Writ by the hand of Abbot Sinclar, for the records of King Jeraziah, Queen Ophelia, and Arasunia.
On this day Sol’s blessed sun shone brightly above the Damwell Riparian Estate, a series of mud and stick beavrel lodges and dams along a tributary of the Istros River, which feeds the great Inner Sea. It was to be a day of celebration, with the young warrior Terrowin knighted and brought into the Lancer Brotherhood (Brotherhood seems a bit excessive for a group of two, but the name is not for me to choose).
It was also set to be a historic day, for Terrowin would be the first Lancer who was not a beavrel. It does not take more than a glance to establish this fact. With his green skin, burly shape, and large nose and ears, it is obvious Terrowin was born—and always will be—a goblin. There is no law against a goblin joining the Brotherhood, though this may be due to the fact that no being other than a beavrel has attempted to become a Lancer. Continue reading Sir Benzington Damwell III, Commander of the Lancer Brotherhood
The soldier was going to die, and he knew it. We made him as comfortable as we could, piling blankets for him next to our fire. I tried to help ease him to the ground.
“Don’t touch me,” he warned. “And burn my body in these blankets when I’m dead.”
We would. Even without his orders, we would. The growths on his face and arms made sure of that. He had stumbled into our outpost on the border between Death’s Cradle and the Forest of Caldavar, exhausted and repeating the same phrase: “Jin Chan is here.”
After a quarter hour near the fire, his breath seemed more labored than when he’d arrived.
“Wine,” he said. “Throw it, don’t come close.” Continue reading Jin Chan and the Curse of the Rulian Marsh
To let you know who the Black Legion is, I will first tell you who I am. As a youth in the Scout village of Seclu, I was faster and better with a blade than any of the Pathfinders, those of us training to become Scouts. I hold the village record for the youngest daemon kill, at the age of ten. I slit the creature’s throat without it seeing my face—an honorable Scout kill. Continue reading The Black Legion