan of the Owl God, or most Gods in general, but if they get my brother’s mail to me maybe they deserve a song or two. Anyhow, we are under a blockade from the Gold Empire so everything basically has to be smuggled in.

So I’ve got a gig playin’ soupchin. I hooked up with our cousin Thane. Best keep that under your hat – Trumbles and all. He really does have a problem with promises. Miranda the Green Night and Skier Jasmyn fill us out. Sometimes the ex-sheriff of Hightree plays with us, Dustin (dirtier than a goblin, but does all right with the dogs). We call ourselves The Green Heralds and we’re wintering in this little hole called Ladiemyst. We even played for the Duchess a few times. I’m making good money and even getting a bit of a name – there are all kinds of rumors that you might hear. Probably easiest just to answer them with a polite nod if it’s a foreigner type, but feel free to set any family straight.

It was really nice to hear about Ma’ and Da.’ Somehow, I didn’t receive the story of our Da’s finest hour with the sheep and all, but wondering about what that could be is makin’ me more bonkers than the smell of Auntie Cinnamon’s cookies. Please send me another copy when you can.

I gotta’ say that mentioning Leslie Cherryling really brought up some old memories. Most folks thought Alison Berrymuffin was the cutest, but Leslie Cherryling had eyes that could charm a Dragon and a nose to match. And that chin! I remember that night you were talkin’ about. She must be married and baking pies for the cutter ceremonies by now. I’ll bet her kids are A-dorable.

The whole thing nearly brought me to tears to tell you true. Not Leslie, really, but the whole thing about home. The choices we make… I often miss the Silver Cities – the folks here just aren’t the same. There is Hightree, but, well, it’s Hightree. We don’t even get up there much. Sometimes I get homesick terrible like. On the other hand, here I am novel. Special. A big fish for a "half-man" (as the longlegs call us); while at home, there are dozens of bards just like me, or so it seems. Here I have a chance to be somebody, while at home, I am just anybody.

Anyhow, on to better things. This small time huckster here, Smallgus is one of my better fans. He’s a snappy chap and but he has the ugliest crow of a familiar you never saw. I think the bird is part wolverine. One thing they do have here are really excellent pies. If I could only send you a bumbleberry by owl… heh then I’d know I really lived in a kingdom.

Take care Alex. Your letter will keep me warm all winter.

Love,

Randall

 

[Paka]

Chapter XI
The Githyanki Diplomacy

For we are come now to the edge of doom. Here those who wish may await the oncoming of the hour till either the ways of the world lie open again, or we summon them to the last need..."

- J.R.R. Tolkien, Fellowship of the Ring


The Lands are ruled by Dragons.


In the Silver...

Dwarves mine and Elves scheme.


In the Gold...

Senators adjust to their political existence when their Emperor is awake from his centuries long slumber.

Legions are ferried from one front to another as Dragons and armies grrow restless and bold.

A young girl buries freshly blooded magical swords in the ground and makes her way towards stormy mountains.


In the Green...

The Jade Forest is hectic with activity. Owls can be seen almost every night, flying between Deeproot, Ladymist and Ulula.

A mighty host sleeps at the feet of the Lady, waiting to meet the Golden Legions.

Trolls and Orcs stand by their bridges, awaiting another attack from the Chutu Ilka, Golden Doom.

And the Green Heralds are scattered.

The Green Lady has asked the Heralds to go south, deep into the Jade Forest's oldest wood. There is a hidden fortress there, where the Horned Lady met with dignitaries from the Eastern Lands. She has asked those that remain to use the maps in her libraries and find the Turpan Keep and make sure that it is safe, should she need to make use of it in the future.

But will the Green Heralds go or will they follow their hearts and track down Squire Jasmine who they lost when they were captured by the Gold?


In the Red...

A Red Dragon sits a Halfling on his knee, "Did you know that there is a place where the bodies of Dead Gods float? Tis true, my Little Skald, true as murder.

Cities are built on the backs of Dead Gods. What a sight that must be. To see a city built on the corpse such a creature.

One who saw that would have even a Dragon's envy.

This graveyard plane breeds the most brutal warriors ever known. These warrios are ruled by a merciless Empress who was crowned by a cabal of Red Dragons and ever since then, she has always paid my Color their proper respect.

Any of the Red can send an emissary to her and be allotted a Legion of her finest soldiers, who will serve for a year and a day.

My hordes are strong but, as you might well imagine, we are lacking in strong political minds. I am asking you to go forth and act as consultant to my delegation.

You will go the the Dead God's Plane and demand the Empress grant me and my clutch their Legions.

When you have delivered this Legion to me we will discuss the terms of your dismissal.

Think on it, little one. Your stories are excellent and you tell the tale of How Pug Stole Fire as well as anyone I have ever heard but how long can it last? How long till you die in some foolish escape attempt are knifed in an alley or in an ogre's cooking pot or worse? How long?

Think on it. I expect your answer in the morning."


Tu'Narath

Tu’Narath is not a city that you will find in poems or stories. It is in a good spot for trading, easily as central as Sigil, City of Doors but it doesn’t boast the latter’s metropolitan extra-planar prismatic citizenry. It is a city of eternal twilight but it is not the resplendent Arcadian twilight with fireflies dancing in a youthful forever; it is a grey overcast twlilight of not a sun but the weak memory of a sun. It is a memorable place, built on the bones of a Dead God but when travelers boast of memorable places they almost always smirk while talking about the City of Brass, far too humid for my taste.

Tu’Narath has one thing that no other city can boast and I don’t mean a palace blotting out the face of a deceased God nor the fact that it floats easily through the Graveyard Behind the Sky, the Place Where Ideas Die, the Astral Plane. Tu’Narath, capitol city of the Githyanki, Red Throne of Vlakkith, Lich-Queen, resplendent in her purple and gold has ten thousand years of hatred; it coats everything like soot from an oily fire.

Philosophers say that races specialize in order to survive. Elves have their haughtiness and their supposed balance with nature. Dwarves have their stalwart stubborn stone-like endurance. Humans are just pretty good at everything. Gnomes…to be true I don’t know what it is that Gnomes have but they keep around, don’t they? Hobbits have the small town peace of the Shire, mixed with a guilty love of adventure.

Even Drow, Dark Elves-if you will, have a certain amount of pride. At least the Drow walked away from it all, decided to go their own route and say what you want about a culture built on Demonwebs and Slavery, you rather have to respect that kind of moxy.

But the Githyanki have hatred, hatred and their Queen.

A row of gray trees lines Sternum Row, the wide avenue that leads up to the Liche-Queen’s Palace. These trees are from the many planes. The King Planar Theory says that there are infinite planes of existence, like the peeling of an onion, one reflecting or refracting the last; supplying infinite variety. The Liche-Queen’s soldiers have spilled blood in nearly all of them. That is one bloody onion, a busy people.

Heart’s Keep is located right where you’d think it would be, with the branches from a house-sized weeping willow the color of ash on Sternum Row tickling its curved walls.

Wings of three or five Red Dragons fly overhead, honoring returning soldiers, victorious over their hated enemies, the Githzarai or the cursed Illithid.

Why the hatred? Every Githyanki child knows. No child ever has to be asked why they hate as they are raised in their battalions, never knowing nor caring who their mother or father is. It is in the air, put there, perhaps the Liche-Queen breathes it out, or perhaps it is the last angry breath of the Dead God, filtering down past the sad trees through the streets.

Old soldiers, unable to fight from war wounds sweep the streets. Those with the skill see to the children, oversee the Young Battalions, so that they will know their place in the great bloody onion.

Tian is a fine old Githyanki, telling the children a nighttime story:

The children should really go to sleep. Swordsmasters will be coming in the morning. This battalion is celebrating its thirteenth birthday and they are finally allowed to practice with swords, no more staffs. Tomorrow they will handle live steel, blunted but metal none-the less. Making it easier to imagine that one is handling a fabled silver sword.

They are too excited, “Tian, old Tian, tell us a story. A good one,” their babble continues as each says what a good one might be. A little girl with a shaved head and yellow teeth wants something about the Liche-Queen’s ascension at the hand of Ephelemon, Red Dragon Consort of Tiamat. A little boy with a green eye and a black eye below a white head of hair begs for a story about the Mighty Gith, savior of the Githyanki people. A chubby boy, all elbows and knees, impossibly terrible with a sword asks for a story concerning the destruction of the Ethereal Cathedral of the Githzarai.

Tian puts his hand up and the begging ceases. He might be a kind old man but he is also a warrior, veteran of countless campaigns and his patience travels only so far, “Gith was a child, the same age as you when he first picked up a Silver Sword,” it is a wise choice of stories, tomorrow being their Swordsday. The entire battalions falls into rapture, breathing from their mouths, dreaming awake, “He was the finest general of the Illithid armies and he went far and wide to scout a place for his Masters to conquer and destroy. Countless are the suns that went out under the terrible command of Gith.

We all know that he rose up and destroyed those who would hold his people down, the vile Illithid. We know that for every sun extinguished, for every civilization destroyed, he made the Illithid pay in blood and agony despite the betrayal of his brother-in-arms, Zarai.

What made him do so, though? What makes a fine general rise up and overthrow those he was bred to serve?

The last mission the Mind Flayers sent him on he was to take a fine civilization with a sun, ripe like a hanla melon. Gith went to the court of the Wizard-Emperor who ruled this place, a stern ruler named Vecna. Vecna met Gith with his own finest general, a warrior named Kaz. In Vecna’s gardens the three of them had tea.

Vecna was the greatest warlock his people had ever seen and Kaz was the finest swordsman of his generation but Gith stood proud among them.

Gith explained that his armies were unbeatable and that despite Kaz’s prowess, and Vecna’s wizardly might, their sun would be turned to a sickly blue and their swords would be broken.

Vecna turned his back on the great Gith and left the generals alone in the garden. They sipped their tea and knew that before the next moon they would meet in battle. There was a silent comradery, two old soldiers doing their master’s cruel bloody chores.
“I have heard your master is a grand wizard and that no secret is beyond his reach,” Gith remarked, sipping his tea.

“I have heard your masters are wielders of an obscure mind magic that can destroy one’s thoughts,” and they sat in the silence of these obvious statements.

“Who would win, if they met in battle?” asked Gith, looking at how the full-bodied sun of these lands played on the clouds, “This is a sunset, no?”

Vecna nodded, “A beautiful sunset, yes. If they were to meet in battle it would be a terrible thing. They would leave the battle weakened and distraught, would be open to all manner of deaths.”

Gith grunted his agreement, “All manner of deaths. I have never seen a sun so fine as yours. If we were to take over this place that is the first thing my masters would do. They would use their, what did you call them?”

“Obscure mind magics.”

“Yes, their obscure mind magics, called Psionics, if you care to know the names of things, to make your sun sickly and blue, like a bruise. Your plants would lean towards its dead light but it would be no good and soon, they would wither and die. These lands would only be good to Illithid after that.”

“A shame,” Kas said.

“A shame,” Gith agreed.

A week later the armies of Vecna, led by Kas and the armies of the Illithid Empire led by Gith met on the battlefield. Whereas their masters demanded quick victories the battles were one stalemate after another. Finally, after months of fighting, the Illithid Psions and Vecna met in battle.

Vecna left the battle hurt and frustrated and when he met with General Kas to discuss the coming battles, Kas raised his sword and took out Vecna’s eye and lopped off his hand in a fast thrust and chop. So it was that tea with Gith changed Kas.

The Illithid, the finiest Psions in all of the Illithid ranks were weakned from the meeting and afterwards Gith and Zarai dispatched them. When Gith rallied the troops to go out and destroy the remaining Illithid, it was Zarai who took his monks and retreated to the Ethereal plane, “If we exterminate the Mind Flayers we will be no better than they are.”

And this is why the Githyanki and the Githzarai fight and this is why Illithid still live, enslave and sup on the brains of the innocent to this day, Zarai’s cowardice.

Go to sleep, battalion, tomorrow you will handle live steel. May the Liche-Queen’s emerald eyes watch over you in your sleep.”

The light outside was dim as always in Tu’Narath, the eternal grey light sifting through the windows and with blood, battle and hatred dancing in their dreams, the battalion slept.

 

[Paka]

Chapter XII
Our Funeral Ritual

We have no temples, no holidays, only a handful of rites and rituals that I know of. Funerals happen to be one of them. Usually we get caught in an improper form and are murdered as was the case with this one.

Word is that the family had to pay a heavy ransom to the orc tribe that ended up with the body. He was caught in the form of an orc chieftan. The chief's wife caught him. Odd, loves rarely catch us.

Loves usually project their expectations so loudly that they are easy to hear, easy to use. Even making love can be easy because lovers project their thoughts like screaming babies. Yet another sign that love makes one's mind weak.

I have never been in love. But once I had to assume the form of a forty year old dwarven boy. It become obvious that this boy, was in love with an engraver across the street. I asked an elder who I could have known of this love even with no long term contact with the boy or no journal to work from.

The elder told me that we, like water, tend to fill the containers we are put in. The love was me filling the container, finding the truth in that form. It is clearly possible that the boy, before me, didn't know that he was in love with this engraver with her long bronze hair and square face.

Rumors have spread throughout the funeral concerning the death, the battle, the killers the final forms the dead assumed: sailor on a Silver City smuggling barge, dolphin, shark, dog, orc chieftan of the Goldoathed tribe, finally, killed as a pixie.

Those who have bothered to show up are wearing the wearing the clothes of their last form. Those of us in between long term forms are wearing bulky cotton robes. They would be itchy if we were prone to such things.

Three children run by playing tag shifting from one form into another. One of the children assumes the form of a large cat in order to pin the other child down and growls, "You're IT."

The cat's parents chastise him, not only for shifting at such a somber occasion but for making a cat talk, "Cats only rarely talk. Mistakes like that get us killed, child."

"If it were a familiar or a hellcat or was awakened by a druid it might talk. It might."

The parent grabs the precocious child, still in cat form, and sneers, "Hellcats don't talk."

The cat sighs.

It is not that we just look alike to other races. Truth is when we are all our true forms (whatever that means) we all look alike. Moving on from one form to another erodes any sense of importance the physical world might have.

The priest would deliver the speech if we had such things. As it is a parent drones, "We shall call our fellow Doppleganger by name for the third time, sending his soul to the next form. Whatever form that is, we know that he is ready to play his role, to find his place and become what needs becoming."

"Amen."

In unison we say his birth name for the third and final time. Once at birth, once at adulthood and now a final time. There are a possible five name-sayings but this one only reached three.

There's no shame in that.

While being johan, a sailor on a Silver City barge, contact was made with the green heralds. Apparently they were heading into Sun's port. Our Gold Father would not have liked this, not at all.

Undesirable contact was made. johan's form was discarded.

Enter the dolphin.

The green heralds made their way to shore on a small rowboat.

Enter the shark.

They made it to shore by use of a weak Elemental. Among them was a wizard of no mean skill.

It was obvious the green heralds were making their way to shore.

Enter the dog.

Along the shore was an orcish tribe. The chief was done away with while he urinated in some bushes.

Enter the orc chieftan.

The Green heralds made their way to the orcish tribe along the shore, unable to avoid being seen.

They travelled with the orc chieftan and his first wife.

Our Gold Father has a deep hatred for these green heralds and this failure has not gone unnoticed. Reports were made as often as can be expected.

It is unclear what finally happened. We only know that was a pixie when he died. Pixies are popular escape skins.

Humans write rest in peace on some of their grave markers. I always thought that was an odd thought, to be wished such a thing. Peaceful times are not happy times for me.

I saw this one, this one who died, once assume the form of a five year old human child, a notoriously difficult age and race. The form was a little girl with hair to the side, pigtails, they say. This pigtailed girl played with other children in the market for hours and was as carefree as was proper. She then politely told them she had to return to her parent's home and made her leave. This is my only memory of johan the sailor, the shark, the dolphin, the dog, the orc chieftan.

I bet if you skimmed the mind of any of those, even the meanest animal form he took you would have found shark thoughts in the shark skull dog thoughts in the dog. I hope this thought is a correct and proper one to have at one of our funerals.

The broken body is divided up, given to heads of the families to be disposed of and once that ritual is done we leave, returning to the lives that we inhabit.

 

[Paka]

Chapter XIII
The Final Missive

Lady M'Randa Green

Guardian-Mother of the Honorable Green Heralds

First Knight of the Green Order

Champion of Highbridge,

Under the order of the High Cleric of Ulula and the Paladin-General I have been brought back from the grave, please do not be alarmed to receive a missive from a dead man.

I do not understand why the Green Lady has made an alliance with the Drow. Perhaps it is not my place to attempt to understand my betters.

Understanding aside, a trial by combat was had and within the most Holy Cathedral of Ulula you were found to be the just victor. By my reckoning this puts our matter at an end. It is decided; the Owl has seen a use for this Dark Elf killer that I cannot fathom. The night is mysterious.

The Golden Empire is no friend to me. We share an enemy and a dream, to see the Jade Forest liberated from their rule. Let us be allies, then in our battle. Our battles against each other only make the Golden Emperor stronger.

The next time we are in battle let it be charging the enemy, let it be me laying healing hands upon you, let me never again have to face the fury of your blade. My helm could scarcely stand another blow, already one horn poorer for our first meeting.

Be well and may the Owl guide you in the night.

Your humble servant,

Sir Corass the Slain

 

[Paka]

Chapter ***
A Future that Never Happened



The Green Lady was killed a thousand years ago. The history books disagree about how she died. Some say she was poisoned and others say she was killed by a rifle bullet aimed by the Lord of Deeproot.

Bahamut and Tiamat are asleep and while they slumber the very nature of magic has changed. Akashic Mind Engines tap into the living memory of humanity, Magisters debate philosophy and arcane physics. Priests no longer get spells from the Heavens.

The Five Queens of Tiamat have changed the world while their Gods slept. Their rulership assures that while one of their pentad sleeps, the others stay awake keeping the empire afloat. Railroad criss-cross their empire that stretches from the Copper Mountains to the Jungles of Aronka and beyond. The Praetorian Pentad Guard keeps the peace with their halbred-rifles. Even the Githyanki City-States bend a knee to the imperious Five Queens while still pay homage to their Liche Queen.

The Jade Forest Museum is rife with artifacts from the Ambassadors of the Last Age, whose histories were collected in the University of Deeproot. The 1001 Hand Axes of Thane Trouble, while not all of them have been collected, many are stored therein. The armor of General M'Randa that passed down to her daughters from generation to generation is on display this month. Randal Tisgood's quill is kept under old Elvish crystal, it wrote the contracts, oaths and proclamations that created the modern face of the Queen's Continents.

The Tosscobble fields of the Ladymist College of Arcana is where Magisters learn to cast spells in the field. It is there that young casters learn to take their spells out of the laboratory and into the real world. Many of the best combat casters learn their trade there.

The Old Orc District is a nice place to stroll nowadays, ever since the Goblinoid communities were relocated to the Bridge-towns centuries ago after the Green-Skin Riots. The waterfalls that gave Ladymist her name is used to power the city with hydro-electric power, keeping many of the streets light as daytime all night long.

The train approaches. Your family is sending you off to make your fortune. The best schools, the most metropolitan city in the world is your final destination, over the Troll Bridge into the bustling metropolis of Ladymist.

Lord-Protector Gerat has re-instated the Jade Watch, in order to investigate a baffling string of crimes. The Ever-Vigiliant Order of Ulula, The Highbridge Green Knighthood, and even the Shire Sheriff Department are all sending candidates. A master villain wielding terrible magicks has killed once again. The victim's wounds are vicious claw marks and the Green Watch found stone shards in his shop.

The game is afoot.

 

[Paka]

This game started because I got back into Ithaca and wanted to run a one-shot. It was a few months before Fellowship came out and so I ran a game with two Halflings finding a dragon egg, hatching it and re-awakening a kingdom in the process. Now that the Rings movies are over, I reckon it is time to put this baby to bed.

The former chapter, the last, was a proposed game that never happened. Like many games you probably know, this game lost its inertia and never got it back. Players moved away, moved on or moved over.

They were at the end of the game, more or less. The Gold Dragon, hemmed in by an invading army of Githyanki was in his lair and the Githyanki general's wedding gift to M'Randa was an open path to go and slay him. But the adventure never happened.

The posts here are a grave marker for a world I created and a group I enjoyed thoroughly, whose actions, reactions and imaginations helped make this dragon-ruled homebrew greater than its component parts. I wanted the readers who supported this Story Hour so faithfully to have some kind of closure and this was the closest I could come to doing so. I also thought it would be interesting to end a Story Hour that, at the table, never really ended.

I'd like to think that M'Randa Green continued to be a noble knight, that she killed the vile Gold Dragon whose soldiers butchered her children. She was a noble character, strong and tender and very much alive. She was also Elaine's very first role playing experience and I was honored to DM her first games.

Thane Trumble was a troublemaker and Jevon ran him as if he was his own, despite the fact that he was a pre-made PC for a one shot. I think, of all the PC's, Thane had the hardest time. He had been in the service to the Green Lady since her hatching. He heard her first words and was there at her murder, when she was poisoned at Lady M'randa's wedding to Grat.

Thane ended up faking his own death, pulling strings and friend's spells to make it appear that he died so that the Shire wouldn't suffer for his actions. He lost his familiar, a fine dog named Kettle.

I'll miss Thane.

Randall Tisgood was an amazing diplomat and Mario played him with panache. He dealt with the Liche Queen's eunuchs like a pro and talked himself out of more situations than I care to remember. I hope Randall bought that little theatre in Ladymist he had his eye on, the one behind the waterfall.

Mario also ran a session or three, mostly in Ulula and he created an entire law system and judicial society for that Paladin city. It was a fun adventure and it was neat to see him take my homebrew world for a spin.

Mateo played Avery, a Sorcerer from the Shire who always seemed wide-eyed and innocent, even when he wasn't. Avery was just coming into his own when the game ended, getting into the double digit levels where casters start to shine.

Alex played a Paladin of Deeproot, a God of Learning and Chronicling. He came into a tight game late and played a neat character who never made it to a Story Hour entry. After a game or two it was like Alex had been there all along. Thanks, Alex, hope ya had fun.

Josh played Sherrif Dustin but had to leave for San Fran in the beginning of the game. Dustin retired to the shire, dealing out the law as best he could, keeping his eye on the home front after having been out in the big ole world and never particularly liking what he had seen.

I should have posted the list of Halfling Saints. There was one, Saint Frederick, I believe, the saint of Pie and Prophecy. He was the most often prayed to in this party. Some games Jevon would even bring a pie so they could really do a prophetic pie cutting (dont ask).

Thanks for playing, lady and gentlemen. I blame myself a bit for the game going to the wayside but as my father would say, "such is life."

And gamers, thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed the tales. Rather than telling the games and how they happened, I told the stories around the games and left you to figure it out. Thanks for reading something a little different and sorry about the long writing droughts.

This Story Hour is over. Despite the story not all being told and many threads left dangling in the wind it is over. There's nothing left to be but write the words:

The End

 

[robberbaron]

Excellent and very interesting.
Thanks very much for sharing.

 

[Paka]

Excellent and very interesting.
Thanks very much for sharing.

Thanks for reading. Sorry I didn't respond earlier. For some reason I just didn't notice your response.