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The Rebel Engine, by Natasha Simonova

"He leads them like a thing

Made by some other deity than nature,

That shapes man better."

— Coriolanus, IV.6.

A feast was laid in the commodore's cabin on the airship Camilla, upon a long table lit by gas and flickering alchemical flames. Some had cautioned the commodore against having so much fire abroad a wooden ship, but he was determined to meet face-to-face with what he feared.

Noise above: the ring of metal, and an impact that rattled the ceiling. The diners – admirals and politicians all – half-rose in their chairs. Commodore Aufidius was first on his feet.

"The sentries would have given the alarm, sir," his first lieutenant said. Aufidius turned a glare on him, and he added, "I will go check, if you—"

Before he could finish, the commodore was striding across the cabin, taking up his swordbelt from the chest and wrenching open the hatch. A dark shape blocked out the fading twilight above, drawing back as Aufidius climbed the steps.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, emerging onto the quarterdeck, and then stopped short as he saw the three sentry automata strewn before him, the gears in their appendages spinning uselessly. One emitted a few sparks and went still.

Aufidius peered at the intruder on his quarterdeck: he stood in the shadow of the mainmast, a bulky figure framed against the fog-shrouded lights of Antium below. "What have you done to my sentries?"

"They got in my way." The voice was deep, familiar in a way Aufidius felt in his bones, but could not define.

"Who are you, sir?"

He took a step forward into the light, stiff and halting as a man injured or—"Why, don't you know me, Aufidius?"

Or not a man at all, though from a distance he might pass for one. He was dressed in cheap shirt and trousers like a dock-worker, sleeves rolled up to his elbows despite the evening chill. Each sinew stood out prominently, the bronze skin faintly gleaming with reflected light. His golden eyes rotated as they focused, taking in the eyepatch across Aufidius's face.

"Caius Martius," the commodore said, as though it were a name rather than a functional designation. From martial, the word for war. It lay like a burning brand on his tongue. "First soldier of the Eastern Confederacy. Called the Scourge of Corioles. What in hellfire's name brings you here?"

"To die at your hand," Martius answered, slow and word by word. He had not been made for fluent speech. "If so you would take your revenge. Or else, to do your country service. If you would have me."

A thrill flamed through Aufidius, sharp as the stroke that had taken his eye. "Sir," he began, and then, forgetting himself: "You marvellous creature! I have dreamed of nothing else."

#

The admirals were hesitant but pleased when Aufidius brought the Scourge of Corioles back into the cabin with him, holding him in friendship by the sharp joint of his elbow. They were more pleased yet when Martius told them how he wished to strike back against his former nation, and would give them all the intelligence they needed to reach the heart of the Confederacy, behind its defences of mountain and deceptive cloud.

The food was carried away, for Martius would not eat it, and maps were spread out over the table, the conference lasting long into the night.

"You will share the command with me, of course," Aufidius said, not giving the admiralty time to object, and Martius nodded gravely.

At last, the grandees descended satisfied to their homes in Antium, and the two of them were left alone. Aufidius fetched the brandy-bottle from the sideboard and poured out a glass, offering it automatically.

"You forget," Martius rasped out, almost seeming to smile. Aufidius shrugged, and drank it himself. It was warm in the lamplit room; he unclasped his uniform coat and draped it over a chair. He could not remember ever feeling so glad, not even when the Camilla was first given him to command.

"They exiled me, the damned rogues," Martius said after a moment, staring down at his hands on the table, springs tight across his knuckles. "They made me to serve them, and then they said I did it too well, and they exiled me, like a rusty sword dropped on the scrap-heap. Some called for me to be broken down…decommissioned in the public square."

Aufidius exhaled, almost a gasp. "How could that be?" When he had seen him last, Martius had been wreathed in hellfire on the bridges of Corioles, single-handedly burning a swathe through the city – as his sword had burned across Aufidius's face, cauterizing the wound it made. Martius had passed through the alchemical fire as though through fog, shining and untouched. He looked…older now, if that were possible, but still immeasurably strong.

"I am not invulnerable," Martius answered, marking his thoughts. "Strike the right place and the whole mechanism goes: a clockwork toy you give your children. No government would dare make something they could not destroy, at their puny pleasure."

"And your creatrix?" Of course he knew of the famous Volumnia. Unnatural, for a woman to yield such power. The Confederates were barbarians, for all their advances – they had no concept of the proper bounds between the home and public life. And yet it paid to know one's enemies – that was a lesson Aufidius had learned well. "Did she not speak for you?"

"She did," Martius allowed. "But she is one among the Council of Fifteen. The bastards outnumbered her. They have always feared me."

"They were right to do so," Aufidius said, a note of admiration in his voice. "And now you will have your vengeance. Together, we'll burn the Confederacy to the ground."

Martius did not answer, eyes unblinking on the dawn beyond the cabin windows. The two of them sat like friends and watched the sun rise, while the commodore turned the empty glass over in his hands and thought of the future. He could see it stretching out before him now, bright as a river of flame.

#

They cast off for the East soon after – Camilla the flagship, with the heavy-weight She-Wolf and darting Amazon behind her, their bellies all packed full of men and machines. The Volscian-made sentries and soldiers could not compete with Confederate designs, but they had surprise on their side, and intelligence, and the Confederacy's own best weapon.

Aufidius was always happiest in flight, the wind in his face, the engines below more felt than heard, the steady hum of propellers behind. He stood on the deck of the Camilla, and did not startle to feel Martius coming up behind him.

"Why," asked his voice, deep and artificial as the ship's engines, "do you wear that embroidered bauble across your face?"

Aufidius touched the patch at his left eye. The Antium Ladies' Institute had given it to him, as a token of esteem for his heroism at Corioles. "Most people do not care to see the wound."

"No," Martius said, "why do you wear that? Why not this?" And in his hand, he held up the eyepiece he must have found in Aufidius's cabin.

This, did not come from the Ladies' Institute. It was a bronze thing, carefully wrought with tiny levers and gears, fitting over the side of his face. It would replace his missing eye, he had been told, though in truth it did far more than that when he wore it. He could focus on a signpost a mile distant, or see a man's shape by its warmth in the darkness, or glimpse the tiny movements of an automaton's workings.

"I prefer not to," Aufidius said shortly. "It feels…foreign."

"How will it not, if you do not wear it? You mean to use it in battle, do you not?"

He shifted on his feet. "I should be a fool else."

"Do you fear to be like me?" Martius asked, rumbling and quiet in his ear. "You needn't worry. You could never be like me."

For that, Aufidius had no answer. "Train with me," Martius told him, less a suggestion than a command. "Train with me, and wear the device."

#

They sparred belowdecks, for it would not do for the men to see one of their commanders bested. A balcony protruded near the bottom of the ship, screened from above by the curve of its great belly. The wind was stronger here, the green patchwork of land clearly visible through the grill at their feet.

"A dangerous spot," said Martius – approvingly, Aufidius thought. Since he revealed himself, he had foregone all clothing but a pair of cut-off trousers and a swordbelt, and had no uniform to remove. Aufidius shivered as the wind tugged at his own lawn shirt, but knew he would be warm soon enough. The eyepiece pressed on his temple; he slid it down, and saw in colours no living eye knew.

Without warning, he drew his sword and turned into an attack.

He had the satisfaction of seeing Martius draw back, making time to unsheathe his own weapon. It was no civilized duelling rapier but a broad blade, heavy and near-ruined by fire, but still wickedly sharp at the tip. Aufidius had bitter knowledge of that.

Steel met steel, the sound nearly drowned out by the ship's engines and the buffeting air. They circled one another, testing with a few strokes and parries, trying their footing on the shaky metal floor.

Aufidius lunged, sliding his rapier along the other's sword, forcing him back against the low railing. Martius stayed there a moment, and then slowly his arm began to lift, increment by increment, pushing away the blade. Only the eyepiece told Aufidius when his sinews were poised for the final thrust, and he stepped back in time, raising his sword to defend himself.

"Good," Martius rasped. He came on, swinging faster than the human eye could follow, attack after attack. Aufidius parried each one, but he was breathing hard, sweat sticking the shirt to his skin.

So often, Aufidius had dreamed of this – though his dreams were of meetings in the field, surrounded by the dead and dying. He had imagined every way an encounter between them might go, and he had imagined winning, waking up panting with it in the night.

His throat burned and still he returned the blows, from one end of the platform to the other. His opponent did not flag, did not tire, did not make an error. His strokes were the same, every time, deadly with mechanical precision.

Grinning fiercely in exhaustion, Aufidius made a final reckless lunge, his blade under the other's guard. It skimmed against Martius's chest but did no damage, and he could not bring it up into another thrust.

Almost lazily, Martius hooked the rapier into the hilt of his sword and tugged it aside, wrenching it from Aufidius's raw fingers. He glanced down at the blades, and then tossed them on the floor with a sound of disgust, moving forward once more.

It was not over, then. Aufidius stood his ground, humiliated and roused, as those vastly strong hands closed over his arms. They grappled, swaying in the wind with nothing but sky around them.

For a moment, he thought he'd found Martius's weakness – an indent at his shoulder where the plates met, to hook his fingers in and pull; a booted foot pressed behind his knee. They tumbled to the grill as it rattled beneath them, rolling, but it was Martius who got him pinned, knees on either side of his hips, even as Aufidius's hands closed about his throat.

"Do you yield?" Martius demanded.

"Yield?" he repeated, breathless, laughing at the ludicrousness of it. He tightened his fingers: the metal flesh was softer than he had expected, smooth and warm with power. Alive, though one could never mistake it for human skin.

Martius shook his head within the other's grip. "You cannot kill me that way. Yield, Aufidius."

"Never." He struggled until Martius leaned down on him, chest to his heaving chest, blocking out the light and wind. There was no heartbeat, but he could feel something within, thrumming as the engines of the Camilla, the steady, relentless counterpart to his own hammering heart.

"Yield," the soldier said, low in his ear.

A red haze settled over Aufidius. He changed his grip to pull Martius down still closer, though he would not say the word.

#

On they flew, the Volscian fields below replaced in time by jagged mountains. It was night when the ships passed over the smoking ruins of Corioles, and neither commander looked down to see it.

Once within Confederate territory, they travelled more slowly. Martius stood at the stern with his charts, guiding the helmsman between the peaks too high for the fleet to fly over. She-Wolf and Amazon followed behind, ready to echo every turn the Camilla made.

"To think, sir," said Lucian, the first lieutenant, as he stood with Aufidius on the quarterdeck, "within a week we may be upon the Confederates' capital, which none of us has ever seen."

"Yes," Aufidius answered briefly, frowning into the pale, hazy sunlight. Thick banks of cloud covered the horizon, broken and complex as towers.

"And all thanks to our new ally. Our new commander, I should say, since you have shared the honour with him."

"Shared. Yes."

Lucian watched him shrewdly. "He takes a great deal of authority upon himself, sir, it is true."

"He is…less careful of my person than I might wish." Aufidius tugged the sleeve of his uniform jacket lower over his wrist, where a dark bruise was forming: he had heard the whispers among the crew, and did not want to give them fuel. The line dividing pain from pleasure was a fine one between them, and more and more, Martius crossed it. Either he did not know his own strength, or knew it too well. "But that is his nature."

"Will we build such men one day, do you think?"

Aufidius shook his head. "There can be no other such men."

#

They sacked their first Confederate outpost the next day. Unassisted, Aufidius might have thought it just another patch of cloud, wreathing the top of a crag. Martius showed them how to approach at night, the lights of the fortress guiding them through the cloud cover. The Volscian ships left the crag burning as a beacon.

"They'll be panicking now, the councillors," Martius said later, leaving Aufidius breathing hard against the wall, his skin marked with fingerprints and ashes. The heat of battle had reminded him of Corioles, when he had met Martius among the flames. "Let them panic."

With each day, with each fortress attacked and each harrying patrol repulsed, the chief city of the Confederacy grew closer. "We'll come at them from above," Martius said, at a meeting in the commodore's cabin. "Our ships over their Capitol. It will mean some dangerous flying, but their artillery won't be turned that way in time. A few licks of hellfire on their precious town, and they'll surrender." He barely glanced at Aufidius for confirmation.

The winds were high, the evening of the final attack, the sunset an angry red behind them. Aufidius held tight to the railing, hands clenching to pilot the Camilla himself, as he had done in his youth. It was hard flying, but his own position was harder.

"Hellfire," he whispered, as the city emerged like a stormcloud before them, "it truly is an island in the sky, as the stories say."

"It's anchored to the mountains," Martius said, coming up behind him and resting a hand lightly at his waist. "Built on a platform. A cunning design."

"And the clouds?"

"Steam, from the furnaces in the underbelly. Powering the patricians' hypocausts and their little toys. If I had been built to serve them with drinks instead of their enemies' heads, they would have never exiled me." The bitterness in his voice left a tang, like metal.

"They did wrongly. We will show them that."

"Yes." He paused. "Come below? There is a map of the city."

For a moment, even yet, Aufidius wavered. "I am needed on deck," he replied. "We're about to begin our ascent."

The Camilla tacked up into the wind, her engines straining, rigging snapping with each gust. The vast She-Wolf had come up alongside them, decks bristling with men and automata; Amazon, more easily blown off course, laboured in their wake.

Cannon-fire broke the night, blooms of sunrise amid the darkness; a bolt of lightning arched in the clouds above. For an instant the ship was bathed in uncanny light, in which Martius looked like a statue of stone instead of bronze.

Aufidius loved this kind of flying, wild and reckless, pushing his ship to the limits of its power. He barely heard Martius calling for him.

"Your eyepiece," he shouted sternly. "You have forgotten it again!"

Cursing, Aufidius slid the thing down over his head, and almost gasped. It was as though the clouds, which had been so dark and impenetrable, suddenly parted before his gaze, and he could see all the lights of the Capitol shining below. It was as beautiful as the engravings showed it, laid out in an orderly grid of brick and marble, with three-lined avenues and buildings of domes and columns. Martius stood at the railing in front of him, gazing down, poised as though his body were one large spring.

Lightning flashed again. The sudden radiance lit the bronze of Martius's back, and there—

A flaw. Just below his left shoulder-blade, a tiny join only enhanced vision could perceive: the vulnerability that would have allowed his makers to destroy him. Aufidius had searched for it, on all the nights of their journey, but his human eye could never have noticed such a small thing, his questing fingers could not have felt it.

The fleet broke out of the cloud-cover and stopped, with beautiful precision, the three ships hovering in formation above the bright dome of the Capitol, their engines stirring the tree-tops.

"Shall we fire?" Aufidius called, hating himself for the question. Every Volscian man and automaton stood ready with cannon and hellfire, to destroy the streets below as their own towns had been destroyed.

"They'll surrender," Martius said confidently. "They are too craven. I will deliver this city whole into your hands."

Aufidius was about to protest, when he saw the white flag of parley rising tremulously over the Capitol. "What are their terms?" he demanded of the signal-lieutenant.

"They wish to treat with you," the lieutenant translated. "With Caius Martius, Scourge of Corioles. If you will land, the Council of Fifteen would discuss—"

Martius interrupted, slamming his fist down so hard the console rattled. "Tell them we are not fools or children, to discuss terms with the likes of them. Ready the hellfire."

"It is ready," said Aufidius.

But more signals were coming. "They say they will send three of the Council up, to meet with you in person."

"No," Martius said. "No councillors."

"They will send Councillor Volumnia, alone."

Martius turned to Aufidius, and there was something almost desperate in that look, so far as his face might show emotion. "Might we not hear their terms? One woman would be no threat to us."

"They are stalling for time, man!" Aufidius burst out. "Can't you see that? They are waiting for their artillery to be in position, and fobbing us off with promises meanwhile. We must fire."

"I would hear what she has to say," Martius told him. "Lower the gangway."

#

The councillor was a slight, prim figure in shirtwaist and narrow skirt, her grey hair knotted at the nape of her neck, arriving flanked by two sentry automata. "Martius," she said, as soon as she had stepped foot on the Camilla, "what are you doing?"

He stood before her, stony and implacable; he had put on full uniform while they waited, new epaulettes gleaming at the shoulders. Aufidius could not guess what effect her arrival had on him. It was hard to imagine this small woman having built such a creature, but the steel in her voice held a familiar note.

"I will have revenge, madam," Martius told her, "for the way I was treated."

"How you were treated? It was your own stiff-necked pride caused that, when you refused to yield to the Council! You had been given honours, title—"

"Title!" Martius exclaimed scornfully. "The Scourge of Corioles. Do you know what a scourge is, Councillor? It is a whip – a tool for beating those you scorn or fear to touch. I will be your scourge no longer."

"You'd be the Volscians', then?"

"I went to them freely," he said. "And they give me the respect I was due. I am a commodore, an equal to Tullus Aufidius. In your army I was never more than a soldier, obeying an old general who cowers to face me now."

"Ah, yes." She took a step toward him, her voice gentler, almost tender. Aufidius had often wondered why, in constructing the perfect weapon, she had made him so very near to a man in form. It made him queasy to think of. "Well, you have made your point. But must the city burn?"

"It must all burn," said Martius firmly. There was no talk now of terms, of surrender. If it had been any other of the Council, Aufidius might have raised the question himself.

"I created you," Volumnia said. "I am the closest thing you have to a mother. Would you see me destroyed?"

For an instant, he seemed to waver. Then he shook his head. "You may have assembled these parts, Councillor. But I am the author of myself."

Volumnia did not seem deterred. "I am continuing my research, you know. There may be more like you – children, for you to mentor and train."

"More playthings for your army, to be used and discarded at will! No, I will never let that happen."

"Would you see me beg?" Graceful despite her years, she fell to her knees. "Spare us, Martius."

"I…" He took a halting step forward, then another. As Aufidius watched, he raised one hand and rested a metal palm against her wrinkled cheek. "I cannot."

"Then you leave me no choice." Her eyes, gazing up at him, were blue and grieving. They gazed at each other, and then she lifted her arm and touched a spot on his breast, where a man's heart might have been. "Go, Martius. Leave, now, and never threatened to harm us again."

Ponderously, he turned. There was a new blankness in his face, though Aufidius could not have said how he could tell the difference. "We go," Martius told him. "Command your ships."

"Go!" Aufidius cried. "When we are on the brink of victory? When all the Confederacy lies helpless at our feet?"

His voice did not alter. "You have had victories enough. We go, now."

"I'd do as he says," Volumnia said dryly. She had regained her feet, leaning on the edge of the console. "For our artillery is aimed at you now, and without his help, it will burn all your ships to cinders."

#

Aufidius fumed as they left the Confederate city behind, standing at the bow with his lieutenant. "What am I to tell the Admiralty?" he demanded of the clouds. "That we came to their doorstep and wavered? That Caius Martius suffered a malfunction, just as we were on the brink of conquest?"

"In another man, you might have called it mercy," Lucian said quietly.

"He's not a man," Aufidius spat. "It was a fail-safe the witch built, that was all. When you make a weapon, you do not want it to be turned against you."

"And yet, he remains with us. He may still be of use in our wars."

"He is too dangerous to be of use. Who knows what other secret commands lie hidden inside him? We cannot take his word. He has no word to give."

"Then what will you do?" his lieutenant asked.

"What I must," said Aufidius, hearing the heavy tread upon the deck. Martius had removed his uniform jacket once more, to show the sculpted bronze armour beneath.

"Aufidius," he began, almost pleading, "you understand why I spared them, do you not? If it was your own mother—"

"Oh, I was moved withal," Aufidius said, with stinging sourness. "And yet – I pawned my honour for your truth. Deferred to you in all things, shared the command with you, served you with my person. I shall be made to answer for it in Antium."

"I will entreat for you," Martius said, "in any court you name. Give me pen and paper, and I will write to your Admiralty with a full account of what has passed here. I swear, I will absolve you of the blame."

"And I'm to be absolved," Aufidius said slowly, "on the word of a traitor?"

"Traitor!" A crowd had gathered, soldiers curious and disappointed of spoil. The cry went through them like a thunder-clap. "Will I be branded so again?"

"Have you another word, for one who abandons his duty at the sticking point? Who gives up an assured victory, to see an old woman kneel?" The words gathered strength as he spoke them, like sparks catching fire. "But then perhaps we were wrong, to expect any true service from a machine above its station."

"Machine, you call me?" He looked less human than ever, staring at Aufidius with his golden eyes turning madly, but he sounded nearly hurt. "You, of all people, should know—"

"I'll hear no more of this," Aufidius said sharply, feeling release like a lanced wound. "Arrest him, men. He slaughtered our children at Corioles."

"I'll not be taken like a dog!"

"Will you fight? I'll apprehend you myself." He drew the small, thin dagger from his sleeve and approached, reaching for Martius's left shoulder. His eyepiece told him where to strike – the spot was a light, a candle flame, pulsating and fragile. The bodkin fit it as a key inside a lock, sliding deep and deeper, wrenching the delicate mechanism from its place.

Martius fell—a wall collapsing, with none of the rough grace that had sustained his body in motion. The Volscian soldiers edged back at the sound, gazing wide-eyed at the Scourge of Corioles lying stretched out upon the deck before them.

And yet he was not like a sentry whose engine had failed, winking out between one moment and the next. He lifted his head with an effort, and breathed Aufidius's name.

Aufidius knelt, his fingers empty of the dagger. He had no justification to make, but only inclined his head, listening. He felt more kindly toward Martius now, suddenly, than he ever had while at the other's disposal; the compassion was a foreign thing, blooming in poisoned soil.

"There must have been a world," Martius whispered to him, "where you and I could have been brothers."

"That world is elsewhere," answered Aufidius. After a moment he stood, for there was no need to close the unblinking golden eyes. The last of the sunset had faded, and they flew on toward darkness. "Now I have done it," he said aloud, "I am sorry for it."

"He was nothing human," offered his lieutenant. "You've said so yourself, sir."

Aufidius shook his head. "Perhaps he was too much so. His sin was pride, which we would keep all to ourselves." His sin was loyalty.

"What's to be done with the body? The engineers at Antium—"

"Bury it," he said shortly. "Over the lakes, as is our custom when a pyre can't be built. I will not give him to the vultures, to make other—" He stopped, wrenched the eyepiece from his head and let it fall atop the still bronze breast, costly as an offering. "To make monsters from."

END

Related stories on Nevermet Press:

Steady and True, by Michael Burnside
Truth, by Ian Vassilaros
The Gorgon's Love, by Martin Shelby
Iron Butterfly, by Marie Andrews
21st Century Man, by Paul Jones

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Clockwork Reviews: Alloy of Law, by Brandon Sanderson

The Alloy of Law, by Brandon Sanderson

It's no secret that I've become a bit of a Brandon Sanderson fangirl – I'm waiting for The Stormlight Archive to arrive at my local bookstore. So I'm sure it comes as no surprise to you that I might have let out a little squeal when I found out about Alloy of Law after finishing the Mistborn trilogy (which I reviewed previously here at Nevermet Press). Alloy of Law is not a sequel to the trilogy, instead it is a stand-alone novel set 300 hundred years after the events of the trilogy.

One of the first things that stood out for me was Sanderson's letter to the reader. In it he mentions that he often wondered why technology seemed to stand still in worlds with magic, and what would happen as technology developed in those worlds. Alloy of Law is thus – or at least as I read it – an exploration of what would happen. This exploration of a world with developing technology and magic was one of the best parts of the novel for me. Especially the way the protagonist, Wax and his buddy Wayne use a combination of both. Sadly though, there isn't a balance of the two something I suspect would happen in any such world.

I'm jumping the gun here. Let's start with the premise. It's 300 hundred years after the events of the trilogy – a reminder:  Kelsier died sparking a revolution; Vin killed the big evil only to find out he wasn't the big evil; Elend becomes king, loses the crown goes to war, dies and becomes a Mistborn; Sazed finds some disturbing information; there's a big battle; the world gets rearranged and those still alive start anew. As usual there is some unexplored areas, and places that a lot of people don't go to, in the new world it's called the Roughs. The Roughs pretty much is the wild unexplored West. Given that it's the wild West it's obvious that with our magic there'll be some guns. I'm not really a fan of Westerns so I wasn't that excited about the novel, but fortunately although it starts in the Roughs, and there are mentions of life out there most of the hijinks occur within the capital city.

We're introduced to Wax, a sheriff, while he's hot on the trail of a serial killer. As to be expected something tragic occurs while he's on the hunt – to be fair without it there wouldn't be as much character growth as there was. Shortly thereafter Wax has to return to the city to resume duties as a noble heir. At first he tries his darndest to avoid getting drawn back into the law enforcement game, but his hand is forced, especially when his fiancé gets kidnapped (I tried to avoid spoilers, but this is a little one that shouldn't impact you're enjoyment of the story).

So we have guns, but what about the magic? Well for starters Feruchemy isn't a Terris magic only, it's known about and used by a few. Although those few must have the ability to use it, much like Mistings and Mistborns of the other novels. Now though Twinborns are the rare magic users, as the names hints at Twinborns are those who can use both Feruchemy and Allomancy. Our hero, and his buddy, are both Twinborns, as well as the villain. Aside from this growth in magic, as hinted to Spook at the end of Hero of the Ages other metals have been discovered and used for Allomancy.

Five take home points:

The Western feel adds a lot to the development of the setting, differentiating, yet still having it feel like the familiar world of the trilogy.
Guns . Guns are the great equaliser between those with magic and those without; although some of the newer metals help swing things in the magic users favour.
There are some great references to the characters from the trilogy. Keep an eye out for the ones related to Spook; they're bound to give you a laugh.
Wayne, a slapstick sidekick without any of the annoying bits.
*Spoiler alert* Cameo appearances.

If you're looking for the same feel in Alloy of Law as there was in the Mistborn trilogy then the novel won't deliver, but if you want adventure and a new yet familiar world then read this one. Not to mention the bonus fangirl points you'd get .

Related stories on Nevermet Press:

Clockwork Reviews: The Mistborn Trilogy, by Brandon Sanderson
Clockwork Reviews: The Native Star, by M. K. Hobson
Clockwork Reviews: Phoenix Rising—A Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences, by Tee Morris and Pip Ballantine
Clockwork Reviews: The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making, by Catherynne M. Valente
Clockwork Reviews: Gaslight Arcanum – Uncanny Tales of Sherlock Holmes

Visit the original post, Clockwork Reviews: Alloy of Law, by Brandon Sanderson, at Nevermet Press. Subscribe via RSS, Twitter, or Facebook.

Ouroboros University: Chapel of Saint Alberic

North entrance of the chapel.

Chapel of Saint Alberic (1), the adjacent rectory and the campus tunnels running under these buildings house the Ouroboros University' seminary, one of its major colleges. Here paladins, clerics and others engage in religious studies.

The Chapel

The chapel possesses Carolingian architecture and is 800 years old – it predates the formation of the university – and at the time of its first consecration served as home to shrines to three gods of light and law, one from the human, elf and dwarf pantheons. Following a war about 500 years ago, the structure saw a dedication to only the human deity (a god of law appropriate to the campaign). It retains a slightly rounded triangle shape to its floor plan – each side of this triangle once sported a shrine to a different deity. The worship hall dominates the structure, with small offices, storerooms and hallways scattered throughout. A balcony faces the worship hall over each of the entrances. Narrow spirals staircases lead up to the balconies and bell towers and down to the campus tunnels.

Situated on the north wall is an elaborate pipe organ, the largest for leagues around, which is also living construct popularly known as "Pipes." While an excellent musician and judge of character, Pipes (too merry to be ominous) does not always accurately assess a given situation – sometimes when people are plotting something in the back rows, it bursts out with romantic music.

A domed ceiling stands over the worship hall. Large tiles of polished marble cover the walls and floor, with decorations and candelabras of ornamental and polished brass. Murals and frescos adorn the ceiling. About a century ago, a dour tempered canon (2) plastered over the old art, much to the displeasure of the art (3). Maintenance in recent years declined and so a roof leak went unrepaired. During a recent rainstorm, much of this plaster pealed fell of the interior of the dome, revealing the original art for the first time in generations.

The revealed murals across the ceiling depict a number of things; sprouting from the north wall is vast and fantastic tree, while arching up from the south-east wall are lines of marching text and from the south-west walls humans battle as they both avoid and seek an unsettling black circle. The original art, though damaged by time and water, is strikingly vivid and credited to someone known as Patrick D (4).

Elves and eladrin from their embassy assert the tree is a reference to some of their oldest stories, that all the world is a dreaming tree, all the limbs, leaves and flowers dreaming all the other flowers, leaves and limbs into being so that they may also dream. Time and weather damage have destroy large sections of the tree and left much of the rest of appearing to suffer from some blight.

Dwarves in the city confirm the marching columns of text are passages from dwarf holy works, which say "Embrace Death" and "Tomorrow is the death of today." The dwarves lose respect for anyone to whom they must explain this concept. Sadly, time and water erosion have damaged much of this section, leaving few passages legible.

Human historians say the mural depicts a battle over a sphere of annihilation between forces dedicated to a god a light and a god of misery. The "good" humans won, keeping this fearful artifact out of the hands of evil. Text in this area reads the sphere of annihilation is a blind spot for the gods themselves – they can neither see it nor into it and thus can do nothing about it. "What can you do about the things of which you are always unaware?" Ouroboros University currently keeps the sphere in a laboratory where it is undergoing study.

A line of text, alternating in elvish, dwarvish and human language runs along the base of the dome, calling upon people to "beware" the coming of the "Devoratrix Spes" (or "devourer of hope" in dwarvish), the "Парене Утре" (pronounced parene utre, or "burning tomorrow" in the human dialect used at the time of the chapels construction) and the "Tuo Tuskaa" ("brings the pain" in formal elvish). Expects identify this with a red figure appearing in each of the three sections of the murals.

For "safety reasons" access to the worship hall is limited to approved seminary faculty and students.

A bell tower stands over each of the three entrances. People visiting the chapel often find themselves the subject of baleful, silent stares from a dozen screech owls roosting on the chapel and nearby trees.

The Rectory and the Tunnels

A system of tunnels runs under most of the campus buildings. University administration employs the tunnels for storage year round, while students and faculty use them to move around the campus during frequently savage winters, as the tunnels are always dry and in winter qualify as warm. Several tunnels connect the chapel and rectory to the rest of the campus.

The rectory is a long four-story wattle-daub building with balconies facing the chapel. It houses multiple offices, classrooms, storages spaces and the like. It is a dully-functional place.

Religious Orders

A number of orders part of the church are involved with the seminary and several members of the faculty across the University belong to one order or another. Most relationships are casual, members supporting the seminary whose responsibility is the education of people in the ways of the church, with the seminary hanging out banners honoring these groups and inviting them to give guest sermons and provide guidance to students. Further, most such group uses the seminary as recruiting grounds. Any group, in a home-campaign, dedicated to the same deity may be a part of the seminary.

Canon Mraz

Ouroboros University seminary, Canon Podul Mraz (LN human male cleric 16) possesses a cool temperament and a preoccupation with rules. While he does not possess any military background, he gets on better with the church's military orders than does most of the civilian leadership. Cardinal and Grand Inquisitor Ludd, the church's leader in the country home to Ouroboros University, named Mraz to the position of Canon, and Ludd carries a great deal of national political weight. For his part, Canon Mraz operates the seminary in a manner legally unimpeachable but also cold. He possesses a surprising amount of information about students, faculty and staff, information he uses this to deal with obstacles. Canon Mraz's goals are known only to himself and Cardinal Ludd – and presumably the Chancelor of the University.

New Feat – Lay Person Religious Training

Prerequisites: Wis 12 and a semester of training at Ouroboros University for each replacement.

Benefit: You may replace any single feature or special power from your class with a feature or special power of equal power from the cleric class when you advance a level. This does not include cleric spells.

Special: Replacing eight features entitles you to call yourself a minor canon.

Note: Refer to the Cleric Class on page 38 of the Pathfinder Core Rulebook for more information.

Adventure Hooks

Iconoclast: Canon Mraz instructs the religious PCs (clerics, Paladins and any PC working to get that Lay Person Religious Training feat) to assist in the destruction of the animate murals decorating the inside of the chapel. The murals are legally not alive and are property, and views expressed by the murals on church doctrine and historical events are (subtly) at odds with the church's current position on those issues. Canon's Mraz's view is cold and theoretical, though legally supported by the country's secular government and the ecclesiastical body of the church. The views of the murals are Earthy, at times almost bawdy and practical. The murals do not wish to be destroyed. Complicating matters, the sentient pipe organ is legally alive and thus not property and thus destroying it would be an act of murder.

Watching You All the Time: Canon Mraz is a remarkably well informed man, knowing many things about many people which he uses to subtly blackmail people and coerce them into behaving. Even giving the gossip network and his position at the head of the seminary, he is too well informed. Where does he get his information?

(1) This is a reference to "Canon Alberic's Scrap-Book" by M.R. James.

(2) Canon is a special church term for members of the clergy responsible for following and teaching ecclesiastical rules among members of the church body, including following vows of poverty, chastity and dwelling with other members of the clergy when possible. The head of the Ouroboros University has been a canon since the rededication of the chapel.

(3) They are "sentient and alive" like most holograms from Star Trek – carefully recreations of notable saints, clerics and paladins matching the originals personality, knowledge and temperament but not technically alive. In any event, the dozen or so revealed on the old murals are surprisingly earthy by contemporary standards.

(4) It is beyond my ability to say if he ever did make it to America-side but he did spend time on this campus and in that time he made it a more beautifully place. Say thankee.

Related stories on Nevermet Press:

Those Bastard Ravens
Ouroboros University: A Musical Education
Gravesites: Fey Burials
Ouroboros University
Gravesites: Hall of Righteous Bones (Area)

Visit the original post, Ouroboros University: Chapel of Saint Alberic, at Nevermet Press. Subscribe via RSS, Twitter, or Facebook.

Points on a Map: The Oasis of Del Foor – Possible Plots

Welcome back to Points on a Map!

In previous installments we learned a bit about the history and people of the Oasis of Del Foor and the settlement of Ashid. Now it's time to ponder some of the possible ways to integrate it into your story – a few suggestions for entrances, exits, and plot threads.

There and Back Again

There are three ways your PCs may get to Ashid  from any one of the nearby oases or settlements in and around The Waste: on foot, by camel, or by horse. If your setting includes magic or modern conveniences, you might add flying carpets, planes, trains, or automobiles as well. The same methods of travel may be used again to leave the Oasis when it comes time to move on.

On Foot – Not recommended. Though the desert people have adapted to life in the Waste's extreme conditions, even they only travel on foot in the direst of circumstances. PCs entering Ashid on foot will be mistrusted and shunned for fear that they are scouts for raiding parties, thieves, or worse.
By Camel – A camel can carry up to 300 lbs of water on its back in water skins and survive for up to 8 days with no food or water, making it an ideal traveling companion—if not for the bad attitude and the smell. Camels may be stabled for a single night or a few days with Bakhi El Tahad at Al Asfar Ibil (The Yellow Camel) near the Dawn or Dusk Market. They will be well tended by Bakhi and his staff.
By Horse – Only the rich and powerful can afford horses, which require much more water than a camel and are often accompanied by a slower-traveling camel or two to carry the extra water necessary. Horses may also be stabled at Al Asfar Ibil as well, but may draw unwanted attention since horses are somewhat uncommon in Ashid.

Trade caravans traveling the desert routes will often employ a combination of camels and horses. The camels will be used for transport and combat, and the horses used for exclusively combat and scouting along the journey as necessary. Many caravans employ guards and scouts to protect people and cargo from harm, which may offer an opportunity for the PCs to travel the desert as part of a larger group.

Random Encounters: Crossing the Desert: While traveling in the desert, here are a few potential random encounters (roll d10):

You are delayed by a sandstorm, postponing your journey by anywhere from a few days to a few weeks.
Your camel was bitten by a snake and is slowed significantly.
You found scorpions in your bedroll and are suffering the lingering effects of their sting.
Your camp is attacked by a small group of bandits or raiding party.
You find a hole in your waterskin.
You are entranced by a flowering plant along the journey.
You are treated to a particularly clear night while camping on the journey, allowing you to count 1,001 stars in the sky.
You see a shooting star as the sun sets or rises, which your guides interpret as a good omen for the next leg of your journey.
You encounter a friendly caravan traveling the opposite direction along the trail.
You are buffeted by a steady wind, which makes visibility and breathing difficult for a few hours at a time.

Learning the Mysteries of Ashid

Once the party arrives and stables their mounts, they will be directed to Zahar Nuzi (the Inn of Flowers) for lodging or instructed where to set up camp on the edge of the oasis. They may then explore the rest of what Ashid has to offer. The inhabitants of Ashid will be polite to visitors, but won't share much with the PCs until a bond of trust is formed. The older denizens who know about the disappearances will be afraid to speak openly about the disappearances and many of the middle-aged or younger residents are too focused on day-to-day business to notice much.

If they eventually meet Jibra Al Ghul or Madam Torha, they may be directed to the Citadel to speak to Bashi El Vaz and Bayim El Vaz. In turn, they may be introduced to the family patriarch, Roovi El Vaz himself, who may tell them the story if they gain his trust. However, after a century of paranoia and the recent troubles, that trust may be difficult to come by.

Random Encounters: Exploring Ashid: While exploring Ashid, here are a few potential random encounters (d10):

A small crowd of street urchins accost you, asking for handouts of food, gold, or goods.
You witness a thief's sentencing in a public area. Depending on the crime, the thief may lose a single finger or as much as a hand as punishment.
You realize that you are being followed around the oasis by a solitary figure in the shadows.
A hawker quietly encourages you to visit the Tea Room at Zahar Nuzi or the refreshments available at Shariba Al Ghul.
You notice a woman frantically looking for her child, asking if anyone has seen the boy or girl.
A well-dressed man travels in haste with an entourage towards the Dawn or Dusk Market.
A group of men sharing a hookah in the shade of a palm grove invite you to join them.
You see a traveler escorted by armed men from the Baths to the Citadel while near the Baths you see an angry mob discussing something.
You hear yelling and see a tent on fire at the edge of the oasis. Instead of water, responders throw sand at the flames to knock them down.
A group of armed men on horseback charge through town as if on a mission.

Suggested Three-act Structure for Adventure

If you want to apply a simple three-act structure to the story of Ashid, here's one possibility:

First Act

Arrive in Ashid
Visit the various shops, taverns, inns, spas, and businesses
Meet one or more of the key NPCs


Middle Act

One of the NPCs the party meets along the way suddenly disappears
If the party begins to investigate, they are encouraged to speak to the El Vaz family
They start to discover more about the disappearances and pinpoint when they began


Last Act

Discovery of the source of the problem. Revelation of the demon Beyesh and the cost of Ashid's success.
Resolution – will they decide to remove Maaz Al Yad, attempt to destroy the demon, or destroy Roovi El Vaz, potentially sealing the fate of Ashid's future?



Further Possibilities

Simple Mystery – find the source of the disappearances
Dispatch the Evil – remove Maaz Al Yad and/or Roovi El Vaz
Guard the Tomb of Beyesh or attempt to banish the demon for good

GMs can do many things with Beyesh. If the party should be foolish enough to set him free, Beyesh could be an excellent enemy and the party could have to put the "genie back in the bottle" or destroy him completely at some point. But not before the demon has caused some havoc in the outside world.

Though Ashid is a small oasis size-wise, it might become a good central location for other desert adventures such as exploring nearby tombs and ruins, eradicating the local bandit problem (if one exists), or even helping El Vaz and eventually being granted space for a business or home.

Also, nothing says that the plight of the missing will reveal itself the first time the PCs visit Ashid. Perhaps the secrets of the oasis will reveal themselves slowly and the PCs will later wonder how they missed the signs.

Depending on the genre, setting, and system, there may be other places and businesses in Ashid to explore. You might find a gambling den or a brothel operating with Al Ghul's knowledge. Or you may find a place of worship and insert an entire belief structure. Priests, monks, and prophets may add another level of intrigue to the stage that could help or hinder the PCs goals.

Ashid as written may be just as comfortable in a pulp campaign as a fantasy one, a Call of Cthulhu adventure as much as one in Spirit of the Century or Dungeons & Dragons. There are plenty of options to explore and ways to fit a desert scenario or two into many worlds and times.

You might find inspiration in movies like The Mummy and The Mummy Returns, Stargate, the great Sinbad movies and tales, Lawrence of Arabia, and of course the classic 1001 Arabian Nights.

Resources

Here are a few more resources to explore:

English Words from Arabic (The Metaverse)
Fantasy Arabian Nights Names (Rolang's Creeping Doom)
20 Most Incredible Desert Oases [pics] (Environmental Graffiti)
The Web Site of The Siwa Oasis (Egypt)
Oasis (Wikipedia)
Wildlife in the Sahara (Temehu)
Riding across the Sahra (The Lone Riders Guild)
The Camel (Islam City)
Camel Proverbs (Creative Proverbs)

Well, that's it for now about Ashid and the Oasis of Del Foor. Next we'll explore the world of the Floating Market and see what secrets may be in store.

Feel free to offer suggestions on other themes to explore in Ashid or other Points on the Map you might like to hear about. And I'd love to hear if you manage to fit Ashid into your own campaigns. Let us know in the comments!

Related stories on Nevermet Press:

Points on a Map: The Oasis of Del Foor – Personalities
Points on a Map: The Oasis of Del Foor Overview
Cosmology of Shayakand
Grit, Steampunk & Fantasy – Sources of Inspiration
A Fork in the Road: Starting the Adventure

Visit the original post, Points on a Map: The Oasis of Del Foor – Possible Plots, at Nevermet Press. Subscribe via RSS, Twitter, or Facebook.

A 4e N00b's Take On D&D Next

 

Hundreds of dollars spent, countless hours of research and writing, getting up to speed on a whole new system of rules – only to be told a few months later that a new edition of D&D is under construction. Enough for any person to feel aggrieved by yet another corporate decision aimed at cashing in. Am I right?

Not me. Not this time!

I came to the 4e party late, three years after release. For that reason, I think the risk was mine to take and my wallet will suffer the consequences once D&D Next ships. Obviously, I understand the anguished wails of protest pointing out that four or five years is too quick for yet another edition. The concerns are valid; once more the community gets fragmented, making another dent in the our wallet, the fear of "getting it wrong again".

I get that.

Nonetheless, I was excited when I read the New York Times, Forbes and countless other articles on this up-til-now secret edition of D&D. It's not that I was dissatisfied with my return to D&D, or found the current system lacking, but the way the new edition was being presented just got my heart thumping a little faster, like a halfling rogue seeing something shiny.

Perhaps my enthusiasm stems from a lack of experience. Those of you who have been gamers for 10, 15, 30 straight years have an absolute right to be jaded by a business that has morphed into a multi-million (?) dollar industry on your watch. I hand over initiative to you without hesitation, good sirs and madams. However, with my fresh outlook following 15 years away from the gaming table, I'm open to anything new and interesting being floated by Wizards of the Coast.

Understand, I'm no fanboi. I have a PS3, an Xbox 360, a Wii and a gaming PC. I have an iPhone, but thinking of switching to Android. I choose to exercise my options as a consumer because really, what other choices do we really have in our society? I picked 4e when I returned to gaming since, well, I didn't even know other options even existed. In truth, I would have chosen the D&D brand over others had I known about them because the guiding principle for my return was nostalgia, and I was pining for mid-90′s D&D.

We are now approximately 40 hours into our glorious return to the gaming table, and I offer you a few observations from that experience, followed by some things I'd like to see from D&D Next.

The 4E Late Comer N00b Experience with 4E

The first thing I noticed was how long combat was taking. I chalked this up to our rustiness or N00b status. Once we got the hang of it, however, the hour+ combat encounters were the norm and I grew worried.
I find that prep time is essential. Again, this could be because of my rustiness, but I find I have to plan every storyline and hook very carefully, as well as plan out every  possible branch available to my PC's. This is time-consuming, but not a total waste as long as I am creative enough to re-insert the branches not taken into future storylines. Gone is the possibility of winging it, which was how I used to DM in 2e.
In prep, I always think I'm going to kill my PC's the way XP allotment is presented in the DM Guide, when in fact they usually breeze through without too much of a scare. I need to learn how to push them further, since players seem to have all the power in 4e. I recognize this as something to which I need to adjust as a DM, but it would have been nice if 4e hadn't made the PC's so powerful. First level characters should be terrified of a pack of kobolds ambushing them. That hasn't been the case.
I've griped about one aspect of combat, but here's one love: battlemap! As I've written before, the grid and the rules limit how you use your imagination in combat, but it helps the tacticians and those who aren't as imaginative have something tangible to visualize. It also helps the DM keep track of all his creatures in play. On top of it all, it's scratched an itch I've had for a long time, and that's map-making. Recently I've been in touch with Jonathan Roberts who writes the phenomenal blog Fantastic Maps. Which brings me to my next point;
Community! I was overwhelmed by the generosity, passion, and breadth of the D&D community. I still haven't wrapped my head around it all. I've  had my DDI subscription from the beginning, but I just discovered Drive-Thru RPG. Having a #dnd column open in Tweetdeck keeps me right in the loop of everything going on. I've yet to even peek at the Wizards of the Coast forums, or to subscribe to EN World (this might be for the best, considering the quality of  civilized discussion on most web forums!).
The character sheet is way more complex. Expanding my appreciation of community, I found this website to accurately keep track of the moving parts for every character. However, it means the DM is now the custodian of the character sheet, and adds to my workload.

That was a lot to process in just a few months before we started playing, and I'm still digesting tonnes of content with an eye to becoming a better DM. Despite the embryonic point at which my DM career stands, however, I think I have something to say about the direction of D&D Next.

The 4E Late Comer N00b Hope for 5E, aka D&D Next

Backwards compatibility. Not just with 4e, but with everything! This is in everyone's interest. From a fan's point of view, using all the material on which you've spent money up to this point is a huge boon. From a business standpoint, and on the assumption that WotC would re-issue all previous D&D material (at least electronically), it could open up a brand new revenue stream as people wouldn't try to track down old stuff just out of curiosity or to complete a collection.
Speaking of electronically: make the books available online. I understand the special relationship the industry has with book and hobby stores, so hear out my idea to alleviate the concern about killing them off with the internet. With every book bought, provide a code for a downloadable PDF version, similar to what video games do for extra content. Yes, you would have to seal the book, or make the coupon code available from behind the counter, but I think this is an elegant compromise.
Streamline combat. Unless it's a "boss" fight, make a combat encounter no more than 20 minutes. We need to bring more story to table. From the breadcrumbs we've gotten from #DDXP, this transformation is already under way by way of optional modules sprouting out from a core set of rules. Sounds good to me.
Don't worry about balance between classes. In my experience, this debate belongs in the PvP aspect of MMORPG's, not in TTRPG. Someone who chooses a cleric usually has a personality to match a healer: calm, introvert, reasoned. Not all classes need to be All-Stars.

I realize this is a subject that ignites passions all over the community. Do you agree or disagree with these opinions? What is your biggest wish for D&D Next?

Related stories on Nevermet Press:

Bastion of the Hidden Kingdom
Red Harvest
Encounter: Spoiled Waters
Adventures in Business
The Winters Hollow Workshop (Winter Times Part 2 of 3)

Visit the original post, A 4e N00b's Take On D&D Next, at Nevermet Press. Subscribe via RSS, Twitter, or Facebook.

A Fork in the Road: Siding with the Rebels

Last week, we looked at what would happen if the players decided to side with the Duke.

If the players aren't clear as to which side they would want to fight for, help them with some out of character explanation.  (Especially in the case of players who are used to being railroaded all the time).  Siding with the rebels is a move against authority.  Characters might wish to join this side if they are disgruntled with the nobility.  Some characters might see it as the righteous and good thing to do to help the weak and powerless.  More selfish characters might see helping the rebels as a way to disrupt the status quo and find a way to gain power for themselves.

Once the characters decide to fight with the rebels, they will need to make their way out to the suburbs of Darimor.  There, they will meet with the leader of the Rebellion.

If you missed them, the expedition into the Duchy of Darimus and descriptions of the geographic and political situation will be helpful to running this encounter.

Siding with the Rebels

Read the following text aloud to the PCs once they meet up with Citizen Strauss:

"You meet up with the rebel leader, Citizen Strauss. His time to meet with you is short. He asks that you travel to a nearby safe house. At this safe house, there are several individuals who need protection. Citizen Strauss reassures you that despite perceptions, he and the rebels have no intention on seeing any harm come to the innocents of the duchy. They have only noble intentions to have the offending royalty punished for their inhumane deeds."

The Safe House

Read the following text aloud to the PCs :

"You travel to the river docks, where the safe house is located. Your guide shows you to the door and hands you the key before quickly departing. This warehouse looks just like all the others, one of many that are still in operation, but the structures have clearly seen better days. You go inside to find a single guard sitting on one of the many crates in here. There is a woman and three young boys. All of them wear fancy clothing that is the worse for wear. They all look down trodden and defeated."

History (Easy DC): "You notice that the woman has a brooch that the Duke was also wearing, it bears a royal seal."

The prisoners are too frightened to attempt escape of their own volition. If any of the players physically help them, even against the other players. They will follow that player's lead and attempt escape. They follow orders and have little initiative of their own.

The guard has an AC of 18 and is considered a minion. He stands with the prisoners. Any player may give him an order with a Move Action. His attack is with a long dagger, +7 vs. AC; 6 damage.

Round 1 of Combat:



The front doors to the room burst open. An obvious royal leads a couple of troops in and demands the rebels hand over the captives.
Through the front door, the Royal Commander, Golem of the Duchy and 4 Duchy Soldiers enter.



Round 2 of Combat:



Several of the windows on both sides of the room near the captives break. More of the Duke's troops drop into the room and head for the captives.
4 more Duchy Soldiers enter through the front door. 2 Hired Dark Adventurers enter at the back of the room.



Round 3 of Combat and through to conclusion:



Up to 4 more Duchy Soldiers come through the front door. There are never more than 8 Duchy Soldiers in the battle at any time.

Royal Commander Level 7 Elite Soldier

Medium Humanoid

Initiative8 Senses Perception +6

HP 166; Bloodied 83

AC 25 Fortitude 22 Reflex 19 Will 21

Speed 5

Action Points 1 Saving Throws +2

Standard Actions

(M) For the Duke!

+14 vs. AC; 2d8+5 damage and knock the target prone. (Additional 10 damage on a charge)

M Flank with me!

One Duchy Soldier shifts into flanking position with the Royal Commander, +14 vs. AC; 2d8+5 damage.

Secondary attack: Level +3 Vs. Reflex; 1d6+5level damage. Shift 6 squares and slide the target to an adjacent square.

Minor Actions

Royal command (Recharge 5,6)

Every Duchy Soldier takes a full set of actions.

Press an advantage

One Duchy Soldier takes a single attack action with a +5 damage bonus.

Alignment Neutral Languages Common

Skills Endurance +12

Str 19 (+7) Dex 16 (+6) Wis 16 (+6)

Con 19 (+7) Int 16 (+6) Cha 16 (+6)

The Royal Commander is a regal figure dressed in ceremonial plate with banners of royal house colors hanging off of his armor, his shield, and his weapons hilt.

Golem of the Duchy Level 8 Brute

Large Construct

Initiative 7 Senses Perception +7, Blindsense

HP 110; Bloodied 55

AC 20 Fortitude 21 Reflex 20 Will 20

Speed 5

Standard Actions

(CB) Marble Slouch (Close Burst 2)

+11 vs. AC; 1d8+5 damage.

Triggered Actions

Exploding Marble (Free, when bloodied, Close Burst 5)

+9 vs. Fortitude; 4d8+5 damage.

Alignment Neutral Languages Common

Skills None

Str 20 (+9) Dex 17 (+7) Wis 17 (+7)

Con 20 (+9) Int 13 (+5) Cha 6 (+2)

The Golem of the Duchy looks like it is made up of similar materials to the floors of the Dukes court chambers. There is a strange feeling of familiarity to anyone who has been to the Duke's court.

Duchy Soldiers Level 5 Minion

Medium Humanoid

Initiative 6 Senses Perception +4

HP 1; a missed attack never damages a minion.

AC 19 Fortitude 17 Reflex 18 Will 17

Speed 5

Standard Actions

(M) Pole-arm stab

Reach 2 +10 vs. AC; 5 damage and push the target 1 square.

Alignment Neutral Languages Common

Skills None

Str 15 (+4) Dex 18 (+6) Wis 15 (+4)

Con 15 (+4) Int 14 (+2) Cha 11 (+2)

The Duchy Soldiers are similarly armed and armored to each other, but their appearances and personae are varied.

Hired Dark Adventurers Level 6 Lurker

Medium (shadow) Humanoid

Initiative 11 Senses Perception +6

HP 58; Bloodied 29

AC 20 Fortitude 18 Reflex 19 Will 18

Speed 6

Standard Actions

(M) Grab and Stab

+9 vs. Reflex; 1d10+4 damage (+2d6 with Combat advantage)

Move Actions

Duck in to the crates

Make a Stealth skill check (+12) vs. all Passive Perceptions; Hired Dark Adventurer becomes invisible until the end of its next turn.

Alignment Evil Languages Abyssal, Common

Skills Stealth +12

Str 16 (+6) Dex 19 (+7) Wis 16 (+6)

Con 16 (+6) Int 19 (+7) Cha 16 (+6)

The Hired Dark Adventurers have a twisted appearance about them. Their faces and arms are covered in scars and their dirks are jagged and covered in dried blood.

 

Next week: We'll look at concluding the adventure.

Related stories on Nevermet Press:

A Fork in the Road: Siding with the Duke
Devouring Zombie [4E D&D]
Clockwork Brain Crabs
A Fork in the Road: Setting the stage
A Fork in the Road: Starting the Adventure

Visit the original post, A Fork in the Road: Siding with the Rebels, at Nevermet Press. Subscribe via RSS, Twitter, or Facebook.

Empyrean Skies, by David Gaither

The tavern was tucked away from the towers and high places of Lear Terra, hidden just off the main road between the docks and the industrial area. Inside, among the flickering glow of spark globes and outdated oil lamps, those within The Bucking Wind danced, sang, and plied their tongues, emboldened by the tavern's ample inventory of liquid courage.

Most of the patrons wore olive green peacoats, readily identifying them as Coalition airmen. Fresh off their airships, they caroused and engaged in feats of bravado while heckling each other mercilessly. Outside, the crewmen might be met with harsh glances and angry stares, but the heady atmosphere of the tavern left no room for such. The remaining patrons, while no less rowdy, were of various means, races, and garb, a cosmopolitan blend, much like the city itself.

Three figures sat at the darkest end of the bar, doing their best to cling to the shadows and nurse their drinks. One, a dwarf with a dark complexion and blond hair, glared over a handkerchief at the man next to him, sniffling constantly. The cloth hid a two-fold shame; his nose, which was quite small for a dwarf and thus caused him no small measure of teasing in his younger years, and the constant suffering that resulted from his drinking. Whether or not Geddik was allergic to spirits or otherwise, no upstanding dwarf would admit, and neither would he. Whenever it seemed convenient, he would reach into one of the many pockets of his patchy, brown robe and produce another handkerchief, the supply seemingly endless.

"Ugh," Geddick lamented, his voice low, "this is place is awful." He looked around the tavern. "Greenwings everywhere. We are wasting our time, Ronin."

The man's piercing green eyes scanned the dark corners, taking in the entirety of the common room. Dark, gray-peppered hair framed the face of one who had seen a fair share of years, but aged gracefully, with hard lines and a sharp jaw. His skin was neither light nor dark, but the chestnut color that resulted from spending one to many days among the clouds. He wore a brown cross-button shirt, gray pants, and black Arlian boots; he also carried a handbow on his right hip and a handful of throwing knives lined his belt.

"Perhaps, perhaps not," Ronin replied without looking at his friend.

"Tes probably agrees. What about ya? Eh, lass?" Geddik asked, looking to his right.

The elf leaned up against the bar and moved a strand of silver-white hair away from her face. Tes was tall and thin, twice Geddik and a head over Ronin. She was not dressed provocatively—a regular white top and red pants with leather boots—but the clothing fit well, hinting at subdued power and hidden grace. A scar bisected her left eye, and where one might expect to find a patch or false eye, was instead a circular apparatus of wheels and gears. Electricity arced in the center of the device and it retracted and expanded like the pupil of an eye. A similarly constructed gadget sat atop her right arm and stretched from wrist to mid-limb, a long cylinder on a bed of gears and cogs flanked by a pair of bulky magazine boxes.

"I think I stopped being 'lass' a long time ago," the elf replied.

Geddik laughed. "Isn't that—" He stopped short as a drunken Greenwing stumbled into Tes. The airman turned around, grinned, and attempted to put his arms around the elf.

"Hey! Wanna have some fun with a—" In one swift movement Tes punched the man in the throat. As he doubled over, she slammed a boot into his groin and brought her elbow across his temple. He hit the floor instantly, unconscious. The three looked up apprehensively, but the only response was laughter from around the tavern at the sailor's failure. His friends soon came and retrieved the poor fellow, giving Tes a wide berth as they did so.

Geddick placed the cloth over his nose and looked over at Ronin. "Why we even here?"

"Him." Ronin motioned across the tavern toward an awkward-seeming young man sitting at one of the many tables. He wore a Coalition officer's uniform and appeared to be there with a small group of friends. Still, he spoke rarely and offered little more than the occasional smile and odd laugh.

"This job related?" Tes asked as she took a swig.

"Nothing less. Come on." Ronin moved away from the bar, navigating the crowd. The raven-haired stranger was saying his goodbyes. Eventually he managed to break free and make his way to the exit, followed by Ronin and company. They left the noisy confines of the tavern and headed east, away from the dockside, toward uptown. The three weaved among the towers of Lear Terra, stalking their prey. When satisfied with their surroundings, Ronin motioned for Geddik and they began moving to flank the Greenwing. They moved into one of the dark side streets and Ronin gave the signal.

Geddick began weaving a litany of words and phrases, a rough song of measured beauty and immense complexity. His fingers danced through the air and crimson runes traced the path. They lit up the area around his face as they sparked into existence and then winked out. A translucent snake appeared and swiftly slithered from the dwarf's feet toward the passing officer. The snake's incorporeal form struck without hesitation, wrapping around the young man and squeezing. He froze mid-step and fell forward with only a gurgling sound. Tes and Ronin rushed out and brought him into the sheltering darkness, where they threw him against a wall.

"Hello, Warrant Officer Alisto, my name's Ronin, and these here are my compatriots." Ronin motioned to each side. "Now, when my friend removes his charm, we will have your complete cooperation or…" Ronin glanced over at Tes. She raised her arm and a steel bolt exploded from the device on her wrist into the wall beside them, disappearing entirely. Tes eyed the ensign as her custom wristbow began whirring and clicking as it wound itself back up. "You become the wall. She calls it her hole puncher. She's mighty fond of it from what I hear."

The look of abject fear in the unfortunate officer's eyes said all that was necessary. A gesture from Geddik and the snake dissipated with a hiss. "I-I'm j-just a-a Warrant Officer, I don't know much of anything," he blurted out immediately.

"Ah, but you know enough." Ronin replied with a smile. He palmed a throwing knife and moved closer to the terrified man's face. "You serve on the Dreadmark, correct? One nod will do." The officer nodded eagerly. Tes and Geddik looked at one another as if startled.

"You said this was business," Geddik murmured.

Ronin motioned for quiet. "When you landed at Saint Berrus, what did you take?"

"Uh-," Alisto stammered, "s-something the brass wanted real bad, a power source of some kind. We weren't told much."

Ronin brought the knife closer. "Still have it?"

Alisto hesitated before replying. Ronin took a step back and threw his knife. It landed just above the victim's head, cutting off a sprig of hair. "Oh, by Kedu, ah-ah, yes, yes it's still there! We are taking it to Loranin. Admiral Clennis wants to make a big deal of it."

"I see," Ronin's voice dropped to a growl, "and where is it kept now?" Tes slowly brought her hole puncher level with Alisto's face.

The officer looked away, closing his eyes. "One of the locked cargo rooms in the aft probably, but you're mad if you think you can get in though. No reason—"

"That's good enough." Ronin interrupted and looked over at Geddik. "Knock him out." The dwarf began incantations anew, runes flickering in the air. Suddenly, Tes cracked the officer across the back of the head with her fist. His eyes rolled up and he slumped to the ground. "I suppose that'll do," Ronin said with a smile.

Geddik glared at Tes. "A waste of my time lass, it takes strength ya know." Tes shrugged in reply, forcing Geddik to shake his head in disgust. Quietly, they hid the ensign and bound him. Done, they stepped back into the streets, moving quickly toward dockside, Ronin in the lead.

***

The Dreadmark loomed over the others vessels on their docking platforms, the carrier's five masts an impressive sight among the long shadows of the moonless night. She carried a total of seventy cannon; twenty-eight 32-pounders on the lowest deck, thirty 18-pounders on the mid, and a mix of falconet, minion, and saker cannons on the upper deck—for anti-personnel purposes. Few ships could best her in a firefight, but that was not her strength. Inside her hull, the Dreadmark held a dozen or so smaller gliders, dragonfly or wasp class, which could be deployed from a rear door to harass enemy ships and surface resistance alike.

A number of strategically placed metal plates protected the ship's wooden hull and a pair of enormous propellers protruded from her stern. Despite the bulk, the Dreadmark's multiple arc engines and half a dozen triangular canvas rudders on each side of the ship enabled a speed belying her size. She sat on her platform, waiting to take to the skies.

Tes scanned the massive ship from a hidden shelter of stacked freight containers. A series of audible clicks came from her clockwork eye as she slowly rotated a small dial on the side of the device.

"Well?" Ronin whispered after a few moments had passed.

"Two by the ramp, another four topside, at least." She paused for a moment and the clicks continued. "Not good at all."

Ronin leaned back and appeared to be mulling the situation over. Tes and Geddik exchanged glances. Geddik sighed. "Ya sure the pay is worth it? This is big fish here, Ronin. We understand how ya feel about the Coalition, we were there too ya know, but getting killed won't be helping us a bit."

Ronin looked up, daggers in his gaze. "Ten thousand keel weights, each" he growled between clenched teeth, "and we get that twice over if we deliver the item"

Tes gave a low whistle. "That's enough for me."

Geddik rolled his eyes. "Not if we don't make it out alive."

Ronin quieted them both with an angry stare. "Fine, it is about revenge. You may have been there, Geddik, but you didn't see the look on Lara's face when they blew the Silverwing's bow off and took her with it. I watched her fall into the sky, clawing at the air and screaming my name." Ronin jabbed a finger at the dwarf. "You didn't."

Tears welled in the corners of Geddik's eyes. "We… we all cared lad."

"You go too far, Ronin," Tes said, her face hard.

The man with lines on his face and fury in his eyes looked away. "You are right. I apologize," he turned back around, now under control, "but we have a chance to make it even and get rich. The contract is to steal whatever was taken from St. Berrus. We get in and get out, that's all." Ronin put a hand on the dwarf's shoulder. "You with me?"

Geddik hesitated, sighed, and returned the gesture. "Aye, I'll do it." Tes nodded in agreement.

"Good, now then, how do we get in? I think we might be able to grapple our way up if we are fast enough."

Tes shook her head. "Too risky," she replied, "but I have an idea. We can access the ship through the rear engines' propeller assembly."

"Wait a moment." Geddik's eyes narrowed. "Is that safe?"

"Well… yeah." Tes paused in thought. "I mean, as long as they don't turn one of the arc engines on." Ronin smiled at Geddik.

The dwarf rolled his eyes again. "You realize the chances of us pulling this off are incredibly slim?"

"Never tell me the chances," Ronin replied, pulling throwing knives from his belt. "Let's go."

***

Ronin was the last to climb free of the massive array of gears and shafts that drove the Dreadmark propellers whenever the engine was in operation. The other two waited with ears cocked. Beyond the random creaks and odd metal sounds expected of such a ship, everything appeared to be at rest. Small round globes of flickering light illuminated the interior of the ship at intervals. Shadows played in the farthest crevices, keeping the trio on edge.

Tes examined the impressive row of arc engines that drove the ship, eyes wide. "You could float a city with this much power and the right amount of keelstone." She followed the curves of the ship to the keel line. A thick wedge of what looked like dark steel ran down one wall before disappearing into the floor. "Why bother with the job when we could just steal all that?" she said, smiling mischievously. "If only I could take enough to ground her."

Geddik followed her gaze. "I still don't understand how all this works. No enchantments, no sages, it's not right."

"Well, Geddik." Tes pointed at the arc engines. "Electricity from there," She then motioned toward the keelstone, "is sent there." She raised her hands in a mocking gesture. "Make ship fly."

"How?" Geddik challenged.

"See… what happens is…" She finally stopped with a look of resignation on her face. "No one is sure really. That's just how keelstone works." Geddik smiled and crossed his arms knowingly.

Ronin cleared his throat and eyed his companions. "Can we go now?"

The other sounds of the ship came to them as they made their way forward; men playing cards in the decks above, cannons creaking, the constant settling of metal and wood. The ship's layout was not wholly unfamiliar, and so they navigated its innards, making their way as best they knew. They managed to find a ladder leading up and so followed it into another section, more open than the last, the halls much wider. The three began to pass areas filled with all manner of provisions, most for the upkeep of the ship and crew—they had found the cargo hold.

They came to a t-shaped intersection. The right opened up into a larger cargo area and flight deck for gliders. The canvas and wood crafts sat quietly in the quasi-darkness of the hold, wings tethered and engines silent. More cargo rooms led away to the left. Ronin looked back at his friends and motioned toward the rooms.

The wide hall turned once more before ending in a large, vault-like door with a spinning combination lock embedded in its center. The lock was an intricate affair, with two dials, one of numbers set inside another marked with letters; it was necessary to line up the correct grouping three times before the lock would disengage.

Ronin approached the door with caution. He placed an ear to the door and a hand on the lock, turning it ever so slowly. The gears inside the door rumbled and groaned. "I can get in, eventually," he said, voice low. "Keep an eye out." He rotated the dials against one another until a barely audible click resonated from within the door. He noted the position and continued.

Ronin paused abruptly, head turned. "What is tha—?"

A green-coated airman turned the corner and froze for a moment before giving a yelp of surprise. Tes' wristbow sang. The shot shattered the sailor's collarbone and drove him backward out of sight. "Flames!" she cursed. Moments later an alarm began to ring.

"Bugger all!" Ronin cried. He began turning the lock more urgently. Footfalls echoed from down the hall as Geddik and Tes stepped in front of their friend. The dwarf began weaving runes with rapid precision, each hand sketching separate figures of protection and defense. Shouting and the staccato of booted feet echoed from above and nearby. The upper torso of two Coalition men appeared from around the corner firing their handbows with abandon. Geddik did not move, but stood fast, arms forward, hands spread with thumbs touching. Halfway down the hall the shots struck an unseen barrier and clattered harmlessly to the ground. Tes' returned fire, her shots unimpeded.

Click.

Ronin marked the second grouping. More Greenwings arrived, firing and then retreating away from Tes' well-aimed shots. Geddik was pushed back, hands shaking as shot after shot ricocheting away from the trio.

"This is getting interesting," Tes called back toward Ronin, only the slightest elevation of her voice indicated any urgency.

Shouts calling for surrender rang down the hall; the three intruders responded with silence. Realizing their shots were useless, the airmen pulled blades and charged down the hall, flowing around the corner in unison. A panting Geddik fell back against the vault door as Tes punched a hole through the arm of one guard and into the leg of another. Still the swarm pressed on. Desperate, Geddik brought his hand up and then down, as if cracking a whip. A bout of flame filled the hall, halting the charge momentarily.

Click!

Ronin burst forward as the door swung wide, sending poor Geddik sprawling. Tes followed with a parting shot before slamming the door shut with a resounding thud.

"Jam the lock!" Ronin shouted to Tes as he helped the dwarf to stand. She pulled a tool from somewhere near her waist and started working with the door's locking apparatus. A chorus of shouts and knocks erupted from the other side of the door.

Ronin took a moment to survey what was now their makeshift prison. The vault was not overly large, only twenty by twenty feet, but filled with the best of those artifacts "collected" by the Dreadmark during her recent campaign. His eyes settled on an ebonywood strongbox leaned against the far wall. "That's it," he said and darted toward it.

"Whoa, lad," Geddik warned, his voice thready and weak. A look of confusion and concern appeared on his face as he stared at the coffer intensely. "There is power there, something ancient, beyond us." He collapsed against the bulkhead, too exhausted to explain.

If Ronin heard the dwarf's words, he did not heed them. The pounding outside faded away as Ronin kneeled in front of the coffer. He placed his hands on the lock and pulled them back as if bitten. The box was thrumming, vibrating as if a machine sat within. Tes moved to Geddik's side, they both watched in silence as Ronin circumvented the lock with practiced certainty and slowly eased the lid of the coffer open.

A colorful spray of rainbow hues burst free and danced across the landscape of Ronin's face, now a bizarre mix of triumph and glee. Tes pulled away ever so slightly. Ronin's visage appeared to shift between the two emotions. In the moment, Tes thought he looked quite mad. He reached forth and pulled something free. One final burst of multi-colored light filled the chamber before whatever it was dimmed in Ronin's hand. He held a large oval diamond the size of a man's fist, the muted light still dancing in its heart.

Geddik struggled to his feet. "The Jewel of Mjeterindal!" he cried with breathless wonder. "This, this cannot be." Tes' eyes darted toward the dwarf with alarm. The sounds from the other side of the vault door returned, more urgent than before.

Ronin looked up from the jewel and grinned. "Whatever it is, it is ours now." He began moving around the room, looking for an escape and pocketing small valuables as he went.

"You do not understand, Ronin." Geddik's voice was a mix of fear and excitement. "Cities… kingdoms, have fallen over the jewels. They are-are," his hands moved as he struggled for the proper words, "a nearly inexhaustible source of magical energy. During the Lyoriad Period the elves used them to power the four city-states, a single jewel for each. The epics claim each jewel the heart of a Balor, plucked from their chest in the First War. Most believe they were all lost, except the one which you hold. It was stolen when the Orcul marched on the city. Without the jewel, the city had no defenses—that's why Mjeterindal fell." Everything spilled out in a frenzy of words. The three looked at one another, the sound of the Coalition airmen destroying the vault door the only noise between them.

"I thank you for the history lesson, but I do not see what it matters," Ronin replied. "Right now, we need to find a way out of here."

"You can be the most insufferable of fools, Ronin." The remark came from Tes, who had been silent until now. "If they knew what this was, they would have sent an entire fleet to protect it. Be thankful for their stupidity. They could use it to power an entire battle group, with firepower far beyond that of an arc engine. The Coalition would sweep across the Middelands. Whoever sent us, they knew. We ply dark skies."

"You are right, and we can't let that happen," Ronin said, pocketing the jewel. "But if we don't get out of here, none of it will matter." They all began looking for a ventilation shaft, a hidden door, anything, but quickly came up short. At the vault door, one of the large hinges snapped as a result of efforts on the other side. "Nothing," Ronin sighed, "I am sorry friends, to have led you to this."

"Not all is lost. Give me the jewel," Geddik asked. Ronin placed it in his outstretched hand. "I may not have enough strength to free us, but it does. I will tap into its reserves and use it to power my rune weaving. You—"

"No!" Tes protested. "You know that will likely kill you, burn you out. A mortal shell cannot contain that much power."

Geddik continued past her pleas. "You must stay in contact with me at all times. We will pass through the walls and to the hangar. I would do more, but I dare use the energy of the jewel as little as possible. The risk is not mine alone. If I fail, your lives will also be forfeit." He took their hands and placed them on his shoulders. Ronin nodded. Tes moved her hand to cup his head and neck.

Ronin watched as Geddik clutched the jewel tightly and began forming runes. The former captain had never seen his friend weave as fast and as forcefully. He could often follow the runes, but these winked in and out of existence with alarming rapidity. Geddik's body began to vibrate, gently at first, but then with more force. Ronin found it difficult to maintain his hold. It wasn't painful, but like trying to grab something that was there one moment and gone the next. It felt odd, unnatural. The world began to fade, become distant. The walls disappeared into a smoky haze as they began to move forward.

Geddik's face was a mask of focus and agony. He very much felt as if he was on fire. He had never encountered such a magical focus before, and the power flowed through him unimpeded by only his will. It twisted and burned and threatened to cleanse his soul from his mortal body, like fire in a still. His skin aged as wrinkles formed, his blond hair lost its luster and began to fade toward white. In a handful of heartbeats, twenty years passed away. With a sensation like a punch in the chest, they phased back into being on the hangar deck as Geddik collapsed to the floor with jewel in hand.

"By the gods." Ronin fell to the side of his friend and placed an arm under him. "We have to get him up." Tes' eyes were filled with silent tears as they brought the dwarf to his feet. "Not today!" Ronin growled. "You hear me? You aren't going today you fat, dwarf bastard."

Tes glanced around the hangar. It was filled with Wasp-class powered gliders, the small one and two men crafts that made up the Dreadmark's mobile assault unit and air defense. They sat in the silent dark with wings folded and engines quiet.

"Ronin," she said and motioned with her head, "there, closest to the hatch release." They scrambled toward the two man craft with Geddik in tow. "I'll do what I can with the arc engine; we'll need to gain power to get off the ground. Lose any weight you can." She leapt on the craft and helped place the unconscious dwarf in the gunner's seat. She promptly turned, opened a thin panel, and disappeared up to her elbows. Geddik awoke as Ronin kicked the main gun off the craft to the floor. A tremendous thud echoed through the hangar, followed by a sharp cry of alarm. The Dreadmark airmen had found the vault empty and would quickly be swarming all areas of the ship.

"This isn't Himmelhale," groaned Geddik as he opened his eyes.

Ronin smiled. "Couldn't let you die just yet. You still owe me that bottle of Cavendish. Although, I might consider the debt paid if we make it out of this." He jumped in the pilot seat and began maneuvering a series of levers. "Tes?!"

She emerged and slammed the compartment shut. "Now!"

As if on cue, a handbow bolt whizzed past Ronin's head. Coalition soldiers poured into the hangar, firing at the thief-laden Wasp recklessly. Tes began to return fire, her wristbow whining away gleefully. Ronin jumped free from his seat and began powering a crank on the front of the craft. Sluggishly, the arc engine began to rotate and then sparked to life. The familiar crackle of electricity brought a grin to Ronin's face as he leapt back into the craft with a sigh of relief. The Wasp began to move forward as a hail of bolts ricocheted off her wooden hull.

"I need more power in the solar draw or I don't think we are going to make it!" Ronin cried.

"She's giving you everything she has sir. Anything more and the engine will tear free! She can't take much more," Tes shouted in reply.

"Flames!" Ronin cursed. "We didn't release the hatch." He looked around frantically. "You'll have to shoot the locking mechanism!" he called over his shoulder to Tes.

Tes shook her head. "I can't do it, my bow is out." The Wasp moved even faster now, picking up speed. Ronin only hoped they could somehow knock the hatch free.

"I got it," Geddik said with a weak whisper. A shaky hand began to draw a simple rune, but failed. Ronin let out a sharp grunt as a bolt buried itself in his back, tearing into flesh and bone. He lurched forward but managed to remain conscious.

Geddik raised his hand again. This time, the rune flared to life as he completed the spell. An invisible hand released the locks on each side of the hatch and it fell open with a deafening roar. Ronin pulled a lever and the wings of the Wasp unfurled. The craft began to bounce; one large leap carried it out of the Dreadmark's hangar. The Wasp's wings caught air just as the wheels dragged along the ground. Then the craft pulled away, disappearing into the darkness among the towers of Lear Terra.

***

Ronin and crew had long fled Lear Terra by the time the Dreadmark forces organized a proper search. The Coalition had torn the city apart looking for them, but to no avail. For Ronin, it was a win-win. Lear Terra was an independent city-state under Coalition protection, not a subjugated province. The debacle did well to show how much autonomy such places actually retained, and other city-states began to talk about the price of Coalition allegiance.

The trio now stood in a dilapidated warehouse, quite old and filled with debris. The warehouse was in a Middlelands border town where Ronin had done business many times before. Not the nicest of locations, but discreet and quiet.

"Still not see how this is right," Geddik said with a twinge of concern in his voice. "Such a powerful thing, we risked our lives for, be too dangerous for just anyone."

Ronin adjusted the sling on his left arm and place a hand on his friend's shoulder. The dwarf still carried the scars of age, but he had recovered well from the experience for the most part. He was a bit more sullen than before and would occasionally stare off into nothingness, but otherwise, fared well. "I know," Ronin agreed, "but I want to see who this was meant for."

"You think he'll show?" asked Tes, she sat on a crate, carving a wooden figurine. "The real buyer I mean."

"Yeah, something like this, whoever it is, they'll want to be sure."

A far door opened and a dark form came in from the dusky morning. Hood, shadow, and robe hid the figure's notable features as they approached, large satchel in hand. Ronin watched as it was thrown to the ground at their feet.

"Thirty thousand, as agreed," said a deep, male voice, "now, the jewel." The figure stepped forward and extended a tanned hand expectantly.

Ronin tossed the jewel around in his hands a few times, judging the mysterious employer's reaction. The jewel's rainbow light glinted off something on the figure's wrist, hidden among the robes. Coalition wings? Ronin wondered, looking closer. That's why they stopped in Lear Terra. Clennis had something going on the side.

"That's ok. I think I'll keep it." Roland nudged the satchel back toward the Admiral. An angry snarl came from the folds of the hood, murderous intent now emanated from the figure.

"You are making the worst kind of mistake. Do this, and there will be nowhere you can hide, no shelter, no place to flee, the Coalition hounds will offer no respite. We own the skies now." The figure took a step forward and Tes' snapped her arm up, her wristbow humming to life.

"Not yet." Ronin grinned.

"I will hunt you Silverwing, you will not be forgotten. Your ship, your crew, none of you will ever find peace again."

Ronin looked over at Geddik and Tes. "What say you? Along for the ride?"

Geddik looked from the figure to Ronin and back. "If I let you die first, I'd never forgive myself."

"Fine," sighed Tes, motioning toward Geddik "but if I end up looking like him, I'm going to be pissed."

Ronin smiled even more broadly. "Seems you have an answer, no deal, we reckon to cause some trouble."

"You will regret this." The figure grabbed the pack and stormed out.

"Figure we should head out before the cavalry arrives, yes?" Ronin asked.

They left the warehouse and headed toward a clearing just south of the border town. A double-masted ship sat in the clearing; a sleek brigantine model of recent make with Silverwing II proudly displayed on the stern. Ronin made his way to the captain's wheel. As the arc engine began to spin, he turned to his friends and their new crew.

"Time to take back the sky."

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Clockwork Reviews: The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making, by Catherynne M. Valente

The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making, by Catherynne M. Valente, is a delightful tale of adventure, whimsy, and growing up. In Valente's book Palimpset, she references a children's story by the same name. Though she originally had no plans to write this book, Valente ended up publishing it as a crowd-sourced serial story on the Internet. Feiwel & Friends then published it as a book in May of 2011. Though this book is classified as a children's book, the story is one that will be enjoyed by all ages.

The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making tells the story of September, a young girl who spends much of her time away from the supervision of her parents. Her father is away at war, and her mother works in a factory in September's father's absence. When the Green Wind appears at her window, September gladly sets out on an adventure, the likes of which she did not anticipate. Along the way, she meets a wyvern called A-through-L, a family of witches, various fairies, and a boy called Saturday, among other strange denizens of Fairyland. She also meets the Marquess, the usurper of the throne of Fairyland, who sends September on a quest that has her traveling to the farthest reaches of Fairyland.

Valente's prose style in this book is particularly charming. Brief diversions from the plot for the sake of explanation are woven seamlessly into the story, which generally moves along at a brisk pace. The dialogue is superb, with each of the characters well distinguished by their manner of speech and quirks. The only true complaint that I have about this book is that I felt that the portions of the book when September was traveling alone were a little slower than the rest. The varied cast of characters and their interaction with one another is so much of what makes this book a wonderful read, and once September begins meeting more of these characters, the pace picks back up as though it never really slowed down.

Although Valente is the author of a number of books for adults, The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making is a masterful first effort at a children's book. While targeted at a younger audience, this book is likely to appeal to readers of all ages, but particularly those who enjoy a good fairy tale. Younger readers may need someone to read it to them, as the language is more complex than some of the chapter books I have read with my nephew, but adults will enjoy the story as they read it aloud or to themselves. It is the sort of book that I want to share with my nieces and nephews, my friends and their children, and pretty much anyone else who will slow down for long enough to hear about it.

The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making can be read in part at the original website where it was published (http://www.catherynnemvalente.com/fairyland/), but the final act (about half of the book) is not available online. The author's website can be found at http://www.catherynnemvalente.com/.

 

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Sex at the RPG Table: A Dicey Proposition

Romeo & Juliet

Dating work colleagues, asking a woman her weight, talking politics and/or religion at Thanksgiving dinner and, most importantly to us, sex in your RPG. All of these topics are usually considered taboo.

Personally, I find the idea of inserting sex or romance into a D&D adventure intriguing. However, there are obstacles to achieving that, obstacles that I'm not sure I want tackle. For starters, my fiancée is one of the players at our table, the lone woman at a table full of my guy friends. As Jon Stewart would say: "Aw-kward!"

I'm sure you can see why having my PC's involved in a romantic tryst within our group could be considered off-limits. How about introducing an NPC who falls in love with one of my PC's? Ixnay on the possibility of having my NPC's (i.e. me) flirt with my fiancée, since that could get a little uncomfortable (not to mention redundant!) for the other players. The next option is obviously having a beautiful female NPC seduce one of my male PC's. Yet again, however, that puts me in a squeamish position of having to play a girl flirting with my male friend.

"But," you could certainly argue, "what's the point of role-playing if you can't suspend your sense of self and fully embrace the situation?" Fair point, but I don't think that level of comfort in role-playing yet exists with my group. It's not homophobia—I just don't see the fun in playing some saucy wench (although I envy you if you can). I'm secure in my heterosexuality, but preening around the table trying to seduce one of my male friends holds zero appeal for me. I'm quite certain they concur.

What about if you theoretically remove my fiancée from the table and have me DM for strangers? Furthermore, what if there are a couple of female players, thereby removing any gender bias? I still think it could create some discomfort. Call it table-top RPGs version of the Uncanny Valley. Sexual lust is such a primal desire that if you get it even a little bit wrong, the whole enterprise feels hokey. You know – the difference between Dave Matthews Band's "Crash Into Me" and Color Me Badd's "I Wanna Sex You Up" is a fine line, after all.

You also have to take into account the understandable human emotional reactions that can occur with the other players at the table; jealousy, envy, disgust. "Why does that player get such a fun side-venture, while I'm stuck picking locks trying to find the sorcerer's magical underpants?" (wait, that might be the seed to an epic D&D sex'venture!) Mostly, you don't want to cultivate a sense that you've come to the table to try and hook up with a female gamer.

I'm obviously not the first person to touch on this subject. Kismet's Dungeons and Dragons has an exhaustive guide on introducing sex and romance into your adventures. That guide references a 3rd party sex rule-set that is still available at DriveThruRPG.com, but was so controversial that it was stripped of its D20 license after it was released.

It's not all doom and gloom, mind you. I've personally never tried testing my DM skills with a sexual or romantic hook, but I imagine that if you do and get it right, it adds a layer that players forever remember as an epic story line. You'd have to find the same ingredients that make the greatest on-screen romances work, like Jack and Rose, Han and Leia or Bogie and Ingrid. It's an endeavor that would take careful planning, a deep understanding of your PC's, and a delicate touch.

Sex is a thorny issue in any social context. It's not difficult to see why introducing it in our role-playing fantasies can evoke such strong reactions. Thoughts on what is acceptable sexual content varies from person to person, sometimes with extreme differences between people who otherwise appear completely in sync. Sex wrecks friendships, relationships, and football teams. It can also wreck your gaming table, so tread carefully.

In the interest of avoiding disaster when incorporating sex and romance into your TTRPG group, what are some of the tips and tricks? Have you experienced great romantic experiences while playing? What about a sex calamity? Let us know in the comments section!

Related stories on Nevermet Press:

Episodic Adventures: A New Take on RPG Adventure Design?
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Visit the original post, Sex at the RPG Table: A Dicey Proposition, at Nevermet Press. Subscribe via RSS, Twitter, or Facebook.

Episodic Adventures: A New Take on RPG Adventure Design?

Life can get busy. Sometimes so busy that you leave the gaming table for 15-years before you realize how much you love playing RPGs. Even then, once you return, there are inevitably issues of timing, scheduling, who is -in- the campaign and who is -out-, etc. Recently, something "clicked", and I'm left wondering if I may have hooked into a solution: Episodic Adventures. This is a "draft idea" – its not fully formed so I would really love some feedback from you. Take a look and let me know what you think.

I propose that RPG publishers try a new model for developing engaging their fans by developing so-called "Episodic Adventures" and campaigns centered around these as the main story-driving element in the game.

Episodic Adventures are objective-based, one-shot scenarios (episodes) that are strung together to form a coherent adventure spanning multiple game sessions. The idea is largely inspired by thinking about gaming, and running an RPG campaign, like a network television series. Each adventure is akin to a show's individual season , and as just as we watch multiple seasons of our favorite show this is similar to stringing together multiple adventures into a campaign.

Characters, and even the GM role, are shared among all the players in the group. The focus, i.e. the #1 priority, is on getting together on a regular basis for campaign continuity. Adventures are designed using a few common rules that keep things moving:

Episodic Sessions. Each game session is designed to be relatively self contained and should last no more than 3 to 5 hours. This is similar to gaming 'Con "tournament style" play, but it's more cooperative than competitive. Players also leave their characters with GM when they go home, in case someone else fills in next time.
Adventure Story Arc. While each adventure episode (read: session) is self-contained, there is a common story arc that spans multiple episodes, much like a traditional adventure. This story arc goes beyond simple continuations of a theme, and genuinely aims to provide the PCs with long-term objectives worth moving towards.
Character Ownership. Who is playing which characters may change from session to session depending on who is able to play. Characters can be created in a typical way where each player essentially "owns" them (each character has a primary player), but players should know that the characters may be played by other players at some point during the campaign.

Eposodic Adventures in TV Terms

This approach can be applied to both strictly scripted campaigns (aka Adventure Paths) and to homebrew sandbox games (an approach I prefer), but avoids all the hassle of "Who'se gaming this week?" or "What happened last week?" If executed properly, taking this approach to RPG design could open up the game to a whole new group of people who might otherwise "not have the time to invest" in gaming in the first place. Players can drop in or drop out without affecting the general flow of the campaign overall. It also allows for some interesting flexibility in terms of game design: i.e. as a designer you are writing for the session, not for the adventure.

The important take home message here is that our typical adventures are broken up into granular, stand-alone episodes that help people jump in or drop out without disrupting the overall flow.

In the future I hope to expand on this idea a bit more and perhaps develop a test-bed adventure to see if this approach works. I expect it will, but first I'd love to get some feedback. What do you think?

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Visit the original post, Episodic Adventures: A New Take on RPG Adventure Design?, at Nevermet Press. Subscribe via RSS, Twitter, or Facebook.