Farkwin the Dragon Feeder

“Farkwin the Dragon Feeder

Such a scamp and such a greeder

Leads the sinners to their death

Always stinks of dragon’s breath,

Look out!
It’s Farkwin the Dra-a-gon Fee-ee-der!”

It wasn’t a flattering song but it did grow on Farkwin as time went by.  He came to see it less as mockery and more as an outflow of angry jealous – even fear.  Only natural when a Halfling rises to such a high station, really.

“You’ll know him by that wretched smell

His eyes that glow as bright as hell

Though short he be, so fierce he is

That all he loves is this dark biz

Of death,

The call of the Dra-a-gon Fee-ee-der!”

Farkwin was not a creature of class but he did take great pride in his work.  The challenge before him was particularly thrilling; the would-be resurrection had left him flush with new bodies to tend to and some very hungry dragon bellies to fill.  He’d have to round up three times the usual number of slaves and whip them five times as hard.  It was enough to make his little heart flutter with glee.

“So don’t you skulk around the streets

Or sneak about between the sheets

Or take the name of Helm in vain

Or soon you will just be a stain

Of blood,

When you’re caught by the Dra-a-gon Fee-ee-der!”

Granted, every job has its downside – in this case, feeding Grishnakhar, the sour, old beast who lurked in the bowels of the city.  He was, according to official Imperial policy, a favorite conquest of the dearly and recently departed Empress, and was to be preserved at all costs.  Not that he appreciated their efforts; he may have been blind, but he still kept a sharp tongue.

“Mm hmm mm hmm hmm

Mm mm hmm hmm hmm

Mm hmm mm hmm hmm

Mm mm hmm hmm hmm

Doo doo,

Doo doo doo-doo doo-oo-oo-oo.” 

As he stepped down into the dragon’s cave, the great gate holding the monster back began to crawl its way up, giving full view of the shadows behind.  The rancid stench would have been enough to bowl anyone else over, but Farkwin had very nearly gotten used to it – albeit after a good deal of vomiting. 

“Alright, now!” Farkwin shouted in that tinny, bracing way of his.  “Come on out, you old fuck, it’s dinner time!  We’ve got a proper feast for you this time!”

A low rumble reverberated through the cave, followed by the heavy shuffling of massive, once-clawed feet.  From the shadows emerged the dragon, once a fearsome spectacle, jet-black with curved horns and sprawling wings – now thin, gray, and sporting nubs where his horns and wings used to be.

“What have you brought me this time, little man?” the dragon asked in his deep, ragged growl. 

“Revolutionaries, your dragon-ness – well done, too!” Farkwin answered before devolving into shrill peals of laughter at his own joke.  “Oh, I kill me sometimes.  Eat up, you old lizard!  And remember, don’t be causing me any trouble – not that you ever would anyway!”

With that, Farkwin turned on his heel and swaggered back up the steps, the dragon’s low, pathetic mumbling ringing in his ears.  It felt good to get in a jab at the old belly-crawler, especially since he stopped fighting back.  With some luck, Farkwin would have him performing simple tricks in a year’s time.  For now, it was enough to get his face stuffed for one more night and move on to feeding the proper dragons; keeping them fighting fit would be even more important in this great New Order.

Welcome to the...

Arcade Featherblack

(Posted on behalf of Matthew, who's having computer issues.)

In the northern mountains of Punjabar lay the kingdom of Mandira. Its capital city was Moltair and this is where I was laid as an egg. Mandira was an ideal place for kenku to settle down due to its high mountain ranges. However it was still part of Punjabar and therefore was not safe from its many conflicts. While I was still an egg, Moltair was under siege by the Army of Delpharan, a kingdom to the south. My parents were at the market when all chaos broke loose; they tried to get back to the house but were killed by invading forces during the siege. A band of four mercenaries from Laurynvale happened to come across my egg and raised me when I hatched. They waited till I was older to tell me the fate of my parents and about how they had found me wrapped in warm blankets in an abandoned home. It was only years later that I found out the mercenaries were hired by the Army of Delpharan, but by that point I was one of them. They raised me to be a mercenary and taught me everything I know. The group was led by a dragonborn barbarian named Tazmer. His second-in-command was a halfling rogue called Zefina; she was the brains of the group. The medic of the group was a human wizard called Samish Hasif. And the fourth member was a gnome bard named JoJo the Excitable; he didn't actually do anything but write songs about their adventures and sing. At first they found me to be rather bothersome due to my speech impediment, but slowly I grew on them. Each member wanted me to be like them. Zefina was my natural mentor; she trained me to be a rogue and made me what I am. My entire life has been spent fighting for one army, then overnight I'd be on the opposing side. But I always fought on the same side as my mercenary allies and they had my loyalty. By the time I was 16, we were fighting some very intense wars and it was taking its toll on us. The year before, Samish was hit by an exploding trebuchet blast and lost his legs. After that he retired so now we were down to four members. We were fighting for the Mandiraian army against the Hanjat royal army in the farm lands of Delpharan which was being puppeted by Hanjat at this time. We thought we had them on the run but it was a trap. The royal army leveled half the city, killing most of the soldiers we were fighting beside. I myself was almost killed, and would have been if it wasn't for Zefina, who sacrificed herself to push me out of the way of falling debris. That same day Tazmer was attacked by Hanjat assassins. He managed to kill them both but at the cost of an arm and an eye. The next morning Tazmer decided to go home to Laurynvale but was captured by The Holy Army of Helmerica; he hasn't been heard from since. After that JoJo quit the group in search of "better adventurers who don't die". At that time I was stricken by sadness and anger for the loss of my mentor. With revenge in my heart I took every contract against Hanjat I could find. Remnants of the Delpharan army hired me and partnered me up with a half-elf fighter. I didn't think much of her at first, but we made for a great team. With the help of some other mercenary groups and Delpharan's army we broke down Hanjat's royal army. Hanjat's economy crashed; as a result, they can't afford war anymore. I was about 19 when the half-elf told me she was going back to Helmerica to be with her dying father. The defeat of Hanjat didn't ease my anger or vengeance, so I stayed behind. For the next 7 years I spent my time killing and fighting in wars and battles. All the fighting and killing had become a blur. I felt the need to fight for something I believed in and finally use my skills for a good cause. I am now twenty-seven and after contacting my old half-elf partner I’m on my way to Helmerica to start an underground revolution.

The City of Helmerica (Helmerica City)

Helmerica City Map Key

1)      The Imperial Palace.  The Empress Persephone lives here, though it is rumored that she rarely stays.  Advisers, guards, servants, and visiting dignitaries also stay here.

2)      The High Temple of Helm.  All religious affairs in the Empire are overseen from here.  It features a tall tower that looms over all around it; rumor has it the eye at the top is enchanted and can see through all manner of disguises.  All cleric and paladin organizations are housed here.

3)      The College of Helmerican History and Letters.  The many stores of Helmerica are housed here.  Its place in the First Circle (buildings 2-5) indicates how important stories and their telling are to the Empire.

4)      The College of Helmerican Architecture and Defense.  The great engineers, generals, and architects of the Empire are housed here.

5)      The Holy Garden of Heroes.  This garden is, in theory, open to the public, though access to it is extremely restricted.  It is littered with statues, mosaics, and other artworks that detail the great history of Helmerica.

6)      The Second Circle.  This circle houses other important offices of the empire, including the College of Mages and the various Houses.  The great noble families of Hornraven and so on also reside here.

7)      The Third Circle.  This is where various advisers, high-ranking officers of civic and military circles, minor nobles, and wealthy merchants live.  The stores of great craftsmen, including magical craftsmen, can also be found here.

8)      The Fourth Circle.  This is where lower-ranking officers of civic and military circles, mid-level merchants, well-off servants and craftsmen, and various other lower-middle/middle class people live.  Many shops, workhouses, decent schools, and other amenities can be found here.  The primary residences here are apartments, some of them up to three stories high.

9)      The Fifth Circle.  This is where the poor, the wretched, the wicked, and the unlawful live.  The only people of influence who live here are the heads of the crime families, whose influence stretches under the other Circles.  There are many, many tenement houses here, some of them as high as five stories (very few of them safe).  Some people of repute, such as low-ranking servant, soldiers, and so on, do live here, but their place in this Circle tarnishes their reputation.  The seven squiggly lines (A-G) that cut from the outside through this Circle are safe passage points for decent people looking to make a living in the City; they are heavily watched.

10)  The River Stonebreaker.  The Official History states that the Stonebreaker emerged during a great rain, carving through the rough terrain of the Black Plane as if it were by design, which many people think it was.  It cuts south, all the way down to the City of Littlebrook, Helmerica’s second city.  It also cuts through the bulk of the city, but for the First Circle, which rises above it.

11)  The Holy Corridor.  This passage cuts to the First Circle and is heavily guarded.  This is the passage by which visiting dignitaries access the Palace and other First Circle facilities.  The military will also arrange demonstrations down the Corridor to rouse morale.

12)  The Black Forest.  It is said that the divine energy of Helm raised trees up from the soil of the Black Plane.  Many refugees pass through this forest from Laurynvale, looking for a safe haven.  Many people believe that the Wildfires and the Broken Tongue Boy are hidden there.

13)  The Roving Lights of Helm.  These two towers sit at the beginning of the Holy Corridor and face south.  Atop them are two rotating orbs that look over the city and the surrounding landscape.  When active, they can observe activities happening hundreds upon hundreds of miles away, constantly.

Railwalls.  The First and Second Circles are outlined by great walls, on top of which mighty steam engines chug, transporting important people and goods to where they need to be.  Rail lines also extend to the north, south, east, and west, transporting goods to and from the city.

Walls.  The entire city is walled, cutting it off even from the surrounding villages.  Walls are the key feature of the city, rising high above the citizens and protecting them from many a threat.  As one comes to the center, the Circles get higher, increasing the separation between each Circle.  From a distance, the city looks like a massive layer cake, with the First Circle absolutely towering over the rest of the landscape.

The Villages of Trommel, Dahlwinn, Kapperman, and Dragon Wing.  These villages were once well-removed from the city of Helmerica but are now virtually at the doorstep.  They offer a somewhat more rural, somewhat more idyllic life than city life – or at least they did until many of the wealthy started buying up summer homes and driving the poor out.  Many citizens are unable to get decent work in the city.  Most of the commerce comes from shops, smiths, and inns that cater to people who might otherwise be unable to stay in the City (for a variety of reasons).

The “Sixth Circle.”  Various refugee camps are scattered around the edges of the city, including several pseudo-establishments in the Forest.  These, along with the aforementioned villages, are often referred to (derogatively) as the “Sixth Circle.”

The Underweb.  Helmerica City is home to a vast series of tunnels, some of them extending all the way to the First Circle.  While some of these tunnels are secured and are used for transportation, sewage, security, and so on, many have fallen prey to the various crime organizations in the city and are used to smuggle illicit materials (and people).  Some even make a living in these tunnels, carving out large caves that are then turned into homes or even markets.

Do you have a few minutes to talk about Lolth?

My name is Chaszmyr of House Vrinn, but you can call me Chip. Beneath these wraps and goggles, I’m a drow. Perhaps you’ve heard of us in stories. Perhaps not.

I come from the Underdark, from Menzobarranzan, the City of Spiders. You haven’t been? It’s lovely this time of year, though I haven’t been there is some time, myself. I’m on a mission, you see: a mission from Lolth.

But let me back up a little bit, a couple of years.

As the “secondboy” in House Vrinn, I had risen to the position of House Guard. Ours is a matriarchal and class-driven society, you understand, and though I was noble born, as the second son of House Vrinn, House Guard is about the highest rank I might hope for. My elder brother, Jyslin, was Weapons Master. I suppose I might have earned his position by sacrificing him to Lolth, but mine has never been a quest for power or rank, and in any event Jyslin never struck me as a worthy sacrifice to our goddess. The point is certainly moot now. Jyslin is dead. My mother—the Matron Lythrana—and her consorts are dead. My brothers and sisters, all dead. House Vrinn was brought to its knees and swiftly beheaded in an attack by House Baenre. No one, I wager, was especially surprised by this. House Baenre had been cutting a swath through the lower houses for centuries, and House Vrinn was in no position to hold off such an attack for long. I was wounded in the battle by a spear meant for my sister Haelra. I saved her from that, though she fell to a sword moments later. We all fell.

When I awoke, the House was in ruins around me. Bodies were crushed beneath the rubble, others cut in two. Acrid smoke filled the air. The spear had pinned me to the ground, and I could feel my blood trickling out. I expected to see it pooling beneath me, but when I looked, I saw no blood; instead, I saw something wondrous, a miracle. Instead of fluid, I bled spiders. A steady trickle of the holy creatures emerged from my side, where the spear still skewered me. The stream of spiders bled up the length of the spear, and continued on their path up a thread of silk from the end of the shaft, which disappeared into the smoke overhead. I watched in amazement as Lolth’s children bled from me by the hundreds. Eventually, after an impossible number had emerged from my wound, the trickle slowed. The last spider to emerge did not follow its sisters. Instead, it made its way up my torso, up my throat, and disappeared into my mouth. It bit my tongue, and I heard a horrible, beautiful voice. It told me to follow the spiders, to go to the surface. To spread the Word, to find children. It was time, the voice said, for Lolth’s return. Then I passed out again.

When I awoke, there were no voices, though my tongue had swollen where the spider had bitten me. I worked to free myself from the spear and was amazed to see that I still did not bleed. Indeed, the wound had completely healed, but left a hole through my side: a gift from Lolth, perhaps. I searched the ruins of the house, eventually unearthing the contents of the treasure room. I took what I could carry—more, I expect, than I would ever be able to spend. I burned the remains of the house and that of my family, first, so they could not be reanimated later by our enemies, and second, so my own absence would not be noticed. I knew where I had to go, and I knew who could get me there. I packed what I could and made my way to the dangerous part of town. There, my money bought me new, unassuming armor and an introduction to the House of the Hidden Pocket, a merchant clan. The merchant clans traded with the surface, and the House of the Hidden Pocket hired me as muscle under a new, unassuming name. The House of the Hidden Pocket would bring me where Lolth bid me to go.

The journey took longer than expected. Much longer. It took us many weeks to reach the surface, all the way battling trolls, kuo-toa, and rival merchant clans with an eye for our goods. Happily, we encountered neither aboleth nor beholder. Along the way, I read Lolth’s Word with a thirst I had never before known (sheltered, as drow males are, from holy study). Although those I traveled with would have chided or perhaps flayed me if they knew the depth of my studies, I yearned to drink and to share the Gibbering Word of the Spider Queen. I learned some of what to expect of the surface world from my comrades (I call them, for I had come to know them well): I learned of the sun’s sapping power, and purchased gauze wraps and dark goggles from a duergar clan we met along the way. I had never stepped foot above the surface, and wanted to be well prepared. Of course, I was fooling myself.

We stepped into the sunlight in what I later learned was a place called Punjabar, a sprawling and warring land. There, I left the House of the Hidden Pocket, offering my protection to one of their trading partners, a motley band of thieves and merchants headed west. It was the sigil on one of their wagons that caught my attention: a huge painted spider with eight glorious breasts. Lolth has never been the most subtle of deities. Of course, once I learned that they were not themselves followers of Lolth, they had to be sacrificed for their heresy, and one blood-filled, moonlit night I opened their throats for the Weaver of Chaos, and drank from them in her name. I did have the foresight to leave one wagon master alive—a human named Rushur Pahi. Rushur did not speak again, though he cried terribly in his sleep for the remainder of our trip. He did not seem to find comfort from Lolth’s scriptures—perhaps it was my translations.

With Rushur, I crossed into the Empire of Helm, and we made our way to Helmerica. I had learned that even the cursed high and wood elves are treated as things of children’s stories here. The drow, then, would be stories of stories, legends of legends. Lolth does weave a mysterious web. Shortly after we arrived, Rashur disappeared—run off, it seems. Lolth be with him. He abandoned me in front of a decrepit building in an old part of the city—a painted sign outside advertised for a roommate. As I read it, a spider slowly lowered itself from the sign, and I knew that it was a sign indeed. Either the current occupant would be to my liking, or he would find out if he was to Lolth’s.

A year later, and Nestor Coyne still lives. 

In Time

The city sparkles in the night, lit by thousands upon thousands of open flames.

It is the last hope of a people long gone and going further.  Her heart quickens as she draws nearer, silently picking a path through towering trees and scattered outcrops of rock.  She has but a few hours before sunrise and knows better than to approach by daylight.  The green tint of her skin will raise suspicion in certain quarters – they won’t be as enchanted as the Westerners.  Her aunt was right: their kind have never been stranger in this Realm.

Her aunt’s specter hangs heavy over the path.  She bears the weight of her blood’s trust with pride but it is heavy.  As a girl, she dreamt of hoisting such burdens, of wearing the mantle of Hero.  Dreams are deceptive, easy, watered down.  In the light of day – in the face of destruction – they suddenly seem like nightmares.  Her people need her.  She is not ready to be the last.

She abandons caution and cuts close to the road.  The sky glows purple at its edges.  Time is of the essence. 

Time is of the essence.

*          *          *

The city sparkles in the night, lit by thousands upon thousands of open flames.

The shadows seem longer tonight as she prepares to leave her old life behind.  She takes the steps as quick as her little feet can, gripping her skirts up high and tight, mindful of the many eyes of Helm watching.  She curses her fate.  All her life she was raised to truth, clarity, wisdom, even as she gave her life and body to a myth – to a lie.  Now she sees.  Now, for the first time, she envies the Blind.

The Empress’s specter hangs heavy over the steps.  Was there ever an Empress in the first place?  Did she really tame the dragons whose blood she shared?  Or are both the speaking Books telling their own little lies?  What she wouldn’t give to go back there, to see for herself how the home she knew – the home that will surely kill her – came to be.

She leaps down the last three steps and heads straight for the shadow.  The sun will rise and shine its seeking light.  In time, all will be revealed.

In time, all will be revealed.

*          *          *

The city sparkles in the night, lit by thousands upon thousands of open flames.

This is only the prologue to a great reckoning.  It gives him a shred of comfort as watches from his perch.  His steed lies asleep beside him, no doubt tired and bored from a long night’s watch.  There was nothing new to see, but his master doesn’t care.  He doesn’t come to see the action, he comes to be reminded of the task.  There are days when he still feels higher than the city itself.  This is dangerous.  He has to be reminded of his place.

Helm’s specter hangs heavy over his head.  Mocking him.  Daring him.  Yet even hatred of a god cannot cut as deep as is his own embarrassment.  All that time he wasted in service.  All that blood on his hands.  All he took in the name of truth, protection, and love, only to find it was greed that worked his hands, not honor.

Satisfied for now, he rouses his steed and prepares to depart.  The fires may flicker now but soon they will roar.  The time of reckoning will come.

The time of reckoning will come.

A Brief History of the Holy Empire of Helmerica

A Brief History of the Holy Empire of Helmerica

By the High Author Pancia of Family Hornraven, College of Helmerican History and Letters

Before there was Helmerica, there was the Great Blindness.  The people wandered, lost in their pagan worship and false idolatry, fighting amongst themselves, eking out the most meager of livings, fearing the hot wrath of the Dragons and their kin.  Yet from their ashes, a hero did rise: Persephone, the Dragonblood, blessed by the Almighty Helm and his Champion, Stedwick.  From the ruins of her birth home she, along with his Holiness Maxwell, the first Eye of Helm, forged an Empire, bringing safety, security, and enlightenment to people far and wide.  To this day, Persephone, unwed and untouched by sin, rules over the Empire with a gentle but firm hand, guided by Helm and protected by the Dragons and their kin, who bow at her command.  Under her wing, the Empire has stretched its influence across the Known Realm, bringing the light of Helm to those still Blind and vanquishing those who would prey upon the weak.  So it was written, so it was.  May Helm forever bless them.

Alas, evil can always find a shadow in which to crawl.  The might and prosperity of Helmerica has inspired jealousy on nearly all sides.  To the West, the Confederate States of Laurynvale, a loose collection of vain and feeble states, each soaked through with strains of Blindness, all clinging to each other in the face of impending justice.  To the East, the Nine Dominions of Punjabar, great kingdoms more taken with fighting each other than pursuing truth, each of them overflowing with brown-skinned mystics, barbarians, and rogues.  To the North, the five Dwarven Clans who have yet to lay down their pride and join the Empire like their Great Hill and Brightforge brethren, allies in only the loosest sense of the term.  Even within the walls of Helmerica city, dissent festers.  Powerful crime families profane the name of Helm and abuse his followers.  Filthy rebels and anarchists foolishly plot the downfall of the Empire, seeking to return its people to the shadow grips of the Great Blindness.  So nefarious are their schemes that they have taken to infiltrating the ranks of the weak and downtrodden seeking refuge in the loving embrace of the City, forcing the good people of Helmerica to hold their doors open but a crack.  How it aches the Almighty Helm to know that many still long for his protective gaze, yet they fall prey to the machinations of the depraved and the willfully Blind.  So it is written, so it is.  May Helm deliver them.

In the face of such wickedness, the light of Helm must shine brighter than the darkness.  His Eye must be open wide.  His Hand firm on the sword.  All those who seek to punish the good people of Helmerica for their own sin will be struck from the face of the earth with utmost prejudice.  Not a word, not a hand, not a thought shall escape with the slightest infraction.  The Blind may yet see, but those whose eyes stay shut tight will glimpse only fire, in this world and the next.  Thus will the right and holy before Helm remain safe.  So it is written, so it shall be.  May Helm prevail.