# Dark Sun: Praetor



## Iron Sky (Jul 25, 2011)

*Preface to the Journal of Praetor of Kar Jerrek*

It occurred to me that those who look back upon the rise of Kar Jerrek  would benefit from a record of how exactly he rose and came to power.   This is my private journal, from which such a record would be inspired but not directly produced,  since the intimate and forthright details contained herein may not be suitable for proper public revelation.

If you are not authorized to read this journal or have come into  possession by any other means than by the direct authority of Praetor  Kar Jerrek, deliver it to him by the most expeditious means available.  There are rewards for being a friend and those who become enemies of Kar Jerrek are not his enemies for long...


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## Iron Sky (Jul 25, 2011)

*1st of Sorrow, Season of the High Sun, Year of Priests' Defiance, 190th King's Age*
_Jerrek Family Estate, Market Precinct, __Balic_

The Praetorial election results have come in and they've locked the  bailiffs away to tally the votes. They'll announce them at dawn. Here's  hoping our hard work pays off and I beat the worthless incumbent Livius Marnus.


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## Iron Sky (Jul 25, 2011)

*2nd of Sorrow*
_Dephnical Family Estate, Villa Precinct, __Balic

_  I lost the election to the Praetorship. This is obvious evidence of the  corruption of the system and, simultaneously, my inability to properly  leverage it. Lord Dephnical spent a small fortune on the appropriate  bribes, feasts, public appearances, private discussions, meetings with  Praetors and election officials, and more. Losing the Praetorship  relieves me of any means of repaying him. I despise being beholden to  anyone, especially someone who knows how to leverage debts as well as he  does.

 In the discussion we just finished, Dephnical suggested I meet an acquaintance of his that has helped him resolve certain issues in the past. We may be able to utilize this man.

_  Something_ needs to be done.


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## Iron Sky (Jul 25, 2011)

*7th of Sorrow*
_Jerrek Family Estate, Merchant Precinct, __Balic_

I received the included note from my new friend Mortuus.

_Dear Sir;

I would first like to congratulate you on your new appointment as Praetor, I hope that you will have years of prosperity and rewarding work ahead of you as well as many terms in office. A sad day indeed, that the election did not go your way, but we are able to rejoice in the knowledge you were there for us to fill the role when your rival met with misfortune in the market.

Upon the referral of Lord Dephnical, I am inquiring if you would be interested in retaining my services? As a minstrel in your employ, you will find a new level of prestige to help elevate you in your new social standings here in Balic.  Providing you with more than simple entertainment I can help insure your term runs well for you as well as preventing any issues with your eventual re-election. You should find me very capable and my services most agreeable to you and your new status. If you seek any further information I can supply a Writ of Character from Lord Dephnical as well as other Patricians and various Houses of stature here in Balic.

I look forward to your response and to what will hopefully be a long and most beneficial arrangement.

Kind Regards
Mortuus Animus_

To which I replied:
 [FONT=Times New Roman, serif]_
My Dear Mortuus,

I took upon it myself as my first task as Praetor to see that the owner of a certain fruit stall where a certain Praetor choked on a certain sand plum be sent to the arena at once.

While my reelection stands nearly a decade in the future, I find myself quite fond of your special brand of talent - musical, of course. Lord Dephnical has already spoken to me in person and said that you played so beautifully at his daughter's wedding that he nearly cried. Tragic about the groom drinking too much and falling out of that window on the way to the consummation, especially with such a substantial dowry on the line...

While I and all the peers of Balic regret defenestration of such an upstanding young man and I traveled to Lord Dephnical's house personally to do what I could to console his widow, I doubt a young woman of her appearance and family stature should be lacking for a qualified suitor in the near future. Once the proper mourning observances have been upheld to satisfaction, of course.

In any case, we should meet soon. My father is holding a banquet in honor of my Praetorship and I would welcome your company, perhaps to help me compose a toast to my father's seemingly-perpetual good health.

Until that day,

Praetor Kar Jerrek _[/FONT]


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## Iron Sky (Jul 25, 2011)

*13th of Sorrow*
_The Crafty Crodlu Broy House, Merchant Precinct, Balic_

Feasts, political meetings, religious ceremonies, banquets, speeches, quiet conversations with Dephnical, meetings with Darus on what to expect as Praetor, a hundred other engagements large and small - sleep is the luxury of the lazy and the idle. They say ambition has its price, and perhaps this is it - by the time I get home it will almost be time to get up again.

Tomorrow I go to meet Dictator Andropinis himself. I've spent the whole day with my brother going over the rules and rituals of the occasion and I just want to get it over with. I grow impatient with all these little social stepping stones that I must meticulously follow, playing the part of good, loyal, honest and respectable Praetor Jerrek. And while I play out this charade, others are free to work, building up their power bases while mine sit empty; bare foundations with only dreams yet erected upon them.

How interesting that at tonight's feast my father was "so proud" of me and even gave that elaborate speech. You never would have known that he tried to stymie me at every turn my whole life up until now. _

"Don't join the Legions, we need you to be the foreman at the new Arvos Ludus we're building." "Don't associate with Lord Dephnical, he's not an honest man." "Don't run for Praetor, you'll never be elected." _

The Legions were the only way I could get out of my father and Parlin's shadows and make something of my own. If I hadn't met Dephnical, I might have never gotten out of the Legions. If I hadn't run for Praetor, I would have never gotten out from under Dephnical's thumb. The only thing you've ever done for me old man is to give me a merchant house and a noble name to inherit once you and Parlin are out of the way.

Anyway, my father prattled on about _"all that he had done for me"_, _"family loyalty"_, and all that nonsense while my brother got drunk with his cronies, then made a spectacle of himself as he left just to spite me. And I had to sit there with a smile on my face, mouthing nepotistic platitudes and social niceties, gritting my teeth the whole time.

At least I got a chance to go meet with some of the boys from the Legion afterwards. With them, at least, I don't have to fake enjoying myself. Darus was there too since he's not allowed at the family estate. My old Legion-mates got a kick out of my introduction: "_this is Darus, my bastard brother, not to be confused with Parlin, my brother, the bastard._"

Little Kara stopped by with her gang of fellow tomboys. I'm sure she isn't allowed out of the house, but that's never stopped her in the past and it sure didn't tonight. Father has his work cut out for him trying to get her to marry now that she's turned of age. He'd have better luck finding a bride for Darus.

Speaking of Darus, never try to out-drink a Mul. I'm surprised I can still write.


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## Iron Sky (Jul 26, 2011)

*14th of Sorrow*
_Praetorian Dormitory, The Praetorium, Balic_

Darus showed me around the Praetorium this morning. I barely remember it. I saw my dormitory. Not exactly on the scale of my rooms in the family estate, but it's better than a Legionary tent. The rest of the Praetorium; large stone buildings, gardens, mul and half-giant bodyguards and Legionnaires everywhere... I'll spend plenty of time there, didn't seem much need to focus on it more, especially not today.

I met with Andropinis and all I remember is the sheer power that radiated from him. It wasn't just charisma and presence - I've met plenty of powerful men with those qualities - but a sense of the actual arcane power he wields; a spark of which it is said I now carry within me. He looked into my eyes as I said the words of the ritual, then he touched my head for a brief moment before moving on. And everything changed.

I can feel it now, like a vibration, like part of him remained with me when he left. The whole world looks different somehow, like everything is less substantial, less real than the power that thrums somewhere deep inside. My gift from Andropinis.

I don't even remember being led back to my dormitory nor do I know how long I've knelt here before I regained enough of myself to write. Minutes, hours, days?

It's irrelevant, I have this power for a reason. 

My whole life I have been given sand and forged glass. Now I have been given a taste of real power and with it I will forge an empire that Athas will never forget.


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## Iron Sky (Jul 29, 2011)

*Game Notes*:

If it wasn't obvious already, we're playing an evil party(pre-4e equivalent: Lawful Evil). If anyone joins our campaign with a character more towards the good end of the spectrum than "unaligned" they would probably have issues with our goals and methodology.

The choice was somewhat inspired by our Rogue Trader game, where there really is no such thing as "good" in the frickin' _universe_ and for us profit was the one and only motivator. Everything was bent towards increasing the group's wealth and power.  Sure, we might end up helping others out along the way, but only those who could be useful to us in the future. 

The key to a harmonious game was _the group's _profit, not any individual player/character's at the expense of another. A less lawful/group-focused game would be a much different sort of beast which could be fun in its own right, you'd just have to have players mature enough to keep meta-knowledge out of the game and not take in-game conflicts into RL.

Here is this same philosophy in a fantasy world. That doesn't mean there might not be moments of nobility, sacrifice, good deeds - just that each likely has an ulterior motive.

A couple house-rules/conventions for this game (it's 4e - don't hold it against us ):
*Divine Power Source is allowed, but you have to come up with a good justification (such as being Praetors of a Sorcerer King).
*Dark Sun and General Backgrounds are allowed, Dark Sun Themes are allowed.
*There are no skill restrictions by class, though each player receives the normal number of skills for their race/class.
*Weapon breakage rules are in effect with their severity increased: your weapon _always_ breaks on a 1, but when it does you can either try to salvage it (save and it's ok) OR reroll your attack and have it break automatically. If it breaks, you can make another save for it at the end of the encounter to salvage it.
*For arcane characters, defiling works similarly: you _always_ defile on a 1 with a daily, you can make a save to try not to defile OR use the reroll.
*We're using inherent magic item bonuses.
*Sanzuo(our DM) is using the random treasure tables from the Rules Compendium. However, he had a _brilliant_ idea for when magic items are rolled - give _consumable(s)_ worth what a magic item rolled would normally be worth. For example, if he rolled a level 5 magic item(1000gp), he would instead give consumables worth a total of 1000gp - such as a single paragon-level potion. Thus, there are still magic items, they are powerful and relatively rare, and they are spent when you use them.
*XP is only quest xp. Each player receives a minion's worth of xp for minor achievements (trivially easy battles, interesting minor scenes, etc) and a standard monster's worth of xp for major achievements (hard battles, important goals reached, major events, etc).  Thus, anything that advances the game, be it combat, roleplay, puzzle solving, scheming, etc is all rewarded roughly equally.

*PC*: race _theme_ class (build)
*Kar Jerrek*: Human _Templar_ Blackguard (Domination)
*Darus Sandstone*: Mul _Templar_ Runepriest (Wrathful)
*Mortuus Animus*: Bogtangle Human _Athesian Minstrel_ Executioner (League of Whispers)
*Hakar*: Human _Gladiator_ Fighter (Tempest)*

*"Drop-in" - unlikely to play again


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## Iron Sky (Aug 7, 2011)

*Haraxes' Dormitory, Praetorium, Balic*

Darian Haraxes tossed sand onto the parchment then tilted the page and blew lightly to clear it away.

"One thing we'll never run out of, sand," Haraxes said, handing the scroll an attendant to roll and seal it. "See that this gets to the Praetor Emantius immediately."

The attendant nodded and carefully took the scroll to the next room, pausing at the door as another slave arrived.

"There's a Praetor Jerrek here to see you, Praetor," the attendant said. "Shall I let him in?"

"Yes, give me a few moments then lead him in."

He leaned back in his chair and picked up the iron sphere from his desk. Its weight helped him think - a symbol of his ever-rising power and wealth, yet also the weight of his responsibilities.

When Praetor Jerrek entered, Darian was standing at the balcony overlooking the dust and bustle of Balic, distant cries and aromas - fair and foul - from the markets drifting on the hot winds from the Forked Estuary, the faint grit of the ever-present silt lending its own gritty texture to the air.

He let the young Praetor wait for a minute as he thought, then finally turned.

The new Praetor was a handsome young man, his long black bangs stirring in the desert wind blowing in from the balcony, alternately hiding and revealing dark, intent eyes. A faint smile played about Jerrek's lips as if something amusing was about to happen, his skin was the light tan of the aristocracy with just a hint of weathering from his years in the Legions. He wore heavy armor of black chitin, held together with straps of thick leather. Here and there about him, black and red silk stirred faintly and brushed against the bone hilt of the slender sword at his side.

"Congratulations," Haraxes said. "You came through the ceremony I see."

"Glory be to Dictator Andropinis," Jerrek said without missing a beat. "I'll admit the rush of contact with him was significant and nearly debilitating, but I have mastered it and am ready to do his will."

_Just the right amount of piety, a touch of revealing honesty and shared experience, mixed with obedience and a taste of eagerness without being needy, _Haraxes thought, nodding slightly to himself. _This one is no empty political tool, he might actually be useful._

"I have a task," he said, gesturing towards the stool that he'd had a slave bring in before Jerrek arrived. As Jerrek sat - somehow seeming relaxed and attentive at the same time - Haraxes took his own seat and leaned back, one hand resting lightly on the iron sphere.

"There is a Lord Ermak that has an estate at the edges of the Verdant Belt. His loyalties are... questionable and we'd like you to bring him in."

Jerrek nodded. "I understand. And if there is resistance?"

"That is where the unit of Legionnaires you'll be leading come in. Raze his estate to the ground after you have secured him. If he is a source of sedition, it is important that the presence of Andropinis be felt."

"I see. I'm assuming the men are ready to go?"

"Yes. This needed to be done so they are already ordered to assemble at dawn tomorrow. Take whoever else you think might be necessary." He paused. "Also, Keep in mind, this is not an order."

"No." Jerrek smiled. "It's an opportunity."


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## Iron Sky (Aug 7, 2011)

*Ermak Estate, Verdant Belt, Balic Territory*

Aray climbed to the top of the gate and felt a stab a fear pierce her gut. Armored figures approached through dust and broken earth, rippling like a mirage or psychic's illusion in the baking heat of the sun.

It was no mirage.

She turned to the people Ermak had left in her care, trying to stay calm.

"Legionnaires from Balic approach," she said, raising her hands to calm the sudden cry and tumult from below. "Yes, we have been afraid of this, but know that our work will go on, even if we die here today. Some of you are to be runners and spread the word of what happened hear and be sure our work lives on - you know who you are - the rest get your weapons and return here. They will be here soon."

She turned and watched the figures become more substantial, like a nightmare slowly materializing from the realm of dreams. A few deep breaths steadied her shaking slightly, but did little to blunt the jagged dagger of fear lodged in her gut.

It seemed like only a few seconds that they were at the gate, the Legionnaires halting in formation, desert cloaks masking their faces and features, hiding all traces of humanity but hard, dark eyes. They could be armored demons for all Aray knew and, for all intents and purposes, they may have been.

At the lead of the unit a mul with a wicked long-axe and a giant stone axe strapped to his back stood beside a young man with black hair who wore heavy carapace armor, a sword strapped at his side and a giant gleaming tortoise-shell shield on his back. Praetors. Behind them stood a nondescript man in cowled desert clothing carrying what looked like a flute of all things. Aray had no time to consider the oddity.

"What are you seeking so far from Balic?" she called out.

In another situation, Aray might have found the young Praetor that stepped forward handsome. He spread his hands in supplication, the traces of a faint smile on his lips. "We just need to have a word with the master of the estate."

"He's not here."

He frowned and furrowed his brows as though deep in thought for several seconds. "I'd like to be able to take your word for it, but my superiors in Balic wouldn't be happy if I didn't at least take a look around. If he's not here, we'll be through and on our way quickly."

She thought quickly, fear and adrenaline fogging her mind. She couldn't think of a justifiable way to deny him entry._

Maybe he will do as he says, just search and leave?_ she thought, realizing as she did that it was just her mind scrambling for some faint hope. _No, we can't take that chance. If they get inside, we'll have no chance against a full platoon. We have to hit them now, to give our runners more time if nothing else._

"Open the gates," she said, turning to glance in the courtyard. Even if they pulled off a perfect ambush, the poorly armed collection of servants and freed slaves inside the estate's crumbling stone walls had little chance, but they'd have to take it - their cause was too important.

Kneeling so the wall would hide her from the view of the Legionnaires, she spoke in a loud whisper to those below. "Get ready, attack them once the first few are inside, maybe we can kill the Templars at least."

The Praetors walked through the gate almost casually, weapons still sheathed, and for a moment she thought they might have a chance. Then there was a cry from the rear of the estate and four lanky warriors wearing bright-feathered cloaks and carrying heavy battle axes ran into the courtyard, throwing the heads of Aray's runners into the dust.

With series of war chants, the Legionnaires charged through the gates, the Praetors' weapons flaring with the corrupted magics of their Sorcerer-King.

***

Praetor Darus Sandstone stood in the courtyard of the estate and watched the flames dance, a skein of thick smoke swirling up in front of the simmering red sun.

A dusty, blood-spattered Legionnaire stopped beside him and saluted. "Praetor, there was no sign of Lord Ermak. We searched the whole place before it burned."

"Any survivors?"

"Yes, there were a few."

"Any useful information?"

"Nothing substantial."

"There were no survivors."

The Legionnaire saluted and departed.

Jerrek joined Darus, wiping the blood from his sword torn bit of cloth. "No sign of Ermak?"

"No," Darus said.

"Unfortunate. Let's leave the flankers behind in case he returns. Nothing more we can do here."

Darus nodded and whistled, then called out a short war chant. A few minutes later, they were on the march back towards Balic, leaving the bodies of the fallen to bloat in the sun beside the broken and burning shell of the estate.


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## Iron Sky (Aug 8, 2011)

*17th of Sorrow
*_Unknown Estate, Verdant Belt, Balic Territory

_An interesting few days.

Ermak's estate is a corpse-strewn ruin, but the man himself was long gone by the time we arrived. The traders at the outpost we departed from in the middle of the night said Ermak's estate was poor - which I can verify from the paucity of loot the Legionnaires sized from it - and the man reclusive. Better a reclusive, impoverished subversive than a popular, wealthy one I say.

Still, the thought of reporting our relative failure to Haraxes leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

An ex-gladiator from Tyr accompanies us out on our current hunt. His sword arm - or should I say sickle arm since he fights with twin razor-sharp bone sickles - has already proved itself useful, but the information he brought from Tyr is even more so.

Apparently, Sorcerer-King Kalak is dead, killed by a lowly gladiator with a wooden spear. This is not information that should be widely disseminated, but I don't see how Andropinis can stop it.

The Sorcerer-Kings are not immortal. I find this news disturbing and... interesting at the same time.

Back to our current hunt. In the middle of the night, a House Tomblador caravan guard by the name of Eanus rode up on a crodlu, nearly collapsing from exhaustion, bringing word of a small caravan attacked by raiders not far from the outpost.

We left in haste - without the rest of the Legionnaires as they are due back in Balic tomorrow - only to find the caravan site swarming with kestrekel. Realizing the scavengers were in great enough numbers that they might reach the threshold for a psychic swarm if we didn't act quickly, we attacked at once.

Darus and I fought back-to-back as we have before in the alleyway brawls and Legionary skirmishes of a misspent youth, with Mortuus nearby, using that strange blowgun of his to potent effect. Hakar, the gladiator, charged off like it was some arena exhibition, wading into the things with flourishes and roars that would have gotten a crowd on their feet - if there were enough people to fill a hut within an hours travel in any direction.

The remaining kestrekel switched from attack to dispersal in an instant, the latent psychic power that makes them so dangerous in large numbers somehow binding their tiny brains together in united egress.

There was one survivor, a wounded guard named Timious, hiding under an overturned wagon. Once Darus patched him up and we got him to stop attacking "Eanus the Coward", he directed us in the direction the raiders had departed.

Eanus elected to disprove Timious' appellation by scouting for us as Timious limped back towards the outpost.

After a few hours of tracking, we found some slaves working in a field by a remote estate, the promise of double rations for information that would lead us to the bandits finally loosening a slave boy's tongue.

One of the guards watching the slaves had the temerity to ask who was paying for the double rations. I informed him that he now was and to lodge any complaints with Dictator Andropinis.

By the glare he gave that young slave that stepped forward and told us where the raiders had gone, the guard is going to leave Andropinis out of it and take his complaint up with the slave.

No time to deal with that now - the boy's information must have been correct; Eanus just motioned that he found the raiders tracks leading off to the east.

Right into the teeth of that incoming siltstorm.

Perfect.


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## Iron Sky (Aug 12, 2011)

*Edge of the Verdant Belt, Balic Territory
*
Varkan motioned for the others to drop. Jarsin glared at him, but Varkan just motioned down the dune.

"Brother, I saw movement in the siltstorm," Varkan said.

"How could you see anything in-" Jarsin started to say, but stopped as he heard a loud _snort_ from the base of the dune.

Varkan readied a javelin, squinting into the swirling, stinging silt until a crodlu-mounted form became visible.

_Anyone out here in this is after us_, he thought. _Or stupidly unlucky. Either way, them or us._

He loosed his javelin and the form grunted and doubled over, landing heavily on the broken earth at the base of the dune.

Before the body had even come to rest, several more vague figures appeared, rushing towards the side of the dune with the easiest slope.  The one in the lead - a large man with the mien of a gladiator - ducked and dodged the javelins Varkan and Jarsin threw, roaring as he rushed up the slope towards where Hars and Zurtch were hidden.

Hars leapt from hiding and connected with his spear as the roaring gladiator parried Zurtch's spear with a sweep of bone sickles. The gladiator spun and buried one of the weapons in Hars' shoulder.

Hars wrenched himself free with a gasp just as another figure suddenly materialized, wrapped in swirling shadow, a slender sword flaring with unholy light just before it buried deep in Hars' side.

Vysal - Hars' best friend - roared in response and abandoned his hiding place near Jarsin at the top of the dune and rushed towards the fray.

At that moment, the silt storm intensified, blinding Varkan to what was going on down the sandy slope. He closed his eyes as the hurling grit bit into his skin. When it had abated slightly, there were three foes engaging Hars and Zurch, a huge mul with an long-hafted axe now beside the shadowy figure with the gleaming sword, arcane runes swirling in the air about them.

"Magic!" Varkan shouted, biting back panic. "Kill the mul, kill the swordsman!"

He and Jarsin threw as one, their javelins both striking the mul. The mul staggered, snarled, and wrenched the javelins free.

Their foes retaliated by teaming up on Hars, the gladiator planting one sickle in Hars' leg and another in his arm, leaving Hars open to the one with the glowing sword. The sword didn't seem to penetrate very deeply before Vysal stepped in, allowing Hars to break free and stagger back towards Varkan.

Varken saw Hars' face clearly in spite of the storm, watching in horror as the half-elf raider's veins bulged out in his face and darkened, the whites of his eyes turning inky black as he toppled over.

The swordsman stepped over Hars, the swirling shadows fading to reveal a young man in heavy chitin armor. A slight smile played across his lips as he walked up the hill towards Varkan, tendrils of dark power swirling amidst flares of light along the razor-sharp bone of his sword.

Varkan shuddered as he saw the death in those eyes, readying his javelin and turning to call to Ghrys, only to see the last man of their band charging a fourth of the foes: a slender, cloaked figure that was sneaking up the side of the dune.

The storm intensified again and, when Varkan could see clearly again, the mul was there, drawing a suddenly flaming axe from Ghrys' back, runes tracing themselves into the sand at the mul's feet as Ghrys fell lifeless at the mul's feet.

Varkan threw his javelin towards the mul and Jarsin did the same, turning back in time to see Zurch drive his spear into the leg of the gladiator. The huge man grunted, broke the spear, yanked the tip from his leg, and slammed it into Zurch's neck even as Vysal was slowly driven up the hill, slipping backwards in the sand as the young swordsman pressed him.

A moment later, Vysal too lay in the sands, the young man with the glowing sword and the mul blasting Jarsin with arcs of black energy from their hands as they approached. Jarsin staggered and threw his last javelin at the swordsman, embedding it the young man's thick armor while Varkan dropped the gladiator in his tracks with a well-placed javelin just as the man came roaring across the top of the dune.

"Think we can take the last ones, brother?" he said, backing towards Jarsin, ready to make their stand against the approaching mul and swordsman. 

Jarsin fell against his back.

Varkan glanced down to see a small feathered dart sticking out of Jarsin's throat, the skin into which it stuck blackening and swelling grotesquely as he watched.

He roared in anger as his brother died at his feet, drew his long bone knife, and charged, ready to take the sorcerous demons to hell with him.

Seconds later, he lay in the sand looking at his brother's swollen face and staring, empty eyes, his own blood seeping into the thirsty sands...


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## Iron Sky (Aug 12, 2011)

*18th of Sorrow
*_Habardeen Outpost, Verdant Belt, Balic Territory
_
We're heading to Balic shortly and it's going to be busy once we get  back, so this is probably my last time to write for a while. I'll write quickly.

Our hunt was a success. We tracked the raiders that attacked the Tomblador caravan in spite of the siltstorm, though Eanus caught a fatal javelin at the outset of the fight. At least he redeemed his honor.

We all have minor wounds - Hakar took the worst of it, though it was  nothing compared to the gladiatorial scars that cover most of the rest  of his body.  Fortunately Darus's link to Andropinis gives him  remarkable restorative powers. We'll still have scars, but the wounds themselves  are healing remarkably quickly and well.

There was a small fortune in coin on the raiders, as well as supplies and a few exotic goods that they probably stole from the caravan. These, of course, "were lost" for all intents and purposes when we return to Balic and report to Tomblador. I'll consider them donations from the Tombladors to their friendly local Praetor, maybe give them a few items that we recovered to make it less suspicious.

More interesting is the rune-covered jagged copper fragment that was carefully wrapped in cloth and tucked in the raider leader's pouch. While I can't make heads or tails of the designs on it, I can't help but think that it was made for some larger purpose and also that it was some part of what the caravan raid was about. A curiosity and a mystery.

I also acquired my first personal slave. We found the boy that reported to us about the raiders left to die in a gully after a severe beating. The guard said he "fell" and was useless because of it. Darus was able to patch him up, so, free slave. He'll make a useful page and messenger.

I'll have to be careful about when I use Andropinis' gifts which, in my case, seem to be potent combat enchantments that flow through me instinctively when I fight. There's an addicting rush as the power courses through you, your sword so charged with energy that it glows like the sun then fades like a shadow, cutting through hardened chitin plate and shell shield alike like a knife through a sand plum.

My father and I agree in this at least - addictions are like chains you bind around yourself, making yourself a slave. And as we all know, when you are a slave, your master is chosen for you.


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## Iron Sky (Aug 15, 2011)

*18th of Sorrow*
_Praetorian Dormatory, Praetorium, Balic_

Long day.

After marching half the morning back to Balic, I snuck in a quick bath in the Praetorium's private bath house - bigger than the one at my familiy's estate but far more utilitarian - and went to meet with Haraxes. 

He was out, but left another "suggestion" for me with his aide. Technically we're the same rank so he can't give me orders, but he's been a Praetor for far, far longer than me, so his "suggestions" carry a significant amount of weight...

The "suggestion" had to do with a new acting troupe forming in Balic known as the Sand Devas. They are planning on performing a play about the rise of Balic - a subject that must be carefully handled to say the least - and it's important that there's nothing subversive in the material or the way it's presented. Last thing we need is some Veiled Alliance terrorist propaganda slipped into the malleable minds of the illiterate, unwashed masses.

We have several days until the play premiers, but Darus, Mortuus, and I found the amphitheater early this afternoon. Once there, I arranged a private meeting with the secretive head of the troupe, a mysterious woman known as Lady Barrenyche. She wore a veil, but I could see the emerald glow of her eyes through it. When she made me swear the vow, I felt those eyes boring into my soul.

I'm getting ahead of myself.

In the private meeting, I convinced her I was representing a powerful noble seeking to sponsor a play. In all honesty, I should probably say that I _tried_ to convince her; there's something strange about the woman and my natural knack for reading people failed me - I couldn't tell if she was even _listening _to what I was saying much less accepting it as true.

Anyway, I presented my sponsor as anonymous to keep his sponsorship a surprise, revealed only on the night of the premier. I "reinvested" some of the money we found on the bandits into a substantial "private screening fee" and managed to get permission to watch the play the night before the premier.

Strangely, she made me swear that my report about the play would only be that it was "acceptable" or "unacceptable" - nothing more - and when I swore it would be so, she raised her veil and pulled me deep into her seemingly bottomless emerald eyes. I don't even remember leaving the tent, just looking into her eyes then walking out of the amphitheater to questioning looks from Darus and Mortuus.

Mortuus reported that he managed to infiltrate the actor's close-knit tent-village that's sprung up around the back of the sizable Amphitheater of Rizas, his efforts mostly aimed at ingratiating himself with the actors and stagehands. He did overhear mentions of Andropinis, Kallik, Draegoth, Bodach, and Kalidnay - some names familiar to me and others unknown. Also, a thri-kreen is playing the Dragon, a clever choice if you ask me.

I have the beginnings of a plan and have Mortuus tailing the lead actor - the man playing Andropinis, of course.  As a child, I once had thoughts of becoming an actor myself, though my brother mocked me, threw sand in my eyes, and said "there, act like you're a pathetic blind weakling". Darus showed up about then, body-slammed Parlin into the wall, and got some water for my eyes as Parlin went to go cry to father.

Anyway, if the lead actor has sudden serious health issues, they may need to find a replacement on short order. I was always the one telling the telling the tembo stories as a child and late-night tales around the Legion camp fires and so I think I can handle a play. I'll be sure to be available "if" something untoward happens to their fine lead.

We stopped by Tomblador when we left the Amphitheater and met a representative known as Kalius. I told him that we avenged the loss of their caravan and he asked - very intently - if we recovered anything.

I gave him a few miscellaneous articles that we did, in fact, recover and said the bandits must have buried the rest, though I covered myself by telling him we had traveled and fought beside a Tyrian ex-gladiator that disappeared into Balic's broy houses when we arrived. That much was true at least.

I promised to track down Hakar and see if he had "found anything".

Kalius offered a reward for our efforts, to which I replied that recompense was not necessary from our friends at House Tomblador and continued to turn down his offers until he grudgingly said that they owed us a favor - a far more useful item than some token reward.

In reply, I said I would make purchases at Tomblador whenever possible. I made good on my word then-and-there and we purchased a small fortune in weapons, armor, and survival supplies to have on hand should we need to venture out of the comfort of Balic again.

Another small victory in convincing Dephnical to sponsor a play - little did he know that the sponsorship was in already in place an just waiting for him to step into the role I had created for him - and good thing he did. Convincing my father to do something so "frivolous" as to further the family name amidst the commons would have used up all the favor I've built up with him in a lifetime of playing "good son". "Good" except for not letting him lock me in a life of subservience to him and my brother, that is.

Lastly, I've already reaped the fruits of my "friendship" with Tomblador. They sent me a personal slave - a dark-haired beauty named Eutropia. She's intelligent, personable, and can even read and write. In one day she's already organized my dormitory, decorated it stylishly, set Abu to various tasks, and even found fresh flowers somewhere to liven up the bare sandstone walls. And her bedroom skills are... more than sufficient.

She's also a spy.

I gave that strange copper fragment we found on the Tomblador raiders to Darus to be sure Eutropia doesn't find it. Tracking down Hakar and "getting it from him" is my first priority tomorrow, in case anyone else is tailing us. My power base isn't strong enough yet to withstand even the relatively minor weight of Tomblador's suspicions - if the fragment is that important to them, they can have it.

I'll call Eutropia an even trade for the copper mystery - even if I do have to doctor everything we say in her presence to be what I want Tomblador to hear. It will save me the effort of social calls to Tomblador to curry favor.

As Dephnical says, there's advantage in every situation, the trick is being the first to find it.


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## Iron Sky (Aug 19, 2011)

*House Tomblador Compound, Market Precinct, Balic*

Kalius stared into the flat, cold eyes of the elven caravan leader trying to swindle him. 

"You call this glass?" he said, gesturing at the deformed lumps of melted sand laid on the table between them. "I've seen halflings more useful than these lumps of rubbish. Two gold, no more."

The elf glared back. "Maybe Wavir will give us better, we don't have to trade with Tomblador."

"If Wavir will buy these shoddy bits of half-melted sand from you for more than two gold chits, then you'd be doing us a favor by weakening our competition." He produced two etched and hardened ceramic discs and slapped them onto the table. "Take them now, or go try to find someone else generous enough to buy your offal."

Behind the feigned anger, Kalius saw the calculations running in the elf's eyes. For being a nomadic savage, Ariendal wasn't a fool. He swiped the coins and spat in the sand.

"May you cut your hands on them and your blood attract a Tembo," Ariendal said, storming off.

He grunted. "Why would I be carrying them when I have a dozen slaves at my command?"

With a gesture, said slaves set to gathering up the twisted glass shards while Arakai, his half-elven aid and the most useful slave he'd ever worked with, set about dealing with the minutia of determining where in the massive Tomblador compound and to what ends each individual piece should be taken. Kalius leaned back and drank a drought of warm broy, wiping his forehead at the early morning heat.

As the slaves scurried about, he saw familiar figures walking towards him; the young Praetor and his mul brother that had so conveniently tracked down the caravan raiders. _

If he wasn't so young and so newly Praetor, I would suspect that he arranged the whole deal just to curry favor with us,_ he thought sourly, bringing a wide smile to his lips.

"Praetors Jerrek and Sandstone, to what does Tomblador owe the pleasure of your company?"

Jerrek smiled - though it seemed like he was always smiling slightly, like there was a joke that he got that you wouldn't understand - and bowed. "Kalius, we are fortunate this day. Our ex-gladiator friend Hakar did indeed have one other oddity that he'd swiped from the raiders. We managed to drag him away from his broy long enough to get it from him."

He produced a strangely shaped copper fragment, covered with undecipherable designs and patterns. Kalius tried not to let his expression change as Jerrek set the bit on the table, watching him intently. "While it is, of course, valuable for its metal alone, it seems to be of little functional use..."

Kalius reached for it, trying to act casual as his pulse pounded at his temples. "Hm, I'm not sure what this is, but if you say it came from our caravan, I'll give it to my superiors as they likely know its purpose and true value. Once again, House Tomblador is in your debt. Perhaps you would have some broy with me?"

Jerrek shook his head even as his brother swiped the broy jug from Kalius' hand and downed the whole thing. A wry smile spread across Jerrek's face as Darus set the now-empty jug down on the table and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. 

"Unfortunately, there seems to be no Broy left and urgent business calls me elsewhere," Jerrek said, with a smile and a slight bow. "We are just grateful that we are able to be of some small service to our Tomblador friends," 

Kalius marveled at how sincere the Praetor made it sound - either Jerrek really believed in what he was saying or he was one of the smoothest liars Kalius had met in decades of haggling, bartering, and negotiating with every variety of merchant, swindler, petty thief, desert brigand, noble, starving pickpocket, merciless slaver, unscrupulous nomad, and every other flavor and disposition of the intelligent races of Athas.

One finger absently traced over the designs on the cool surface of the copper fragment as the Praetors wove their way through the traffic of the ever-busy Tomblador Market and out of his sight.

Arakai walked up beside him, following his gaze to where the Praetors had just passed through the compound gates. "Do you trust him?"

"As far as I can throw his brother," he said with a snort.

He glanced down at the fragment. "But just because someone can't be trusted doesn't mean they can't be useful."


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## Iron Sky (Aug 21, 2011)

*Amphitheater of Rizas, Guilder's Precinct, Balic*

Mortuus sat quietly, watching from back stage as the cast prepared to give their private showing to Jerrek. As a whole, they seemed more nervous than the situation would seem to warrant - Jerrek was supposedly just a spokesman for some rich noble or merchant.

"They're about to start," Breeck chirped. The thri-kreen clutchling, son of the actor playing the mighty "Dragon of Athas", sat with the other children around Mortuus, the whole group trying to stay quiet and out of the way since it was the first time any of them were allowed to watch the play.

"_Shhh_," Mol the mul said, ten years old and already bigger than most of the other children half-again older than she. "If you make too much noise we'll all get in trouble."

Then it began. Later, he retold it for Darus in Jerrek's Dormitory since the mul was reporting to Haraxes about their progress during the actual performance.

_"Act I: The wilds of the Estuary were wild indeed, overrun with giants and tareks and monsters of all types. The human tribes struggled in despair against the foes and beasts that surrounded them on all sides, their numbers ever dwindling... until Andropinis arose in their midst.

"A humble wise man from one of the tribes, his people had urged him to lead them for decades, but he refused as he had no desire to rule. Then the tareks overran the next village and word came that a horde of the brutes was on their way to wipe the humans off the Estuary of the Forked Tongue entirely.

"With great reluctance, Andropinis finally agreed, shouldering the heavy responsibility for protecting the people. He rallied the remaining tribes and together they held off the tarek assault, driving the horde into the silt sea. The people, overjoyed with gratitude, begged him to remain as their leader once the crisis was over.

"With much hesitation and under constant pressure from the people, he agreed, but demanded that in ten years they hold an election so that if one arose more fitting to rule, that one should rule instead of he.

"He appointed his Templars, the Praetors, to protect the people and formed the scattered warrior bands into the first Legion. He began the building of the walls, the planning of the city, and the irrigation of the wastes around it. A paradise arose in the desert, the first city-state, Balic. Across the world, other leaders took note and other city-states arose in emulation. Bright lights flared in the darkness and Balic shone brighter than them all... that is, until the Dragon arrived.

_At this point in the retelling, Mortuus had took a long drink and rummaged in his bag for a needle to patch a hole in his cloak. His real reason, of course, was to increase the tension of the story for his audience - which had grown at this point to include Abu and Eutropia as well.
_
"Act II: The Dragon of Athas flew over the city, its mighty wings blotting out the red sun, and all in Balic trembled beneath its shadow - all except Andropinis. He climbed to the top of Mount Laeron and there stood calmly, waiting the beast.

"The Dragon saw the one man that stood unbowed by its might and landed before him, its tail stretching half-way down the mountain, the wind from its wings creating a dust storm that shrouded the mountain from view. Alone with the dragon, Andropinis bravely challenged it, knowing that he could but buy the city time for he was still only one man and had not the strength to defeat it.

"The Dragon laughed, a terrible sound that left nightmares stalking the sleep of Balic's people for generations. Then it spoke, its voice like the claws of a Tembo scraping on stone:

"'You are a fool, but your challenge amuses me. I will return in a week so all your people might gather to watch you die.'

"With that it launched into the sky, its laughter echoing to the far corners of Balic. Andropinis mourned - though not for himself - only that he could buy but a week for his people.

"The people begged him to flee, to save himself. So great was their love for him that they would perish to the last child if it meant their great leader might live.

"Andropinis spoke:

"'I will leave, but I will go to the Golden Ruin. They say it is death to enter that ancient and forbidden place, but there might I find some key to saving my people.'

"A day's time found him standing before the Golden Ruin, its bent and broken metal walls gleaming in the burning sunlight, dark things stirring in the long shadows of its golden towers. Even his mighty heart shook with fear and his inner demons told him to flee, to leave his people to die that he might save himself.

"Two days it took for him to master those demons, to steel himself for whatever foul doom lurked in that ancient, blighted ruin. Even the bravest of his subjects watched from but a distance as he entered the ruin.

"Act III: Four days later, his people wailed in the streets and tore at their hair. Andropinis had not returned and the Dragon was soon to return. Some fled, some prayed to long-dead gods, while others cowered in their homes awaiting the end. There was rioting in the streets and it was all the Praetors could do to keep the people from destroying themselves before the Dragon did.

"And then the Dragon arrived as the sun began to set on Balic, perching atop Mount Laeron and looking for the one man who had dared before to face it. When it saw him not, its laughter again echoed across the lands.

"'I see that the great Andropinis who swore to protect you has fled. I am not surprised, for he must know that all who have ever faced me have died and surely the same would have been his fate - as will now be yours!'

"The Praetors gathered, knowing that they could not harm it, but vowing that though they would die to a man, it would be worth it if even a single child made it safely away.

"The Dragon reared back to take flight, ready to reduce Balic to yet another crumbling ruin in the desert, but what was this? A gleam of golden light arising from the West. The light grew and grew and, intrigued, the Dragon paused to see what approached.

"The people rejoiced when it drew close for it was their dear Andropinis - but Andropinis the man no longer. Though he nearly died more times than he could count, he had vanquished the evils that lurked in the Golden Ruin, mastered their ancient magics, and performed an arduous ritual that imbued him with their power.

"Enraged, the Dragon hurled itself into the sky, its laughter a harsh counterpoint to the grim expression on Andropinis face.

_At this point, Mortuus took another drink, then excused himself for a moment to use the privy. When he returned, Abu was nearly exploding with anticipation, Darus leaned in, and even the suave Eutropia - who had been pretending to organize Jerrek's things - gave up all pretenses to sit and listen.

_"For three days they fought, their battles taking them from deep into the Estuary of the Forked Tongue in the east to the wastes beyond the Verdant Belt in the west, across mountain and field and silt and sand they fought, the force of their struggle shaking the ground like a quake, a sandstorm swirling and gusting about them with the might of their combat.__ The people feared that their battle might destroy the whole of Athas itself, so great was its intensity._

_"When the Dragon finally fled, realizing it could not defeat Andropinis, the people did not cheer for too great was their shock. They merely stood in awe as their savior walked through the streets, battered and bloody yet unbroken. They followed him to his humble home, every man, woman, and child standing before him in silence.

"Exhausted from a ten days of constant battle - first with the darkness within himself, then with the terrors of the Golden Ruin, then with the mighty Dragon itself - he bowed to his people, a single tear falling with his gratitude that he was able to save them before his exhaustion caused him to topple.

"He never touched the ground for his people bore him up with a great cry. So great was their joy and jubilance that they built the Praetorium for him in a day, demanding that he be their leader, their protector, their savior for as long as he might live to do so.

"Again reluctant, he finally agreed to the heavy duty they laid upon them and lucky are we that we did so, for now, centuries later, still he watches over us. Praise be to Dictator Andropinis, may it always be so."

_After the performance, Jerrek had applauded mightily and sang his praises to the Director at its completion. The children about Mortuus dispersed, Breeck already claiming his father's part in the recreation the children were already planning.

Mortuus simply sat, wondering if Jerrek had seen the hesitation, the improvisation, the subtle inconsistencies of word and action visible throughout, hidden behind psychic pyrotechnics, elaborate costumes, and lushly crafted and painted sets.

He didn't miss Jerrek's nod to him as the Praetor broke away from the Director to leave. Mortuus gave his own nod in reply, turning to seek the tent of Horolon, actor extraordinaire, bottomless windbag, and arrogance personified, now taking off Andropinis' beard as he soaked up the praise of his fellow actors.

_I'd like to see Jerrek take his part just to watch him deflate_, he thought, thumbing the vial in his pocket as he trailed the actors into their colorful camp. _If he lives through _this_, that is._


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## Iron Sky (Aug 21, 2011)

Thought I'd post pictures of the player characters, or at least the closest I can find to what I imagine they look like.


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## Iron Sky (Aug 28, 2011)

*20th of Sorrow
*_Amphitheater of Rizas, Guilder's Precinct, Balic

_I go on stage shortly, so I'll keep this brief.

Dephnical formally agreed to sponsor the play yesterday, which is good. Better is that he allowed for me to stand in as his representative at the end of the play to announce his sponsorship. I also happened to mention the Tomblador caravan and the strange copper bit while I was there and he seemed intrigued, suggesting that giving it to him might have been a wiser option.

To be honest, I never even thought of it. The weight of Tomblador's power bearing down on me through Eutropia's eyes was enough to convince me I wanted to be free of it. Anyway, he said he'd investigate it and get back to me.

When I stopped by the Amphitheater later to deliver Dephnical's sponsorship terms and make sure all was in readiness, I was sure to mention my proclivity for and desire to be involved in acting. The Director was fairly busy and I wasn't sure he even heard me at the time. He obviously did, however, since here I am after the previous lead's sudden unfortunate "illness".

The play begins in less than an hour, just enough to run through my lines one more time. I'm fairly certain the play is legitimate, but should anything go wrong, there's a dozen City Watch "working security" outside, Darus is in the front row, a squad of disguised Legionnaires are infiltrated back stage, and Mortuus promised to get some "fellow" to watch the rear entrances and be ready to come in if we need them.

My costume is also bulky enough that I removed the padding I was to wear under it and put on most of my armor while Darus has my sword under his robes.

I recited as much as I could remember of the play to Darus and he said nothing seemed to be blasphemous from what he knew. I've looked at this from every angle and I don't see what could go wrong. The only wildcard is Barrenyche. The actors speak of her with near-reverence and say she's the reason the Sand Devas are even around, yet she's almost never here and, when she is, she just watches for a while, speaks briefly with the Director, then disappears.

The nonchalance with which she listened to the Director's explanation of Horolon's sudden inability to play his role, my proclamations of the unacceptability of a delay to my sponsor, and my "spur of the moment" idea that I play Andropinus are suspicious, as was her quick agreement that I was "just the one" to play the part.

Still, with me as the lead actor, Darus no more than twenty paces away throughout the performance, the Watch, Legionnaires, Mortuus and his horde of ruffians ready to move at a gesture - what could go wrong?


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## Iron Sky (Sep 1, 2011)

*Amphitheater of Rizas, Guilder's Precinct, Balic*

Darus leaned back against the sandstone steps of the amphitheater, snorting to blow the silt drifting in on the night breeze out of his nostrils. Around him, the audience chattered excitedly, perfume, wine, fruit, and broy aromas mixing with the sweat of the hot day and the omnipresent sand and dust.

His brother's ambitious political subtleties had never been his strong suit, though he also didn't care for them enough to dedicate the time his brother had spent mastering them. Somehow Kar would come out ahead through this play, just as he had in games they had played around the Jerrek estate when they were younger - excepting games of strength, of course, in which Darus' mullish strength, bulk, and raw athleticism prevailed more often than not.

Darus grunted, chugged a swig of broy, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand._

When will this thing get started,_ he thought. _It's been an hour now and they can't seem to get their act together._

He snorted at his own pun and wished Kar was there so he could tell him. Actually, he wished he was back in his room getting work done or in a rowdy broy house somewhere rather than sitting down to watch whatever fluttering nonsense was about to take up his next three hours. Fortunately, there was movement on the stage, someone finally coming out to relieve him of his boredom.

An elegant swath of deep green silk adorned her, trailing behind in wisps that seemed to swirl into mist at the ends. Her movements were graceful, smooth, as if she were floating across the stage.

_That's Barrenyche or I'm the Dragon of Athas,_ he thought.

"Thank you all for coming," she said in a voice that was simultaneously seductive, commanding, and vaguely ominous. "I'd like to welcome you to..."

She lifted her veil and trailed off for a moment and Darus felt himself leaning forward entranced, spellbound. It took a moment to realize that he really _was _spellbound - Barrenyche was half-singing, half-chanting in some forgotten, ancient language that drew him in, swirling deeper and deeper into the bottomless emerald pools of her eyes. 

So focused was he on her, Darus scarcely noticed the green mists swirling around him, the deep emerald light that was filling the sky.

He did notice Kar, dressed as Andropinis, standing just off the stage, staring fixedly at Barrenyche along with everyone else present. Darus noticed him and it was the last thing he noticed before everyone in the Amphitheater was taken _elsewhen_...


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## Iron Sky (Sep 6, 2011)

*Elsewhen*

_In the beginning, there was a Green Age when life covered Athas_.

Barrenyche's voice echoed from the skies like a goddess. Darus squinted at the sunlight - a strange soft, yellow sun that shone from behind fluffy white clouds over hills blooming with fragrant flowers as distant trees hundreds of feet tall swayed in a gentle breeze beside a meandering river.

_There was no magic, no defiling._

The unmistakable figure of Andropinis stood before the gates of a small town as man rode up on a noble-looking four-legged, hoofed, fur-covered beast with a flowing mane and tail.

_Thousands of years ago, when Andropinis was yet Albeorn of the small nation of Brunswitch.

_Suddenly, Darus was at the city gates as the messenger dismounted and bowed to Andropinis.

"M'lord, you have been invited to the Pristine Tower, there to meet with a man who has made a great discovery."_

With a hundred of his men, he journeyed to the Pristine Tower._

Suddenly, Darus was flying between the trees, paralleling Andropinis and a hundred metal-armored figures riding the same strange beasts. On the horizon before them was an ivory tower that seemed to touch the heavens.
_
On the way, they encountered the creatures of Athas, such as the trolls._

A massive, gnarled green figure exploded from the trees, tearing apart the man that rode beside Andropinis and panicking the mounts nearby. More came from the trees all along the line of men, tearing into them with fierce savagery. Even with their metal weapons and armor they stood little chance as the beasts large as giants with long claws and fangs and, as Darus watched, a man drove a spear through one's chest only to have the beast break free, the wound healing instantly.

_Magic did not yet exist in Athas. As bravely as they fought, they were no match for the savage beasts of the ancient world...

But there was an answer._

Andropinis and several of his men finally brought one of the beasts down, but as they turned, it rose again as dozens more charged from the trees.

There was a flash and boom that nearly blinded Darus, lightning like that of a sandstorm blazing out of a clear blue sky.  It exploded amidst the trolls, blasting them apart. In moments, the scattered survivors of the ambush were fleeing into a forest that quickly blazed into an inferno.

_Albeorn led his followers to the great tower._

Darus turned towards the distant tower as Andropinis rallied his men and rode hard from the forest and suddenly he was there. Even in the sudden darkness, he could see that the tower's base was wide as a city and rose to touch the night stars high above.

Other travelers on strange beasts, bearing metal arms and armor of exotic metals, stood with Andropinis before a massive door, eying each other warily.

_But he was not the first; others had arrived before him. Myron of Yorum, Dregoth, Kalak and Sacha of Arala were there. Others would soon arrive; Tectuktitlay from the deep jungles, Keltis, Sielba, Ennonec, Wyan of Bodach, Borys of Ebe, Daskinor, Kalid-Ma, Inenek, Gallard, Uyness of Waverly._

_Fifteen arrived in all with their followers, fifteen leaders of the human peoples of Athas._

The doors swung open and Darus squinted to get a look at the figure that advanced from within. It stopped when just its face was in shadow and gestured within.

"I have summoned you here to become my followers. I will teach you an art that I have discovered, a power unlike any the wisest and most ambitious of you have ever dreamed. You have been at the mercy of other races, but once you have partaken of my gift, no longer shall you be - you shall be Kings of Athas. I will teach this power in exchange for a service... come!"

They all walked in and suddenly they were atop the tower. Clouds drifted by far below while even further away stretched the patchwork of green and yellow and blue that was the verdant forests and fields and rivers of ancient Athas. 

Even in whatever his current insubstantial form was, Darus moved away from the edge and turned towards the center of the tower where suddenly a shimmering lance of pale red light flared, piercing into the sun itself. Darus could feel the massive power of the beam, feel the energy it leeched from the sun.

_The fifteen champions watched on as their master began to drain the life from the sun and the world to give them their power._

Light branched from the main beam, illuminating each of the fifteen figures ringing the top of the tower. The figure, his features washed away by the incredible brightness of the beam behind him, walked between the champions, stopping for a moment before each.

"Now you share my power, now you too are no longer at the mercy of the monstrous races.

"Sarla, there are races that steal human children from their beds, steal their livestock, and plague the people like a pestilence. They are the kobolds and you shall cleanse them from the world. The Curse of the Kobolds."

The figure move to the next figure.

"Kalak, there exist hideous abominations, giants that command the mountains. You shall be the Ogre Doom."

And the next.

"Dregoth, in the highest peaks of the mountains, there exist brutish giants of all varieties. You will cleanse them as the Ravager of Giants.

"Myron, horrid beasts plague the swamps and forests with unnatural strength and healing. You shall be the Troll Scorcher.

"Uyness, you will take the battle to man's fiercest enemy, the orcs. You shall be the Orc Plague.

"Gallard, there exists a fey race, tricksters that seek to spoil minds with illusions and trickery. You will eradicate them as the Bane of Gnomes.

"Albeorn, you have been often at ends with the elves. You will drive them from their forest homes and wipe them out as the Slayer of Elves..."

_And so they followed, obeying their master blindly in their thirst for power._

Suddenly Darus stood beside Andropinis, an army at his back. Thousands of elven warriors walked out of the forest before them, their faces grim.

Battle was joined, Andropinis striding through the elven host, shattering their ranks and killing them by the hundreds.

The elven army began to route, fleeing back into their forests. Andropinis did not pursue, merely gestured and turned their forest into a wall of fire.

_The other races of Athas were no match for the human champions' new power. And yet even with their great might it took time. They fought their wars for fifteen hundred years._

They stood on the same battlefield, but the vegetation was scorched, blackened, crumpling to ash as far as the eye could see, the sun burning red and dim. Broken bodies littered the broken ground and Andropinis stood in the center, robes billowing in a charnel breeze, staring across the battlefield, his expression troubled.

_Only after all those centuries did the champions realize their folly, what their striving for power had done to the world. Only then did they realize they served a madman. And so they met in council...

_A dozen powerful figures stood in the midst of a ring of towers in the midst of a wasteland. One stepped forward.

"Our master is insane with power. We know now that he will not let us stop with the other races; humans will be eradicated as well. He will not be content until all life on Athas is destroyed. He must be stopped, yet even together our power does not match his own. We know what must be done."

Suddenly they were atop the massive stepped pyramid of a ziggurat, the figure that had spoken standing at its center.
_
They joined together and channeled their power into Borys._

Power arced from them into Borys and, as Darus watched, he began to transform. When the transformation was complete, the Dragon of Athas unfurled his wings with a roar-

And suddenly Darus was rising from his seat in the Amphitheater, reaching for his weapon as the crowd stirred back to life around him.

On the stage, Barrenyche stumbled, a dart protruding from her neck...


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## Iron Sky (Sep 12, 2011)

*Amphitheater of Rizas, Guilder's Precinct, Balic

*Mortuus lowered his blowgun and watched as Barrenyche vanished into a swirl of green mist. The amphitheater exploded into motion; the crowd jumping up and shouting, staring stunned, or running for the exits, Kar tearing off his costume and shouting for the Watch to seal off the Amphitheater, Darus leaping to the stage with his brother's sword as the chagrined actors produced knives and clubs and surrounded the brother Praetors.

A quick dart that sent one of the actors stumbling into a wall - dead before he hit the ground from poison - was all Mortuus had time for as he ran back to rally the thugs he'd rounded up. A quick whistle and they came rushing in through the tents behind the amphitheater, clubbing down anyone who tried to resist or flee.

Mortuus shouted quick orders, gratified that the men mostly restrained themselves from looting - for now - roughly but effectively subduing and rounding up anyone they found. He headed quickly back to the stage, arriving just in time to see the Legionnaires dispersing the last of the actors that had assaulted the Praetors. A ring of bodies circled Kar and Darus where they stood stood back-to-back, the Praetors' weapons still gleaming and thrumming with their Sorcerer-King's magics as they quickly took charge of the situation.

Within ten minutes of Mortuus breaking Barrenyche's spell, the Amphitheater was sealed off by a company of City Watch, the audience sitting sullenly in their seats or grumbling amongst themselves. The actors and their families were rounded up and subdued backstage nursing bruises and the occasional broken bone, watched over by Mortuus' men and a handful of Legionnaires. Those who had actively resisted hung from the Walls of Balic set that stood on the stage.

Darus had briefly filled him in on the effects of the illusion Mortuus had broken and he was wondering how Kar was going to pull this one together. An audience of four hundred respectable and increasingly restless citizens of Balic witness to heretical magic that had produced an... unfavorably probable version of a history that Andropinis has spent centuries shaping to his favor. Then there was the issue of what to do with a hundred treasonous actors and their family members...

Mortuus glanced at Kar and saw him deep in thought. Then Kar looked up, met his questioning gaze, and his lips twitched in a subtle smile.

Mortuus knew that look: Kar had a plan.


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## Iron Sky (Sep 16, 2011)

*21st of Sorrow*
_Praetorian Dormatory, Praetorium, Balic

_Well, that didn't go as expected.

It's almost dawn and Eutropia is waiting in my bed, but this was too interesting a day to not write about it.

Mortuus showed up not a moment too soon. If not for him, who knows how it would have turned out.

The play was not a play, it was a Veiled Alliance attempt to sabotage the support of the people of Balic... at least I'm assuming they were Veiled Alliance - the Director and Barrenyche escaped and everyone else was just "following orders" or otherwise oblivious to what was really going on.

The actors were clearly just that if by their fighting - or should I say dying - skill alone. Their ringleaders hang from the Ampitheater as a warning, their closest accomplices fighting in the Arena at dawn, their families sold as slaves in secret aboard a Tomblador slaver just offshore in the Sea of Silt to avoid Andropins' taxes at the Slave Auction.

I'm loyal to Andropinis, but he has the wealth of a city and I have only what I can piece together here and there - in his service, of course.

A few of the new slaves were slipped off to Dephnical as a gift. Can't forget one's friends.

The audience was far trickier to deal with. They were far too many and there were far too many influential individuals amongst them to "disappear" them all. Instead, we offered them restitution for "any harm that might befall them from being subject and witness to cursed illusion magic, and any future damages that might occur due to contemplating or discussing the illusions."

The money and implied threat might have done enough to close some of their mouths about this, but it wouldn't have been enough on its own. Mortuus and some reliable fellows he rounded up slipped into the crowds that gathered outside the Ampitheater and then on to the broy houses of the city. These agents were posed as audience members that had "slipped out" in the chaos of the "play".

Their orders? Retell the contents of the illusion with the most incriminating details left out, as well distributing a myriad of subtly conflicting versions of the actual events to confuse things more.

My hope was that as we let the real audience members trickle out after collecting their restitution, those of them willing to tell their tales would find less receptive audiences as the excitement and novelty of their stories had already been deflated in a controlled manner. Hopefully they'll spend as much time accounting for the contradictions with what everyone will have already heard to tell their stories and, with luck, their own memories of the illusion might be jumbled a bit as well.

This all wrapped up an hour ago. I had the City Watch put up wanted posters for Barrenyche and the Director, offering a reward for information that leads to their capture or death. Then I headed back here.

All in all, aside from the Director and Barrenyche's escapes, triumph from disaster.

Oh, and as thanks for the decent profits they'll be able to make from reselling their new ship-hold full of slaves, Tomblador delivered a small, sturdy, engraved bone-and-wood box. Inside, a single golden pear.

If I'm not mistaken, it's an Ambrosia Pear.

Reputedly, they never wilt or rot and a single bite has incredible restorative powers. I have no idea where they came by it. An Ambrosia Pear tree is worth a small city; this Pear alone a small fortune.

I'm going to hold onto it as I have the feeling it might prove useful in the future.

The first light of dawn is creeping over the window sill and already I can hear the city stirring to its business before the worst heat of the day comes.

Eutropia is waiting, but the bed she's on is far more attractive right now than she is - and that's saying something. Best sleep now. 

Who knows when the next emergency needing my attention will come?


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## Iron Sky (Oct 1, 2011)

*Flint Chamber Council Room, Praetorium, Balic*

Darian Haraxes smiled as a relatively disheveled-looking Kar Jerrek walked into the council chambers, followed by his brother and the assassin in his employ.  He had been sure to give Jerrek just enough time to have _just_ fallen asleep - he had waited until Jerrek's slave woman left - when Haraxes sent a slave of his own to summon his fellow Praetor to council.

Haraxes glanced across the small chamber at the other Praetors and their staffs. His gaze stopped at Praetor Emantus, who nodded back at him.

Haraxes stood. "Now that everyone has arrived we can begin our discussion. First, I would like to raise the matter of the Veiled Alliance. As I'm sure you all know, these unsanctioned arcane terrorists have become more and more brazen in the last few months. There was that incident in the market a month ago that had us hanging a dozen people a day for weeks. Then, recently, I uncovered a plot to use a play as a ruse to subvert our loyal subjects."

He smiled, watching out of the corner of his eye as Kar sat bolt upright, the anger flaring in the young Praetor's eyes betraying his carefully controlled expression of easy attentiveness.

"Thanks to my efforts to contain it, the subversives were eliminated, though unfortunately Praetors Jerrek and Sandstone allowed their leaders to escape. Of course, Sandstone is mostly focused on his efforts to keep the inhuman inhabitants of the city in-check and Jerrek is so very new, you can almost forgive their inability to apprehend the fugitive pair of actors I sent them capture."

Sandstone continued picking his teeth as though he hadn't been listening while Jerrek's eyes burned with hate even as that faint smile returned to Jerrek's face.

Jerrek stood and bowed to the chamber. "I'm just grateful that I, in my very first weeks as Praetor, was able to be of benefit in any small way."

Haraxes smiled at him patronizingly and nodded, then continued as Jerrek took his seat again. "It is my recommendation to this council that the leader of this Veiled Alliance Troupe should be the primary focus of our efforts to contain the Veiled Alliance in the upcoming weeks as she has some minor illusion magics at her command and seems to have been the primary brains behind their cell." He nodded to Ementius.

As he sat, he stole a quick glance over at Jerrek. The Praetor's eyes were cold, distant, calculating. Ementius took the floor and talked for a while about the Reese-Arvos financial dispute that had been going on for two weeks now and was on the verge of escalating out of control. Haraxes was just glad he had already made an excuse for himself of the Veiled Alliance troubles and wouldn't have to deal with that particular mess.

Ementius and a couple of the other Praetors began to debate the issue while Jerrek quietly excused himself and slipped away. The young Praetor's brother didn't even attempt to follow custom or etiquette, following his brother out the door without even a glance at the other assembled Praetors.

_That should put them in their place for a while,_ Haraxes thought as he watched them depart. _I still don't know how that _Mul_ was ever allowed to be a Praetor, even a third-rate Praetor. And Jerrek is far too ambitious and a tad too capable - especially with his brother at his side and Dephincal at his back. Sandstone might not be a savvy political animal, but he does have that unambitious competency that could be put to supporting Jerrek's inevitable schemes. I'll have to be careful with them - they might be weak enough yet to be controllable and exploitable, but if they get too popular, too dug in, achieve too much too soon... well, there's time yet to figure out what to do with them.

_Thoughts of Jerrek and Sandstone faded, replaced by troubled thoughts of that absurdly powerful Veiled Alliance witch, Barrenyche, that Jerrek and Sandstone had stirred up. Who knew what she was going to try next?


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## Iron Sky (Oct 10, 2011)

*22nd of Sorrow*
_Crystal Gardens Forum, The Market Precinct, Balic

_And that's how you turn the dirty work that no one else wants to do into profit.

I was awakened late this afternoon by Praetor Ementius and his bodyguards letting themselves into my room. Ementius isn't the sort to play with formalities, so he just ordered me to handle the Reese/Arvos issue. Officially, he can't give me orders, but we're both pragmatic enough to know that's what they were.

The issue, in short, had to do with number of patrician families' long standing debts to Merchant House Reese, the primary moneylenders in Balic. House Arvos, owners of several of the best and largest gladitorial ludi in Balic, led the conglomeration of patricians disputing Reese demands that those families pay their ancestral debts.

A quick visit to Dephnical's estate for advice after meeting up with Mortuus and Darus led to a chance meeting with Rava, still appropriately attired in grieving colors after the loss of her husband. Unfortunately, my mind was elsewhere and my tongue was more like lead than silver. I forced myself to shut my mouth and politely excuse myself before I made a total fool of myself.

Dephnical had some useful advice. Nothing to do with which side had the more just claim, of course, but mostly as to which side would make the more powerful ally or enemy. His thoughts mostly aligned with mine - Reeve is a rich and powerful merchant house despite its relatively small size while Arvos  represents a group of heavily indebted patricians.

He also thanked me for the Sand Deva slaves and mentioned that his daughter's mourning period would soon be over. There was little doubt in his mind that a "proper suitor" would be around when the time was right.

From there, Darus, Mortuus, and I went to the Reese compound to "listen impartially to all sides, searching for any extenuating circumstances that might influence the investigation, and to ensure the ruling is the most beneficial for _all_ that are involved."

I left Mortuus behind to see if they got the message.

Similar at Lord Arvos estate and his gathering of lesser nobles - but with two hours of listening them go on and on about "false claims" "perjury" "Reese lies" "false ledgers" and every other complaint you could think of.

I used Mortuus' arrival as an excuse to slip away to a remote, overgrown, and unattended section of Arvos' garden - just in case Arvos had someone trying to spy on us. There Mortuus handed me the small purse a Reese valet had conveniently dropped and forgotten to pick up when Mortuus was leaving the Reese compound. He also informed me that he "accidentally overheard" some Reese agents discussing the "Jarko and Tomblador loans for Tyr."

Half-an-hour later we were at the Tomblador Compound talking with Kalius. The old adage "important business happens at its own hour" placated him somewhat - it was sometime past midnight at the time - and mentioning merchant houses Tomblador, Jarko, and Reese in the same sentence got us a meeting in a room at the top of a small minaret barely big enough for the three of us.

The problem: on the ledger, Reese had enough to loan Tomblador and Jarko a massive sum for a joint venture. In reality, much of that money was tied up in decades-old debts across the whole of Balic. While Reese was able to collect most of them, they didn't have enough clout to get Arvos and those smaller houses that hid under his wings to pay up. Enter the Praetors.

The solution: a tiny fraction of the profits might find themselves in a certain Praetor's pockets should the ruling be found in Reese' favor. The decision was simple. I now own a small but significant part of a massive venture to deliver hundreds of slaves to an unknown agent in Tyr. The fact that after Kalak's death slavery is illegal in Tyr doesn't seem to have deterred whoever this mystery buyer is - in fact, he's paying far, far above market rates.

After the usual mutual promises of secrecy and profession of aligned interests, we headed back so I could make the ruling. As a bonus, I found the Crystal Garden Forum's owner willing to pay me a small "agency fee" for having the Judgement held in his establishment that he might profit on a small host of merchant and patrician semi-notables enjoying his food, drink, and hospitality leading up to and during the proceedings.

Once everyone was convened, I went off by myself to "consider the evidence." What I really did was dice a few rounds over broy with Darus, enjoy one of the Crystal Garden's female slaves, and take a short nap.

My following speech was laced with "fairness", "justice", "difficulty", "heavy responsibilities", "hard decisions", and "extensive research" - essentially softening the blow for what I'd mostly decided before I'd even left Dephnical's estate. I finished with "any dissent will be taken as questioning the Will of Andropinis and his representatives that you _yourselves _called here to mediate after failing to reach accommodations on your own."

Then I left Darus to handle any further discussion. Have I ever mentioned that Darus hates politics, small talk, complaints, and being social in general? As such, he's a perfect choice for wrapping things up.

Speaking of, he just walked in.

This business is over, but again I find myself still awake an hour before dawn. Maybe when I get back to the Praetorium I can get some rest and get back to some sort of normal schedule. I've got more work to do.


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## Iron Sky (Oct 14, 2011)

*Big Tarrok's Broy House, Harbor Precinct, Balic*

Sarin set down his last cracked cup of broy and stared at the bottom of it balefully, feeling the empty purse at his side. His knee still hurt from where that oaf Kroth had dropped a crate full of wooden peg-nails as they carried across the _Saurium_'s gangplank yesterday and they still had half a hold to empty today. The first bottle of broy had taken the edge off, but it still hurt like a-

The canvas flap across the door swung open and everyone grumbled and cursed as a hot morning wind full of silt swirled in, causing the torches to gutter. Whoever it was wasn't closing the flap either, causing a few rowdies to stand up, ready to teach whoever it was some manners.

When everyone's eyes adjusted to the bright early-morning light haloing the three figures standing in the door, the grumbles stopped and the rowdies quickly sat back down.

"On orders of Praetors Kar Jerrek and Darus Sandstone no one leaves. Anyone interfering will be assumed as accomplices while anyone aiding in the investigation will be rewarded."

The black-haired Praetor in heavy chitin armor held up what looked like a wanted poster showing a foppish looking man... a man that looked very familiar.

"I seen him, in the back, just leaving," Sarin said, standing up from his table. He got some dark looks from some of the other Dockers nearby, but he didn't care. He'd heard some of the Praetors rewarded informants handsomely and a full purse might buy him a few days time to nurse his knee back and enough drinks to keep the pain at bay until it was better.

The three figures - a human, a mul, and a figure in a cloak - walked through the crowded broy house, a path miraculously clearing before them. Sarin spotted the Legionnaires standing at ready outside the door behind them - as did everyone else in Big Tarrock's judging by the dark looks in that direction.

"Everyone just sit and enjoy your drinks. Don't get involved. Anyone leaving will be charged with interfering with a Praetorian investigation. Stay put and this will be over quickly."

The young Praetor turned towards Sarin, a faint smile coming to his face while the Mul just stared at Sarin indifferently.

"Praetor Jerrek," the human Praetor said, shaking Sarin's hand. "You say you've seen this man?"

Sarin looked down at the proffered poster and nodded. "Yah, he's right this way, follow me."

Sarin limped towards the back room and stopped at the door. He turned and extended his hand towards the Praetors.

The mul - presumably Praetor Sandstone - snorted and Jerrek shook his head. "We'll pay you if your information helps us."

It was Sarin's turn to snort. "I've heard that'n before."

The smile faded from Jerrek's lips. "You have the word of Praetor Kar Jerrek."

He shouldn't have been, but for some reason Sarin was reassured by that, nodding as he stepped out of the way.

The Praetors and the cloaked man stepped through the door. Curious, Sarin waited a moment, then snuck in behind, finding a hiding place amongst the shelves of the large storage room to see what would transpire.

Amidst the shelves, half-a-dozen burly Dockers stood beside the largest, a man that probably had a bit of giant blood in him. Sarin hadn't seen them around Big Tarrock's before - they'd come in with the man the Praetors wanted.

"We're heading a Praetorian investigation," Jerrek said. "Anything you could-"

"Your kind isn't wanted around here. Go back to hide underneath Andropinis' skirts." The Dockers laughed at the big one's words, sneering at the Praetors.

From his perspective, Sarin saw Sandstone start to reach for one of the big axes strapped on his back and Jerrek motion him to stop. "No need to be hostile, if you'd just be willing to cooperate-"

"If you hadn't noticed, we're not cooperating. Up in the Praetorium, you're all big, but down here your the same as everyone else."

"With Andropinis' blessing, the Praetors work to keep the city safe. His rule is the only reason-"

"The city is ruled by the people, Praetor," the big one said, shouting the Praetor down and pointing an accusing finger. "You aren't wanted, or needed-"

It was the young Praetor's time to cut the big man off. "Regardless of what you want or need, this is a Praetorian investigation. Anyone resisting is an enemy of the-"

A crude wooden spear flying past Jerrek's head put an end to the discussion.

The fight didn't last more than fifteen seconds. The big one's thugs rushed the Praetors while the big one rushed the cloaked man. The Praetor's weapons flared with light and flame and twisting shadows and they cut down the Dockers bearing their crude cudgels with practiced efficiency.

After slipping back behind the Praetors, the Praetor's man produced what looked like a long flute from which he fired a dart into the big one's neck. Sarin scoffed at the puny weapon until the big man's face blackened and he toppled over. The last Docker went pale, dropped his club, and raised his hands.

Sandstone grabbed him by the collar and slammed him into a shelf, rattling the ceramic cups and bowls.

"Darus, wait!" Jerrek said, stepping in and putting a restraining hand on the mul's arm. "We need information."

He turned to the Docker, his expression grim. "I promise that if you tell us all you know, you will not suffer the tortures of the Praetorian dungeons."

"Yes, everything!" the last surviving Docker said, dropping to his knees. "I'll tell you everything I know!"

Jerrek nodded and waited for the man to compose himself.

"The Director, the one with all those wanted posters all over, he was just here with the other one, the witch!" At the mention of a witch, Sarin made a sign to ward off the evil eye, wondering if he'd overheard too much. "They headed to a ship called... uh... uhm... called the... the _Shrike_!"

Sarin didn't wait to hear more, quickly sneaking back into the common room.

No sooner had he made it through the door than did the Praetors push their way through, the mul dragging the stumbling Docker along by his collar. The cloaked figure trailing behind them paused and glanced at Sarin, making a _come along_ gesture with his finger.

With a gulp, Sarin followed, stepping outside just in time for the Jerrek to order a Legionnaire off to the harbor with orders to "shut down the port for an hour and the ship named _Shrike_ to be stopped by any means to apprehend the Veiled Alliance terrorists aboard."

The Praetors started to head off towards the harbor himself, but as the Legionnaires seized the Docker, the man cried out, "your word Praetor, you gave me your word!"

Jerrek stopped and turned, nodding solemnly as he walked back. "Indeed, I did. Forgive me; in my haste I almost broke my word. You shall not suffer."

The Docker sobbed in relief until Jerrek drew his sword and drove it into the man's heart. Behind him Sandstone nodded.

Jerrek's voice was soft as the Docker crumpled to the sand. "Sorry, my friend, but assault on a Praetor cannot be tolerated."

Sarin tried to shrink into the wall, not even caring about his reward anymore, wanting to be anywhere else.

He sighed in relief as the Praetors turned and jogged off towards the harbor, but as he turned to go back into Big Tarrok's the cloaked figure was there blocking his way, the man's hood pulled back to reveal a hard expression and flat, cold eyes above a black beard.

The man reached into his cloak, sending Sarin backing away with his hands raised. Before Sarin could escape, the man seized Sarin's wrist and pressed a small leather coin pouch into his hand.

"The Praetor keeps his word," the man said softy before turning away and pulling up his hood, leaving Sarin staring at his back and shaking until the man disappeared into the busy, dusty streets of Balic.


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## Azkorra (Oct 14, 2011)

Since no one else has commented on this thread so far, let me be the first to say that this is a great story with complex and scheming characters galore. I am really enjoying it and looking forward to the next chapter.


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## Sanzuo (Oct 15, 2011)

Azkorra said:


> Since no one else has commented on this thread so far, let me be the first to say that this is a great story with complex and scheming characters galore. I am really enjoying it and looking forward to the next chapter.




Me too!


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## Iron Sky (Oct 15, 2011)

Azkorra said:


> Since no one else has commented on this thread so far, let me be the first to say that this is a great story with complex and scheming characters galore. I am really enjoying it and looking forward to the next chapter.




Thanks Azkorra, glad to hear you're enjoying it. There's plenty of material to go; this is about 3/4 of the way through Session 4 and last weekend we played Session 9.


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## Iron Sky (Oct 17, 2011)

*Praetorian Morgue, Praetorium, Balic
*
"So when you got to the harbor, the _Shrike _was already gone I assume?" Ementius said, looking up from over the husk of a corpse that he'd been examining while Jerrek talked.

The young Praetor nodded. "There were half-a-dozen sailors lying with this one on the dock where the _Shrike_ had been moored. We were no more than a few minutes too late... which I'm not sure was a good or bad thing."

Kar looked pointedly at the dessicated body lying on the stone slab before Ementius.

"And then they sent the warship _Cataclysm_ after the _Shrike_." Ementius said, more a statement than a question. He'd already heard it from agents in the Arsenal, but he wanted to hear Jerrek's version.

"Yes. I was with Centurion Haravan when he gave the order for the _Cataclysm _to close on the _Shrike_. I had a bad feeling about it and said they should just destroy it, but unfortunately he knew about my Legion background and I'm sure you know about the doctrinal differences between the Legion and the Arsenal Legionnaires. In his words 'it's a warship against a sand skiff'."

"I'm assuming that was right before the _Cataclysm _went down with all hands?"

Jerrek nodded, motioning to the corpse. "Have you ever seen something like this? My first thought was defiling, but I've never seen arcanistry do _this_."

Ementius shook his head, walking around the table and bending down to get a different angle on the body. "No, this is no mortal magic."

Jerrek's eyebrow quirked at that.

Ementius continued. "This is fey magic, drained their living essence entirely from their bodies."

A troubled look came over Jerrek and the Praetor's eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the body. Finally, he shook his head. "I won't pretend I know what they fey are. I've heard the term before but I'm not familiar with its origins."

"Perhaps that is good since you are so recently Praetor," Ementius said, half-wondering if Jerrek know more than he had said and his delay was to affirm what Ementius was about to say. "It would be slightly suspect if even a patrician knew of the worlds that parallel our own."

Jerrek said nothing, just leaned against a vacant slab and motioned for Ementius to elaborate. He did, pulling out a stylus, diagramming and notating the features of the body for his studies.

"The ancestors of the elves came from a different world. Little enough is known about it except that it is more arcane and mysterious with many secrets. It is nearly impossible to get to and too dangerous to explore easily if you even can. It is also dying and the fey blame us 'mortals' and hate us for it. They are capricious, powerful, unpredictable and masters of their breed of magic. We have an idea of what Barrenyche is now, but that does us little good."

He glanced up to see if Jerrek was following. The Praetor's gaze was distant, but a moment later the Praetor turned and nodded, pushing himself up off the slab. "Then it is out of our hands. All we can do is notify the Port Authority and the Arsenal that the _Shrike_ is to be destroyed on sight... and the Legions and Praetors the same of Barrenyche."

Ementius nodded.

"Then I leave you to your studies," Jerrek said, half-bowing before heading out the door.

Ementius continued to draw without looking up, wondering if he'd have a few more life-drained corpses lying before him if the _Shrike_ had still been there when Jerrek had arrived... He was somewhat glad it hadn't worked out that way. He might be young and ambitious, but Jerrek at least seemed to take his duties seriously and wasted no time or effort in bringing them to resolution.

_If only those qualities didn't always seem to go hand-in-hand..._ he thought, setting down his stylus and rubbing his forehead. _Too many capable Praetors end up lying in a ditch with a knife in their back, betrayed by their own ambitions and the entrenched Praetors concerned only for their own power and position and not for the good of Balic._..


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## Iron Sky (Oct 31, 2011)

*Mount Laeron, Balic*

Harding took a deep drought and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. Sarik rolled his crude bone dice in the dirt and cursed as Harding swept up Sarik's copper chits from the dust. The half-giant dug around in his purse and dropped another few chits between himself and Harding. "You winnit again an' Sarik thinks he's gonna make some new bone dice."

Harding grinned back, wiggling his fingers at the half-giant. "Keep rollin' like yer rollin' and I'll own your spear and knife an' you'll have nothin' left to take 'em with."

It was Sarik's turn to flash a cruel grin. "I don' need a knife to take your fingers, runt."

A comeback stalled on Harding's lips as he noticed the cloaked figures hiking their way up the dusty path towards the dusty, windy peak behind the post where Sarik and Harding sat.

"Look at that," Harding said with a gesture. The half-giant glanced up too, frowning.

They stood, passing the broy bottle back and forth one more time before the three figures reached them.

"Halt, Mount Laeron is forbidden," Harding said, posing with his feet wide, his spear planted against the side of his boot, his palm out to the figures. It was his favorite part of being a Legionnaire - he might have the worst post in the Legions, but he could still look like one on the rare occasion that someone tried to get up to the ruins.

"Ah, it is?" one of the strangely bulky cowled figures said. "We are foreigners here and really wanted to visit the famous mountain. Is there no way you could be persuaded otherwise?"

Harding stared stupidly for a moment, then glanced at Sarik. A slow grin was spreading on the half-giant's face but for some reason it repulsed Harding. He turned and stood up straight. _I may be a screw-up and have the worst post in the city, but I'm still a Legionnaire, dammit!

_"Bribing a Praetor is punishable by death!" he said, feeling a strange straightening in his backbone that he'd never felt before.

To his surprise, he saw a smile twitch at the cowled figure's mouth before the man pulled his hood back. He was a young man with black hair and Harding gripped his spear tighter as he saw a bit of thick carapace breastplate rising out of the neck of his cowl.

The man must have seen Harding's reaction, his hands coming up. "Peace, Legionnaire, let us make a deal - if you don't report my misconduct, I won't report yours."

Harding stared as he heard Sarik snort behind him. "Who this one think he is?"

Sarik stepped up beside Harding, hefting the huge spear he carried.

Still smiling, the young man pulled off his cloak, the huge man beside him doing the same to reveal a mul in heavy armor and the robe of a...

_Praetor_, Harding's stunned mind churned trying to keep up with what was going on. Sarik deflated beside him, seeming to shrink as the Praetors stood before them.

"As I said before, we won't report what went on here if you don't," the human Praetor said. "All we want to know is if anyone came through here before us."

Harding stammered and glanced back at the broy bottle sitting beside his dice. When he turned back, he pointed back towards the city. "There was a half-giant that came up here before. He was dressed in heavy armor, had two giant spiked shells stuck to his arms, and kept saying he knew how to get into the tombs. I told him to get lost."

The Praetor turned nodded back at the third man. The still-cowled figure nodded back and headed back down the mountain in the direction Harding had indicated.

"You're sure there's no one else who came through or tried to come through here in the last few days?" the young Praetor said as he turned back. He pause for a moment. "No? Very well, let our companion and that half-giant follow us if they arrive."

He and the mul pushed between Harding and Sarik, making their way up the mountain. Harding was just taking his first breath of relief when the Praetor turned. "I may forgive and forget this time, but if I come back and find you still drinking and gambling on duty, I won't bother with Legion corporal punishment."

With that he turned and walked away, leaving Harding and Sarik staring at their backs until they disappeared into the early-morning sandstorm blowing in off the Estuary of Silt.


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## Iron Sky (Nov 6, 2011)

*24th of Sorrow
*_Forbidden Tomb, Mt. Laeron, Balic_

Haven't written in a while as it was a busy couple days. We're resting before pressing on further into the tombs - these things are literally crawling with kruthik of all types and we're a bit battered and cautious about heading on.

A short summary of the last couple days. On a tip from Eutropia - of all people - we followed Barrenyche's trail to the harbor. We lost the warship _Cataclysm_ thanks to the Arsenal's incompetence. If I was Dictator, two hundred sailors and Legionnaires would still be alive right now and Barrenyche dead. Whatever fey terror she is.

Yesterday we talked with Dephnical as he'd had time to do some research on the copper enigma we gave to Tomblador. He believes its a fragment of an ancient artifact of incredible power and has reason to believe that there might be more of them in this tomb.

With the help of a half-giant - I think the other half is mad - that somehow knew the way to the tomb we were looking for, we managed to find it amidst the dusty, rocky crags of Mt. Laeron. Disturbingly, we found other tracks on the mountainside, mere days old. No wonder that guard was so touchy about bribery... though to his dubious credit they might have let someone sneak by through sheer incompetence.

Whoever they were seemed to have found this tomb before us as we found a dismembered arm that was fairly fresh and a... frozen... body serving as feed for swarms of kruthik. The half-giant, whom we have taken to calling Shield since he wears heavy armor spiked and a pair of massive spine-covered shields, suggested we thaw it out and eat it. I'm still not sure if he was serious or not as he then became "invisible", meaning he said some gibberish in Giant and then pretended like we couldn't see him.

Several of the tombs had a wall with the engraved visage of Andropinis, his open mouth just big enough for a man to reach his arm inside.

The half-giant, broke one of his vambraces when he stuck his arm into the mouth - not once, but twice -, but he did extract a copper fragment from one of them after we were able to pry his arm free. Elsewhere we found a few ancient half-blunted copper picks that we used to painstakingly clear a few cave-ins and in this room found another pair of frozen bodies that looked like they'd been chewed on by something large before the kruthik swarms got to them.

I'm not looking forward to meeting whatever it was, but it looks like the others are ready, so we're about to go find out. It might just be me, but I think I've been hearing a faint sound from the dark passageway ahead that we're about to enter.

It sounded disturbingly like... crunching bones...


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## Iron Sky (Nov 12, 2011)

*Forbidden Tomb, Mt. Laeron, Balic*

Krch crunched on the last bone, wondering when the newest amblers that had stumbled into its lair were going to arrive. It was a rare treat, these fleshy beasts from the massive hive below the mountain coming up to it. Usually Krch had to sneak into the city and snatch a little one while they slept, avoiding the large ones wearing bits of other creatures and bits of rock as scale and fang.

Much easier this way.

Krch slid off its bone pile, already salivating in anticipation of its next meal.

This one came with folds of fake skin swirling around it, a long wooden snout huffing and launching a stinging barb. Krch snarled as the dart struck home and its vision swam.

_Poisoned stingers_, it thought as a huge ambler encased in overlapping spined shells of a dozen desert beasts rushed in beside the other. In response, it unleashed a psychic blast that sent both the wrapped and hulking ones crashing into the walls.

Another leapt in, carrying a sharpened stone blade on a stick, hurling its own weak mental attack that Krch casually deflected. Krch moved to counter-attack only to have a fourth with a black shell for an arm and long fang blazing with light rush it. Krch swiped the newest ones feet out from beneath it, but the poison surging through it made Krch stagger as well.

The wrapped and hulking ones were tearing at themselves with their puny claws under the effects of Krch's mental attack so it turned to the shell-armed one and telekinetically yanked it forwards, clamping down only to find the shell jammed into its mouth.

Krch tried to let go of the shell, its jaw already aching from the angle it was stretched to, but it couldn't get free. It clawed at the one in its mouth, thrashing and tearing to get free as it blasted wildly at the others to keep them at bay. Krch saw the one that had psychically attacked it earlier hurling itself forward. A tail-swipe wasn't enough to stop it and its stone blade flared, blinding Krch.

Panic and fear not felt since Krch had eluded the ambler hunters and squeezed through the crack to this lair years ago flooded through it. It was blind, poisoned, its mouth locked open, wounded, and surrounded by amblers worse than any it had ever seen or sensed...

Another dart hit it and more poison surged through it, causing its returning vision to swim. It finally clawed its way free from the shell-arm only to have a giant rock strike it in the side of the head. One of the amblers was thrashing on the ground clawing at its skin, but Krch felt no satisfaction. A moment later, a blade flashed towards it and it felt nothing ever again.


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## Iron Sky (Nov 21, 2011)

*24th of Sorrow*
_Forbidden Tomb, Mt. Laeron, Balic

_It was the sound of crunching bones, coming from a very large psychic lizard. If it hadn't gotten my shield lodged in its mouth as it tried to bite my arm off, I probably wouldn't be writing this right now. I even got off better than the others who spent half the battle trying to claw invisible insects out from under their skin.

My survival is not ensured, however. There were several cloth-wrapped corpses that rose from the sarcophagi in the next room. Only with the power of Andropinis, a pouch full of Mortuus' poisoned darts, and relentless battering by Shield managed to put the things down.

I'm not sure if it's the apparently poisonous dust that billowed out of the sarcophagi when we busted them open or some remnant of the curse that animated them being transferred to me when we fought - either way, the bite-marks on my hand where one bit me already seem to be festering.

After that, there were, of course, more Kruthik of all sizes but of uniform disposition - hungry.  We also dug out several more cave ins, finding several strange hex- and octagonal keys that released the locks on several massive stone doors.

I was somewhat hesitant to open the sarcophagus we found beyond those doors, but fortunately when we finally broke it open, we found some stairs leading deep into the mountain. We dragged Shield back as he seemed to think he was invisible again and was "sneaking" down the stairs loudly enough to wake the dead - not that we haven't already since we've been down here.

We've debated it and I'm pushing for us going down. I told the others that it was because I was worried that more unsanctioned tomb-raiders might come in before we can get back, but really I'm concerned about the wound in my hand. If we wait too long, I might be too weak to make it.

We have to do this now in spite of all we've been through to get here. I might not have more time.


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## Iron Sky (Dec 6, 2011)

*Ancient Temple of Andropinis, Mt. Laeron, Balic
*
Ansaria opened her eyes and watched the four who she had sensed disposing of the id fiend Krch walk down the stairs into the temple, taking in its dais, altar, and probably the massive relief of Andropinis that filled the whole wall behind her.

Torg stood up and hefted his massive double-bladed battle axe and challenged the figures as they entered the light. One was a figure in a brown robe who slipped behind a stone pillar as soon as he entered, the second was a mul with a long-axe, the third was a human that might be attractive behind his heavy armor if it weren't for the unhealthy palor to his skin, the fourth a half-giant even bigger than Torg that carried two massive shields that looked to be made from the carapaces of some massive spined beetle.

"Who are you?" Torg said, as the archers stood up around Ansaria. She remained sitting in the lotus position, the words of the ritual resounding in her mind._Torg can handle these interlopers_, she thought.

"Praetors of Balic," the young man said. "This place is forbidden."

"We have to go!" Torg shouted, looking back and Ansaria and readying his axe. She gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head, closed her eyes, and returned her focus to the ritual. She heard bowstrings twang and something sharp buried itself in her arm. Her eyes snapped open, rage and poison flooding into her body in equal measure as she yanked a small hollow bone dart from her flesh.

Torg collided with the other half-giant as arrows splintered and shattered on the human's shield, the mul swinging at Torg as he tried to circle around him. He began to advance, but Torg kicked the twin-shielded half-giant away and hooked his axe on the human's foot, sending him crashing to the ground.

Ansaria's vision swam as she struggled with the poison, one of the archers beside her clutching at his neck and slamming into the tiles at her side, gasping for breath.

The Praetor's half-giant slammed a shield into Torg and knocked him back as the human's sword flared with light and shadow, slashing the back of Torg's leg with a razor-edged obsidian blade as the half-giant scrambled to his feet.

The Praetor turned to Ansaria and rushed towards her, more arrows clattering off his shield. Ansaria smiled and focused on him. The air _thrummed_ and she hurled him back into the fray where he slammed into the close-pressed battle around Torg with enough force that all of them were thrown to the ground.

The mul scrambled to his feet, rushing towards her and cutting down one of the archers. Behind her, the last two archers fired at point-blank range, arrows _thudding_ into the mul. He staggered back, but not far enough for Ansaria. She rose her hand and it was instantly aswirl with ice. With a gesture, a spear of ice slammed into the mul and dropped him to one knee, his teeth a snarl as he fought to stand.

Torg smashed the enemy half-giant so hard one of the half-giant's shields shattered; the half-giant hit the wall so hard he cracked the engraved stone and landed in a heap. Torg turned towards the human and badly injured mul with a grin... which vanished instantly when a dart punched through his cheek. He ripped it out and whirled with a roar, charging off blindly, swaying drunkenly as he did so and slamming into a stone pillar so hard dust and bits of masonry rained down.

Ansaria hurled a jagged shard of ice at the human, burying in his shield and riming it and his whole side with ice. Two more arrows hit the mul as he finally pushed himself to his feet and he collapsed.

Breath steaming in the cold about him, the human gritted his teeth and ran over towards where the fallen mul lay unmoving. Another dart dropped an archer - Ansaria thought briefly back to see if she remembered his name, but he was just another body for the cause - and Ansaria sent a bladed handful of ice crystals tearing into the shadowy corner from where the robed figure had been launching darts. Torg struggled to his feet, wobbling, shaking his head, and snorting as if trying to get his bearings - and his eyes focused on the Praetor.

_This is all but over_, she thought. _That mul is finished, what does the human think he's doing?

_The human showed her a moment later, reaching the fallen mul and producing a small finely engraved box from a small bag at his side. She only had a second to see what was in his fist before he crushed it, juice and pulp running into the fallen mul's mouth.

_An Ambrosia Pear! _Ansaria thought, snarling and rising to her feet for the first time since the battle started. The human turned to her and grinned, as if reading her thoughts. An orb of ice whistled past his head as he charged forwards, but she sidestepped his flaring blade and slammed her open palm into his chest. His armor was freezing to the stone the second his body hit. "Don't worry, I'll send your frozen body back to your dictator, Praetor scum."

Her smile of triumph was short lived as she looked up to see the mul helping the enemy half-giant to his feet. Torg rushed them but their half-giant intercepted him, Torg's axe - cracked from breaking their half-giant's other shield - flew into a dozen pieces. Torg had only a moment to lament his loss as the mul's axe was firmly planted between his eyes a split-second later.

Adrenaline and rage washed away the flood of sorrow and loss, rage that amplified her powers as she raised her hand and flooded the room with razor shards of ice.

Another dart buried itself in her palm causing her hand to clamp closed reflexively and distracting her control of the raw elemental energy she had called into existence.

So intense was the chill energy condensed in her hand that even with her psychic protections, her hand burned with the cold. Their half-giant closed with a roar and she slammed her cramped and blackening fist into the stone at his feet. Ice spears launched from the stone with enough force that jagged bits of stone cut Ansaria and the onrushing mul as they impaled the half-giant's legs. The spears exploded into fragments as he slammed head-first into the stairs at her feet with enough force to crack his carapace helm and she whirled to face the mul.

An inch-thick orb of ice enveloped her as he leapt through the air, but even as he swung, his axe ignited in an inferno of sorcerous flame, her protective ice evaporating away before it.

_Damn you Praetor, we were so close!_ she thought - and it was her last.


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## Iron Sky (Dec 25, 2011)

*25th of Sorrow*
_Praetorian Dormitory, Praetorium, Balic

_I don't know who the ice witch was or what exactly the ritual we interrupted was supposed to do, but we barely made it out of that one alive. Let's just say it's a good thing I saved that Ambrosia Pear or we'd probably all be dead.

I'm fairly certain they were Veiled Alliance - though to be fair, we throw that label on almost anyone who resists Andropinis rule in any organized fashion - but there's no way to know for sure.

I do know those guardsmen that stopped us at the base of the mountain will be going on trial - for incompetence or collusion, I don't care which. Maybe both.

We were too weary from the battle to do little more than collapse at the end of one of the dead-end passageways. It was a good thing we left Mortuus on watch as we were attacked in the middle of the night by several assassins. I'm not sure exactly what happened in the battle as their attack was heralded by hurled pouches of blinding powder, but we were able to cut them down.

More Veiled Alliance? Some other faction interested in the tombs? Someone following me and seizing an opportune moment for an assassination?

Once we were sufficiently rested, we pushed on past the ritual chamber where we defeated the Veiled Alliance and found an elven tomb-guardian spirit on the far size of a small chasm where rock had shifted and torn the room in two.

Perhaps the Veiled Alliance were attempting to banish it with their ritual? Regardless, I didn't feel like battling it - the wound was still worse and even more so now. I can barely lift my arm.

The spirit said it had been there since the lands belonged to the elves, before 'Usurper Andropinis' attacked them without provocation and devoid of mercy. He continued to defame Andropinis and the Praetors until Darus snapped and leapt the chasm to attack. Thanks to Andropinis' powers, the spirit was sent to oblivion.

Beyond was the tomb of some elven king, statues of winged elves lining the sides of the room like honor guards. When we opened the dusty sarcophagus in the center of the room, an elf lay as though sleeping in ancient garb. Examination showed it was, in fact, dead, which didn't stop it from arising with eyes that burned like emeralds held before the sun. Two more of them battered their way out of smaller sarcophagi on the side of the room.

The battle was hard-fought and again, if it weren't for the gifts of Andropinis, we would not have survived. As it was, everyone was exhausted, battered, and bearing a dozen wounds each from two days of hard fighting in the tombs.

At the back of the tomb, we found a fourth sarcophagus - smaller but far more elaborate. When we approached, the spirit we had dispatched earlier reformed in our path. It said something about our "feeble magics" and "high priests' sarcophagus" but we were too busy retreating from it to listen. Everything seemed to be happening at a great distance except the throbbing of my wound, including when I fell into the fissure and only Darus catching my arm as I fell saving me from joining the spirit in the world beyond.

Eutropia examined my wound with great concern - I'm growing rather fond of her, for a slave - and dispatched Abu to bring the apothecary and surgeon. I informed her that if the surgeon took my hand, I'd have his head in exchange.

They'll be here soon. My whole arm alternates between being numb and cold like stone and burning like the crest of a sand dune at high noon. Black lines trace up my whole arm and reach towards my heart.

My vision is going black again, so I'll have to finish this. I'll leave this journal with Darus in case this is the last entry of Preator Kar Jerrek...


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## Iron Sky (Jan 3, 2012)

The last was the end of Session 6. I wasn't there for the next session of the game so Sanzuo is going to step in and write it up in the next week or so since he's the DM.

Enjoy!


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## Sanzuo (Jan 14, 2012)

In the waning light of Athas' crimson sun, the metropolis of Balic sat on a chunk of rock jutting out like the tip of a claw into the yellow haze of the silt estuary.  The city itself sprawled across a hill – at the top of which stood the only real towers the city had.  They were the towers of the megaleneon, Balic's government district.

 Out of the base of one of these towers walked Mortuus.  He was just in time to catch a last glimpse of  the sun as it dropped behind the sandstone walls separating the megaleneon from the rest of the city.  Soon the assassin and everyone else would be able to enjoy a short time of cool air before it became freezing and he would need to find a fire and some girls to keep him warm.

 He spotted a girl just then waiting on the inside of the megaleneon gate, but this was not a girl he was happy to see.  She was young and beautiful with black hair and olive skin.  She wore a red silk dress that hugged her upper body tightly, blossomed below her waist and hung loosely just short above the ground.  Next to her were two female, half-giant bodyguards.  They wore proportionally less than their charge, just some leather harnesses for a small amount of modesty and to anchor their arsenal of weapons; daggers, short swords, cudgels, slings and mauls.  Those weapons were not just for show, Mortuus knew from his keen insight, and because he personally knew these particular individuals.  The half-giants were hardened fighters, covered in scars and rescued from the arena.

 The girl spotted Mortuus, and the minstrel braced himself for what he suddenly knew what was coming next.  She bolted the length between Mortuus and herself in three graceful strides and tackled him, nearly taking him down to the ground.  She wrapped her slender, but surprisingly strong arms around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth.  Flustered and feeling understandably awkward, Mortuus tried unsuccessfully to untangle himself from the girl.  While this was happening, her bodyguards made no attempt to separate the two of them and casually caught up.

 “Mort!  My love, why haven't you visited me? It's been ages!”  The girl said loudly enough for everyone in the plaza to hear.

 “Are you completely insane, Rava?”  Mortuus said in a hissing whisper, continuing to try and free himself.  “You are suppose to be in mourning.  What if Jerreck saw you right now?”

 “I heard he was dying – also, I don't care.”  The girl locked her hands around her wrists behind Mortuus' back to hold the embrace.  “I missed you so much.  I hate it.”

 “What? How did you know? Let go.  Damn you.”

 “No.”

 “Will you get this girl off of me?  I'll hurt her, I swear.”  Mortuus gave a pleading look at the half-giants.  They both shrugged apathetically.

 “My father wants to see you.”  She said, now resting her head on Mortuus' chest.  “But it's getting dark.  Can I stay here tonight?”

 “Absolutely not.  We're going to your father right now.  How did you know about Kar?  Never mind.  Shut up.”

 Mortuus trudged toward the gate with the girl still hanging off of him pouting and pretending to weep.  He continued to fight and scold her as the four of them went out into the night.


 By the time they arrived at the estate, Mortuus had managed to dislodge her and now she was skipping in circles around the group.  She had stopped and investigated every interesting person or thing along the way.  She had an impossible amount of energy, Mortuus thought.  When they got inside he practically ran towards the office, doing his best to outpace the girl.  Thankfully, the seneschal ran interference and stopped her before she could follow him inside.  Lord Dephnical waited within, seated behind a marble table.

 Mortuus slammed the door behind him.

 “Would you find that girl another damned husband, already?  She is completely out of control.”   Mortuus blurted.  He rarely lost his cool composure, but the young lady Dephnical was one of the few people who could fluster Mortuus in such a way.  The Lord Dephnical never lost his composure.  Not ever.

 “Is Kar Jerreck going to die?”  Dephnical asked plainly.

 Mortuus took a moment to compose himself.  “Probably.  When I left he already looked like a corpse and the apothecary was bleeding him like a stuck erdlu.”

 “Damn.”  Dephnical exhaled sharply.  It was as upset as Mortuus had ever seen him.  “This is a disaster.”

 “What about his half-brother?  Praetor Darus?”

 “The mul?” Dephnical pronounced 'mul' in the derogatory way.  Like 'mule.' “That won't do.  He's a brute, and a poor figurehead.  Useless.”

 “I beg your pardon, but the mul is not useless.” Mortuus said.  “I've seen him in action, he's a damned tornado made out of rocks - and he has the Dictator's power behind every swing of his arm and every spell from his lips.  He's really quite an awesome spectacle, really.  Saved our lives more than once.”

 “I don't need a gladiator, I need someone with a different kind of charisma.  The kind Jerreck had.”

 “Well.” Mortuus tried to console. “He's not quite dead yet...”

 There was silence for a time.  Mortuus poured himself something from a bottle that was sitting on the table.  Unconsciously, he smelled it for poison before taking a sip.

“What did you find beneath the mountain?”  Dephical asked.

 “Two more artifacts, just like you thought.”  Mortuus said.

 “Yes!  Bloody marvelous.  You have them?”

 Mortuus patted his pouches and nodded.

Dephnical was suddenly in a better mood.  “Excellent.  We still need to get that first one that Jerreck stupidly gave away.  You need to get it.”

_Finally, something I'm good at._  Mortuus thought.  “I can do that.  I can do that right now.”

 “Careful.”  Dephnical warned.  “House Tomblador is not to be taken lightly.  They will torture and kill you if you are caught.  Take your time and do not fail, just get the artifact back by any means necessary.”

 “Well, I should probably try not to draw attention to ourselves, and probably not you most of all.”

 “That goes without saying, my boy.  But the artifact is the most important, even if you have to kill a hundred Tombladors and run back here with a hoard of them at your back – get it to me.”

 “It certainly will not come to that.  And these?”  Mortuus placed a hand on the pouch containing the other two pieces.

 Dephnical thought a moment.  “Hang on to them in the chance that Jerreck does recover.  He doesn't need any more evidence that you work for me and not him.  Just don't do something foolish like give them away.”

 “I'll get started then.” Mortuus said and finished his drink.  “Also I wasn't kidding, find Rava a husband.”

 “She's still in 'mourning.'  Also, I decided she might have been more useful unmarried, and to use as leverage against Jerreck.”

 “Is that why I killed the Arvos boy?”

 “Sure, let us just say that was it.  Anyway, when Jerreck dies I might just give her to you.”

 “Please! Whatever I did wrong I'm sorry.”

 “Apologize to me by getting the artifact back.  Now get going.”

 “Right.” Mortuus hesitated. “Uh.”

 “What is it?” Dephnical said.

 Mortuus glanced back at the office door.  “May I use the window?”


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## Iron Sky (Jan 14, 2012)

This is all new to me. And to think I was starting to trust Mortuus...

At least with your enemies, you know where they stand; it's your allies you can't trust.

Good thing Darus is absolutely trustworthy - oh wait...


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## Iron Sky (Sep 3, 2012)

9 months later... I don't think Sanzuo is going to post anything more here and the game is pretty definitely over and done.

However, there were 6 more session after this one that I could write up if there's any interest left. Difference between it ending abruptly here or it ending abruptly again 6 months from now.

Posting pace wouldn't be fast as I'm focusing most of my writing on my new (mostly) scifi/fantasy blog, but if enough people are interested, I could get back into working on the Praetor's story, maybe even prod Sanzuo into writing up the rest of this session I wasn't there for...


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## Azkorra (Sep 5, 2012)

I really liked this SH and hate to see it discontinued but I think you can save yourself the work to post the rest of it because as you said it will end abruptly anyhow. 

Instead, I've just re-started reading your Rise of Felskein story which I can only recommend to everyone here on the boards.


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## Iron Sky (Sep 6, 2012)

Azkorra said:


> I really liked this SH and hate to see it discontinued but I think you can save yourself the work to post the rest of it because as you said it will end abruptly anyhow.
> 
> Instead, I've just re-started reading your Rise of Felskein story which I can only recommend to everyone here on the boards.




Thanks for the feedback Azkorra. I would have liked if we had reached some conclusion to this, but the GM losing interest and moving half-way across the country kinda did it in.

Rise of Felskein has been, um, "un D&D-ified", edited, proofread and renamed Continent in the Clouds in my sig, though the .pdf costs a dollar. Or you could just read it for free here.


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