Private Labyrinth, Part I

Wed, 14 Jan 2009 04:07:06 +0100

Krindar praised himself for many talents, some truer than others. One he was showcasing presently, the coordination with which he was able to carry himself while fully satisfied by harsh ales. Another, his favorite, he hoped to engage in shortly, his capacity for navigating mazes. He’d come to find a labyrinth with a complexity and a reward worthy of his talents. As hoped, he’d found a promising lead among the more discreet mages of the town.

His meeting had been arranged previously, and he entered directly toward the private booth that had been reserved for it, failing to notice the long trail of gawkers in his wake all filled with a kind of perplexed disgust for his proudly debauched demeanor. Waiting for him was the Kuromahojin, or “dark-mage”, who had claimed to have a very special gauntlet for him. The mage was one of the last true members of the old ways of mana. He remembered a time before knowledge of the arcane arts had become so common and “vulgar,” before the great war of the magi had cast their faith asunder.

Eagerly, Krindar jumped strait to the point before so much as finishing to sit, never mind respectful greetings. “So, where do I find this spectacular maze you claim to know of?” he asked.

Responding with a devilish glee that Krindar willfully chose not to notice, the old man said, “It cannot be traveled to by horse or ship, but I will send you to it as soon as your senses are ready.”

Krindar scoffed and waved the warning off, “I’m ready now! Don’t let the stench fool you, my senses are as keen as need be. Truth is I’ve had so much of the dwarves’ deep drinks that I can hardly function without them. So, what grand prize awaits me at the end?!”

From the encompassing shadows of his hooded cloak, the mage stared into Krindar’s eyes with a piercing gaze only one of unnatural ways could, as though to speak directly to the soul, “This is a reward far greater than any wealth of jewels or magic you will ever know. It is something very special, but I could not describe it to you with all the words of every language known to all of terratoise, from belly to shell. Not even the First Ones have seen it.”

“What?” Krindar guffawed, “This sounds like a bag of imp-ears all of a sudden! You’d better not be trying to feed me wood.”

The mage replied, “I wouldn’t dream of it, my friend. Rest assured, I am most serious.”

Tentatively, Krindar resumed the conversation, “How can all this be? Just what kind of labyrinth is this?”

“It is a mystic maze, custom made especially for you,” the mage proceeded, “What you find is determined by your heart’s true desire. It may not be what you expect, but it will be of more use to you than anything I could construct.”

Krindar had heard enough. He was still somewhat skeptical and not as thrilled as he had hoped to be, but he was getting bored, “Fine then, let’s get me started. Do your little dance or whatever you need to and get me afoot.”

“As you wish,” And with that, the mage began his work. He pinched a bit of glowing dust from within a small leather belt-pouch and smeared it across his hands. He then made a few odd gestures and began drawing in the air, leaving a trail of sparkling lines floating in the paths of his fingers. Krindar tried to take a mental note of the pattern, just in case it bore some real significance to the shape of the maze, but he was quickly distracted by what was coming out of the mage’s mouth.

It had started as guttural noises, graduated into what Krindar presumed to be the ancient language known mostly to spell-casters, but then developed into something beyond words. Krindar became fixated on it. It wasn’t a chant or melody; it was a kind of sound Krindar had never heard before, but as he watched the mages mouth, the odd noise melted away and was replaced by visions of what looked to be random objects floating forth from the mage’s lips: an orange, a scythe, a lamppost, a work-dog. As Krindar’s ears watched more and more attentively, the stream of shapes twisted into a hypnotic spiral of lights and colors. Before Krindar had time to finish wondering if the mage was up to something malicious, he felt sleep overtaking him.

Gathering his will, Krindar shook himself into wakefulness causing a feeling much like the false falling sensation that sometimes occurs when one is waiting for sleep. He expected to see a surprised and frightened mage ready to be beaten for information but instead found himself suddenly sitting alone before a fire in a small cave.

Getting up, he carefully inspected every angle of the small stone enclave, but found no entrance to any deeper sections. Outside the cave, he could see nothing but dense jungle. “This is it? My ‘custom maze’ is being taken for a fool and left stranded in the wilderness?!” Krindar shouted angrily to himself, “So he was selling me a lot of pond water. Well, I don’t care how many spells that decrepit old fog-golem has in stow; when I find him I’m going to burn him in his cowl!” It then occurred to him to inspect himself, “Of course. He’s taken all my belongings, all my equipment. He’s not even left me a weapon in the woodlands! That confirms it then. Crook.”

Dawn

Fri, 02 Jan 2009 09:17:13 +0100

Near the center of Trinsdale, the second largest city of the unassuming Glademarch kingdom, sits a tavern named Drakkon's Beard, but it is better known as "Caravan's Dawn." This was an alias it had taken on after several stories began to spread of adventurous groups having formed and had their renown originate therein.

It would seem that the surrounding area was a hotbed for ancient caves, tombs, abandoned temples and every kind of lure for the freelance journeyman. So much so, in fact, that many were of the opinion that an entire other society must have once grown, flourished, declined and eventually disappeared and been forgotten before the current Glademarch lands were settled.

Whatever the case may be, Caravan's Dawn, and the whole of Trinsdale by proxy, became the starting point for many individuals looking to earn their fortunes and glory through spelunking, mercenary work, and blatant acts of heroics. The host and head barkeep, Larson "Hops" Grammal, eventually posted a bulletin board for hopeful thrill seekers looking for companions. Thus, the name Caravan's Dawn took hold.

Many have suggested that Hops instigated the whole bazaar quite purposefully, perhaps to increase business at the tavern, at the behest of the local lords hoping to increase Trinsdale's economy, or because he simply enjoys hearing the stories. The latter is the prevailing theory and is based on the fact that before he became "Hops" he was once a traveling cleric and a hero in his own right. This has never been confirmed, as he generally ignores the question and offers a drink.

No one knows why he doesn't like to talk about his own exciting past or how he came to be a brewer and barkeep from religious service as a divinely empowered warrior. The only vestige of his past that remains seen is a large ceramic stein bearing the symbol of his deity, Vartuul, god of oaths. Some say he is awaiting a group of adventurers that could help him atone for some mark against Vartuul, or fulfill an outstanding oath.

caravans-dawn

Private Labyrinth, Part I

Dawn