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Ouroboros University: The Amphitheater [D&D]

Seating at the Ouroboros University Amphitheater

The Amphitheater at Ouroboros University features a horseshoe shaped seating area open to the weather, though the stage and the seating closest to the stage are have a roof but no walls. Behind the stage is a five-story building, built in a Brick Gothic style, home to dressing rooms, costume and prop shops, a small performance hall, classrooms and professors offices.

What People Know

A character visiting Ouroboros University knows the following information about this chapel and cemetery with a successful History, Streetwise or Thievery skill check.

DC 12: The Mentzer Theater is the proper name for the place, though most people just call it " The Amphitheater." It is the site of musical performances, displays of magic, plays, operas, shadow plays, ballets (dwarf ones are surprisingly popular), kabuki dance drama and the like – all open to anyone willing to purchase a ticket (1). Technically speaking, the Amphitheater is part of the Department of Department of Histrionics, in the Music College.

DC 14: More than a thousand years old, the Amphitheater has been a part of the city for ages. The roof and theater building are recent additions, more or less, replacing the originals lost centuries ago.

DC 16: Bards and others may learn their craft and practice their skills at the Amphitheater. It is also home to amateur productions, giving students a chance to prove themselves. Jennifer Zamzanoble, noted actress and keen observer, serves as theater director and likes solving mysteries. (2) Musical lessons are available to any proffesion. (3)

DC 18: Zamzanoble hosts "salons," or gatherings of intellectual, social, political and cultural elites, in part to amuse one another and partly to refine their taste and increase their knowledge through conversation. The nature of these gatherings has drawn severe criticism from the local nobility, who dislike the university in any event.

DC 22: Rogues and others may learn their craft and practice their skills at the Amphitheater and has managed to avoid entanglements with the local thieves' guild. (4).

The Salon – A Murder Mystery

When the PCs attend a salon at the Amphitheater read this text:

"You are invited to attend a salon at the Amphitheater. It is an enjoyable event, a kind of low-key party featuring good drink, good food and good conversation. The topic of the evening is music and how different races handle music. Eldarin, from the feywild embassy in the city, stare at people when not assuring everyone their music is best as visiting lizard folk talk about their drumming techniques. This is cut short when a brief magical darkness descends on the room. When it lifts, a man lies dead in the middle of the floor, a knife in his back." (4)

Setup

Balatro, Human Knife Fighter
Professor Zamzanoble, 12th level Fighter
Crudus, Greenscale Marsh Mystic
The audience, made up of a few dozen eldarin, dwarves, humans, halfings, gnomes and dragon born NPCs.

Twisted in his soul by forces of evil (5), OU student Balatro serves as an agent of pointless chaos and violence. To this end, Balatro murdered Aduro, a songwriter, attempts to blame Crudus, a Greenscale Marsh Mystic and further plots to murder an Iron Dragon, who will give a lecture in a few days. Taking the initiative and successfully investigating the situation will earn the PCs Professor Zamzanoble's respect and help for a future adventure.

This scenario provides a map of the over-all layout for the Amphitheater. The room in which Zamzanoble conducts the salon is on the second floor and doors lead from it to the balcony. This encounter requires no combat until the identity of the murderer is uncovered – until then it is an investigation, where the PCs accomplish their goals through skill challenges and well used magic.

Features of the Amphitheater

General Seating: The proverbial cheap seats in the Amphitheater. Attendance at an event in one of these seats costs 1 cp. This area is open to the elements.
Good Seating: Decent seating in the Amphitheater. Attendance at an event in one of these seats costs 1 sp. This seating section is covered, shielding it from rain and snow, though not winds.
Stage: The stage is huge, running 32-squares (160-feet) long and by 7-squares (35-feet) deep, except for a curved section in the middle, which runs 14-squares (70-feet) deep. Most performances use only the center.
Balcony: A balcony over-looks the stage. The balcony permits access to catwalks running just under the roof over the stage and Amphitheater and to the deus ex machinae, a 2-square (10-foot) by 3-square (15-foot) platform which can be lowered to the center of the rounded section of the stage by a series of pulleys and cranks.
Theater Building: A relatively recent addition to the Amphitheater (6), this large and impressive brick-Gothic building is home to home to dressing rooms, costume and prop shops, classrooms and professors' offices.

Investigating the Murder

To investigate the murder, the PCs need to speak with people attending the salon, which includes members of all the player races and classes, with a preponderance of bards. There are four groups at the salon; a delegation of eldarin, a group of dwarves, students and faculty from OU and a party of adventurers accompanying Crudus the Marsh Mystic. Salon attendees were in different places across the room when the lights went out and each has their own perspective on the salon and Aduro.

Eldarin: This includes staff of the Eldarin ambassador – he is not present and they do not have diplomatic immunity. They are attending the salon to explain to people about feywild music and to watch people the way people watch fish in tank.
Dwarves: A group of professional mime accordion players (7) attending the salon out of friendship with Professor Zamzanoble and to prevent the eldarin from over impressing people with their bell ringing.
Students and Faculty: While they come from OU, they are not a single group and do not share a purpose, aside from a desire to attend the salon. Balatro is in this group, as was the murdered Aduro.
Adventures and Marsh Mystic: Among the adventurers are some OU graduates and Crudus the Marsh Mystic, who is a member of the party and seeking a patron, to gain admission to OU. She is an excellent drummer.

Skill Challenge

Level: 7 (XP 1,500)

Complexity: 4 (requires 10 success before 3 failures)

Primary Skills: Diplomacy, Insight, Perception

Diplomacy (DC 14): The PCs use the Diplomacy skill to convince the NPCs of their good intentions. A salon is about people talking to each other in a witty and well-mannered way and the murder has not changed this fact, though the murder has disrupted the evening.

Insight (DC 14): The friction between the dwarves and the eldarin is professional and not personal; several people liked Aduro's songs but disliked the man personally, though they would not willingly admit this fact. Balatro is a disruptive presence.

Perception (DC 8, 14 & 19): DC 8 to determine the knife in Aduro's back in one made by lizard folk, DC 14 to learn that Crudus, the Marsh Mystic possesses a dry, musky scent common to large reptiles and DC 19 to detect a scent of cologne on the knife in Aduro.

Secondary Skills: Bluff, Intimidate

Bluff (DC 14): The PCs can convince members of the audience they can be trusted, even if they shouldn't be, to gain a +1 bonus on Diplomacy checks.

Intimidate (DC 20): Those attending the salon include a number of experienced adventures, whom are difficult to Intimidate, though it is possible.

Conclusion

The PCs receive information based on the total number of success achieved. If they fail, the city guard solves the case but not until after Balatro assassinates the dragon. If they succeed, the PCs determine the murderer before the second murder and make a favorable impression on a number of important people at OU.

Success: If they PCs accumulate 10-success, they are able to determine the identity of the murderer before the city guards can but not before Balatro temporary escapes.

Failure: If they PCs accumulate 3 failures, they do not pick up on clues and alienate people attending the salon to the point they are unable to conclude the investigation.

Additional Points

The PCs learn the following information based on how many successes they manage to obtain during the investigation.

0-2: Aduro and Crudus the Marsh Mystic had been arguing sharply earlier in the evening, until Professor Zamzanoble intervened.
3: A lizard folk dagger is hilt deep in the back of Aduro. When the lights went out, Crudus the Marsh Mystic was standing to the left of a dwarf mime, and when they came back on she was on the dwarf mime's right side.
4-6: There is a lingering scent on the corpse of peppermint-scented cologne hanging about the corpse. Lizard folk made daggers are available for purchase across the city.
7-8: An argument between Aduro and Crudus the Marsh Mystic were not actually that severe, nor does the Mystic possess the ability to create a magical darkness. Balatro goes out of his way to create chaos and trouble for others, centering his life on conflict.
9-10: The dwarf mime says the scent of Crudus the Marsh Mystic always stayed near him while Balatro is one of three people in the entire city who likes peppermint-scented cologne (and the other two did not attend the salon).
11+: Aduro was killed by Balatro, who then attempted to frame Crudus the Marsh Mystic. Balatro bragged on owning a wand of dragon slaying.

Resolution

As he realizes the PCs are accurately piecing events together, Balatro moves towards a window. He jumps through the window in an excessively theatrical manner and flees into the night once the party accumulates 10 successes. Balatro could be chased down or, at the DM's discretion, a trap could be laid for him when he returns a few nights later for an attempt to kill the dragon who will be visiting OU to give a lecture. And, sure enough, several nights later Balatro positions himself on the deus ex machinae amid the catwalks, to assassinate the iron dragon (with his wand of dragon slaying) who is giving a lecture on dragon mating rituals (8). Ideally, the PCs could confront him on the platform, which should lower to the stage making for a dramatic combat encounter. (9) Should they prevent the assassination and stop Balatro, Zamzanoble may act as a patron for those in the party wishing to attend OU.

Other Game Systems

Savage Worlds: Appropriate skills include Investigation, Knowledge, Persuasion and Streetwise. At a standard difficulty, a successful skill check reveals the paragraphs above, one paragraph per successful check.

Pathfinder: Appropriate skills include Diplomacy, Knowledge (arcana), Knowledge (engineering), Knowledge (history), Knowledge (local) and Knowledge (religion). Knowledge (arcane) reveals information only about the wizards' school. Knowledge (religion) reveals information only about the seminary. Starting at standard difficulty, a successful skill check reveals the paragraphs above, though subsequent paragraphs increases the DC by +1.

—

1. This is an ideal location for social conflicts of some kind – the encounter above is an example – and to provide plot points, meetings with contacts and just oddness to color and fantasy world.

2. The theater provides a context for learning bard related skills, even for those who are not bards.

3. Zamzanoble's courses are among the few places where the feat "Bardic Dilettante" are available.

4. On the sly, the theater provides a context for learning rogue related skills, for those who do not want to deal with those leg-breaking bastards in the local mafia. How long the PCs can go without the leg-breaking bastards in the local mafia catching them is a different issue.

5. There is nothing like good dinner theater.

6. Until recently, Balatro enjoyed a reputation as a respected student, though in recent months he has become a troublemaker and gossip monger. Who know what happened to the man?

7. The Amphitheater is almost 1,000-years old and the "new" theater building is about 100-years old.

8. They are good and in high demand at taverns across the city.

9. The iron dragon manages to make this terribly dull – most of the attendees are there for the following show, a performance by the dwarf mime accordionists.

10. The audience will think its part of the show, and the critics will decry the employment of deus ex machinae as an unnecessary device.

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Fifth Time's a Charm! Will the New Edition of D&D Bring Back What We Lost?

It's not a rumor any more. It's a real life, honest to goodness fact – Wizard of the Coast is planning Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition. Doubtless filled with the bells and whistles we've come to expect from this product line, as a long time 2nd Edition player as well as a Pathfinder adopter, I have to ask: Why?

First, let's take a look at 4th Edition Dungeons & Dragons. Anytime a new game book or supplement is released there's a level of anticipation and excitement. The big questions roll around the gaming table – new characters? Who's going to DM? Can we bring in our old characters? Are there new classes? Where are the favorite classes? I think these questions dropped dead in the air and scattered across the table like so many miniatures fleeing from a spiteful die roll. On the surface, this new gaming system was unique and challenging, it was a piece of nostalgia wrapped up in the glitz of new gadgetry – like a smart phone that runs Oregon Trail or Super Mario Brothers.

Then characters were made and rules were (re)learned, "powers" were added and modified by feats and paragon paths and—suddenly—everyone had the same twenty skills. Sure, there were hundreds of powers; too many to become and expert and master them. In many cases, since players just wanted to game, you just picked a few we knew. And, as the first battle began, you realized that your meager investment in miniatures was woefully inadequate.

Luckily, Wizards of the Coast anticipated your needs and released a whole line of miniatures for you to purchase in "booster packs". Of course, you couldn't pick which ones you were getting though, it was something of a lottery and not unlike buying Magic the Gathering cards. If you needed five skeletons for an encounter, you needed to keep buying until you got what you needed (or buy them on eBAY). Many of us felt cheated and taken advantage of. The roleplaying and problem solving aspect of D&D had faded away and it had become not much more than just playing a miniatures game sans their beloved Space Marines.

Turning back the clock, the excitement rekindles and we find ourselves in the quagmire of 3rd Edition D&D, and then the revised 3.5E. It was close enough to AD&D, which hadn't really changed for almost ten years. However, it was also different enough to feel fresh and new; the learning curve was low and the changes were needed, or at least added to the game. Many gamers felt that 3.5 was the penultimate version of the game. This begs the question – did we need a 4th Edition?

Meanwhile, shortly after 4th Edition D&D was released came this game that took great advantage of the Open Game License (OGL) called Pathfinder RPG. The OGL revitalized what many would call a fading industry – Roleplaying Games were going the way of the dinosaur, surpassed in the imaginations of children (small and full-grown) everywhere by Collectible Card Games such as Magic the Gathering. Pathfinder was all things 3.5 should have been (and still is). It has become wildly popular since it's start, and has found support amongst even the most die-hard D&D players. Pathfinder brought back that missing element of roleplaying: the social interaction and skill-based problem solving part of the game that was so desperately missing in the new miniatures war game known as 4th Edition.

Now, Wizards of the Coast announces Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, and the crowd draws a baited breath—and when will the fanfare hit? I see the trumpeters, but they aren't listening for their cue. The confetti hasn't fallen and the balloons look like they need more helium.

Gamers rightly wonder if an already supremely flawed system can be improved and if they're willing to pay for it. With the cost of sourcebooks rocketing towards unreasonable, how can many gamers, with a smile, plunk down another $60 for a set of core rulebooks? What would Gary Gygax think?

Currently WotC, like many software companies, only supports the latest version of our beloved game – supplements and additional materials are all geared for 4th edition rules and players. Will the same policy hold true for 5th edition? Will all the great official and 3rd party content developed by 4E become abandonware?

The fundamental problem here is that your gaming dollars are being wasted on a system that's being replaced—not upgraded—simply replaced every few years. For serious gamers this represents a significant investment. The average 12-year old doesn't have the gold pieces to plunk down to update his entire gaming library. The players that have the spare gold (and platinum), those 30-somethings still trying to decide if dating or dice are more important, are becoming bitter about how flippantly their investment is being treated.

Treasure troves aside, what's the plan with 5th Edition? Rumors suggest that WotC wants to "take the best of all previous incarnations," but that's a no-brainer. What else would they do? Isn't that the bare minimum gamers can expect? Massive tomes of Powers and Abilities don't impress. Any Gamer with a shred of imagination can work with his DM to hash out new powers and skills. Feats? More feats? New classes? New player character races? As if the Fey, Tieflings, Changlings and Dragon Born weren't already pushing it. Gnomes that look like tiny elves and Goliath (Hill Giant) Rangers make for an inconsistent and free-for-all setting. Why don't we just all play Vampires and Illithids. Except for you Jimmy, you can be a Were-wolf Death Knight whose father was a Dragon and mother was an Elemental.

I've always maintained that the rules system is an arbitrary construct designed to keep players from arguing; it doesn't matter what system you use as long as you have a good DM and a good time. But, 4th Edition really changed that. Veteran gamers had to re-learn the system and it did affect play.

For example, the loss of "called shots," which were always house rules anyway, really pulled the teeth from the dragon, so to speak. No longer could you spend an action/attack to flip over your enemy and deftly dis-arm him with a flourish, or summon up a killing stroke to decapitate the troll. You just keep hacking until they fall.

Take heart, brave adventurers! Not all is as bleak as it may seem. There is hope, the One Ring isn't lost yet and Excalibur hasn't been broken. There is a chance, the same odds of rolling a 20, that Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition will be the equivalent of the Limited Wish spell we're all hoping for. What would be those key credentials, those elements that push this revision over the top?

Multi-Classing: The Argument in 4E is that characters have so many options you don't need to multiclass. This might be true, but the fact of the matter is that there are so many powers and abilities that they do over lap, are indistinct from one another within a class, let alone across classes.

Class Distinction: Warlocks, Warlords, Rangers and Fighters are all on the same clock now: Daily Powers, Encounter Powers, et cetera. An Avenger using a Burst or Range 10 power is pretty much the same as a Warlock's Magic Missile. Implements make everyone a divine caster; the need to rest often makes everyone a low-level mage. Stealth and perception are no longer the special realm of Rogues, but available to any min-maxer who refuses to role-play his character. Healing surges allow a party of straight fighters to do as well as a mixed party in long dungeon crawls. Why bother even rolling hit points and naming your characters if they are so similar?

Less Powers / More Player: While this is just a game, a simulation, gamers have always strove for plausibility.

If a player character party has to stop for a night (eight hours of rest) after each battle, it will take a year (game time) to get to Death Mountain! When left to their own devices, characters will play smarter. This is more fun for the players and the DM.

Grab Our Imaginations, Not Wallets: 4E's reliance on miniatures not only removes a critical element of imagination from the game, but also gives WotC something else to sell. While I'm sure a marketing exec somewhere is laughing and rolling over his treasure horde, many gamers feel slighted. They want a tabletop RPG they can play with one book, a pen, some dice and some paper.

Go With What You Know: It's about knights and dragons, treasure and magic. It's about brave heroes stepping out of the crowds to achieve the impossible. It's about heroes carving their legends in the mindscape of the kingdom. It's about villains and monsters. Coke tried to change the formula once. Once.

WotC is likely to pour millions of dollars into promoting their new flagship moneymaker. D&D 3.0 heralded a new era in gaming with the OGL. It may have cost WotC some gold, but in the long run, it saved the hobby and revitalized the industry. D&D went mainstream and the world was right once again. If 5th Edition is a hit, we'll see another golden age in gaming. But will that put the pinch on smaller publishers like Mongoose and Fantasy Flight Games? The return of the juggernaut could spell the end of the smaller publishers.

The big question is, how can 5th Edition bring back what 4th Edition lost? And are we willing to pay for it… again?

Related stories on Nevermet Press:

Actual Play
Ditch the Screen: Open Metagaming Is Good For Roleplaying
Interview with the Average Gamer
Greetings from January, 1911
Mixing it up with EVIL

Visit the original post, Fifth Time's a Charm! Will the New Edition of D&D Bring Back What We Lost?, at Nevermet Press. Subscribe via RSS, Twitter, or Facebook.

The Mechanical Turk, or All's Well That Ends, by Tucker Cummings

For most citizens of the Anglo-Ottoman Empire, Unification Day had been a triumph; a cause for celebration late into the night. Photographers lined the streets of Constantinople, selling tintypes and albumen silver prints of the royal couple sharing their first kiss as husband and wife.

Queen Victoria had been resplendent in her white gown. Sultan Abdülmecid was every inch the modern monarch: formal dolman jacket, a top hat with a high horsehair plume, his mustache waxed into the most charming curvature. Their fingers intertwined, and with a single kiss, the two empires became one.

While the cameramen plied their trade on the streets, other vendors sold heart-shaped almond candies to small children, who raced through the streets with the sweets held high above their heads. Still other vendors offered up their own wedding day wares: commemorative clockwork dolls, specially-brewed teas, handkerchiefs embroidered with the new royal crest.

Miniature aerostats zipped through the crowds, blaring calliope renditions of "God Save the Queen" and the Mecidiye March. By the time the moon had fully risen, the streets of Constantinople were covered in drifts of confetti so deep that it would take three weeks to clear it.

But for for Helena al-Jazari, the royal wedding was a somber occasion. While revelers waited outside Topkapi Palace to catch a glimpse of the newlyweds, Helena sat by her father´s bedside and watched him die. In the moments before he passed, he took her cold hands into his own.

"Helena, you were not my natural-born daughter, but I have always thought of you as my own flesh and blood. I have taught you all I know, and I am certain you will make a fine physician. You have saved many lives, and will save many more, my beloved daughter. You have made me very proud."

"But father, what will I do without you?"

"Lyilik yap denize at, balık bilmezse halik bilir," he whispered. And then, he was gone.

#

Days later, after the funerary customs had run their course, Helena sat alone on the steps of her house. The Unification Day aerostats had begun to lose altitude, veering like drunkards through the empty streets. The nuptial blessings and songs played on, distorted but still recognizable. Helena stared at the sheaves of paper that blew about in the breeze. The man who had been like a father to her for all these years was dead. Who could tend to her if she should begin to fall apart? There was no brother, no uncle, no husband. No means of support, save what income she could earn with her father´s teachings.

Not all men were like her father, not even in this enlightened age of steam. A Turk and an English rose might wed, minutes of Parliament might be recorded in two tongues, but a woman still would find little respect if she styled herself a "doctor". And her female form was not her only handicap.

A small boy scrambled down the street, tossing the afternoon mail against the doors of all the houses. A newspaper thumped at Helena´s feet. The headline read:

SULTAN FALLS ILL

MYSTERIOUS AILMENT STRIKES ON ROYAL WEDDING NIGHT

Helena´s eyes raced across the lines of text, distilling the meaning of the words and hoping that some phrase might give her a clue that would help her remedy his affliction.

Inside Helena, there was a steely resolve, a certainty of purpose that had eluded her ever since her father had fallen ill. As she trudged through piles of confetti on her way to the palace, her father´s last words echoed in her ears.

Lyilik yap denize at, balık bilmezse halik bilir. An old proverb. "Do good and throw it into the sea; if the fish don't know it, God will."

Her father had given her life, such as it was, for one reason: to do good work. With her skills, and her father´s medical equipment, Helena knew that she was more capable than any physician in the whole empire.

Her intent was fixed: she would use her father´s devices to cure the sultan. If she could do that, then she might finally be able to lead the life her father would have wanted for her.

#

Queen Victoria was determined to cement the security of her reign and her people. She had decreed that any doctor who wished to see the Sultan would be given audience. The queen would leave no stone unturned in search for a cure.

The hallway leading to the Sultan´s bedchamber was a maze of male bodies. Physicians young and old carried equipment and medicines towards the dying Sultan. One by one, she watched the doctors ahead of her in line enter the royal chambers, only to be thrown out minutes later, chased by curses and members of the royal guard.

Hours passed, but finally she was admitted into the royal bedchamber, her father´s medical bag clutched tight against her chest. The room was thick with the rank smell of diseased flesh, a noxious odor that forced everyone in the room to cover their faces with scented squares of cloth.

The Sultan Abdülmecid lay sprawled diagonally across his bed, pillows piled high behind his head and under his arms. A pale blue blanket covered him from toe to chest, but a multitude of small, dark stains mottled the coverlet.

The sultan was dying, and Helena began to fear that she was already too late. If she did not act quickly, the Sultan would fade away, taking the dreams of a new era of prosperity with him.

"Your most supreme and excellent Majesty," she said as she bowed her head, "I come to you with all bound humbleness to offer you my aid, for I do believe I can cure you."

"You are not the first to say so today, and yet I remain uncured." The sultan gave her a withering look. "You are bold, to promise me a cure before you state your diagnosis."

"I have heard it rumored in the papers, and in the hallways of this palace, that what ails you is a fistula. I am Helena al-Jazari. My father, Doctor Ibrahim al-Jazari, operated on such things many times, and taught me his arts. Were he still alive, I have no doubt he would be here to tender his aid."

"And I am sure it is easy for any child to claim the accolades of a deceased parent. Though my love for the accomplished Victoria is well known, you will forgive me for doubting the capability of a woman physician."

"I am no impostor, my Sultan. On this, I swear my life," Helena said, falling to both knees. "If I cannot cure you using my father´s arts then tear me limb from limb and end my life, such as it is."

Before the Sultan spoke again, he gave her a second look. He made a small pressing of his lips, a minor facial gesture that seemed to suggest he´d found something in her on this second inspection that he´d overlooked before.

"I would ask you something, al-Jazari Hanım," he said, addressing her with more courtesy than before. "You were the only physician to enter my rooms this day without covering your nose. Does the smell of my impending death not disgust you, as it disgusts my guard and my advisors?"

"Majesty, my father wished for me to follow in his footsteps and be a healer of men. Any natural function of mine that would have distracted me from tending to a patient was… discouraged."

"Come closer to me, Helena al-Jazari. My vision blurs, and I would see you clearly. You speak unusually for one so young."

Helena took several steps forward, and knelt beside the Sultan. Again the Sultan made a quirk of the lips, as though something had just clicked into place for him and him alone.

"Ah. Helena al-Jazari. I should have recognized you. I knew your father by reputation, of course. Out of all his achievements, you must have heard it said that he always considered you to be his greatest."

"He was a kind man. He was not my natural father, though he raised me as if I were his child."

"Tell me, Helena, daughter of al-Jazari…what cure would you offer your dying ruler?"

"May I inspect your body to confirm my suspicions?"

"Do as you will," replied the Sultan, though Helena could tell that he was not eager to be poked and prodded again.

Her fingers moved deftly, if a bit heavily, across the sultan´s abdomen. Her mind whirred, and after only a few seconds, she had confirmed her previous theory.

"We must act quickly, your majesty. You have a pancreatic fistula, and I will need to operate. I will explain everything I will do, but I beg you to let me speak quickly and then give me leave to begin."

"Speak then, Helena, and I will consider the terms of your cure."

"The fistula has damaged your pancreas, far beyond repair. If I remove it, you will die, for it is an organ that regulates life processes. If I leave it be, you will die from sepsis," she explained. "But I have brought my father´s medical bag, and I have a device that will save you."

"What will this device do to me?"

"I will show it to you," Helena said, quickly unfastening the buckles of the leather bag and removing a small metallic object.

It was ovoid, silver-toned, with brass chasing that gave it an elegant line. Part sculpture, part clockwork machinery, it looked as though it had sprung from the hands of a master craftsman. No bigger than a fist, there were two thin cylinders that extended from opposite edges. The top of the device contained miniature pistons and gears, housed under a bubble of thick blue glass.

"My father spent the last years of his life perfecting these creations. They will replace the malfunctioning structure in your body, an artificial organ, if you like. As long as your heart pumps blood, the device will keep working."

"Until the day I die."

"Which will be many years from now, if you will stop interrupting, your majesty," Helena said, a bit more harshly than she intended. "You will have to take a curative supplement that I will supply you with every week. This will keep your body chemistry in balance, preventing the need for any additional surgery. Now, you must decide: will you see another physician today, or will you give me leave to operate?

"Helena al-Jazari, you are a most remarkable creature. I fear I have no choice but to let you proceed. But hear me now: though you have shown yourself knowledgeable, far more knowledgeable than any doctor I spoke with today, my guards will still hold you to your vow. Cure me, or you will be torn apart."

"I must work quickly. I will need clean towels, hot water, and ice."

A guard returned quickly with the necessary items, and after administering 3 small doses of numbing solution from her father´s bag, Helena made her first incision. She looked up to see the Sultan staring at the opening she had cut into his body. He was astonished to see the inner workings of his flesh.

"I feel nothing where you have cut me. I fear that means I am fading away," he said.

"No, Majesty, all is well so far. But please, you must lean back and stay still."

She toiled for two hours, not stopping to stretch her fingers, rub her back, or mop her brow. Despite the closeness of the room and the death sentence awaiting her if she failed, Helena remained composed and focused on each step of the surgery. At last, Helena stitched the sultan up and stood at her full height.

"It is done. The organ is implanted. You´ll feel weak for a few days as your body acclimates to the new structure and you heal the surgical wounds," Helena explained as she drew still more vials and canisters from her father´s bag. "You´ll need to take these tablets every 3 hours for the next 4 days, and one teaspoon of each of these solutions via injection before eating."

"Helena, I feel no pain, but I do feel weak. I fear your effort was all in vain," sighed Abdülmecid. "I would ask to see my wife."

Helena sat beside the sultan on the bed and took his hands firmly into her own. She looked into his eyes, her own ivory and lapis lazuli orbs regarding him with a steely gaze.

"Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie which we ascribe to heaven," Helena whispered over the Caliph´s fevered brow. "I have done all I can, but you must do your part as well. You must believe that all will be well, Majesty, because I assure you that it will. My art is not past power, nor you past cure."

Helena adjusted the pillows from the monarch´s head, laid a cold palm against his chest, and smiled. "Bring the queen," she told the guards.

#

Two days later, the sultan could eat soft foods. Seven days after that, the he was able to walk unaided. And two weeks after the surgery, Abdülmecid and Victoria held a ball to honor Helena al-Jazari, the new royal physician and the Anglo-Ottoman Empire´s newest celebrity.

Helena had never seen so many luminaries in a single room. The massive ballroom was filled with nobles, scholars, ambassadors, and, much to Helena´s delight, the most respected physicians from throughout the empire.

The great hall was lavishly appointed, with a skilled orchestra playing for the enjoyment of all in attendance. Helena watched a dozen couples take to the floor from an alcove by a buffet table, entranced by the effortless movement of their bodies. She was roused from her reverie by the voice of Abdülmecid.

"Come, Doctor al-Jazari, we must have you dance," proclaimed the Sultan from the royal dais. With a single sentence, the music and sounds of speech fell silent, for no one in attendance wanted to miss the Sultan´s conversation with the woman that all of Constantinople was talking about.

"I thank Your Majesty, but I am without a partner."

"Then we shall provide you with a partner, not only for dancing, but for life," declared Queen Victoria.

"A most intriguing idea, my beloved," said the Sultan, enclosing her delicate hand within his own. "There is no woman living in our empire that is more deserving of the blessing of marriage than our doctor, a woman who single-handedly preserved our union when it was at its most fragile."

Helena surveyed the gathering, and found that all eyes were on her.

"Your Majesties are too generous. I am too low for such honor."

"Nonsense, Miss al-Jazari," retorted the queen. "You have saved our husband, and we would reward you handsomely for this deed. Our matrimony has composed the happiest hours of our life, and we would have you find such bliss as well."

Any other woman would have blushed a deep crimson, but Helena never showed color on her cheeks. She surveyed all the personages who had assembled before the dais, and her lips formed the whisper of a smile.

"I would not be so bold as to contradict the commands of my sovereign rulers. There is perhaps one man here who I would be content to spend the rest of my life with. But I know that what is free for me to ask is still your choice to bestow. Perhaps you will rescind your offer when you see who I would choose."

"Helena, any man you would make husband will do so at our command and with our blessing," said the sultan. His voice rising to completely fill the room, he added, "And who among you would not be proud to take this woman to wife? Any who would shun her love, shuns all his love in me. Now, Helena, your selection we bid you to make. You have all the power to chose, and they none to forsake."

Helena turned on her heels, and walked slowly, but purposefully, towards the rear of the great hall. As she moved, the crowds parted in her wake to give the royal dais an uninterrupted view of her path.

She stopped before a young Turkish lord of about 30. His face was unlined, his eyes a startling shade of leaf green. His thin-lipped mouth, usually set in a smirk, was still and somber on his face. The color drained further from his face the longer she looked upon him.

"Bertram Pasha," Helena said in a tone of soft wonderment, "You may not recall it, but your father and mine were much acquainted, and both spoke often to me of your bravery in the field. I have followed your exploits against the Qajar, and against the Tsar. Without you, they say, we would have lost both wars. You are a just man, both to your soldiers and to your enemies. To my heart, you are the most honorable man in all of this vast new empire. I dare not say I take you; but I give myself and my service into your guiding power."

Helena smiled at Bertram, then turned back to face the Queen and the Sultan.

"This is the man," she declared.

A joyous cry rose up from the entire assembly. The royals applauded, women wept, and strong-armed soldiers clapped the shoulders of Lord Bertram in congratulatory waves. The orchestra began to play an effervescent melody, and Helena embraced her intended. But Bertram would not move, and wrenched himself from Helena´s grasp.

"Bertram, take her, dance with her. Why do you withdraw from your wife-to-be?" asked Queen Victoria.

"My wife?" asked Bertram. "My liege, my queen, I beseech you both: in such a business as love, give me leave to use my own eyes to choose a suitable woman."

"Bertram, you know what she has done for me. She is to be celebrated this night for saving my life."

"Yes, my good lord, though I do not understand why I must be the one to marry her."

"She is all that is virtuous, Pasha," said the sultan, his voice deepening. "She is young, wise, and fair. If her lack of title is all that distresses you, then a title she shall have, and a dowry."

"I cannot love her, nor will I strive to show her love," Bertram yelled, his voice echoing throughout the entire room like a roar.

"My lord," said Helena. "I was a fool to think any man would want me for a wife, let alone the man I honor most. I am happy enough that you are cured, overjoyed that I may continue to serve you. I love my work, I will let the other types of love pass me by, with no malice towards this man."

"No, Helena!" the sultan cried out. "If he will not obey my commands, then it is a challenge to my honor and my station. Bertram, you will check your disdain, or you will face my mercy. Take her by the hand, and tell her she is thine."

"Your majesty, I will take her hand, but no more can I do."

"Bertram, I tell you that this night will be your wedding night, and Helena shall be your bride."

"I will not marry a woman who is not flesh and blood," Bertram said, prompted the guests to snap their heads and scrutinize the woman who had saved their leader.

"Then you defy me?" asked the Sultan, with a tone like venom.

"I am your servant, in this as in all things," Bertram announced. "But I beg you, consider how you would disable me. Could you truly give me to this creature? This mechanical Turk? How can I be expected to marry her, knowing that her clockwork womb will always be barren?"

At this, hushed voices flooded the hall. Helena looked every inch a woman, with long dark hair and pale skin. While some of the guests seemed to know Helena was a creation of clockwork and steam, nearly two-thirds of those assembled had been staring at her all night and noticed nothing out of the ordinary about her frame, or her manner of speech.

"My most exalted liege," begged Helena, "I would not be the spouse he needs. I would be as a shadow, a wife in name, but not the thing."

She stepped away from Bertram, and towards the royal dais. "I cannot bear him a child, this is true. My father crafted me from pistons and cogs. My heart pumps oil and steam instead of blood. Though I will love Bertram all of my days, I would not see him made unhappy to bring me joy."

Helena crossed back to Bertram, and knelt before him. Looking up into his eyes, she spoke.

"In all the newspaper stories written about you, in your dealings with all assembled here tonight, I found you wondrous kind. I would not turn such warmth to fiery hate, not even to have you as my own."

"In this, Helena, you are powerless to disobey me," bellowed the sultan from his throne. He rose from his seat and, crossing to Helena the automaton and Lord Bertram, placed their hands forcefully together. "It is my will that you be given to this man, and he to you. I will not permit him to disobey my commands, and neither will I let you aid him. You are our most valued servant, and any loyal subject of ours should see betrothal to you as the high honor that it is."

The room fell silent, completely silent, without even the buzz of a fly to ease the tension. After a span of moments, Helena extended her hand to Bertram, and spoke.

"Then, my lord Bertram, it seems we have no choice," said Helena. "You have been chosen by me, and by our all-mighty Sultan. With all this done, will you be mine, now you are doubly won?"

"I will take your hand, and this night, if the Sultan and Queen demand it, we shall be married."

The crowd released a second sound of approval, though it was more restrained than their first cheer. There were huzzahs, and applause; but there were also whispers and murmurs that soured the announcement.

"A wise choice, Bertram Pasha. You shall be wed this night to our fair Helena. But know this: if your marriage vows should prove untrue, then deadly divorce will step between Helena and you. On this, I will not waver."

#

And so it was that Helena al-Jazari, a steam-powered creation, and Bertram Pasha, one of the most decorated captains of the Anglo-Ottoman Empire, were wed.

Helena was tucked beneath the covers of her wedding bed, waiting for her husband to join her. The sky was beginning to change from obsidian to cobalt, and she knew dawn could not be more than a half hour away.

The door swung open, the heavy wood impacting with great force against the stone wall. Betram rushed in, wearing his full uniform and carrying a large leather rucksack. In his left hand, he carried a his rifle, in his right, a white rose.

"Husband, what has happened?" Helena exclaimed, drawing the covers up over her chest.

"I have been called up to fight in Syria," said Bertram, tossing the flower onto the bed. "I must leave immediately, but the sultan and his Queen wished for me to see you before I head to the front."

"Then I must come with you! I can work as your field medic, and should anything happen to you, I can heal your wounds."

"No, Helena, you must stay. The Sultan and his Victoria will not entrust the creation of his medicines to someone who is mere flesh and blood. Your cool precision is essential to the stability of the empire."

"Tell me, husband. Will you miss me while you are waging war?"

"Helena, I have known you for a span of minutes. My heart is not so easily given, though the rest of my body is yours by decree of our Sultan."

"Then will you not let me kiss that which is mine?" Helena said, slipping out of bed and walking towards him.

"I must go. Guard our royals carefully," Bertram said, side-stepping Helena´s advances and walking out the door.

"When will you return to me, Bertram?" she called after him.

Without turning back to face her, Bertram replied: "When all the wars have been fought and won. Not a moment sooner."

And then he was gone.

It was too much loss for one month. First her father, now her husband. For all her lifelike appearances, these few days had highlighted how different she was from everyone around her. Her heart was breaking, but she had no tears with which to cry. Father had never thought them necessary; they would be just another distraction when treating patients. She had just enough emotion to cause her pain, just enough to give her a compassionate bedside manner, but not enough to have catharsis.

"Do good, and throw it into the sea," she whispered, recalling her father´s final words. If she could not make tears, then she would find an ocean of salt water to down her grief in.

And yet, she could not throw herself into the sea. It was not in her nature, her father would not have approved.

But her mind could not be turned from Bertram. If it was her offer of marriage that had propelled him towards this war that spared none, then she must be the one to bring him home. And she knew the one thing he wanted most from her, a way to end their separation: a child.

She was the royal physician. Whatever resources she required were hers for the asking, no matter the cost. Her father had taught her how to create steam-powered organs. Could unlocking the secrets of conception be much harder than that?

Related stories on Nevermet Press:

The Tragic Tale of Doctor Fausset, by O.M. Grey
The Bronze Horse's Ear, by KA Masters
Haunting House, Part II
The Recondite Riddle of the Rose Rogue, by Dawn Vogel
Truth, by Ian Vassilaros
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Interview with Angel Leigh McCoy, Stories in the Ether Author & Guild Wars 2 Designer

Angel Leigh McCoy

Angel Leigh McCoy loves writing.

Her fiction has appeared in numerous print and digital media, and in 2011 alone she published stories in the anthologies Beast Within 2, Fear of the Dark, Growing Dread: Biopunk Visions, Clockwork Chaos, and our very own Stories in the Ether with Charlie Darwin, or the Trine of 1809. Her contribution became our first stand alone work of fiction, an "illustrated novella" with commission art from Steven Austin. Not only is the story compelling and full of wit—but the artwork is gorgeous. It's truly something special.

During the day, Angel gets paid not to be a fiction writer – but to be a gamer. She is a writer and game designer at ArenaNet, and part of the development team for Guild Wars 2. (Yeah – we think that's pretty bad ass too). At night, she's the Editor in Chief at WilyWriters.com. How Angel found time to write Charlie Darwin and do this interview is beyond me – so I'll say she must be a magician too.

She began her career writing for White Wolf, Wizards of the Coast, FASA, and other RPG companies in the early 1990′s. At Xbox.com, she was the correspondent Wireless Angel.

We caught up with Angel just after the holidays and wanted to find out more about her work, her writing, and the inspiration behind Charlie Darwin.

[NMP] You've been a life long gamer and fan of horror and fantasy fiction, but when did your love of these things turn from "hobby" to "profession"? Was is something you set out to do early on, or something that just sort of happened along the way?

My love affair with gaming had a gradual beginning that turned, almost overnight, into a career. In 1991, some friends and I opened a games and comic store in Blacksburg, Virginia, the home of Virginia Tech. We called it Fun-n-Games, and it fed my addiction to games. It was a magical time, with many creative people all coming together. Several of us went on to careers in the games industry, including Shane Hensley who created Deadlands and Savage Worlds, and game designers John Hopler (writer), Zeke Sparks (lead content designer of Champions Online), Paris Crenshaw (freelance writer for Paizo), and Hal Mangold of Atomic Overmind Press. The creative cocktail in Blacksburg at that time was intoxicating. There were plenty of actual cocktails involved too, but that's a story for another time.

A now-defunct gaming company called Chameleon Eclectic Entertainment also birthed in Blacksburg. CEE was making its mark with a TRPG (tabletop roleplaying game) called Millennium's End. I was a close friend with the owner and game creator, Charles Ryan (better known as Chaz). I cut my teeth writing material for the Overlay Kit for his game. Later, I wrote a sourcebook called The Medellin Agent for him. In a bit of serendipity, he and I later went on to both work at Wizards of the Coast. He has had a long and successful career in the games industry as well.

How could anyone surrounded by so many creative, entrepreneurial, and gamelicous people not get swept along? It wasn't entirely like being dragged by a current though. I had to actively swim toward my dreams, and it was hard but rewarding work. The games industry gave me the entrance I needed into making a career as a writer—something I'd wanted since grade school.

Angel at SteamCon 2010

[NMP] Writing for the gaming industry in the 1990′s was likely a very different experience than what it is today. Now that you have worked extensively on both on table-top and video games; what are the biggest differences and challenges of each?

The differences between writing for TRPGs and video games could fill a vast chasm. It's somewhat like the differences between writing a novel (TRPG) and writing a screenplay (VG).

TRPG writers tend to be part of a very small team. They may have co-authors and prior world canon or an editor to guide them, but they are mostly on their own. Often, you can feel like you're working in a vacuum, and the pressure of production schedules means you rarely get a chance to do more than a first draft.

In video games, you work with a very large team that includes artists, developers, programmers, marketing, testers, alpha & beta feedback, voice actors, and of course, your fellow writers. All these people contribute and affect what you write with their feedback and creative input. It's chaos like you cannot imagine turning magically into a finished product that astonishes with how well-put-together it is. It can be challenging to sift through all the feedback and contributions, but with an iterative process like the one we use at ArenaNet, you revise and revise and revise until the material is just what you want it to be.

You have to leave the majority of your ego at the door, replacing it with discriminating taste. The ability to gauge whether feedback is useful or not is a skill that can be learned. More often than most of us like, you will have this amazing idea that's going to be the best thing in the game, but when your co-creators see it, they cringe. Ahem. You have to learn to let go. And, you also have to be willing to champion someone else's idea if it's truly amazing or better than your own. Passion and creativity are everything in game design. Being unafraid to take risks is important, but you also need flexibility and a good emotional shield for when your idea doesn't work.

Angel at Stokers Weekend 2011

[NMP] So, how about work today? You are a full-time designer for ArenaNet, how did you find yourself working on Guild Wars 2? (And… when is the game going to be released? [wink wink]

I do work full time, and I've been here for four wondrous years as of today. Before ArenaNet, I was working at Microsoft Game Studios (MGS) as a project manager. I'd interviewed at ArenaNet a couple times, been wined and dined by their previous writing lead, and had met the owners, but it wasn't the right time. I had several friends at ArenaNet already, and I was a huge Guild Wars fan, but I just wasn't ready to leave MGS. Finally, at the end of 2007, Bobby Stein, the new writing lead, approached me about applying again. So, I did.

Bobby likes to remind me often about how I blew off the first interview, and he had to call me and ask if I was coming. I'd had a total brain fart and lost track of time. Despite that, and despite the fact that I admitted to disliking Tolkien in the group interview with James Phinney, Jeff Grubb, and Ree Soesbee, I was hired. And I was ready. To my delight, the timing was perfect. I moved right into working on Guild Wars 2, and I've been crazy happy ever since.

That last question is the big one, eh? And, I cannot answer it because I don't know the answer. What I can tell you is that we're currently in Closed Beta and planning has begun for an Open Beta. It's all extremely exciting, and the game is coming along smashingly. It really is like magic when it all starts coming together and you see what an enormous accomplishment you've contributed to.

[NMP] Any advice would you give for someone looking to break into the creative side of the video game industry?

Follow your bliss. That, of course, applies to everything, but with the video game industry, it's especially true. There is so much competition out there that only those people who are truly passionate about games and about their own craft will make it in the industry. You have to constantly seek out ways to improve your craft and to make your mark in your field. If you're a writer, then it's simple: play games, write about games, make games. If you're an artist, it's also simple. Draw, imagine and re-imagine game worlds and characters. This goes for any job in the games industry. If you're passionate about your career, then skill and opportunity will follow. Also, the not-so-secret back door into any game company is through testing positions. Many people start there and move up through the ranks.

[NMP] I want to ask you about the work you did at WotC. You worked with Sean Reynolds on the 3E Magic of Faerun supplement for Forgotten Realms. Frankly, it's one of my most treasured supplements for FRCS (~no joke~). Can you tell us a bit about its developement? I'm always curious about the balance between "crunch" and "fluff" when it comes to RPG products and I find that the best products have specialists on board to develop each side of that equation. How did you and Sean balance those roles in developing Magic of Faerun?

Mmm—Sean. Love that guy. And you're so sweet to say that! Thank you. So, I'm definitely more of a fluffer than a cruncher. Sean, on the other hand, can do both. Sean taught me a great deal on that project about game balance and statistical analysis of game elements. I knew, even then, that stats weren't my forte, so I went into it thinking that my contribution would be in the stories and histories of the characters and groups. Sean and I worked well together and our styles blended delightfully. It remains one of the projects I'm most proud of.

[NMP] So, it seems your more into the creative writing side of game development. A "storyiest" as I call designers with that focus. What are your favorite sources of inspiration for your work? To date, you've published only short stories, why? Have you ventured anything longer?

Over the course of my career, I've taken inspiration from numerous sources, depending on and informing what I was working on. For example, back when I was putting out some really dark horror, I had just read Clive Barker's BOOKS OF BLOOD. I also went through a period where I was removing everything extraneous from my writing, and I read a bunch of Ernest Hemingway at that time. There are two authors whose work I study: Neil Gaiman and Margaret Atwood. These authors have had big influences on my writing. Mostly, though, I take inspiration from life. I'm a terrible voyeur. I can't go into a public place without getting sucked into just watching people, eavesdropping, and making up stories in my head for interesting strangers. Life is, after all, truly stranger than fiction.

I've always been drawn to the short form. I'm not a rambler. I prefer to be economic and efficient with my language. I like to construct a story, not just tell it. The short form gives me important boundaries that allow me to play with beginnings and endings, with tight character development, and zinging dialogue. Novels give you much more room to play and don't require nearly as much conservation of words. With a short story, I can revise and re-revise until it's perfect. If I did that with a novel, it would take me five years to finish it.

Having said that, it took me five years to finish my (unpublished) novel. I'm shopping it around to agents and beginning to outline the next one. Ultimately, I think it would make my mom most proud if I published a novel or ten, and that's the real reason I do this.

[NMP] I absolutely loved Charlie Darwin when I first read it. The observation that Lincoln, Poe, and Darwin were all born within 2 months of each other is really cool. What made you think of this? Can you tell us a bit about the story's genesis?



That fact was one of those obscure ones found on the interwebs. Abraham Lincoln and Charles Darwin share the exact same birth date (2/12/1809), although they were born on different continents. Poe was a bit older, born on 1/18/1809. I got to thinking about how these three men had been so influential during their lifetimes and afterward. Both Lincoln and Darwin had enormous social impact. Poe affected people on a literary and personal level. Quickly, I got to the "What if?" part of my thought process. What if there were some supernatural event that caused these three men to be so great? What if it happened when they were all nine years old? What if it had been done to them—on purpose? And I was off to the races.

In order to show that this event had changed them, I had to establish up front that they might have turned out very differently, so I did a lot of research into what their lives were like when they were young, what their parents did, etc. I wanted to see if I could find the alternate path for them, the one they might have taken if they hadn't become extraordinary. Abraham Lincoln would have become a farmer, like his father. Charles Darwin was lined up to become a doctor, like his father. And Edgar Allan Poe could very easily have become a businessman like John Allan, the man who raised Poe after he was orphaned. Instead, they all had a great adventure that gave them different world-views and taught them that anything was possible.

I researched all three extensively, and you may find, while reading, that you see bits and pieces of their futures foreshadowed in the story.

Rytlock watches over Angel's desk at ArenaNet

[NMP] Well, obviously we loved it. Steven Austin apparently really loved illustrating for it as well. Now, c an you tell us about your creative space and environment? I'm really interested in the connection between the creative process and where it actually takes place. For artists, it's often in a studio or in front of their drawing tablet. For writers and game designers though – it can be a bit harder to nail it down. 

I have little choice about my workspace at ArenaNet. We're all at desks in a big open room. Ree Soesbee's desk faces mine, so I'm one of the lucky ones. My desk has a growing array of toys and stuffed animals on it, thanks to my awesome co-workers. And I have a plushy Rytlock (a character from Guild Wars 2) who straddles my monitor.

At home, it's a different story. I have my writing chair. This is an overstuffed, extremely cozy armchair placed in the corner of my living room. Its upholstery is a burgundy/gray paisley. It has a floor lamp beside it and a book shelf for my coffee/Coke/tea/snackums. I can sit in that chair all day, writing with my laptop on my lap, and that's often how I spend my weekends. Comfort is key. If you're uncomfortable, it breaks your concentration and you fall out of the zone. Invariably, one of my kitties will join me in the chair, and that always helps.

I never listen to music or have the TV on while I'm writing. Even at work, I often have headphones on with no sound playing. It helps keep out the ambient noise and lets me focus better.

[NMP] What writing or game design plans do you have for the future (aside from working on Guild Wars 2, obviously)? Do you have enough time to pursue your interests outside working for ArenaNet? What can we expect to see from you in 2012?

Right at this moment, I am living and breathing Guild Wars 2, but that isn't always the case. I have plans for WilyWriters.com, the fiction podcast I produce, in 2012. About mid-year, we will become a pro-rate market (you're getting a scoop on that). In addition, FUTURE IMPERFECT: BEST OF WILY WRITERS, Volume 2, is about to be released. I expect to be tackling the third volume by the end of the year.

I'm always writing short fiction and sending it out for publication. This is my staple, like tater tots or Fritos. I have to have a bit of short fiction writing going on, or I go into withdrawal.

In addition, I plan to start writing my new novel, the one I'm outlining now. It's a historical fantasy series, set in the late 1800s in Boston. If I do it right, it will be much darker than "Charlie Darwin, or the Trine of 1809." I'm looking forward to that.

On the game design side, I can't look far beyond Guild Wars 2. Once the game launches, I plan to play, play, play it! I'll have earned it.

[NMP] Thanks Angel! We wish you the best of success and we'll be sure to keep an eye out on Guild Wars 2 release—whenever that might be… [wink wink]

Related stories on Nevermet Press:

Stories in the Ether, Issue 1 Released!
"Charlie Darwin, or the Trine of 1809″ Now on Kindle
Author Interview: Philip Athans (Part 2)
Stories in the Ether, Issue #2 Available Now
Author Interview: Philip Athans (Part 1)
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Join Us

Nevermet Press needs your help.

Between editing and producing our content, tweaking the website, and promoting and marketing our site and published projects, and sorting through all the submissions to Stories in the Ether—time is short. You know what they say too, "Content is King" so I'm inviting you to join us by adding your voice to our great blog.

Nevermet Press has always had a strong emphasis on tabletop roleplaying games, speculative fiction and the intersection between the two. If you share those interests, and have a writerly way about you, then I would love have your help in boosting our fanbase and web presence in 2012.

I'm loosely looking for editorials on roleplaying games, writing and fiction, reviews of recently published books and games, and commentary on trends in speculative fiction. Stories in the Ether is going -very- strong, but there's plenty of room for more contributors during the week. So, whether you would like to try your hand at an individual guest blog, or perhaps become a regular contributor, contact me directly at editor@nevermetpress.com and let's talk shop to see if there's some common ground.

I'd love to hear from you. — Jonathan.

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Fantastic Locations: Agharta & The Hollow Earth

The Unofficial Official RPG Blog Carnival

This month's RPG Blog Carnival is being hosted by K.J. Davies blog and the topic is "Fantastic Locations". There have already been a good number of solid contributions from all over the blogosphere too, so make sure to stop by his early round up and check them out. I wanted to contribute as well, but I was having trouble finding inspiration – until I ran across the entry on Agharta in Jess Nevin's Encylopedia of Fantastic Victoriana (EFC). According to Nevin, Agharta was created by Alexandre Saint-Yves d'Alveydre in his 1885 Mission de l'Inde en Europe. Although others claim that Agharta was created earlier by Louis Jacolliot, a French Official living in India, and is a variation of the Norse Asgard. There's a fantastic bit of information on Agharta in Lost Continents & the Hollow Earth too (Google Books Link). Nevertheless, in the EFC, Agharta is presented as an underground kingdom that exists under Tibet where travelers who manage to reach it either don't realize they are inside the earth or forget they traveled there if they leave.

If you are not familiar with Agharta, it's a version of the Hollow Earth Theory and there have been many variations on Agharta since d'Alveydre's death in 1909. It was apparently a reoccurring story destination in the 1940′s Amazing Stories series as well. What amazes me, dumbfounds actually, is that there is still a belief today by some conspiracy theorists that Agharta is a real place. Nevertheless, it's a great source of pulpy, "Journey to the Center of the Earth" steampunk fun. Check out the crazy conspiracy theory map below. How could I resist?

So, how could we begin to frame Agharta up as a fantastic location for an RPG? I'll give it a shot and perhaps you could add in your own additions to the comments?

A Map Agharta and the Hollow World

The Environment of Agharta

Between Nevin's description and information I found elsewhere on the web,  it seems as though Agharta could be much like our own world, with a few major exceptions.

First, since there's a small radiant sun at the Earth's core that shines brightly to illuminate Agharta at all times. It sits fixed in the heavens above, unmoving. There is no night. Shadows remain fixed for all time. There is only one season, which could be summer or spring. The trees of Agharta grow immensely tall and perfectly straight. The forests of Agharta are vast expanses of jungle with high canopies of tropical evergreens. The deserts of Agharta are lifeless and hard-baked under a sun that never sets.

Since there is no day or night in Agharta, or days at all for that matter, the passage of time is difficult for outsiders to measure. In fact, the native people of Aghata—humans with forked tongues according to Nevins—live for centuries and seem ageless to visitors from the surface.

Paradesa & The University of Knowledge

Within the Kingdom of Agharta is the capital city, Paradesa (also known as Shamballah). Within this vast city of millions is the University of Knowledge where "all the treasures of mankind" are kept safe from the prying hands of later generations. The Arc of the Convenant, the Breastplate of Beowulf, the Thunderbolts of Zeus, and the Sword of Atilla are but some of the relics kept safe at the University. The monarch in Paradesa, known as the Sovereign Pontiff, commands the absolute loyalty of an army of a ten thousands soldiers. His most elite guard, The Templars of Agharta, are used to protect the University and to periodically venture forth to the surface world to retrieve artifacts deemed too powerful for common men. They make the trip using airships equip to handle the arctic chills and strong winds found near the polar ice holes of Earth's crust.

Cover of "Amazing Stories", June 1947 - Agharta was central to "The Shaver Mysteries"

The Secret Masters

Unknown to the people of Agharta is a hidden race living within Paradesa who are not human. Aliens, perhaps, from Mars—or worse! These "Secret Masters", as the Sovereign Pontiff calls them, telepathically control the world's leaders and brightest scientists of the surface Earth. They are plotting for the annihilation of mankind everywhere and for the destruction of the entire Earth.

Perhaps the Sovereign Pontiff might find a few brave adventurers capable of rooting out these alien interlopers. The rewards could be… significant.

Or silly…

[image error]

Visit the original post, Fantastic Locations: Agharta & The Hollow Earth, at Nevermet Press. Subscribe via RSS, Twitter, or Facebook.

2011 – Fans, Visitors, and Sales

Like a few other small press publishers (see links below), I like to make public our annual subscriber numbers, sales figures and site traffic so that our fans and other (peer) small/micro press publishers can get a sense for how we are doing. I already wrote about 2011 in a more subjective way last week, but this post is more about the real numbers. I'm obviously not making a self-sustaining income operating Nevermet Press, but I still like it when things go well and there's some give back to both our readers (you) and our contributors (the authors and artists who create what we publish). After all, whether your new here or a long time reader, I feel like you deserve to know how we're doing.

Subscribers

We're pretty well hooked in to all the usual social media outlets. In 2011 I became somewhat addicted to Twitter too, so it's no surprise that we've seen a big uptick there. What I don't understand is why RSS has lagged behind everything else. All the stats below are have 2011 year-end numbers compared to 2010 year-end numbers.

RSS Feed Subscribers : 252 (190)
Facebook Fans : 1325 (894)
Facebook Post Views : 192,986 (55,585)
Twitter Followers : 1,641 (655)
Nevermet Press Insider subscribers : 1,088 (1,021)
Total Website Visits, based on three analytics packages

Webalizer 452,364 (297,367)
AWStats 238,587 (110,484)
Google Analytics 66,240 (n/a)

It's awesome how our website traffic has grown, but odd that our RSS feed has stayed relatively modest. I guess RSS is dead? I'm not really sure. When I got started blogging about games in 2008 at The Core Mechanic RSS Feed Readers were all the rage on the interwebs—it's funny how things have changed. In any case, I think in terms of fans who are reading our blog, and enjoying our site, I'm pretty happy. It seems like things are moving up at a good pace, and for this I have you (our readers) to thank! Hopefully in 2012 we'll keep delivering!

Sales & Revenue

So, without further ado – here's a breakdown of our 2011 sales figures (number of units sold or given away for free). All dollar values are presented as net revenue (as in after distributor and retail channel discounts):

Total Sales 1,714 sales

445 : Stock Art
177 : Brother Ptolemy & The Hidden Kingdom
64 : Portrait of Villain
33 : Open Game Table, Volume 1
130: Open Game Table, Volume 2
68 : Stories in the Ether, Issue #1
30: Stories in the Ether, Issue #2
379 : Charlie Darwin, or the Trine of 1809 (note: these were all free giveaways on Kindle

Total Revenue $1508

$1294 net revenue from sales from Studio 2 Publishing, DriveThruRPG, Lulu, and Amazon
$214 affiliate revenue from Amazon and DriveThruRPG

Total Expenses $1549

$598 author / artist payments
$510 advertising (Google Adwords, Facebook Ads)
$441 printing costs, hosting and service charges

Net Profit / Loss -$41

So – we fell just shy of breaking even. From a strictly financial point-of-view we didn't do as well in 2011 as we did in 2010. However, this is largely due to a gap in new releases early in the year and several late (Q4) releases piled on top of one another.

Is this enough revenue for me to pay authors and artists using a traditional work-for-hire, or "up-front fee", approach? Unfortunately No. For 2012 I'll stick to our existing model of shared royalties. It's not for everyone, but it's the best I can do. One of my top goals for Nevermet Press is building enough revenue up to the point where I can afford to pay all the bloggers who contribute to the blog and pay up front for the writers and artists contributions to published projects. Hopefully in 2013 we'll turn the corner.

Conclusions?

As "small press" publishers go – 2011 had pretty paltry sales numbers, but I still feel like we're very early in our development. I suppose as a micropress though, I'm not really too worried about raw sales numbers anyway. I stand behind what we are producing and I believe in it. That's what counts.

We have a great blog, a fantastic community of fans, and we produce excellent products. We've also been blessed with the contribution from some amazing writers and killer artists. Things are moving up, and word will spread. It just takes time. Nonetheless, I'm hopeful that in 2012 we will see a at least a 25% growth in sales and a doubling of our subscriber or fanbase. My fingers are crossed.

So tell me – how are we doing? What are we doing right? What do you think we could be doing better? Leave a comment below and give me your 2¢

Keep reading and sharing.

All the best,

– Jonathan.

Here are some links to a few other RPG publishers who write about their sales numbers:

Third Eye Games
Sword's Edge Publishing
How Not To Run A Game Business
Avalon Games muses on 2011 in review
Rite Publishing also reviews 2011 publishing success 
There's a commentary on the "Death of the industry" for table top RPGs over at NOISMs blog. The comment stream is a great discussion.

[image error]

Visit the original post, 2011 – Fans, Visitors, and Sales, at Nevermet Press. Subscribe via RSS, Twitter, or Facebook.

2011 In Review – Fans, Visitors, and Sales

Like a few other small press publishers (see links below), I like to make public our annual subscriber numbers, sales figures and site traffic so that our fans and other (peer) small/micro press publishers can get a sense for how we are doing. I'm obviously not making a self-sustaining income operating Nevermet Press, but I still like it when things go well and there's some give back to both our readers (you) and our contributors (the authors and artists who create what we publish). After all, whether your new here or a long time reader, I feel like you deserve to know how we're doing.

Subscribers

We're pretty well hooked in to all the usual social media outlets. In 2011 I became somewhat addicted to Twitter too, so it's no surprise that we've seen a big uptick there. What I don't understand is why RSS has lagged behind everything else. All the stats below are have 2011 year-end numbers compared to 2010 year-end numbers.

RSS Feed Subscribers : 252 (190)
Facebook Fans : 1325 (894)
Facebook Post Views : 192,986 (55,585)
Twitter Followers : 1,641 (655)
Nevermet Press Insider subscribers : 1,088 (1,021)
Total Website Visits, based on three analytics packages

Webalizer 452,364 (297,367)
AWStats 238,587 (110,484)
Google Analytics 66,240 (n/a)

It's awesome how our website traffic has grown, but odd that our RSS feed has stayed relatively modest. I guess RSS is dead? I'm not really sure. When I got started blogging about games in 2008 at The Core Mechanic RSS Feed Readers were all the rage on the interwebs—it's funny how things have changed. In any case, I think in terms of fans who are reading our blog, and enjoying our site, I'm pretty happy. It seems like things are moving up at a good pace, and for this I have you (our readers) to thank! Hopefully in 2012 we'll keep delivering!

Sales & Revenue

So, without further ado – here's a breakdown of our 2011 sales figures (number of units sold or given away for free). All dollar values are presented as net revenue (as in after distributor and retail channel discounts):

Total Sales 1,714 sales

445 : Stock Art
177 : Brother Ptolemy & The Hidden Kingdom
64 : Portrait of Villain
33 : Open Game Table, Volume 1
130: Open Game Table, Volume 2
68 : Stories in the Ether, Issue #1
30: Stories in the Ether, Issue #2
379 : Charlie Darwin, or the Trine of 1809 (note: these were all free giveaways on Kindle

Total Revenue $1508

$1294 net revenue from sales from Studio 2 Publishing, DriveThruRPG, Lulu, and Amazon
$214 affiliate revenue from Amazon and DriveThruRPG

Total Expenses $1549

$598 author / artist payments
$510 advertising (Google Adwords, Facebook Ads)
$441 printing costs, hosting and service charges

Net Profit / Loss -$41

So – we fell just shy of breaking even. From a strictly financial point-of-view we didn't do as well in 2011 as we did in 2010. However, this is largely due to a gap in new releases early in the year and several late (Q4) releases piled on top of one another.

Is this enough revenue for me to pay authors and artists using a traditional work-for-hire, or "up-front fee", approach? Unfortunately No. For 2012 I'll stick to our existing model of shared royalties. It's not for everyone, but it's the best I can do. One of my top goals for Nevermet Press is building enough revenue up to the point where I can afford to pay all the bloggers who contribute to the blog and pay up front for the writers and artists contributions to published projects. Hopefully in 2013 we'll turn the corner.

Conclusions?

As "small press" publishers go – 2011 had pretty paltry sales numbers, but I still feel like we're very early in our development. I suppose as a micropress though, I'm not really too worried about raw sales numbers anyway. I stand behind what we are producing and I believe in it. That's what counts.

We have a great blog, a fantastic community of fans, and we produce excellent products. We've also been blessed with the contribution from some amazing writers and killer artists. Things are moving up, and word will spread. It just takes time. Nonetheless, I'm hopeful that in 2012 we will see a at least a 25% growth in sales and a doubling of our subscriber or fanbase. My fingers are crossed.

So tell me – how are we doing? What are we doing right? What do you think we could be doing better? Leave a comment below and give me your 2¢

Keep reading and sharing.

All the best,

– Jonathan.

Here are some links to a few other RPG publishers who write about their sales numbers:

Third Eye Games
Sword's Edge Publishing
How Not To Run A Game Business
Avalon Games muses on 2011 in review
Rite Publishing also reviews 2011 publishing success 
There's a commentary on the "Death of the industry" for table top RPGs over at NOISMs blog. The comment stream is a great discussion.

[image error]

Visit the original post, 2011 In Review – Fans, Visitors, and Sales, at Nevermet Press. Subscribe via RSS, Twitter, or Facebook.

The Gorgon's Love, by Martin Shelby

The Gorgon, Illustration © Paul Hagwood

 

She sat curled and despondent, looking into the still waters of the reflecting pool. It was not much company, but over her long years of solitude she had grown accustomed to talking to her reflection there and, after a time, she realized the watery image spoke back.

Outside her thoughts the day was brilliant, the sun a bright blazing orb whose rays spilled over the ancient castle walls and into the courtyard to warm her skin. Her glistening hair curled about her face. She touched the water with the tip of one fingernail, watching the image shimmer and coalesce. Her companion was quiet today. Perhaps the image knew the assurances it once gave were no longer so assuring. Once she had dreamt of the joys of companionship, of a suitor, but it seemed none would ever be found worthy of her hand. She was destined to live alone within these centuries old rocks. In grander days, this place played host to kings and queens, and in that day there had been many worthy men to try and take her hand. But no longer.

Her gaze drifted about the edge of the water and stopped upon the form of a large predatory cat preparing to drink. The cat's eyes peered upward, forever transfixed in startled feline apprehension, muscles tense to spring away with a leap that never happened. She reached out, wistful, and touched the stone cat, cupping its jaw in her hand. Not far from the cat was a sparrow laying on its side, unbalanced from the transformation of downy feathers to solid rock. Similar creatures were scattered all over the courtyard—a fox, rabbits and squirrels, a deer. Many showed signs of age, their stone forms weathered and cracked liked the crumbling facade of the castle surrounding them. Some of the stone shapes had disintegrated to such a degree one could only guess what they once might have been.

The animals were not what saddened her most. No, it was the rock-ribbed forms of her many suitors that struck deepest. And there had been many. They had come hot-blooded and fierce, weapons ready and minds sharp as daggers. And they had failed. Not one had been able to spirit her away. Not one had been worthy.

Over the years fewer and fewer had sought her out, and the people of the land vanished. Her heart had grown heavy and for a time she bemused herself wandering through the courtyard, giving each lithoidal man a name, history, and imagined future for them together. Many she had to prop back into standing positions. But the gritty men that spotted the courtyard never spoke back, and at last the game lost its charm. That was when she discovered the image in the pool spoke to her, whispering promises whenever she woke from her slumbers. And now, just as her companion had promised, her suitors were starting to come once more. She had awoken, and the people had returned. Still none had been found worthy, and so each night she let loose her melodious voice in a song of lament for one of her many fallen.

Her eyes fell to the pool. "When shall my True One come?"

"Soon," the watery image replied.

"You've said that so many times," she said, shaking her head.

The image shook its head back. "Time is different for you. Soon."

"But why are so many found unworthy?"

"You know why."

The reflection smiled. Yes, she knew why. For she was a Gorgon, the most beautiful creature in the gods' creation. Her snake strand hair curled and twisted. Who could stand before her resplendence and yet live?

#

"Tis the foulest, ugliest creature under the heavens or above the abyss. Nothing can look into its face and yet live," said Gunther, dropping his empty mug to the table with a thump that caused the young man sitting beside him to jump.

The five men sat silent in Ardy's smoke-filled tavern, with only the crackle of wood burning in the fireplace stirring the air. The other patrons scattered about sat starring into their drinks, or looking outside at the approaching darkness that would swaddle their journeys home. Most had already left before the darkness could settle in. Ardy's, once known for its rowdy clientele and nightly fisticuffs, a place where one was as likely to leave with a broken nose as besotted, had been doused. Because, in the end, Ardy's patrons were but men, and what wandered the streets of Catharist at night was not. Anyone who was a regular could see how that was hurting Ardy's patronage.

"You know what it is, then?" Sleschal asked, his eyes looking up from his own empty mug he had been rolling between his hands.

"Ardy!" Gunther's voice, deep and resonating, seemed all the louder in the quiet. "More ale!"

The tavern owner nodded his bald head and tossed his dishrag over one shoulder. His neck was thick and bulging. You had to be a big man to keep a place like this in line, and Ardy was that man. What Ardy thought of this quiet change his establishment had undergone since the creature's advent was hard to gauge. Perhaps he enjoyed the quiet, but Gunther would have bet a bag of gold he'd rather have the lost business back.

"Aye, I do," Gunther said, returning his attention to Sleschal. "A creature from Legend, one lost to the God Sleep but that has now awakened once more to the world of man." Bruchark, all red curly tight hair cascading down about his head and leaving his eyes in shadow, grunted. He pushed a knife across the table top, gouging out small splinters in the hard wood. "And who is this stranger with you, Gunther? Why have you called us here tonight? You risk much, gathering us all together like this."

Gunther smiled, holding his mug up for Ardy to fill as he approached the table. He looked over the men gathered before him. Together, they were three of Catharist's most dangerous men, notorious for their brutality, feared for their power. Bruchark, called the Red Shark, controlled the wharves and illegal shipping coming in and out of the city. Sleschal was a wiry man who oversaw all games of chance, parlors of indulgence, and helped people find ways to feed other, less savory, desires. And then there was Grtang, the Silent Blade, who as usual was keeping his own silent counsel. These men, feared and loathed, each with an Emperor's Writ of Death on his head, fell under Gunther's staunch authority. Yes, Catharist may have its Emperor. And then it had Gunther. Gunther knew who held the real power.

"All will be explained in good time," Gunther answered, waiting for Ardy to leave the table. He trusted Ardy, not because he had so much faith in the man, but because Ardy also knew who held the real power, and big men could be made to disappear too. But there was no sense in just letting information slip. "Besides, I think the city guard has enough on its mind these nights without worrying about us."

"I heard twelve men were killed last night alone," Sleschal said.

"More than that," Gunther said, "Eighteen of them, turned to solid stone where they stood. I saw them myself."

"Then it's true what the people say, about the families," Bruchark said, taking a swig of ale.

"Yes," Gunther said.

"Abominable." Bruchark took another swig.

Gunther almost smiled. This coming from a man who earned his nickname for his practice of disemboweling those who opposed him and letting them watch as sharks ate their innards before casting them forth into those gnashing teeth.

"And it takes the infants?" Sleschal asked.

Gunther leaned forward.

"All that you have heard is true. Each night the creature descends upon the city on its infernal mission. All those unfortunate enough to run into it are turned to stone." Gunther leaned back again and his lips twisted. "A little fact our Emperor forgets to mention in all his grand offers of reward to anyone brave enough to hunt down and slay the beast."

Gunther had listened to the Emperor's last offer, and had been close enough to look into the man's eyes. The city's beloved leader would have been apoplectic if he had known how close Gunther had been. What Gunther had seen in his eyes was fear. Fear of the creature, fear that the city would slip out of control. Gunther knew you could not let fear rule you.

"But why the infants?" Sleschal asked.

Gunther's face darkened. He had committed a great number of crimes in his time, many bloody and callous, but he did not consider himself an evil man. But this creature, it was evil. "The Lore Masters say that only by eating the flesh of the newborn can the creature feed its power and prevent itself from falling back into the God Sleep."

The men fell quiet, joining the silence that dominated Ardy's tavern. After several moments, Grtang, his greenish-grey eyes piercing and hawkish, his ale untouched, said, "All this talk is well and good, but you still have not answered Bruchark's questions. Why are we here, and who is this stranger that cowers at your side?"

Gunther nodded. "I have drawn you all together that we might discuss what our obligation is to the problem that now confronts our beloved city."

"Obligation? Are you suggesting we should aid the guard with our own people to defeat this monster?" Bruchark asked, one eyebrow raised.

"More than that," Gunther smiled. "I propose we destroy this monster ourselves."

The men sat silent.

"And why ever should we risk that?" Grtang asked, at last lifting his ale to his lips.

Gunther's mood darkened once more. "This creature, this beast, it hurts our city. It hurts our business. The guard is of no concern to me, but business is. And our business suffers, gentlemen. The creature is a plague upon all that is this great city. And," Gunther's lip curled, "the Emperor has now issued a decree that anyone able to slay the beast will be granted twenty thousand gold pieces and full amnesty for any and all past transgressions. They are even releasing some condemned in order to 'earn' their freedom. Our proud government's way of thinning the city prisons." Bruchark snorted. "Surely you do not think the Emperor would honor such a decree to us? His hatred for us burns like the coals at the bottom of the Fiery Sea."

"The Emperor has never backed out of a decree. It is his devotion to principle," Gunther let the last word flow out in a sneer.

"Then we send our best men. Our best men, and then we go before the Emperor with the beast's head," Sleschal said.

Gunther gazed quiet into his ale, and for the first time he did not quite meet the gaze of his compatriots. "I already sent our best men. None of them has returned."

Silence settled over the table again.

"So you suggest we go ourselves?" Grtang asked, voice calm, but with undercurrents of dark doubt. "Sounds as if the Emperor has found a way to your greedy heart, Gunther. And a way to rid himself of you. Let this go."

Gunther looked at his men with restored determination. "Is that fear I see in your faces? This? From the most powerful, accomplished men of Catharist? What opposition have we not been able to squash under the heel of our boots? We have made this city ours. Ours! Ours as much as the damn Emperor himself!" Gunther looked around, but no one dared look at their table. He lowered his voice. "We will face this terror. We will defeat it, like we have defeated all that has stood in our way. And we will do so with the Emperor's gold and forgiveness weighting our pockets."

The men looked at each other with unease. Sleschal ran a hand through his thinning hair, and Bruchark settled back with a grim expression.

"And him?" Grtang pointed to the silent form on Gunther's left, a slight young man with brown hair whose head hung down, his body leaning away from Gunther's large frame.

"This?" Gunther looked surprised, as if everyone should have known who it was, and thumped the young man's back, making him spill his ale. "This is my brother, Tomas."

"Didn't know you had a brother," Bruchark said, peering at Tomas with distrust.

"What's wrong with his eyes? They look funny," Sleschal bent forward to look at Tomas closer, but Tomas turned his head to the floor.

"He's blind, you idiot," Gunther snapped his fingers, drawing Sleschal's attention back to him. "And never say he looks funny again, you cod."

"Sorry, Gunther."

"And what use is a blind boy to us?" Grtang asked.

Gunther reached his massive arm around his brother and pulled him close, shaking him with what could have been mistaken for affection if you didn't know him. Tomas shivered beneath him.

"This," Gunther said, "is the rabbit to our fox."

A dry, flat tune filled the air, a grating cry running up and down the spines of each man in the tavern. The sound wavered, screeching like rats rolled in gravel, before lowering to a mournful moan and then bursting forth in a wraith-like howl. Ardy's patrons began gathering themselves, quiet and heading for the door with quick gaits.

"And now it cries in pain and despair. The hunger will soon drive it into the city to feed, and we must be in place before our fox returns home."

"Tonight?" Sleschal asked.

"Yes, tonight," Gunther met him with a steady gaze. He was not about to let any of these men, loyal as they may be, slip off and change their minds to skip town. "There are four bows behind the counter. Gather them."

"Gunther," Grtang started, but Gunther cut him off, grabbing a satchel that lay between his feet and tossing it over one shoulder.

"I will explain the plan when we reach the castle ruins."

#

Her serpentine lower musculature propelled her through Catharist's dark streets, her viperous hair darting and tasting the air. She had to delve deeper and deeper into the city each night to find her quarry. The city had grown large and bulbous like some over-ripe fruit on a hot summer day. All about her were the sour scents of decay, rot, feces and filth. But above that, like oil on water, floated the pure scent of new life. It called to her, and she followed the trail unerringly to the window from which the scent billowed out in sweet waves. The window, like most now, was boarded shut with hastily hammered nails that reeked fear. She ran her tongue over her sharp teeth, then pried her fingernails beneath the wooden edges and wrenched a board off with a sharp snap. A soft sigh escaped her hair as the fullness of new life scent washed around her face.

Her eyes snapped up when she heard a creaking sound to see a man rising from a chair on the far side of the room. He had not risen to his full height when he looked into her eyes, and his stony form collapsed back into the chair, then tottered before tipping over onto the floor. One arm snapped off and skittered away with the impact.

The gorgon's eyes went back to the sleeping innocence wrapped in cloth, and she ripped another board off. Her forked tongue flicked over her teeth once more as she leaned in to wrap her fingers around the soft folds of cloth.

#

"So Gunther is really your brother?" Sleschal had been ordered to help guide Tomas through the night. Tomas's hand lightly grasped his elbow as the two picked their way along the pebbled path.

Tomas turned his head, almost as if he might be looking at Sleschal. Sleschal looked away under the intensity that ebbed from those bright, sightless eyes. He couldn't help feeling that this boy saw more than what was gained by simple sight. Those blind eyes assessed, gauged, and judged. It made him uneasy.

"Yes."

They walked in silence, only the scrape of their boots betraying them as they followed the dark silhouettes of Gunther, Bruchark and Grtang. The old castle ruins loomed before and above them, black obelisks stumbling up into the night sky only to fall apart. Below and behind lay Catharist, marked by flickering candles and encompassed in cold fear. Sleschal shivered at the thought of the loathsome beast winding its way through the dark streets, and pinned the true source of his feelings of uneasiness on that instead of the sightless youth. And why shouldn't they be uneasy?

Sleschal found silence oppressive. His business, his success, depended upon knowing people, their weaknesses, their desires, hopes and dreams. Freeing their pockets with his slick tongue was his weapon of choice. It was hard for him to keep it still.

"You're very lucky to have such a powerful brother."

"Am I?"

"You don't think so?"

"Why should I?"

"Look at…ah, forgive me. Consider his success. He owns one of the finest homes in Catharist. Most people with your, um, condition–"

"You mean blindness?"

"Yes. Um, most people who are, as you say, blind, are forced to live life as beggars on the street. You should count yourself lucky." Sleschal cleared his throat. This conversation was almost as uncomfortable as the silence. He couldn't remember his tongue ever failing him so.

"You think you know how I live," Tomas stated, eyes fixed forward as he placed one foot before the other.

Sleschal shrugged, then remembered Tomas wouldn't see the gesture. He opened his mouth, but Tomas was already continuing.

"Tell me, did you know our mother still lives as well?"

Mother? Sleschal had never even considered that Gunther had a mother. Of course he knew Gunther was born of a woman, as all men, but his concept of Gunther was much like the ruins they approached. They existed as a matter of fact, but what had brought them to their current state did not much matter.

"No."

"And do you know where we live?"

""No." But by now Sleschal was sure it was not in Gunther's fine home.

"We live in the Barrens. To be honest, I thought my brother had forgotten he had a family. He is ashamed of us. The only reason he brings me now is because he believes I will serve his purpose for slaying the beast. I am nothing but bait. That's worse than being forgotten, don't you think?" Tomas shook his head. "Never mind, I don't expect you to answer."

Sleschal was not surprised. How many times had Gunther warned them of the dangers of letting someone in too close? And how many more had he seen him callously use people for his own ends? Living in the Barrens was a hard life and it had hardened many a heart. He almost felt a twinge of pity for this youth.

"You sound as if you don't believe your brother's plan will work."

Tomas shrugged.

"What do you believe it is?"

At this Tomas took a moment to consider, though he didn't stop walking. Sleschal could almost see the cogs turning in his mind. He may be blind, but he's a smart one.

"Some believe as my brother. Others say it was a beautiful young woman cursed by the Lesser Spirits, for her beauty rivaled their own. They punished her with a hideous form so that men would continue to worship them and not her. Others say such creatures are the offspring of the snake goddess Lilaeth and a human male. There are other, lesser known legends, but they all share this in common. To look into the eyes of this creature is death."

They continued in silence for a moment, then Sleschal noticed the shape of what appeared to be a statue tilted against the earth. The area was dotted with them, most laying against the ground. Victims of the creature.

Sleschal swallowed and glanced back down at the town, wondering how far off the monster might be. Was it making its way back even now?

"Hold," Gunther announced. His deep voice, even whispered, carried through the air. "Prepare to make ready."

Gunther pulled the satchel from his shoulder and opened it, revealing several dozen arrows. Bruchark reached to grab one but Gunther warned him off with one hand. "Be careful, these are laced with the sap of the Black Mary plant."

Bruchark's hand stopped, then cautiously pulled one of the arrows out, holding it up to the starlight.

"There are six arrows apiece. Even one shot should be enough to slay this thing. Nothing living can survive once the Black Mary is in its veins."

"If we get that one shot off before turned to stone," Grtang mussed, also gingerly taking an arrow to examine.

"We will," Gunther said, grabbing Tomas by the arm and pulling him before the others. "The beast makes its home in the courtyard. Tomas will stand by the water pool within its center, and we will fill the creature with arrows as it tries to turn a blind man into stone."

"And if it gets to him?" Sleschal asked, looking at Tomas. Yes, it would have been better for you if he had forgotten he had a brother at all.

"Tomas is very quick. He can stay away from the creature until we have dropped it into a lifeless, bleeding bed of arrows," Gunther said.

A clatter of rocks came from the darkened path, followed by a low humming noise.

"Shh. It comes. Quick, take positions in the courtyard," Gunther said, keeping one hand on Tomas and indicating to his men where they should go with the other as they hastened inside. Then both of his hands fell on Tomas's shoulders. "The pool is four steps behind you. Take this."

Tomas felt something heavy but well-balanced pressed into his hand. He touched it with one finger and felt the cool, hard blade of metal. A dagger. He flinched as the blade bit into the flesh he had been running along its edge.

"This will protect you."

"Yes, brother, I already feel much safer."

Gunther hesitated, patted his brother on the shoulder, and then he was gone. Tomas could hear the creature approaching just outside the courtyard. He began to tremble.

#

She held the infant close, the warmth of its body radiating against her bosom. One hand propped its head up. The baby boy, still slumbering, tried in vain to nurse at one of her barren breasts. She made her way across the shadows of the courtyard, caressing and watching the child. When at last the infant realized no nourishment was coming, he let out a wail; then, as he sucked in air to let out another cry, his eyes opened and looked into her face. The small body stiffened, and the warmth evaporated from the boy's body as quickly as innocence is lost. She continued to coddle him as she headed for a low wall overhung with ivy. The ground here was padded with tender grass, and there she lay the infant beside the lumps of other muted, hardened children.

"There, my Little One. Sleep now with your brothers and sisters. Soon Father shall come and I will wake you," the Gorgon said, her eyes going over each child with solemn promise, her hands clasped beneath her chin, "and we will be so happy together."

It wasn't until she turned to go back to her pool that she realized she was not alone. Her tongue darted out, tasting the air. More suitors, come to win her hand? Yes! The tendrils of her hair coiled and waved, each snake strand twisting and turning. Like those that had come before, these suitors wanted to tease her. They thought they could hide behind bushes, old cracked columns and in dark corners. Except for one. He stood beside her pool in the open. But she could sense all of them, could see their heat radiating out in soft red glows, and could feel the pulse of their beating hearts echoing through the ground along with the anxious shuffling of their feet.

Perhaps one of these would be found worthy? The one beside the pool turned from side to side, looking for her. The bravest of them all. She would save him for last.

#

Tomas took little side steps with his feet, turning slowly, listening. He could smell the reptilian scent of the creature heavy in the air. Why hadn't they shot it yet? What could they be waiting for? He heard rustling off to his left, a gasp, something heavy falling to the ground. His foot slipped, and he almost slid after. He drew it back, wet and dripping. There was more rustling, something moving fast.

"No! Gunth-!"

Sleschal's voice, fear wracked, and another weighty thump. There was a rocky crack and shatter. Tomas heard the familiar twang of a bow letting loose, two quick shots, and felt the wind from one as it whizzed past his face. One shot skittered against the ground. He did not hear where the other went. Tomas held the dagger before him, disoriented. The urge to flee was strong, and his brother be damned. Gunther may have strong-armed him into this, but his fear of his brother did not exceed the fear he felt now. But he had no idea which way to go. He found it hard to catch his breath. He heard footfalls running towards him, and he gasped as a hand fell heavy on his shoulder.

"We have to get out of here," Gunther said, his voice a heavy, thick whisper. For the first time Tomas heard the edge of panic in his brother. "Quickly now!"

"The others?"

"They can't be helped. Move!"

"Which way?"

And then his brother was pulled away from him, his grip pulling Tomas along and causing him to stumble before losing its hold. His brother grunted and groaned as he struggled. Then came a wretched, inhuman voice, and his brother screamed. Something heavy fell against Tomas's leg and knocked him to the ground with a cry.

She grabbed the big man first. He was a strong one. He would make a good father if he was found worthy. But he didn't want to face the test. After seeking her out, he now clinched his eyes closed as she pulled him close. He was full of power, yes, but not as strong as she. There had been so many like this, those who thought they could change their minds after coming to her. She knew how to discover their worthiness. She held his body in her serpentine coils and wrapped her hands about either side of his head, and she began to squeeze his skull.

"Open your eyes," she cooed.

The man grunted and heaved, a defiant scream issued in her face, but at last his eyes opened, the orbs popping out of their sockets as his skull bones cracked. And she saw, with some disappointment, the eyes hardening even as they tumbled to dangle against his cheeks. She let loose the man's body, and it toppled backwards into her last remaining suitor, knocking him down. He lay there holding his leg with one hand, looking at her.

Her twin hearts surged. Could it be true? Her True One had come at last? It must be! This man looked into her eyes and remained whole! This man was worthy. She watched as his fingers touched the stony man who had fallen beside him, but his eyes remained on her. Tears flowed from his eyes, tears of joy that they had found each other at last. She slid around him, reached down to take his hand and pulled him up close against her. He was warm, warm like the children. But larger and more vibrant, like a man should be. She could feel his pulse beating fast and heavy, an indication he was as excited as she. She smiled.

"My love. My True One. I knew we would one day be together," she said, rubbing her face against his. "I'll go wake the children."

#

He ran his hands over his brother's cold hard body, and he knew from the misshapen feel of the skull that it had been crushed before his brother died. He struggled to pull himself up, using Gunther as leverage. Fear, pain and loss filled him, and he felt the warm streaks of tears roll down his face. He heard the monster moving, the dry rasp of its skin against the ground, and sensed it all about him. He knew it was his turn to die. He shuddered, and his breath came in small rapid intakes as the creature drew him in and pulled his hand across one breast. It w as soft, but slick and cold like no human woman, and then his fingers touched the hard reptilian scales that began at the creature's waist.

Its face came in close and nuzzled him. Its breath was like air from the depths of the earth, stale and rancid. Its cold flesh rubbed his face, its hair slithered through his and licked his skin, sending an involuntary shiver down his spine. It made a sound, something that may have been language, but guttural and grinding, marbles rubbed together. That was when Tomas remembered the dagger. It rested in his other hand, there but forgotten. His grip tightened, and with a violent heave driven by fear he thrust it as deep as he could into what he hoped was the creature's chest.

It let out a hideous cry, all anguish and pain and betrayal. Blood spilled over his hand. Not hot like a human's, but a lukewarm sludge. He pulled the dagger out and thrust again. The creature's hair hissed and bit at him, sinking their tiny fangs into his face, spitting poison into his eyes and mouth. He felt his face going numb even as he pulled the dagger out to stab at the thing once more. This attempt was weaker. His head spun, and he had lost all feeling. If it was possible, it seemed his world grew even darker.

#

Why? Why? Why? Her mind gasped when her True One turned on her. As the dagger plunged into her a second time, sliding into her left heart again, it was the realization that her dream would not come true that pained her most. At last she managed to pull away from him and hurled his traitorous body across the ground. Not worthy! But she sensed he had undone her. She gasped and squirmed over to the reflecting pool, to the image that now billowed out thick, rustic blood.

"Why?" she asked. But the image only gaped back at her. She looked over where the ivy hung. "The children…"

Her body collapsed into the pool. It was several hours before her tail stopped twitching.

#

Tomas woke to something cool, slick and soft covering him. He beat at it, thrust his arms against it, stretching it over him, until at last he realized it was only a bed sheet. Nausea filled him, and he fell back into a soft, goose feather pillow. His face felt swollen and heavy, and his leg ached. He turned his head. He sensed he was not alone, and he lay still.

"Who's there?" Tomas asked, his voice hoarse and trembling.

"Is he lucid now?" a voice asked.

"I believe so, majesty. You may try speaking with him."

"Young man, I am Emperor Cortann. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," Tomas said, relief flooding through him. "How did I get here?"

"A group of soldiers went up to slay the beast that plagues our city. Imagine their surprise when they found the beast already dead! And you, lying there half-dead yourself. You're either a very brave, or very foolish, young man."

"It's dead then?"

"Yes. When you are feeling up to it, you must tell me how you accomplished such a feat. In the meantime, I believe you are entitled to a reward. Twenty thousand gold pieces, I believe. Congratulations, you're a rich man."

Tomas swallowed. "I'm not interested in the gold."

"You've earned it, young man. You took a great risk, and have freed our city from a terrible danger. We are all indebted to you. Someone who has done such a duty for this city will not go unrewarded." The Emperor paused. "The healers say you should recover from your wounds soon enough, given time. The only thing, I'm afraid, is your eyes. The poisonous effects could not be reversed. They say you won't get your sight back. I'm sorry."

And despite how ill he felt, Tomas laughed.

END

Related stories on Nevermet Press:

Mottephobia, by Gary B. Phillips
The Bronze Horse's Ear, by KA Masters
Jango–Dead Master Living, by Jonathan Jacobs
Truth, by Ian Vassilaros
The Tragic Tale of Doctor Fausset, by O.M. Grey
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Visit the original post, The Gorgon's Love, by Martin Shelby, at Nevermet Press. Subscribe via RSS, Twitter, or Facebook.

Allow your Players to be Awesome

Picture a dimly lit basement in which a game master is reading a description.

"The hallway ends in a rotting door. Gaps in the wood allow you to catch a glimpse of a hyena shaped head. You can clearly hear the voice of the gnoll leader that you have been tracking addressing some of his minions."

One the players at the table jumps at the opportunity: "Sarnash isn't even going to bother breaking the door down. I'm going to charge and swing my sword right through the door and into the gnoll!"

Although there may be no rule that addresses making such an attack specifically, the GM decides to let it happen anyway. He decides to add a few points onto the armor class of the gnoll to represent the resistance of the door and tells the player to go ahead and roll.

The player rolls a one.

And so ends a moment that could have been Awesome. Under a strict interpretation of the game rules, Sarnash may have failed to even break down the door. Or perhaps he tripped and is now laying sprawled out in the hallway. The gnolls have been alerted and combat follows. The PCs will probably win the fight, but the player playing Sarnash won't come away from the victory feeling good about it. Not only will he likely be left thinking that his character is a clumsy oaf, but an opportunity for Awesome will have been missed.

Is this really the way things had to turn out? Sarnash isn't a clumsy oaf. He's Sarnash the Barbarian from the savage West Lands! He's strong enough to bend iron bars! He's been in combat countless times. He swings a mighty magic claymore that has cleaved the heads off a hundred orcs! This guy… tripped?

How about instead of having Sarnash trip, he instead cleaves the door in two? He still misses the gnoll, but he scares the hell out of everyone in the room and forces a surprise check.

I'm not saying that player's should never fail. I'm suggesting that failure does not have to be humiliating. If the price of failure is too great, then players play conservatively and every game seems the same. Instead, let your players be as Awesome as the ideas they come up with. If a player comes up with an exciting move, find a way to make it work. If it doesn't succeed, don't punish the player for coming up with a good idea followed by a bad die roll. Make something awesome happen. If the roll succeeds, make something really Awesome happen.

The role of the GM should not be an adversarial one. He or she offers challenges to players, not to torment them, but to give them a chance to do incredible things. A GM can create the best adventure ever written, but if the players are unenthusiastic, the game will still be dull. A role playing game can be thought of as collaborative movie script writing. The game master brings the plot and the settings, and the players bring the action heroes. The goal of everyone, both players and the GM, is to create something Awesome.

The chance of failure still has to be part of any game, but failure need not be boring or demoralizing. Player characters should not die by some insignificant act of fate. If a player character must die, let it be a glorious act of self sacrifice. Let it be the kind of death that inspires monuments to be built. A role playing session's highest success is when the players, even ones whose characters died, remember the game with a smile.

When folks make the time to game, they are there to get away from the mundane, so leave the mundane world behind. If a player comes up with a crazy idea, reward them. The fantasy world is where we can take risks without fear of consequences. Let all the outcomes be incredible.

Allow your players to be Awesome.

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