Today, we discuss some of our favorite ways to include enemies in RPGs. This week is all about the big dogs of the antagonist set: the archenemies.
Today, we discuss some of our favorite ways to include enemies in RPGs. This week is all about the big dogs of the antagonist set: the archenemies.
Ilsa, Blue, and their allies have arrived at the Lake of Saints.
But there is more in the mountains than the crater lake.
Enemies have followed them from the steppe.
The Red Lector’s troops have caught up.
The Lake of Saints was dark, but those infuriating lights still bounced along the far shore. In the shadow of Nurse Mountain, those lights were the only reflections on the water, the stars hidden by the curving peak. Ilsa clenched her free hand into a fist but knew even if she had a rifle she would not be able to hit anything on the opposite shore. At night, in shadow, and so far away she doubted even her father could shoot accurately.
Blue shook from head to toe. “Why did Ashnia ask where the Keeper was? They were already headed after her.”
“We can’t be sure why this happened.” Ilsa glanced at Blue. Her friend was hot with rage, so hot her skin could have been burning in the night. “But you’re right. We need to catch up, and fast.”
“I thought the Lake would be safe.” Blue glared at the lights.
“I’m surprised there are still Ayochians going after the Keeper, even after the Uzan attacked them. But there it is.”
“There it is.” Blue’s voice was almost a growl.
Ilsa grunted. “How do we catch up?”
A hawk cried from behind Ilsa and Blue. Megalli stood on the shore by the lodge, holding a long rifle by the barrel. A great hawk, even larger than the one Banasi had ridden over the plains, circled low and then landed beside the Vogmem leader.
Megalli waved them over. “If you’re light enough, one of you can ride with me.”
Ilsa gave the hawk a sideways glance. “You sure?”
“Sure as anything, priestess. Akirette and the Keeper need help. And I’m just one pretty little rider with decent aim.” She leaned close to the hawk and whispered something in the bird’s ear.
Ganara and four or five other Vogmem emerged from the doorway of the lodge. The yellow-haired Vogmem chieftain marched toward Megalli, Ilsa, and Blue, boots thudding on the stony shore. The smell of powder wafted in the air.
Ganara’s nostrils flared as she looked across the lake. “Vada damn them all. The Ayochians are going to attack the hermitage. There’s no way the runners will get there in time.”
Ilsa frowned at Megalli. “How many skyriders are camped here?”
“I have my personal guard. Ten riders and twenty hawks, but rousing them will take time.”
“We don’t have time,” Ganara said.
“I hate to agree with her, but she’s right.” Blue’s hot anger had subsided. She sounded numb. “That man who attacked us is dangerous on his own, and I sense at least ten riders on the far shore.”
“Can you take any of them over?” asked Ilsa.
“A strong magus is protecting them. I can’t get a grip on any individuals.”
Ilsa glanced at Megalli and her hawk. “We can’t just wait here. Megalli, I’ll fly with you.”
“Two guns are better than one.” Megalli loaded her old rifle with the tell-tale second clunk of an extended magazine bumping against the stock. She took the rifle the by the stock and then wrapped her other hand around one of the handles on the cloth saddle stretched between the hawk’s huge wings. Her legs folded into a crouch. Megalli turned to Ganara, all traces of her earlier teasing gone. “We’ll slow them down. Bring as many of your riders as you can rouse quickly.”
“I’m not going to let you fight alone.” Ganara folded her arms. “No honor in that.”
Hiragen and Lemuel made their way out of the lodge as Ilsa climbed onto the back of the hawk, loaded pistol in one hand. Lemuel ran up to Ilsa and the hawk. The bird shot him a gold-eyed glare. He backed off a step, both hands up in a soothing gesture.
“Ilsa, protect Tirica.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Lemuel gave a nod, his eyes on hers.
“Hold on, priestess,” Megalli said. Then she leaned forward and spoke to the hawk. The great wings beat and they lifted off the shore to fly across the dark waters. The hawk called into the howling wind, a piercing shriek that seemed as thought it could wake the dead.
Cold ran through Ilsa. Her fingers wrapped around one of the wooden handles on the back of the saddle, rough to the touch. The rocking motion of the great hawk’s wings nearly made her sick as they ascended. Then her stomach jumped as those wings spread and they fell into a steady downward glide.
She looked toward the fires of the Vogmem camp near the lodge. A few other winged shadows wheeled around the flickers of flame. Ilsa hoped they would be quick to follow her and Megalli. The wind bit into her skin, cold as any winter.
Ilsa returned her gaze to the bobbing lanterns passing along the rocky lake shore ahead of them. Her teeth chattering, she began to see that Blue had underestimated their numbers. Not ten, but twenty or more runners were cast in the lantern light, and these were only the ones riding with illumination. For all she knew, there could easily be twice that many.
Megalli spoke to the hawk with words Ilsa did not understand. The bird banked westward. The lights of the stars fell behind the shadows of Nurse Mountain. Ilsa squinted into the shadows. “Where is the hermitage?”
Megalli pointed with her rifle barrel, directly into the shadows at the base of the Mountain. “He lives in a cave near an abandoned Morhoen trading post.”
“A trading post?”
“There used to be an Ayochian fort, and before that a temple to Vada built by my people.”
Ilsa shivered and leaned in close behind Megalli. “There’s a lot of history to this place.”
“They say the hermit saw it all.”
“How old is this hermit?”
Megalli lowered the barrel of her rifle. “He was old when my grandmother became chieftain of the skyriders, and she has been gone for twenty years.”
Ilsa frowned as she considered the sort of lifespan that implied. “How?”
“I can’t be sure. But there are stranger things than immortal monks in this world.”
“Maybe. But I’ve never met an immortal.” Or have I? She scowled as her thoughts turned to Blue’s explanation of the Temple of Colors, and then to the Uzan.
“Neither have I. Only Akirette and Hiragen visit the hermit.”
The hawk banked to the east. They caught an updraft and Ilsa’s stomach lurched as they soared high over the shallows, then over the lake shore. She lost any thread of the conversation as Megalli guided the hawk in a dizzying downward spiral.
The outline of the old trading post appeared before them. The rotten supports of a collapsed pier extended into the water from a still-intact but vacant collection of wooden structures a short distance from the shore. Ilsa smelled decay but with it the flowers of white roses, the flowers of Hathani.
She peered into the darkness ahead of them as the bird glided to land beside the largest structure. Though she could not see, she knew Cass was close. Good. The hawk had been fast enough to outrace the Ayochian party. Ilsa climbed off the hawk. Her footsteps felt strange and comforting on solid ground once again.
Megalli nodded to her. “I’ll get airborne and cover you. Find the others, priestess.”
Almost funny, how authoritative the otherwise flighty young chieftain sounded now. Ilsa nodded to her. “I can smell one of them. They’re close.” At least, Cass is close. She prayed silently that Cass had not separated from the others.
The hawk beat its wings and ascended with Megalli.
Ilsa crouched and slipped through the shadows, moving her feet carefully to avoid as many loose stones possible. The smell of rotten wood seemed all the more intense when coupled with the fresh breeze off the lake. She made her way past one collapsed structure on the eastern side of the trading post and then froze. The lights of the Ayochian Party approached along the curved shore of the lake where traces of ice floated in the shallows.
At the head of the riders a tall man rode, a lantern pole propped against one shoulder and his other arm in a sling. Ilsa squinted to confirm her suspicion, but she could have guessed Kaij Haram would not have died back at the Central Lyre. Even after his wounds when the Oshomi broke through the Red Lector’s lines, and despite the Uzan’s brutal attack, he still rode high in the saddle. Behind him, she glimpsed the pale face of his lethal twin brother, the ice magus Yunn.
She gritted her teeth as she thought of the icy chill Yunn had sent to her heart. If not for Lemuel’s warmth and Cass’s sure shooting, she would have died on that field before ever reaching the Central Lyre. Her fear of the Red Lector’s sons was real, and somewhere Ferdinand lurked under the control of the Lector’s daughter. No telling about any others.
Ilsa kept moving toward the mountain, eyes adjusting to the inky darkness. Skin prickling with the cold, mouth dry, she breathed as softly and steadily as she could. She left the shelter of the trading post and crept up the steepening slope of the barren mountainside. Boulders strewn here and there provided her shelter, but she doubted they would have missed spotting her in those first few seconds.
A clatter of pebbles from ahead of her made her turn. A figure hunkered down behind a boulder ten meters further up the slope from Ilsa. She carried a long rifle of Chogrumian make, with a telescopic sight. Tirica shifted, and dislodged another few pebbles. They skittered down the slope, bouncing off other stones on the way down to the derelict buildings by the shore.
Ilsa waved a hand around the side of her boulder, motioning to Tirica, but did not call out, for fear of attracting too much attention to Lemuel’s sister. The Red Lector’s sons and their party of scouts had reached the trading post. The breathing of their animals was loud, interspersed with low purring sounds, and the click of claws on stones. Runners were vocal more often than the stoic-natured striders.
The bustle of motion below gave Ilsa the chance to sneak up the slope. She held her breath until she reached the stone where Tirica was hiding. She looked over her shoulder, but did not think Kaij, Yunn, or their troops had spotted her. At any rate, they did not fire a shot.
“Tirica,” said Ilsa. “Where are the others?”
“At the hermitage.” Tirica jerked her finger at the wide opening of finished stone in a section of sheer rock face, up the slope to the northeast, about forty meters away. “I was keeping watch.”
“Do you think we can get to the cave without them seeing us?” Ilsa asked.
Tirica exhaled. She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
The scuffle of the runners below drew Ilsa’s attention. One of the animals had broken away from the main group and was making its way up the slope slowly, riderless, paws padding on the stony scree. Ilsa frowned at the creature.
“What is it doing?” she murmured.
Tirica leaned in behind Ilsa. “What’s going on down there?”
“A distraction of course!” crowed a girlish voice from the rock above them. Ilsa glanced up and glimpsed the flicker of an iron barrel. She grabbed Tirica’s shoulders and pulled her sideways.
Melinda, her father’s apprentice, turned in her place atop of the boulder. “Found them,” she called to the scouts below.
Ilsa’s eyes narrowed as she lurched painfully up from the stone where she had pulled Tirica. She leveled her pistol at Melinda. Nothing to be gained from being stealthy now, she thought. It’s time to fight.
She squeezed the trigger.
Melinda fell to her belly on the top of the boulder, flattened to the stone. Ilsa’s shot went wide. One of Melinda’s arms extended. She held a pistol in her grip.
“What about you?”
“Get to the hermit.”
She gave no sign she had heard Ilsa but clutched her rifle to her chest.
Ilsa leveled her pistol at Melinda. The slim young gun bond grinned at Ilsa from beneath a mop of frizzy hair, still pressed to the top of the boulder.
Melinda rolled and spun on her back. Ilsa lost her view of the girl. She pelted toward the boulder and leaped. Melinda fired twice.
Blood rushed from Ilsa’s face as the wind and the shock of the sounds hit her. Yet there was no pain except for the ache of the impact when she hit the side of the rock. Her fingers found purchase. She scrambled to the top of the boulder just as Tirica’s running silhouette stumbled. Tirica fell.
Melinda cackled with laughter and rolled onto her back. Both pistols flew to aim at Ilsa. Ilsa’s pistol barrel slammed into the girl’s chin.
Melinda’s skull cracked against stone and the shots she fired went wide. The roar of powder came from the slope below. Bullets whistled past Ilsa from the scouts.
She fell into a crouch with a grunt and slammed her father’s psychotic apprentice again. Melinda’s laughter died away. Her eyes rolled back in her head and the pistols fell from her fingers.
Ilsa glanced down at the slope. One of the other scouts handed Kaij a shotgun. They stood just ten meters away. Ilsa slipped over the side of the boulder. She ran up the slope to where Tirica had fallen.
Tirica groaned as Ilsa touched her side.
Ilsa smelled blood, mingled with spent propellant. “Where did she hit you?”
“My shoulder.” Tirica grunted.
Ilsa helped her to her feet, feeling the wet of blood on her hands. “She’s down. We have to hurry.” And she helped Tirica to the mouth of the hermit’s cave.
In this episode, Rob and Tim discuss the topic of Religion in roleplaying games, including games like Pathfinder.
Hey, what could go wrong?
This is the first post here that is neither podcast nor fiction in quite a while. The Serial, Tenlyres, has been going for about six months at this point.
I think it is about time I reintroduce myself and my other work.
That goes double because I have just got the updated covers of my short stories released, and I have another novel almost ready to release in ebook.
I want to go through the books I have out in the order I released them. It may seem a bit early in my career for a retrospective, but these stories are all still good and I want you to know a little about them. If you are a reader of Tenlyres you may have noticed the sidebar where I have the book covers.
Right now, there are four of them.
First of all, over a year and a half ago, is a little short story called Stolen Parts.
Stolen Parts is about a pair of necromancers who are also a girlfriend and boyfriend having relationship trouble. What can bring them back together? Her heart is stolen, and he tries to save her. He is gonna need her help to get it back from the small-town master necromancer who stole it. I think it’s a fun, and funny, little urban fantasy story.
Next up, is the first story in my “Clean” world. It’s got a long name. Ludosensitvity.
Ludosensitivity means something along the lines of “sensitivity to play” or “game sense”.
The setting is the near future, but a very weird near-future where the population gains psychic abilities that they can use to network like computers. There are many complications that result from this set-up. This short story focuses on a corporate buy-out… resolved over a game of chess between two people, both using psychic abilities.
I released my first novel-length fiction last January. It’s a series starter, and I am at work on the sequel.
It’s called “Hunter and Seed” and is the first in the Maker Mythos. It follows a man from another dimension but exiled to our Earth as he breaks the law to pursue a thief across multiple worlds. At stake? The creation and shaping of a new world. This is a fast-paced urban fantasy novel with a lot of adventure elements. It’s also a send-up of some classic fantasy tropes. The protagonist, Saul, is definitely a bit of an antihero. As he struggles to do the right thing he also has trouble giving up his own selfish goals.
The first part of Hunter and Seed, the Earthborn Hunter, is available for free on every major site my work is found other than Amazon at the moment. It’s quite popular over at Barnes & Noble.
That brings us to Tenlyres, the current serial in progress. I’m pretty proud of the way this story is evolving, and I enjoy the serialization process. You can get the compilation of the first third of the story over at Amazon.com and on other sites like Barnes & Nobel and Apple. This story is VERY out-there epic fantasy with a lot of odd technology, including firearms.
That’s where we stand. Rem’s Dream is my next novel. It’s cyberpunk, and should work for a younger audience. Follow the young heroine, Rem, as she grows up in a near-future where dreams are both the next frontier and the source of energy for the waking world. That will be up in a few weeks, and I will be back to chat with you again as that gets closer.
Another chapter of Tenlyres is out tomorrow. So watch out for that.
Thanks, and keep reading.
This week’s episode is a little bit short due to technical difficulties.
It’s also an episode without a specific topic, so keep that in mind. Let us know if this format works for you.
Otherwise, we probably won’t do another show without a firm topic anytime soon. It’s tougher than it sounds.
Ilsa and Blue ride north from the Central Lyre with the Keeper of Tenlyres, who it is their mission to protect.
They have reached the Lake of Saints and found potential allies among the Vogmem tribes on the northern edge of the plateau.
Four Chieftains command the Vogmem, and the Oshomi Ilsa and Blue ride with are no friends of any of them.
Can they unite two long-time enemies in time to resist the foes close behind them?
Sweet and strange-smelling smoke wafted through the meeting lodge by the Lake of Saints. Ilsa stopped just inside the doorway, behind Blue and Lemuel. She planted the base of her red staff on the floor and looked down the length of the room, searching for Siuku’s pale hair or white veil. She did not find her.
Blue turned to Ilsa. “She isn’t here.”
Blue tapped the side of her head. “Yeah.”
She looked around the lodge and spotted the red-bearded Hiragen, and the gray-clad Ganara on the far side of the room among a cluster of other people. She grimaced as the blond Vogmem chieftain turned in her direction. Ganara motioned them closer.
“Then, she’s late,” Ilsa muttered. She started across the room toward the two chieftains. Blue and Lemuel walked with her. Tirica and Cass had stayed in the camp nearby to rest. She didn’t blame them for being tired, and she admired the calm it took not show anxiety at the possible decisions of the Vogmem’s four leaders.
Smoking pipes and a burning fireplace in the center of the lodge made the place warm and strange to smell, but could not mask the powder scents of weapons carried by the people within. Mostly the weapons smelled of archaic propellants, but she caught whiffs of Ayochian auto-launch and Dalite-made Calbuin Company ammunition.
Ilsa passed the fireplace with its cage-like iron guard. She, Lemuel, and Blue approached Ganara and Hiragen. She leaned her staff the wall nearby.
“Chogrumians,” said Ganara. “Where is the Keeper of Tenlyres?”
Lemuel glanced at Ilsa at the same moment as Blue.
She shrugged. “We don’t know. She should be here any time now.”
“A likely story. Where are you from? You don’t sound Chogrumian, priestess of Hathani.”
“You know…” Hiragen puffed on his pipe. “Ganara, I trust them.”
“You would, wouldn’t you? Anything to get under my skin.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He sucked in the smoke from his pipe and smiled. Then he turned to Ilsa. “The others will be here soon. You should introduce yourselves to them, though I think they will be able to pick you out once they arrive. You are all clearly not Vogmem.”
“Megalli,” said a voice into Ilsa’s ear. She whirled, unable to hide her surprise and halfway to producing a pistol.
A slightly built woman with dark hair stood behind her. The woman stepped back, still on her tiptoes. She smirked at Ilsa, then twirled. Strings with beads on them shimmered at the hem of her waist-length coat. “That’s my name. I’m Chieftain Megalli of the eastern skyriders.”
“You?” Ilsa frowned. “You look like a kid.”
“And she acts like one too,” said Ganara.
“If you are done trying to insult me, Ganara, I have something to tell you,” said Megalli.
Hiragen’s eyes moved past Ilsa to focus on Megalli’s face. “Speak.”
“Akirette and the Keeper of Tenlyres are not coming to the lodge tonight.” Megalli shrugged her hands. “They are going to Nurse Mountain to meet with the hermit. They took the priestess with the broken arm and the Chogrumian girl with them.”
Blue raised her dark brows. “Why didn’t the Keeper tell us?”
“She seems to think you can negotiate with us better than she could. She may be right.”
“Megalli.” Ganara glared at the other chieftain. “Sit down.”
“I’d rather fly.”
“You aren’t on your hawk now. Sit.”
“Ganara, you are very intent on being annoyed. Why bother?”
“Not all of us can be as flighty as you.”
Ilsa glanced at Lemuel, hoping he could lend her some patience to handle the bickering of the Vogmem leaders. He did not take her cue, only shook his head and frowned. She leaned close to him and under her breath said, “Probably not wise to butt in?”
“Probably,” he murmured.
Despite the tension of the situation, he seemed distracted from the moment. Distraction could be dangerous, even in situations with far lower stakes. Ilsa’s eyes stayed on his face.
“What’s bothering you?” she asked.
“Tirica went to Nurse Mountain without telling me first.” His frowned deepened. “We traveled west together, but I guess she thinks we’re safe now.”
“Definitely not true.” Ilsa put a hand on his arm. “But don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”
He gave her a weak smile. “I know.” But his expression did not convey the same confidence.
Ganara and Megalli were glaring at each other, apparently at a loss for words to express their distaste over the argument. Then, Hiragen laughed and clapped them each on the shoulder. They rounded on him as one, both temper’s obvious.
He sat back and raised his hands. “Be calm. Akirette isn’t here, so we must represent the Four Tribes of Vogmem without her tonight.”
Ganara grunted, but then nodded.
Megalli shrugged. “Fine.”
Ilsa couldn’t help a slight smile. “I’m hardly able to speak for most of the Oshomi, but I know the Keeper wants an alliance. If she didn’t she wouldn’t be traveling with the fourth chieftain and without me and Blue.”
“As a priestess of Vada…” Ganara turned toward Ilsa and Blue and Lemuel. “I think peace would be best for now.”
“We stand together on this.” Megalli giggled. “Of course, I’d rather be airborne.”
Hiragen bowed his head to Ganara, then to Megalli. “I’ve wanted peace a long time. This will suit my people.”
“Sadly,” said Blue. “Peace with the Oshomi does not mean total peace.” She motioned to Ilsa. “If the Red Lector of Ayoch survived the Uzan he will be after the Keeper. That could lead him here.”
Ganara shook her head. Yellow hair shimmered. “If not the Red Lector, the Summer Devil.”
Ilsa frowned at the chieftains. “The Summer Devil?”
“There is an Ayochian General who returns when the thaw comes to the mountains. She brings troops almost every year.”
“I didn’t know Ayoch wanted the Lake of Saints.”
“Ayoch must want everything that is,” said Ganara.
Hiragen exhaled smoke and nodded.
“You’ve both fought her many times,” said Megalli. “If my people lived further west, I’m sure I would feel the same.”
Ilsa folded her arms. “This Summer Devil is a threat. And we have real devils on the plateau too.”
Hiragen’s expression turned grim. “The Uzan. Banasi isn’t the only scout who spotted them.”
“My lookouts on the peaks have only reported one great shell falling.” Megalli leaned toward Lemuel so her side brushed his shrunken arm. “I suppose that’s good news.”
“A great shell.” Ilsa thought back to the way the ground had shaken and burst apart when the huge bullet had impacted the Lotok formation. “We saw the effects of one on our way to the mountains.”
“They shatter the earth.” Ganara’s eyes closed. “I would not believe it, had I not seen it myself.”
“Yeah, that’s it exactly.” Blue turned to Lemuel, who was looking down at Megalli by his side. “Any idea where it came from?”
He backed carefully away from the slim Vogmem leader. “I’ve never read of such a thing. The records only go back so far.”
Ilsa’s brows bent. “Then we’re blind. They could have more, and they could show up anywhere. We can’t know.”
“Now you sound like me,” said Blue. “But they have to have some way to target those things and to launch them.”
“It definitely came from the Central Lyre,” said Ilsa. “They must have some sort of cannon there.”
“Could be.” Lemuel stroked the thin beard on his chin with his small hand. “But given the frequency of the Lyres, there is another possibility.”
Ilsa’s eyes met his, and he answered before she could ask her question.
“Think about this. The Uzan have been imprisoned beneath the Lyres since prehistory. At least three thousand years. I don’t think they’re immortal.”
“That’s an assumption we shouldn’t make.” Ganara’s eyes narrowed into slits. “These are the enemies of the gods, after all.”
Blue rolled her eyes. “No such thing as immortals. Ilsa killed two of them that I saw.”
Ganara glared at Blue. “What is an unbeliever doing with the Unification.”
“Fighting the good fight.”
“Go on, Lemuel,” said Ilsa.
He nodded. “Right. If the Uzan don’t have an immortal lifespan it is possible the Lyre did more than seal their bodies underground.”
“Some other kind of magic preserved them?” Hiragen shook his head. “Even magi can’t stop time.”
Ganara gave a snort of feigned laughter. “I don’t believe it either.”
“You said it yourself,” Megalli turned to Blue. “No such thing as immortals.”
Blue looked down at the floor. “I did say that.” She sighed. “But there are ways to avoid aging. I know that too.”
Ilsa raised her eyebrows at Blue. She had never heard Blue mention anything like this before, but then, her friend was much less talkative than usual when it came to past events. When the mind eater did not continue, Ilsa reached out and touched Blue’s arm. “What do you know?”
Blue raised her face, eyes unfocused but not completely lost to a magical trance. “There’s a place old mind eaters talk about. It’s called the Temple of Colors.” She looked pensive for a moment as if searching on a shelf for a tool she did not often have cause to use. “I didn’t think it was real until I went there myself.”
“I don’t understand,” said Ganara. “What does this temple have to do with the preservation of the Uzan?”
“I joined the Temple when I was sixteen.” Blue took a deep breath. “And I studied in the Temple for twenty years.”
“Impossible,” said Hiragen. “You’d have to be my age if you’d done that, and I can tell you aren’t yet near thirty.”
“Where is this temple?” asked Ganara. “Chogrum? Morhoen? I’ve never heard of such a place.”
“Let me make my point,” Blue said in a soft voice. “The Temple of Colors is not a place you can travel to physically. It is a mental place. Only a few trained mind eaters even know how to get there. I found the way when I was young. I spent twenty years studying, and when I returned for the final time it wasn’t after twenty years of our time, only two.”
“You expect us to believe this?” Ganara scowled. “Chogrumian liar.”
Blue shrugged. “It’s the truth, chieftain. The Temple of Colors is real. Most students aren’t as intense as I was. Mostly they don’t forget who they were before.”
Ilsa’s eyes widened. “Is that—?”
“That’s why I call myself Blue. I don’t remember my old name.”
“Fascinating,” said Lemuel, “Are you suggesting the Uzan could have some similar form of preservation?”
Blue nodded. “Their’s would have to be more extreme than the temple’s or they would still have to live for hundreds of years.”
Ganara gave a loud grunt. “Suppose they were preserved. That doesn’t explain how they fired the great shell, does it?”
“Actually, it just might.” Lemuel glanced at Blue. “If what you say is true, then it is possible not all the Uzan were sealed within the lyres themselves. The notes Black Powder played did more than unseal the Lyre’s lower levels,”
“He woke up the Uzan.” Ilsa nodded.
“Like a rooster on a farm,” said Lemuel with a grimace. “A really terrible rooster.”
“So the music of the lyre broke the spell,” said Ilsa, “Is is possible the weapons the Uzan used to fight against the gods were preserved too?”
“Beneath the ground.” Blue shrugged. “Anything is possible.”
Megalli twirled on her feet. “I think I believe all of this. But either way, the Uzan could well have another great shell.”
“It seems likely to me,” said Blue.
Ilsa snapped her fingers. “If it were me I wouldn’t fire my only magic bullet so soon.”
“Are you an Uzan?” asked Ganara.
Ilsa scowled at the blond Vogmem chieftain.
Ganara shifted back in her chair. “Then you should not assume you know what the Uzan will do.”
“We can predict them. They don’t seem very intelligent.” Ilsa put a palm to her forehead. “It’s the one who set them free that I don’t understand.”
“Black Powder,” said Lemuel.
“The mercenary leader?” Megalli grabbed Lemuel’s arm. “What does he have to do with this?”
“He’s the one who freed the Uzan,” said Ilsa.
Ganara scoffed at Megalli. “Keep up, skyrider.”
“Black Powder rides with the Red Lector’s army.” Ilsa hated to admit it, but her father would know how to avoid being killed by the Uzan or he never would have freed them. “He’s traveling with a number of his apprentices.” She rubbed the back of her hand where Melinda’s bullet had torn through it back at the Central Lyre. Siuku had healed the wound, but the memory of the pain remained. “But I don’t know what he wants.”
“If he rides with Ayoch he is the enemy,” said Ganara.
“Agreed.” Hiragen breathed out a cloud of smoke.
Ilsa wrinkled her nose at the smell. Whatever the Vogmem smoked, Hiragen had chosen something pungent and bitter, even compared to powder. She nodded to the chieftains. “We will help you fight the Lector and Uzan. In truth, we are all one people.”
“Humanity,” said Blue.
A loud crash from the far end of the lodge made Ilsa and Lemuel turn. The door swung back from where it had slammed. Her heart jumped. She smelled blood through the smoky scents of the room. The figure hunched in the doorway was awkward but unmistakable.
Ferdinand Thoss lurched forward into the lodge. His eyes gleamed through the haze and found Ilsa on the far side of the room. Tracks of dried blood ran from a cut beneath the disheveled black hair on his forehead. He wore his armor but carried no weapons openly. He walked into the room, ignoring everyone but her.
The Vogmem stared at him except for one big man who stepped into Ferdinand’s path. He held out his hand to stop the man before him. “Who are you?”
“I h-have f-friends h-here.” Ferdinand looked up at the big man. “S-stand aside.”
“You did not arrive with them, stuttering fool. I saw the whole group.”
As he lost his stutter, Ilsa darted past the fireplace. She put a hand on the big Vogmem’s shoulder. “It’s true. He was with us, but we got separated back at the Central Lyre.”
“At the lyre? That’s a long way off.”
“Look, you simpleton.” Ferdinand glared at the man. “I did not ride for days and evade the Uzan just to be stopped by some idiot tribal.”
The Vogmem’s pale face turned red. He raised his arm to strike Ferdinand, shrugging off Ilsa’s hand. Ferdinand danced backward, still surprisingly quick despite his obvious exhaustion. The Vogmem’s blow found only air.
“I-Ilsa,” Ferdinand said. “Wh-where is the Keeper?”
Blue clapped a hand over Ilsa’s mouth from behind. “Stop, don’t say anything.”
Ilsa struggled against her friend’s grip. She considered trying to bite one of Blue’s fingers. But then her friend released her.
“That’s not Ferdinand,” said Blue.
“What do you mean? It has to be him.”
“It’s his body. But I can tell he’s not calling the shots.”
Ferdinand’s weary face shifted from outrage to a sneer. “Perceptive, aren’t you, Nameless?”
He still sounded like Ferdinand. Ilsa tensed, ready to produce a pistol at a twitch of her hand.
The big Vogmem glanced at Ilsa, confusion on his face.
Ferdinand’s long spear flashed forth from his palm. The blade stabbed into the big man’s chest. Ilsa ducked sideways. The point of the slender spearhead emerged from the Vogmem’s back. Blood ran from his mouth. He fell with a grunt.
Ferdinand straightened his back and chuckled. The other Vogmem in the room erupted to their feet and went for their weapons.
Blue glowered at the man before them. “The Red Lector didn’t ride with any mind eaters. Who are you?”
Ferdinand backed toward the door. “I’m someone who knows you, Nameless.”
Ilsa lowered her hand to one side. She clenched her fingers into a fist but did not produce the pistol immediately. She needed to look for an opening.
Blue paced around the fallen Vogmem man, eyes on Ferdinand. “You’re with the Temple of Colors.”
The sneer stretched unnaturally. The point of the spear followed Blue. “Like you.”
“I left the temple.”
“If only you would return. We could forgive you.”
Blue continued circling further from Ilsa. The possessed Ferdinand’s spear point continued to move like the arrow of a compass. Ilsa’s heart sounded loud in her ears. Her fingers dug into her branded palm. The pistol waited, just a touch away.
Ferdinand tensed to thrust the spear at Blue. Ilsa drew and slammed a magazine into her pistol in one motion. Off went the safety. She aimed at Ferdinand but did not pull the trigger.
Ganara, Hiragen, and Megalli caught up. Megalli knelt down by the man Ferdinand had stabbed. Ganara held an old pistol in one hand and trained it on Ferdinand. Hiragen’s eyes unfocused, but there was no other sign of outward magic from him.
Blue glared at Ferdinand, who backed to the doorway. “You shouldn’t have come in here yourself.”
“This puppet is expendable,” said Ferdinand’s voice. “Unlike the other members of my team. Of course, I did not come alone.”
A gunshot roared through the windowless lodge. The barrel of Ganara’s revolver rose to join with the vapors the Vogmem had been breathing while relaxing. Ferdinand’s form hunched, head bowed, spear loose in his grip.
Ilsa frowned at him. Ganara took a step forward as she chambered another round. “That should have killed you,” she said.
“You Vogmem don’t have armor like we do in the west,” said Ferdinand. “Technology is a wonderful thing, isn’t it?”
She raised the gun to fire again. He stepped through the doorway and his spear vanished, letting the portal shut between him and Ganara.
Ilsa rushed to the doorway, pistol in hand. She heard footsteps retreating outside, despite the ringing of Ganara’s shot in her ears, and the din of shouts from the angry Vogmem who filled the lodge. Blue slammed into the door just ahead of Ilsa and threw it open. She charged out onto the rocky, starlit shore of the Lake of Saints. Ilsa followed her. The Vogmem camp was roused, but Ferdinand was gone.
“Blue, wait,” Ilsa said. “This is dangerous.” She conjured an image of snipers waiting on the mountain ridges high above them.
Blue stumbled to a halt on the shore by the lodge. Ilsa caught up with her friend and clapped a hand on her shoulder. There were tears in Blue’s eyes. “Ashnia,” she said in between two breaths. “A mind eater from the west. It makes sense. It has to be her.”
“Ashnia?” Ilsa repeated. “You know her.”
“When I met her in the Temple she was the Red Lector’s renegade daughter.”
“Looks like she found her way home.”
Blue looked over her shoulder at Ilsa. “Either way, she’s the enemy now. I won’t hesitate to drive her out, next chance I get.”
Ilsa listened to her heartbeat slow as she led Blue back toward the shelter of the lodge. I hope so, she thought.
“It’s alright, Blue. We’ll make it through this.”
“Is that all you worry about?” Blue grimaced. “Ilsa, I cared for that girl.”
Ilsa frowned up at the mountain pass. She squinted, trying to spot possible shooters, but found none overlooking the camp. Then she turned toward the lake. Nurse Mountain’s shadow darkened the waters. Blue leaned against Ilsa’s shoulder and looked in the same direction.
Her tears stopped.
Small lights bobbed along the far shore at the base of the famous mountain. The lights moved in a manner consistent with runners.
Ilsa’s breath felt like it would freeze in her lungs. “They’re going after the Keeper.”
This week, in Of Mooks & Monsters, Tim and Rob discuss the creation of characters in RPGs. Enjoy!
Episode 2 features a discussion of World Building, a favorite subject of both cohosts.
Ilsa and Blue ride north from the Central Lyre with the Keeper of Tenlyres, who it is their mission to protect.
Separated from the rest of their group during a sudden attack by the monstrous Uzan, Ilsa, Blue, and the Keeper, ride toward the mountain pass on the edge of the plateau.
The mountain pass came into sight a few kilometers ahead of Ilsa, Blue, and Siuku. Dew glistened on wiry clumps of mountain grass, pale blue glittering against struggling green. The rough terrain was difficult for already weary striders. Hailek seemed to be tiring as dawn crept over the mountains to the east.
They had ridden evasively during the night to avoid the Uzan, or they would have reached the pass sooner. Blue’s eyes were shot with blood, and Ilsa could only conclude her own looked similar. Granite slopes. Spiny trees. Dark birds that never called out. These things did not seem to care about the arrival of the Uzan so close to them.
Ilsa shivered as she thought of the monstrous beasts. The fact that she had killed one of them seemed completely unimportant. That one had barely managed a shot thanks to Blue’s control. Next time she might not be so lucky.
The world had grown darker since the journey began. Darker, and far, far stranger. Ilsa guided Hailek up a slope into the broadest portion of the pass to the Lake of Saints. Riding behind Blue, Siuku pointed. “Others,” she said in her monotone.
Ilsa’s tired eyes made out the shapes of horses and striders, clear against the gray mountains ahead. Her heart leaped into her throat as she searched for her friends. Lemuel, you have to be here, she thought, and Cass, I still owe you.
She found Tirica first. She sat upon a strider’s back with her long rifle propped against her shoulder. Cass rode behind her, red hair like a halo around her face.
Ilsa kept searching the group of Oshomi who had survived the siege and the Uzan attack. She finally spotted a dark coat with a high collar. Lemuel.
She pushed her heels into Hailek’s sides with more force than needed. The strider grunted and lurched the last few paces up the slope. He stumbled with a groan of protest but covered the rest of the distance. Hailek shuddered and sank to the ground just a few paces away from Lemuel, whose horse gave an anxious snort.
She slid down his side and her shoes landed on the stony ground. “Keeper,” she called. “Please help him, if you can.”
“You should have asked sooner, priestess.” Despite her words, Siuku climbed down from Blue’s strider and ran to the place on Hailek’s side where the Uzan had wounded him.
Ilsa leaned close and brushed the hair of Hailek’s neck gently. “It will be alright, my friend. Hathani keeps us all.”
She turned toward where Lemuel had sat on his animal and found him close before her. She smiled at him, but could not keep from sagging forward from exhaustion. His embrace caught her. His small hand moved down the back of her coat. “They all feared for you.”
“And you didn’t?”
“Only a little.” He squeezed her to him with both arms. “I trust you, Ilsa.”
She set her chin on his shoulder. “Thank you.” It had been years since anyone besides Blue and the Unification had invested that kind of confidence in her. “You helped me get here, you know.”
She flushed, glad he couldn’t see her face. “I wanted to see you that much.”
“And your mission.”
“Yes.” She spoke into his ear. “My mission didn’t have to bring me to this place.” Her grip on him released and she stepped back.
Blue rode to the rest of the party. “The Uzan won’t be far behind us. Do you know anywhere we can go?”
Siuku replaced her veil and straightened her back. “To the Lake of Saints,” she said. “It is not far from here, though the way is difficult for horses.”
“Vogmem control the Lake of Saints,” said Cass. “I heard that at Saint Banyeen’s just before I left.”
“It is a good thing we shared peace meat with them.” Siuku walked past Ilsa and Lemuel toward her riders. “We must hurry.” She raised her bow and one of the riderless horses trotted to her. She climbed up to ride bareback.
A groan came from behind Ilsa. She and Lemuel looked in Hailek’s direction. The great wooly strider climbed to his feet, steady once again. His wound was sealed, but the hair above it was still gone, and the skin was pallid where it had been sealed.
Ilsa offered Lemuel the rope. They climbed into the saddle and rode after the rest of the party.
As they went, Cass and Tirica gradually dropped back to ride beside them.
She glanced at the other priestess, who still wore her arm in a sling. Their eyes met.
“I’m glad you made it,” Cass said. “When that missile hit, I feared the worst.”
“I wouldn’t die while I owe you.” Ilsa grinned wearily, feeling the tug of Lemuel’s small hand holding onto her belt. “And you’re not the only one I owe a debt in this group.”
Cass nodded. “The gates of the mountains stand open to all,” she quoted from the oldest scripture. “But we who fight for Hathani must always remember the ways of gods do not rely on our success.”
“Not your words?” Ilsa said. “I’m surprised.”
“The ancients said it best.”
Ilsa looked down at Cass’s arm. “How did that happen?”
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
Ilsa nodded. “Alright.” When they had been students Cass would never have passed up an opportunity to talk. Things had changed.
The way through the mountains grew steeper within the hour. She could only imagine how brutal the slopes would be if one strayed from the pass. Certainly, a horse would not make it through, and a strider as tired as Hailek likely would do little better.
Around noon, they followed the path around a bend in the rocky side of the mountain. Glimmers of pale blue water scattered with shards of ice were Ilsa’s first sight of the Lake of Saints. The lake filled a vast crater situated between three white peaks.
The mountain north of the lake bowed over, like a doting mother inspecting her child’s cradle. Her appearance had earned her a name known well in Dal, Chogrum, and beyond. Nurse Mountain’s arms wrapped around the water’s edge.
Lemuel gasped as he looked down upon the lake. Ilsa admitted the awe of the sight to herself as well. The Lake of Saints was holy to every member of the three. Hathanian scripture did not emphasize physical structures, but even among her clergy, the place bore significant history. For this was where many hermits had lived to pen their scriptures, and from here prophets had often proceeded with their messages to the people.
Veins of pink granite, the same traces as on every edge of the plateau, ran through each mountain. Lightning transcribed on stone. Fresh, cold air surrounded the party as they began their descent toward the pale waters of the lake. Hailek’s labored breaths became harsh halfway down the slope. Ilsa patted his side.
“Just a little more, my friend.”
A rumble like stone upon stone made Ilsa turn toward the peak above her, but thankfully there was no sign of a rock slide. Ahead of them, Siuku raised her hand to halt the party. The cry of a bird echoed over the heights.
Three great birds glided by just above their level, a rider on each of their backs. The old skyrider circled back on the lead bird. “What brings you Oshomi to this place?”
“Banasi,” called Siuku. “We seek shelter with our friends?”
Banasi replied with a laugh. “Times are strange, but peace is also on my chieftain’s mind.” Her bird carried her higher before Siuku could reply.
Lemuel shook his head in wonder. Ilsa glanced at him.
He sighed. “If only Chogrum and Dal could put aside the past so quickly.”
She pressed her lips together tight and nodded. Unification would be ideal, but it was a matter of hope, and far from a simple one. She would fight for that hope as long as she was able.
Banasi’s bird circled lower. The old skyrider called out, “Follow this path to the lake, Keeper of Tenlyres. My band is already there.”
Siuku signaled the party to keep moving. Down the slope, the sound of stone and stone drew Ilsa’s attention again. A shaggy, gray and white goat climbed along the steep slope. On the animal’s back, sat a woman with yellow hair and a heavy coat almost the same color as her goat. Other goat-riders moved in along the slopes above the pass. They escorted the Oshomi, Ilsa, and her friends, down to the Lake of Saints.
The Vogmem encamped by the edge of the lake gave Ilsa and the Oshomi glares and nervous looks as they approached. So much for the peace meat, Ilsa thought. The people did not appear as trusting as their scouts suggested.
They were clad in thick clothes and had mostly red or yellow hair. Most of them carried firearms ranging from rifles and shotguns to a variety of old-fashioned pistols. A few even wore piecemeal plates of armor sewn together with joins made from ballistic cloth.
Ilsa and the others rode to the lake shore within the camp. A cabin far larger than the tents of the rest of the camp stood nearby, and before it, two groups of armed Vogmem riders on their own large goats waited for them.
“Keeper of Tenlyres,” said a man from the center of the group closer to the lake in a slight accent that sounded close to Chogrumian, but definitely tinted with the hints of the Vogmem tribal language.
His beard was thick and red. He wore a black woolen coat and his goat had brindled fur of almost the same coloration. The man rode forward a few paces, stocky on the back of his animal. “I am Hiragan, chieftain of the northern pass. Welcome to the Lake of Saints.”
Siuku rode her saddle-less horse toward the man. Her veil hid any trepidation she might have, but Ilsa guessed some kind of worry had to be going on in the Keeper’s mind. Here they sat among the people who killed her parents.
“I have heard there are four chieftains of the Vogmem.” She motioned toward the camp. “Am I correct in guessing you are not the only one here?”
Hiragen grinned within his beard. He glanced at the other group of riders by the cabin.
“You guess well, Keeper.” A goat carried a woman forward. She was pale, though not albino like Siuku and her hair was blond. She wore a pair of pistols with old-fashioned revolving chambers on her belt. A black staff crossed the saddle behind her. A primrose flower was nestled in her hair.
The black staff and the primrose were both symbols of Vada, the same symbols Lord Palend had displayed back at his manor. Ilsa’s eyes narrowed as the woman smiled at Siuku. “Here we pray to the Three, but you are a welcome guest, Keeper.”
“So, you are Ganara,” said Siuku. “I’ve heard of your war with Chogrum.”
“Fortunate Chogrumians never meet me,” said Ganara with a smirk. “The unlucky ones do.”
Ilsa felt Lemuel stiffen in the saddle behind her. “I won’t let anyone hurt you,” she whispered to him.
He relaxed a little but remained tense. Ganara’s eyes fell upon Blue. “This one is not Oshomi.” She shifted her gaze to Tirica, then Ilsa and Lemuel. “I see you have some odd allies, Keeper.”
“No more odd for me to ride with them than with you.”
“Vogmem ride together.” Ganara raised an eyebrow. “And you need our help.”
“And I need the help of these city-dwellers as well.”
She glared from Ilsa to Siuku. “You’ve used them. Now you have us as allies. What use are these?”
“I do not abandon those who have fought by my side.” Siuku’s voice remained atonal, but the words still sent a chill through Ilsa.
Hiragen bellowed a laugh. “I believe you, Keeper of Tenlyres. Ganara, the others will be here soon, and I’m sure they won’t appreciate it if you or your people murder the Keeper’s friends. Even if they are city-dwellers.”
“I will wait for them. But we will have a verdict on these Chogrumians.” Ganara nodded to Hiragen. “For now, I will wait.”
“The other half of our Chieftains are on the far side of the lake,” said Hiragen. “They will return by nightfall. You and your riders have endured much, and you look it.”
“We would appreciate rest,” said Siuku.
“My thoughts exactly.” Hiragen motioned for two of his riders to lead the group into the camp. “Join us for now. My skyrider, Banasi, tells me you have dealt with many perils. The details can wait for when the other chieftains arrive.”
“Thank you.” Siuku nodded to the chieftains.
Ilsa and the Oshomi followed her into the Vogmem camp.
In this first episode of the podcast, Rob Ward and Tim Niederriter discuss RPG systems they have run and what they want to do for games in the future.