The Note

Sir Quinton Alcarthis stood in the Consortium’s study in Eton Proper. Firelight enticingly danced in his eyes as they seemingly refused to play with the frivolous muse; they had something more important to do. His gaunt gaze sewed back and forth across a piece of travel worn paper. There were only 2 lines, but the Knight could not stop reading them. He was locked in chains of fright, despair and anxiety. His heart was the only thing which had the desire to move him. Each thump and flex pounded at the silent restraints. No matter how relentlessly it battered at the immobilizing links they made no sound, nor gave.

In attempt to free himself, Quinton closed his eyes. Those two lines haunted him still. The firelight displayed each serious word carved on the insides of his eyelids.

He felt trapped. He felt guilt. He felt nauseous.

Opening his eyes in hopes the image would fade quicker he looked towards the book lined shelves. It did not work. Still, he could not rid himself of these searing words:

“Dessicated remains of Ambrose Decklin have been discovered in the Oskan Vault and the whereabouts of The Kesh are unknown. Traces of Ogre were discovered in the Vault. ~KC”

Rally the Troops, ‘Tis a Call to Arms!

The Minotaur General looked down upon his miniature battlefield. With his knotted fists firmly planted on the edge of the map he let his broad chest and horns cast a dark shadow over his enemy’s army. There were many darkened tokens calculably placed, each one signifying a unit of combatants. His eyes glowered at the employment of the adversary’s troops.

A golden ring tapped pursed lips as his head jerked to gaze at his less than meagre forces across the map. “At least the light shines upon them.” He rumbled.

He imagined his skull having diminutive dents from the assault of unfavorable outcomes within his thoughts.

“So much territory to defend,” he snorted, “I have almost nothing to my arsenal.”

Thick leather armor straps creaked as he let out a heavy sigh of beleaguerment.

It was his desire to be alone when contemplating maneuvers. Being unaccompanied allowed his conversation be unfettered by inane chattering of subordinates. He knew more disorganization in the war tent would only cause losses on the warfront.

“If only I had reinforcements.” He let his eyes close. He imagined an overwhelming crush of red token allies consuming the blue army. It made his lips curl in mock gratification.

‘There are no obstacles, there are only opportunities’ an old wise saying resurfaced.

His eyes snapped open; an epiphany like a clarion call pierced his dispiritedness.

Turning his monstrous torso he snatched a large gnarled battle club from the corner and stomped out of the tent. He knew who he had to call upon. He knew from the beginning of meditative solitude what he needed to do. He just needed to come to the conclusion by himself.

“Sticky! Chewie! Sharpen claws! Stretch wings! These damn seagulls not win to-day! With animals on island as friends, we make war!”

Number 12 held aloft his weapon triumphantly whilst standing upon a portion of cleared forest floor. Leaves, rocks and sticks haphazardly strewn about were crushed beneath his hooves.

Aleric's Guide to Fine Dining in The Ember Rise

by Aleric Surral, Cuisine Critic of Ald

Food is of no small importance. Everything and everyone needs to eat, even orcs. It is the sustainer of life, the fuel of work and the champion of health. So, empowered with this invaluable knowledge, I have made my life’s goal and passion to explore the reaches of the Ember Rise to discover the best eateries with the most sumptuous menus and reveal them to you, it's fine inhabitants. I am Aleric Surral. I am Your Cuisine Companion.

This cycle, I have traveled to the west coast of the Rise in search of its delicacies of fresh seafood, plump and juicy fruits and rich tasting meats. If anywhere is known for its down-west traditional food it is The Western Sea Cliffs.

My first stop was the old fishing village of Rye’s Landing, or what is known today as Stormhold. With its tiered city built upon the white chalk cliffs, Stormhold boasts some of the best fishing in all of the settled lands. I ventured down the great stair while gazing into the vast ocean. Truly a sight to behold. Sailing vessels lazily splashed through the cerulean sea as the sun warmed their decks. Seagulls wafted on the warm sea air currents spying upon those bustling on the land and in the water. I could not wait for my first meal in this most exciting of cities. Some of the more notable eating sits included The Aft-House, Khylan’s Place, and Pelican’s Flight & Boathouse. But I wanted to sample a wide variety of the western jewel’s food establishments.

I decided to drop to the center tier. There, I found some of its lesser known dining establishments. One in particular seemed to ring my Captain’s bell.  I couldn’t resist the lure of its name. The Full Net.

From my vantage point on the grand stair I had a pelican’s eye view of Harbor Master Norcross Ramsden’s rotunda tower on the pier. I headed north toward the barrier wall. That is when I spied this rustic one-storied building nestled in a corner of two larger structures. Its stone walls were flecked with sea-salt which glistened in the afternoon sun. I appreciated the sign hanging out over the boardwalk; An old fishing net full of a plethora of sea life.

As I entered The Full Net I could not get enough of the aromas of brine and spices. Patrons of all ilk sat and chatted about their affairs with the sea mistress. I sat down and was pleasantly greeted by a handsome waiter who diligently informed me of the daily menu and offered his esteemed advice. There were an incredible amount of choices to be had. My decision making process was inundated by this restaurant’s complex menu. I was excited to try a dish called Splurge of Urchin, a succulent mixture of peeled urchin rubbed with red garlic and sauteed in a reduction of gooseberry and Newport White wine. It tops a bed of long-noodles nested with florets of broccolini and cauliflower. What a catch! However, I steered towards my culinary guide’s suggestion, King’s Crown. I am glad I did.

This dish is most exquisite. The meal is accompanied by a choice of ales and wines suitable to white fish-meat; I chose the Sunby Dry. A palate-cleansing wine with a hint of lemon and birch. As the platter was delicately placed before me I was struck by how colorful my meal was. Its level of sweet and spicy aroma was pleasing and not overpowering and the portion was almost overwhelming. But what impressed me most was the multi-tiered serving dish it was delivered upon, which resembled a king’s crown with an elaborate series of concentric plates rising out of the center.

King’s Crown is an appetizing meal consisting a variety of foods. On the lowest plate, guarded by the faux crown tines, was a mixture of roughly chopped potatoes baked light and crispy then gently covered with caramelized red onions. My mouth watered at the sight of cilantro speckling the tubers. The next tier hosted a fried selection of yellow squash flowers, green and red sweet peppers and spicy little chilis. Separating these were two small dipping cups of a tangy mint sauce and a creamy buttermilk sauce. The top ramekin boasted spears of poached king crab glazed with honey-butter and firm riblets of spikefish baked in a fennel rub. I felt I could have ended my culinary journey there. This dish was a masterpiece.

Upon completion of my most satisfying meal, I asked to speak with the chef. A well-built hobgoblin, dressed in the utilitarian sleeveless long coats of his profession, joined me at my table and shared a glass of wine. His inspiring performance will never let me forget this notable chef’s name. Chef “Kor” Korajkic Rhoe.

I hope you look forward to my journey to the small fishing village of Fiar-Kesk and its menu of clams, oysters and other shellfish as much as I do!

Until next time, may your all of your culinary senses be satisfied!

An Except From The Rise of the Ember

Penned by the hand of Conrad von Horstmann (the long winded)

In the cycle 1971 AW

(Preface)

Before the Wall, when the rolling plains of the south swept to virgin forests of the north and majestic mountains stood vigil in the east holding a steadfast watch towards the sentry-like white rocky cliffs of the west, there was tranquil peace. Naught but animals walked the land that would later be named The Ember Rise.

These awe inspiring sites have birthed such legends as Khääl Kilbreth, Lord Hollander Stormhaven and Charqut Saviorsword; but we must not forget our forefather, the patrician who made the heroics of Khääl, the valor of Hollander and the bravery of Charqut possible. As the matter of course I write of the wise Chieftain Aldremas. History writes that this magnanimous leader defied Zlephinaar, the King-Priest of Yun-Gul by not dying whence a powerful curse of death was placed upon his head. The dictator of Yun-Gul became speechless at the occurrence, giving the then youthful Aldremas some time to dash away and create an uprising of slaves which he lead away from the coast of the Laun Sea.

(Chapter 4, Kingly Personalities)

As it were, Aldremas held a personality which was unique to that of a slave-born race. He did not allow his psyche to be dominated by others. This key quality lent unabated power to further the cause of freedom. The youthful man had choleric tendencies if crossed by those who had oppressive or harmful intentions, which is why he made the perfect leader to mount an exodus.

Aldremus was a fair man in appearance and attitude, with the minor exception of when angered. Both his face and emotions became contorted. This is not to say Aldremus was ornery, on the contrary, he is purported to be quite congenial. Again, let us be reminded that his anger was directed at a dictator not the general public. History says the Chieftain stood nearly six feet tall, had the chest of a barrel and proportionate limbs. His skin is said to have been bronzed by the sun and his hair long and dark. We must remember that the City-State of Yun-Gul lays upon a barren waste land, very little thrives in desert conditions and due to

said conditions, the fair race of humans tended to gain a darkened complexion.

In their youth, Aldremas’ parents were slave-born and knew no other life. This is not to say that their life was full of toil and punishment, for they were both bound to the palace of Yun-Gul as servants. Slaves were allowed to propagate, and literally encouraged, as this meant the slave stock would increase without the coffers to shrink. Thus, Aldremas was begat. The young Aldremas was privy to the inner machinations of palace life (slave boys were hardly a threat) and at an early age he began to understand the pain and suffering which other slaves, whom he had seen laboring outside the palace walls, were burdened with and thus did he formulate a belief that all men were created equal and one day he would somehow free those who had built the city and palace of the tyrannous King-Priest.

(Chapter 6, “Nomads No More”)

The escape from Yun-Gul and subsequent exodus into the fertile lands to the west led Aldremas and his tribesmen, some two-thousand former slaves, through the aptly named Storm Peaks and finally settling within a fertile valley and an abundant inlet bay shortly on the other side. The journey held captive the escapees for nearly twelve cycles before generously releasing them. The people were furloughed into the capable arms of the lands they named The Hidden Kingdom. This is where Aldremas planted his brethren in hopes they would grow to glorious heights and flourish in proportion. And they did.

Though, at first, the large swath of sea-side land was littered with animal skin tents and accoutrements of their time, the locale soon grew simple and rudimentary huts and the like. Some of the people moved on to higher land to the west while others wandered a little ways to the south. But all formed villages and tribes of their own far from the whips of the King-Priest.

The Hidden Kingdom grew exponentially over the next two-hundred and fifty cycles. One of the leading factors in this rapid growth was the absence of aggressive neighbors.  The settlement was abundant with rich topsoil; plenty of fish swam in the harbor and sea and there was not a shortage of local wild game. Those generations who lived near the bay watched their village become a town and then a city. After Aldremas, the chieftains of The Hidden Kingdom honored their new land’s founder by holding the tradition of keeping their ruling practices just, much like Aldremas, himself. As a tribute to his bravery and resolute demeanor, in 1509 BW, Chieftain Rhoen declared that the waterside city, which had been called

City of the Hidden Kingdom, now be renamed after its founder. Thus Ald was born. Eleven and a quarter centuries later it would become the first to have its own wall and nearly four decades after that it would gain its first temple to a deity, specifically, Aube.

(Chapter 10, Slave Hunters)

It did not take long in the grand scheme of things for the once-enslaved humans of Ald and The Ember Rise to gain the attention of another slave-reliant race. Ogres from the south traveled north and brought their notoriously vicious orcs with them.

Although Ogres and orcs have not been seen in the Rise since the Great War, their battle prowess and innate ability still burns our hearts. It is not truly known what powers the psyche of Ogres, except hatred for goodness or possibly a loathing of anything they deem “lesser” but they act upon carnal and malevolent impulses which mirror that of the will of Chernysh. (May Aube bless this tome and its readers from the infernal and diabolic intentions of the Plaguebringer.)

Historians recount tales from oral traditions and written word of Ogre-kin ability and manifestations of power. Many accounts are horrifying to hear and to spare you the reader I will not describe the manner in which these atrocities are committed, just the immediate effect and display of the supernatural. Although these monstrosities are incredibly intelligent and well kempt they are sore to the eye in physical appearance bearing a purplish to blue skin tone and overly muscular build. They bear human-like resemblance in the fashion which they hold themselves upright and plantigrade, but, their facial features are brutish as they sport large tusk-like lower cuspids and ivory horns upon their heads.

As for innate abilities, Ogres frequently deploy their unnatural and mesmeric charm to compel another to agree with their thought and deed, even to engage in acts untoward an ally!  This is particularly useful if the Ogre has time to speak with its intended faux “friend”. If making a hasty retreat, or gaining a particularly keen advantage these abominable creatures breathe in deeply pulling all light from around them creating complete and near-impenetrable darkness. It is Despicable.

More powerful Ogres can defy their weight and mass altogether; drifting like a feather upon the wind. It is also spoken in some circles that veteran warrior types may occasionally harness a desert fiery or mountain top icy breath. Where

this has roots of origin, neither I nor any scholars I have taken a consultation with, possess the knowledge. In fact, the only physical reference this writer has is from a painting on an old pottery vessel. Other Ogre stories include calling upon dark forces to augment their strength and agility or to sap the same from their opponents. As this author has visited several Gnome tribes, chiefly the Tribe of Eight Peaks and the Aucaman, or most notably known as The Soaring Condor Tribe, in the north eastern area of the Savage Lands just south of Fort Eckler, I have it on good authority that Ogres in their past have even invoked the ferocious and bestial nature in animals making them froth and writhe with rabidity. A particularly horrifying tale imparted to me in the darkest of night around a dimming campfire was of one Ogre who was able to reach into the bowels of darkness and summon evil itself; large wriggling appendages which lashed out at anything in their reach, dealing mortal blows and entrapping all within its constrictive grasp to squeeze the very life from them.

(Chapter 14, Light in the Darkest Hour)

In the Fourth month of the 55th Cycle Before the Wall, as the nights grew warmer, 2,553 men in Fort Unsler were attacked by an army of orcs led by several Ogres. The Warlord in charge was Zil’Jan the Ferocious. He was said to have superior reflexes and could deftly dodge arrows and slings hurled at him.

Fort Whitehill served as the command center for all of the western Forts. When they had received word from a messenger raven detailing the assault, the Commander in Chief Gilles Renaudeaux dispatched relief and ordered a messenger raven to Fort Eckler with orders to aid Fort Unsler with their finest cavalry. Within a week 300 mounted reinforcements had arrived.

Upon reaching the besieged Fort, the cavalry was set to flank the invading army but found itself victim to ambush. Nearly every mounted knight perished in the assault. It was discovered too late that the attack on Unsler was a diversion to draw out its sister Fort’s cavalry, unbeknownst to the Commanders of the Ember Rise. This maneuver left Fort Eckler at a major disadvantage. Zil’Jan’s master plan was set into motion. Presently, an invading force assailed Fort Eckler and put the gauntlet to it. With Fort Unsler engaged and unable to assist and Fort Whitehill too far to be an effective support source, Fort Eckler was at the mercy of the ferocious Ogre. Local militia and freemen supported the Fort for as long as they could. A week into the siege the Ogre-led orc army mysteriously evacuated. But the damage was done, many men and women lost their lives and Fort Eckler needed a major overhaul.

Meanwhile, at Fort Unsler, the battle waged. It seemed that the orcs pounded the walls endlessly. The tactic was totally different than that of the assault on Fort Eckler. That one was meant to cripple the Fort, this one was meant to occupy the soldiers at Fort Unsler, and it worked. For nearly a year Fort Unsler remained locked in combat with orc forces. Then, when the foundations could support no more battering and the souls of the soldiers could bear no more, Fort Unsler fell. Thus began the Ogre War.

Two months after the orcs laid siege to Fort Unsler a large force struck the City of Alban. Fortunately, Alban had a natural defense, the Rinees River to the south. The river is a fast moving body of water which is unforgiving to those who attempt to traverse it. Such as it is, there would only be one true way to assail the glorious city from the south, by crossing the Bridge of Albany.

One soldier came to the forefront of the army with a great weapon, a hand

and a half sword crafted by an ancestral bloodline of master smiths. He was called Khääl Kilbreth and claimed to be a descendant of the great Alil-Kesh. As some discredited his claim, though, he proved it to be true by being the only person able to wield the heirloom effectively. Even the most skilled of warriors could not match the deadliness and efficiency of which Khääl possessed while dispatching foes.

The battle for the city became a long and drawn out campaign which exhausted not only the human’s resources but also those of the nearby Gnomish tribes who ardently lent aid to defend their precious land and wilderness.

When it became evident that almost all of the Forts and lands of the south were stretched and taxed, and deliverance was nowhere in sight, the Commanders and city Magistrates ordered all occupants to leave and surrender the city to the Ogre and orc hordes. As we know, Ogres do not have the desire, nay, ability to parlay, but only to crush, so volunteers were called forth in order to hinder any who attempted to rout the fleeing citizens. Just over 100 men and women stepped forward knowing that this act would be their last. Nobility and self-sacrifice filled their tears as they marched towards the Bridge of Albany. Khääl Kilbreth was among them. He mounted the bridge, turned to his fellow soldiers and spoke words of encouragement to bolster their spirits. Then the waves of orcs crashed over the stone span. The hundred fought bravely and not a one was lost for a full day. Weariness rose with the sun on the second day and with that the first few soldiers broke and fell. This continued on for three more days until there were only thirty three soldiers remaining. At this time Khääl Kilbreth sent away the other thirty two to safety. It is said he called out to Jai'Kthul Ch'Rääk, God of Justice, for the strength and skill to defend their retreat and the deity answered by sending a hawk to circle him as he fought off scores of orcs single-handed. Thus, the City of Alban fell to ruin.

Ogres kept assailing the southern portions, and sometimes licking into the center of the Ember Rise, continually for the next two decades until Zil’Jan ordered a full frontal assault upon Whitehill in the year 36 BW.

The Ferocious had his battle plans working like a finely tuned clock. All of the southern Forts and major cities had been crippled or decimated and Whitehill was ripe for the picking. Zil’Jan consolidated his forces into a massive army much larger than that of the humans, and most certainly outnumbered them ten to one. Commander in Chief Gilles Renaudeaux knew these odds were unbeatable. Attempting to rally every last able bodied soul to stand vigilantly against the Ogres he sent word to all the countries and peoples who would defend against the evil and tyranny of Zil’Jan. Many marched south to Whitehill but not nearly enough.

Renaudeaux and his Generals knew that this battle would not be won by them and surely Ogres would rule the Rise.

In the 6th Month of the 36th Cycle Before the Wall, whilst the morning star was still hanging in the darkened cloudless sky and the sun had not yet peered over the horizon, Commander-in-Chief Gilles Renaudeaux, his Generals and the remainder of the forces of the Ember Rise took to the battlefield. Resolute that this would be their last day donning armor, swinging a sword, sharing a meal around a cook-fire and watching a sunrise the warriors all bowed their heads in a moment of silence. Many prayed to the Deities, others thought of their wives and children and some reminisced about the fondest time in their lives. In the crisp morning air the creaking of saddle leather and clinking of metal could be heard, but nary a voice. Occasionally one could hear a sniffle or cough which cut like a knife through the somberness that hung thickly about the army.

When the swelled Ogre and orc army advanced onto the warfront, led by Zil’Jan, the soldiers of the Ember Rise felt their hearts fall. As far as the eye could see was naught but a sea of orc flesh and metal armor. Hope was gone. Some would have fled if they had the time.

Then, moments before the sun broke the purview there was a crescendo of thunder. The earth beneath the soldier’s feet trembled with such force that it nearly shook down the formations. All turned their heads to see where the source emanated from. It seemed that the very hills behind where the Human army stood erupted with sunlight carrying mounted riders upon large horses. Colorful banners of unknown heraldry soared above their shining armor while lances readied for the charge. Waves of horsemen crashed over the hilltop each knight like a droplet of sunshine pouring from the rising sun. The cavalry coursed around the Humans and made aim for the orcs. Trailing behind the heavily armored stampede were thousands upon thousands of footmen. Commander-in-Chief Renaudeaux ordered his forces to engage just as the new army spearheaded the orcish front lines.

These unknown warriors stood almost a foot taller than the average Human and were much broader, and by the way they fought, were very well trained. The Humans discovered their new ally had an honor and chivalry that was unmatched and a battle ferocity with no less vigor. They called themselves Hobgoblins.

Leading the charge was Charqut Savioursword, a Noble-born soldier who had a vision that his people were to come to the aid of the southerners, whose light would be extinguished if he failed to act.

Charqut and his Hobgoblins struck fear into the black hearts of the orcs and more so of the Ogres. With them they brought many Clerics who wielded powerful magic of the Divine.

(Chapter 15, Stormhaven Rises!)

Nearly two thousand and two hundred cycles ago, shortly before the first stones and mortar of the Great Wall were laid, a young Lord Hollander Stormhaven knelt upon a fertile sea-side tucked neatly at the foothills of the Storm Peaks. He dug his firm hand into the rich soil, and then brought it to his lips upon whence he claimed it as his own.

Over the next fifty or so cycles Stormhaven, the city, rapidly grew as did the immediate outlying hamlets and villages. The growth of the Land of Stormhaven was slowed by the war efforts in the south; many men and women of the communities were called to fight the Ogre Hordes.

Lord Stormhaven ruled his land with a fair and just hand. Early in his life he and his queen bore their only child. She was a beautiful girl named Princess Sepharina.

With the advent of war came the people of the north, Hobgoblins. Concurrent with common intelligible course, these new additions to the population of the Ember Rise and particularly Stormhaven have proven to become a sincere asset to the community at large. Almost immediately Lord Stormhaven invited recognized Hobgoblin War chiefs into his fair land as counsel and craftsmen, both of which they were highly practiced.

As the Royal household aged and the time for Lord Stormhaven’s rule to be passed down a suitor was needed. The benign leader held a non-lethal tournament open to all and the prize was Princess Seraphina’s hand in marriage. Many men entered, Hobgoblins even, to earn the love and prestige of the Lord and Ladies. The arena of Stormhaven was packed for the better part of a month, eager with anticipation the crowds swelled as the contestants dwindled and the crowning of a new prince drew closer. Two men fought the hardest, one Aeryk Lionguard, a capable druid and Paladin by the name of Sir Barvis Lightbringer.

Whence the final match commenced each participant called upon the divine to aid them to perform their finest and to give them temperance if defeated. Both men were equally matched in their own way, Aeryk had a lion companion and a host of nature-based magic to bolster he and his ally including healing arts and Sir Barvis was accompanied by his trusty war-horse and boasted magic granted to him by Aube. The battle lasted a full day, each combatant worn to the tooth and hoof. The tournament intensified as each participant removed their respective animal ally from the arena and fought singly. Although it seemed that Sir Barvis had the martial upper hand, the druid pulled out all of the proverbial stops. Sir Barvis drew from his inner strength to land a mighty last blow, alas, Aeryk’s agility barely allowed the blade to skim his neck. The druid pulled in a deep breath then roared, as it seemed, borrowing strength and presence from his animal companion. With such celerity, he flew into a flurry. The butt-end of his spear flourished knocking the Paladin’s sword away from him and the spear head quickly leveled to his throat. Expecting the ferocity to continue the arena went silent. The onlookers could almost hear the words escaping from Aeryk’s lips, “Do you yield?” Sir Barvis held up his hand in defeat. And there began the Royal Lineage of the Lionguards and lifelong friendship of Sir Barvis and Aeryk.

Lord Stormhaven lived well into his eightieth year, remaining strong, capable and resolute. He passed late in the cycle leaving his beloved Lands in the deserving and trusted hands of Prince Aeryk and Princess Seraphina.

One of Lord Aeryk’s first responsibilities as King of the land was to secure the realm, as the Ember Rise was still at war. King Aeryk employed Sir Barvis Lightbringer as his Chief War Counsel and General of Stormhaven defenses. Although the southern borders were strengthened by a massive wall Ogres were still scarcely able to introduce small bands of orcs into the middle lands. These Claws, as they are called, usually consisted of 5 orcs and an Ogre. As the less potent Ogres were not accomplished at transporting five unruly beasts with their supernatural magic so much stronger, more powerful Ogres were elected to perform these tasks. Most of them, indeed, volunteered.

Over time an Ogre Hand, or five Claws, had infiltrated the belly of the Ember Rise, and for an unknown motivation, besieged the gates of Stormhaven. Agom’ Ekh the Blade led the assault. The precise description of the battle has eluded wartime scholars; however it is written that Stormhaven was victorious. Sir Barvis Lightbringer perished that fateful day, and almost immediately a statue was erected in honor of his dedication and valor. It presently stands in front of the gates of Stormhaven.

Boros' Problem Solving Policy