A fairy tale from a first grade

I tasked a class of first graders, at the school where I worked , to come up with words of things or creatures, that they would want to be a part of a fairy tale. I told them, when giving the task, that the object or creature didn’t need to be of “classical fairy tale origin”, so that they could let their imagination run wild. This is the, translated, story, that I wrote using their words. Each time a word chosen by one of the twenty-two pupils appears in the text, it’s marked in Italic letters.

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there was a slightly odd knight. Rather than a regular horse, this knight instead rode on a kangaroo, his lance was an old, worn flag-pole, and his sword was a wooden plank. One day, the knight got an insatiable hunger for cake, so he quickly saddled his kangaroo, and left his castle, to go into the nearby town to buy some cake from the bakery store. “Giddy-hop now, my loyal jumper!” and off the knight and the kangaroo went. Shortly after, they reached the shore of a wide, deep river. The town was on the other side, which was a bit of a problem for the knight. Even though there actually was a bridge built where the road would otherwise cross the river, the knight dared not to cross it. The knight had a terrible case of troll-allergy, and as trolls had a bad habit of taking up residence below bridges, the knight fear he would get all scratchy, if he went near a troll. As they had no other option, the kangaroo and the knight jumped straight into the river. However, kangaroos aren’t particular good swimmers, especially not when they have a slightly chubby, cake-happy knight in full armour, so both went straight to the bottom. This wasn’t a problem, however, as mermaids for a long time had been living at the bottom, magically creating a pocket of air. At the bottom, the knight met a single, sad-looking mermaid, he asked her, why she was sad. She told him that everyday, she would come to the surface of the river, looking at the town. She could see the fine dresses worn by the women in town, and she could smell the freshly baked bread from the bakery. But she could never get out of the water, and thus she had no opportunity to try these things for herself. The knight was a kind man, and asked if he could bring her the items she wanted, and the mermaid looked at him with a happy smile. And so the knight rose from the water, on the back of his kangaroo, with a new task for him to do.

Meanwhile, up at the town, the city gates were closed. A large dinosaur was attempting to get in, knocking it’s head against the wooden doors. The knight looked at the dinosaur, and clapped it’s scaled behind slightly. “Well, you’re a big one, aren’t you?” The dinosaur turned around, and for a second, the knight thought the he was done for, but instead the dinosaur began to cry. The knight asked why the dinosaur was crying, and between the large creature’s sobbing, it told that it had been bullied out of it’s lair, by a band of migrating penguins. “Alright, lead the way to your lair, I’ll help you with the penguins.” And so the dinosaur, the knight and the kangaroo took off towards some volcanoes nearby. When they arrived, the knight quickly found the cave, as the dinosaur had said “Wait for a bit out here, then roar as loud as you can.” with that, he went into the cave. Sure enough, inside the cave was more than fifty penguins, enjoying the warmth from the lava flows. The knight politely asked why the penguins had chased the dinosaur out of it’s home. The penguins really didn’t want to be disturbed, and grumbled that “It’s a dinosaur, he’s so big he should have no trouble keeping warm. Where we came from, we had to stand in a big heap to get warmth, and those standing furthest out, would STILL get cold.” The knight had not met penguins before, and did not know how or where they were living, so he couldn’t rightly argue against the penguins. However, all of the sudden, from outside the cave, a thundering roar was heard. The penguins massed up, looking around, their expressions were mostly filled with fear and confusion. “What was that?” They asked the knight. “Well…” The knight scratched his stubbled chin, “From my many years of being a knight, I’d say it’s most likely a dragon.” The penguins didn’t know this term, so the knight had to explain “It’s like… a dinosaur, only with wings and it usually breathes fire.” As another roar was heard, the penguins began to scatter, something that was breathing fire would make the cave even hotter, which the penguins wouldn’t want. After the penguins were gone, the dinosaur returned to his cave again, thanking the knight for his deed, who said “Good, but you have to promise to not enter the town again, you’ll scare the people there.”. The dinosaur promised to stay in his cave from now on. And so, the knight returned to his trusty kangaroo, and headed back to the city.

Finally he could enter and buy himself that cake, he wanted so badly. But alas, the baker’s daughter was in fact the princess of the city. Her father, the king, had given her away when she was born, because someone told him an omen that a child would one day take his throne. For this reason, the king had banned all children from even entering the castle. When she saw the knight entering the bakery, she pleaded for him to take her to the castle, as she was missing her mother, the queen, a lot. As on his honour, the knight could not say no to a damsel in distress. And so the knight placed the young princess on the back of the kangaroo behind him, and then they all bounced up to the castle. The castle guards tried to stop the knight, but the kangaroo’s hopping was unpredictable, and the knight was too heavy for them to arrest him. All the ruckus caused the king to wake from his beauty-sleep, coming out on the balcony, wearing his royal robes, royal slippers and his crown, “What is all this racket?” As the king yelled, everyone stopped in their place, and out of nowhere, the knight threw a cream cake, that he took from the bakery. With a majestic splat, the cake landed right in the face of the king. The queen had awoken too, and came out to see what was going on. The sight of her husband, covered in cake all over his face, made her burst-out laughing. The princess and the knight then also began to laugh, and mere seconds later, even the guards were laughing. The king had been disgraced, and rather than regaining his composure, he ran out of the castle, out of the town and as far away as he could, to a place where no people would come.

In his stead, the queen were to rule, but instead she let her young daughter, the princess, become queen. This was a wise decision, as the princess turned out to be a wise and fair ruler. She turned to the knight, and despite him being at least twenty years older than her, she asked for him to marry her. however, the knight refused; he had seen the royal robes, they were fitted for a much less chubby man than the knight. Also, as a king, there would be much work to be done, that would mean less time to eat cake in. And the knight still had a promise to fulfill; quickly, he jumped on the kangaroo again and sprinted back to the bakery. There he bought two delicious cakes, one for himself and one for the mermaid, he also got a special dress sewn for the mermaid. At the bottom of the river, the mermaid was patiently waiting, she got very happy that the knight had returned. The knight handed her the dress and the one cake, and was about to leave for his own castle, when the mermaid asked, “Won’t you… eat your cake with me?” In fact, rather than cake or fine garments, all the mermaid really wanted, was a friend. And so, they lived happily ever after, with lots of cake every day. And if you, by chance, should happen upon a man in a fine robe, with slippers and a crown, and cake in his face, it’s likely the old king, who is still to this day, trying to find a place where no-one knows his shame.

Dusk City

A written assignment from 2009

It was the third of November, rain had poured from the sky the whole day, and water covered the streets in ponds. The rain had not stopped it’s grip on the city, until ten in the evening, and shortly afterwards a thick fog spread throughout the city, laying like a carpet. Now and then street lamps could be seen as vague yellow spots floating in the air, and as they were turned off at midnight, to save power, only the tallest buildings peaked up through the fog. At night the grey carpet, turned into a dark, damp mass of cloud that made the streets feel decaying and old. Here and there the people of the night, prepared to do their bidding throughout the city, thugs and scoundrels looking for easy money, hobos trying to find shelter, and adult dancers heading for the shady clubs.

The night was quiet, a dog barked as someone came to close, only to be silenced as the person left again. The shops all barricaded for the night, no windows to light up street level. On the corner of Cannon and Friday, a shady looking figure was leaning against a street lamp. A closer look revealed the man wearing a black trench-coat, down past his knees and well up over his neck. A small orange glow was seen as the man lit a cigarette, and inhaled shortly. Suddenly a horrifying scream got the man’s attention, it sounded like it was pretty close. Without warning, the man began running in the direction of the scream. The fog quickly took his breath away, his cigarette was left in a puddle. His path took him down Friday, across Queen Victoria and towards the river by Huggin Hill. He stopped, to regain his breath, on the corner of Little Trinity and Skinners, scouting for signs of life, he looked over his shoulder, but even if someone was following, there was no way he could see them, the fog didn’t allow much in terms of visibility. The mist was even thicker the closer he got to the river, and it didn’t exactly help making Skinners Lane more inviting. Known for it’s fish shops and butcher stalls, Skinners Lane wasn’t a place many people would want stay during the night. The man quickly crossed the empty street, his pace slower and more cautious, pressing himself up against a ply wood fence, that shielded the street from a construction site. It was slightly safer here, at least there were no small alleys that people could jump out from. Skinners Lane turned into College Lane, but despite leaving the butcher stalls behind, the man stayed by fence.

Up ahead, on Downgate Hill, the sound of a car engine scattered through the gloomy night. As the man crossed College Lane, another car roared closely by him at high speed. For a few seconds, the man could see another person as the headlights made way through the fog. A young woman, it was almost impossible to tell the age more accurately, she was wearing a hoodie. She didn’t see the man, as she started moving up Downgate Hill. Suddenly she stopped to look down, she picked something up from the street, but the man was too far away to see what it was. The woman threw the item away on the sidewalk and continued up the street. The man found the item, a mostly eaten burger in a wrapper, a nearly dry blood-splatter was on the wrapper. The noticed what the woman was following, a blood trail on the ground, it was just barely visible in the fog. The man looked up again, the woman was heading towards Cannon Street Tube Station. At this time, Cannon Street Station, along with many others, was closed off with a set of heavy iron bars. The man could see the woman carrying something in the front pocket of her, but with her back to him at all time, he couldn’t tell what the object was. By a tight alleyway, the woman stopped to look behind her, the man quickly pressed himself against the wall of a building. She didn’t see him, and so she turned and went into the alley.

She was following the blood trail, mostly out of curiosity. It lead into a ventilation shaft by the ground, the grate had been beaten off and was bent badly. The vent was big enough for her to crawl through, but it was pitch black inside. The blood trail smeared against her leggings, as she couldn’t go around it within the vent. A flickering light ahead, the vent ended in a room with some metal boxes in it; a maintenance room to the Tube. She dropped down, her sneakers making a soft thud as they made contact with the concrete. The blood trail ended here, by the body of a man, a construction worker judging by his florescent vest. He was laying in a large pool of blood, and his head had been cut off. The cut was uneven, several deep chopping wounds were in the man’s shoulders. Trying not to look at the man’s still bleeding neck, she started searching the man’s pockets, a simple silver ring was placed on his finger, swiftly, she slipped it off of him and into her own pocket. The man didn’t have any other treasures on him, so she left him there, making sure not to step too much in the blood. A trail of bloody foot prints lead out from the room, and into a part of the tube used for repairing and cleaning. The lights here weren’t working, and as she had just been in a bright room, everything was suddenly even darker.

Back in the alley, the first man took out a clipboard and used his lighter to read on it. He couldn’t enter the vent just yet, as that would surely be heard. The description of the criminal gave him chills down his spine, how could anyone do things like that? If that was the guy on the loose, the woman would be in serious danger, but if he went in too quickly, she might scatter off and the criminal would get away. After having read what he felt was enough, he crawled into the vent, he was bigger than the woman and could only barely squeeze through. He almost landed on the corpse, the sight making him gag. He had seen corpses before, but the way that this one had been desecrated, made his stomach turn and clench. He reached into his jacket, and planted a small tracing device on the corpse. Holding a gloved hand in front of his mouth, he continued, happy to get out of the room. The man reached in under his jacket for something, grabbing a hold of it, without drawing it out.

Further into the tube, the only light was from the commercials dotting the walls of the station. The flickering light from behind the panels had once been white, but a bulb had not been switched, and was now in a dim creamy-yellow colour instead. Her shadow was cast against the white painted concrete walls, her step almost silent. A sudden sound caught her attention, a low, almost inaudible sniffling. It was impossible, with the echo from the round tube tunnels, to tell where the sound was coming from. The girl stopped, making sure to make as little sound as she possibly could. Realising that her shadow could give away her position, she pressed herself up against the concrete. she climbed up on the platform next to the track. The white marbled walkways were more open and more comfortable, now that her eyes had gotten used to the darkness. A steel door into a cleaning cupboard was ajar, and from the small crack between door and frame, a light beamed out. Steadily, she inched herself closer to the door, but stopped as she thought she heard a sound coming from behind her, in the tube where she was a few minutes ago. A different sound caught her attention back to the door again, the low sniffling she had heard earlier. It sounded to come from inside the room behind the steel door. The crack wasn’t big enough an opening to allow her view into the room, but it was large enough for her fingers to slide in. She began to pull, and though it took some strength, eventually the door began to sing out towards her. It was now open enough for her to peek in, she made sure that the door didn’t open further, so that she wouldn’t compromise herself. She felt something sticky on her hand as she retracted it from the door, in the light she could see the crimson, almost black smudge on her hand, there was no doubt; it was blood. Wiping her hand off in her pants, she slowly titled her head in through the door opening.

The sight was gruesome, in the middle of the room, was an odd figure kneeling over something, which wasn’t to be seen from the girl’s angle, all that she could see was the figure, a blood trail and orange hard hat laying upside-down. But it was clear that the figure was eating something, the slobbering and crunching noises weren’t mistakable from this range. Finally it dawned on her, the figure was eating a head, that was the part that was missing from the body in the maintenance room. The realiasation caused her to let out a slight squeak, and to her horror, the figure turned his head towards her. His chin and cheeks were covered in blood, his brown eyes had lost all signs of reason, instead the madness shined back at the girl. The figure snarled and surprisingly quick got up, grabbing a bloody hatchet, lunging himself towards her. She only just reached to slam the door, as he reached it, but the door couldn’t be closed completely, as the lock had been busted. The girl began to run, stumbling to gain her footing. Behind her the door slammed open, the obstacle had only worked to madden the man even further. Snarling angrily and hungrily, the man quickly gained on her, the thought of double the prey seemed to fuel him. Closer and closer, he could almost taste her succulent flesh already. She was on the track now, a little further. A final leap, he plunged through the silent air in the tube, landing himself in full force on her back, knocking her over, quickly he were on top of her, licking around his mouth as he held her pinned. Why did they always have to wiggle and twirl? Raising his axe above her, his next meal was right here… And it was fresh and warm too. But just as he was about to strike the girl’s throat, a bright orange and white flash exploded in the tunnel, it was as if his arms wouldn’t move, his entire body felt heavy. He felt blood in his mouth, tasting it proved to be his own. With a gurgle, he looked down at himself, and perhaps the red splotch in his chest was the last thing he saw, as the madness drained from his eyes, and his limp body slumped off of the girl.

Character backstory and stats: Khodrin Emberhelm

Khodrin Emberhelm is a Mountain Dwarf fighter, that I’ve created for a DnD e5 campaign. In a group of mostly mages and rogues, as a fighter, Khodrin’s job is to withstand damage in close combat, and hopefully deal some damage out himself.

Outfitted in a full chainmail, and donning a shield and a warhammer, Khodrin’s a force to be reckoned with, once he gets close. He keeps a light crossbow for ranged combat.

Starting stats (level 3):
Strength: 16
Dexterity: 8
Constitution: 17
Intelligence: 10
Wisdom: 13
Charisma: 12
Hit points: 28
Armor class: 18
Initiative: -1
Speed: 25
Allignment: Lawful good

Life in a Dwarven stronghold isn’t particular flashy for a young Dwarf, you work, you eat, you work some more, and then you likely eat again. But to most Dwarves this is just fine. Ask a Dwarf if his work is dull, and you’ll find a Dwarf considering you as the lazy and unproductive type.
Born into a clan of mine-workers and prospectors, Khodrin’s upbringing was pretty common. It wasn’t glorious as it would be for higher class Dwarves, but with the Dwarven communities through work, no-one was ever truly “low-class”.
At the age of 50, Dwarves are “mature”, this is normally marked with a feast for the entire stronghold. Roast pig, mead and ale in un-measurable amounts. Of course, Dwarven tradition and laws are rather strict, so it’s not exactly unusual that fines or other punishments are handed down after such a feast. Despite Dwarves normally being keen on keeping rules, alcohol (and especially Dwarven ale in large quantities) can alter that in a Dwarf. Alcohol also lifts the filters that keep you from calling someone something that you normally wouldn’t utter out loud.
Unfortunately, Khodrin’s boss, a wealthy prospector from a high-ranking family within the stronghold, was quite the tyrant. Miners having their pay withheld for vague reasons, work-hours being beyond reason (even for the hardy and strong Dwarves). Many of Khodrin’s workmates used the boss’ name as means of swearing, under their breath of course. During a toast, Khodrin proclaimed that “He was proud, despite working for a dirt-digging sleaze-bag.” Considering the miners normal work of picking through stone and minerals for ore and gemstones, dirt was one of the most degrading terms, as it served no purpose to a mountain Dwarf. Even worse, of course his boss eventually caught wind of Khodrin’s mishap.
One fateful day, Khodrin, now aged 72, was called to see his boss, his own clan-leaders were there as well. No words where spoken, the clan-leaders just shook their heads and pointed towards the door. Khodrin had to leave the stronghold behind, having brought shame onto his clan. Bitter he quickly packed his belongings. As if the news had spread through every single tunnel, every holding, every home of the stronghold, no-one uttered a goodbye, even tried to get eye-contact.
As the large iron gate shut behind him, Khodrin had his first encounter with the outside world. The light of the sun was harsh the first couple of days, day and night cyclus, something not at all present within the mountains. Following the simple and mostly unnused trade road leading out of the mountains, through winding passes and down into steep gorges, Khodrin made flat land within a couple of days of marching. The soft soil of the hillsides, wet and muddy, made him uneasy. Here the path up into the mountains molded with a larger trade road. With no idea where to go, Khodrin decided on waiting. And so he did for several days in fact. Until a trade caravan came through, stopping and asking Khodrin, if he wanted hire as a guard, despite not really having any combat experience, he shrugged, nodded and hopped on the back of a wagon.
For several years, Khodrin was known as “The Silent Dwarf”, as he hardly ever spoke. A nod here, a grunt there, that was the extent of conversation the merchants and the other guards had with him. Even compared to other Dwarves that the caravan occasionally met, Khodrin remained as silent as the mountain he was born under. Khodrin worked double, guard while the caravan was moving (and when needed in towns and villages) and smith while in a town. While the tools were lacking, to a Dwarf’s standards, his ancestral skill of metal and stone had him level with most town smithies.
One night, on route for Athlin, the wagons were ambushed, on the outskirts of the Silver Oak Forest. Three guards and two of the merchants were taken out by arrows, before anyone could even react. In the darkness, Khodrin’s Dwarven eyes allowed him to see a sight of horrors; the Undead, several zombies and a few skeleton archers was closing in on the remaining wagons. In the distant, under the moonlit shades of the trees, a hooded figure with an eerie looking staff. With a crooked finger the figure directed the corpses. Something within Khodrin told him to stay still, and to say nothing. A coward’s choice perhaps, but neither the zombies nor skeletons seemed to notice. To Khodrin’s luck, the hooded figure didn’t really seem to care, or it thought everyone to be dead.
In order to ensure no-one was near, Khodrin waited until the first glimpse of sunlight broke through the trees. While none of the merchants or any of the guards where particular close, it was still some kind of family. And Khodrin had done nothing to even attempt to save the others, he just froze, which, in hindsight, probably saved his life. Leaving the wagons behind, Khodrin walked the road towards Athlin, where he arrived three days later, carrying only his clothes, rations and his smithing gear. Through grunts and sign-language, Khodrin managed to secure himself a job at Amduhr’s Armory. Silently, of course, he woved to never freeze up like that again, to protect those around him, if at all possible.

The Story of Fellmir

Back when Fellmir was young, when the mighty mountains were flat, it was nothing but a wasteland. The bitter winds blew in from the north, and with them came titanic Frost Giants. As the Giants slowly stomped across the land, their weight started pushing some land up, and some down. These migratory huge Frost Giants seemed to wander back and forth, as if they where searching for something. As the Giants waited around, the wind blew parasites and mites off their skin. And while the land was shaping, these creatures were transformed into primitive forms of life that now inhabit the land known as Fellmir. No one knows what the ancient Giants where searching for, of if they found it, but they seemed to vanished… For now.

With much of of Fellmir still being wild and unruly, regular Giants, closely resembling their enourmous creators, were amongst the first to emerge and populate the world. Infighting, battles for power and natural disasters, caused the population of Giants to dwindle drastically. Seeing that living amongst others caused a lot of them to die, the Giants spread out. Most of them went back to the northern realms, where the harsh lands and climate, made them focus more on surviving, than fighting one another. Most of the Giant settlements are now long gone, but the oldest known structure in Fellmir, the Pillars of Sesok, is still seat for a moot of Frost Giants.

The Hill Giants where still the most numerous, and their warbands roamed the central parts of Fellmir many hundred years. Amongst the most notorious Hill Giants, were one named Cromm, later nicknamed “the Red”, for his insatiable blood-lust and carnivorous habits. His grave lays within a huge burial mound, where many Hill Giants usually are around. With Cromm’s fall, smaller races began to take control over areas, settle down and begin peaceful lives, free from the Giants’ tyranny.

Many years later, and no race or nation have ever been able to unite Fellmir. While relavtively peaceful, apart from the Forsaken Riders incident, a mounted horde of Demonic creatures, that swept through large parts of southern Fellmir, and the occasional Orcish uprising from time to time. One of the first (and so far only) groups, that were able to conqour or unite large parts of Fellmir, was a group of mages and wizards, let by the extremely skilled Abboran Knodd, a human with an understanding of magic, that haven’t since been seen. The mages quickly cleared out bandit holds, fighting strange monsters and clearing out tombs. It seemed that actual peace had come to Fellmir. Abboran didn’t live to see the reach of his success, as his age caught up with him, before the glorious capital had been finished in central Fellmir. The capital, named Abhelm, served as seat to a magogarchy. The peace did the world well, and trade between races began to prosper. The Abborgardian Empire, built on money and magic, kept on expanding through the decades. Time passed, and Abhelm grew larger and larger. The mages mostly did good for all creatures and races, and were considered as benevolent by most. But not all good things lasts forever.

No-one is really sure what or how it happened, there were no encroaching armies, no threat of a Demonic plan, no natural disaster. It seems more likely that the power of those on top in Abhelm, got their heads. Those who survived the Fall of Abhelm, spoke of magical golems running amok throughout the city. Almost at the same time, golems elsewhere started to malfunction as well. The lucky ones, where the golem just stopped working, were few and far between. In a matter of days, the entire empire crumpled into anarchy. That was 52 years ago. Abhelm’s fate was ruin, the city abandoned as monsters and raiders began moving in unhindered. Other settlements had a less destructive fate, but rebuilding was slow.

Four years later, at a location known as Catacrach, a group of survivors and travellers began to start an empire anew. Catacrach was home to archives for Abhelm, and the amount of magical golems was rather low. This meant that the town was largely intact. It was quickly decided that the governing body should limit itself within various parts of running a city, that way, even if someone wanted more power in the council, they’d have to make bargains, which would limit the effects. And thus, 48 years ago, a new empire was founded. Sending out guardsmen and adventurers to far ends of Fellmir, the Council of Catacrach made sure to do the things that the Abborgardian Empire did right. But not all creatures and people like the idea of Catacrach, their shadowy businesses threatened by the imposing justice. Some would rather the world returned to anarchy.

The year is 48 AA (After Abborgard), Hill Giants are on the rise again in the north, Orcish camps seems larger and more active than ever, and from the Nine Hells, the hordes of Demons await a chance to strike the peaceful heart of Fellmir. How the future will be, no-one can tell for sure…

The Journal of “The Ripper”

A surprisingly clean and neatly written journal, apparantly it was written by the former inhabitant of the Torture Chamber below Hraldon Refuge. Thumbing through the pages speak of horrific means of torture and executions, carried out by the journal’s owner. A few entries stand out in particular.

Entry #1

Abborgardian Year (AgY) 604, 5th of the Claw of Winter:
Arrived at this place, called “Hraldon Refuge”, or so they said in Cyndarr, this looks more like a prison. Which is why they got me here, I reckon. Had my first day of work today; an old Half-Orc, apparently the one who had this job before me. Someone upstairs caught, from what I know, he spoke a little more than he should about some high ranking mage. Good to know, I’ll keep quiet like a wall.

Brought my own hood and mask, the one he left smelled of something foul, no need to keep it around. The man was already weak when I got to him, no fight left, for a savage like him, that’s impressive. By the sight of his ribs, the mages had probably starved him for at least a weak. Others would have passed out by now, but Half-Orcs are tough fuckers. The message from the mages, a puffy robed Gnome, but certainly one with a strong grasp on magic, said that the Half-Orc must die. But slow, and without being discovered by other mages. Apparently, the Gnome was hoping to find out, who the Half-Orc had gotten information from. i looked at him through the hood, chained up, his hands and legs limp already. In his state, I wouldn’t be able to get much out of him, he wouldn’t last long, a few days at most.

I started with his thumbs, a large mallet for his right hand thumb, a sharpened bone-scissor for the other. He barely even flinched, what I wouldn’t have given to get to him, while he was at his primal strength. He tried to get eye-contact, though he should know, that to be impossible. There were no pleas for mercy, no sign of him telling anything. Oh well, I was just told to kill him slowly, I wasn’t directly told to obtain anything from him. I got up in the middle of the night. He was sleeping, or unconscious, I slit his throat slowly. He woke for a second, gurgled, and finally joined ranks with his ancestors. Or something. He bled quite a lot, I should consider getting a tray with some tight-sitting grating installed here, make it easier to clean from time to time.

Entry #2

AgY 604, 7th of the Claw of Winter:
Spoke with the Gnome again, showed him the body. I had sealed up the throat-wound so it didn’t look fatal. Seing a Gnome angry is rather hilarious, a flame erupted shortly from his hand, was he trying to threaten me? Mistake on him if he were. I was told to get rid of the body, but the mages had had a recent attempt at poisoning. With their pantry being down here as well, there’s a lot of them coming and going. Can’t move a body out like that.

I’ll chop the body up, burn the flesh and blood off, and put the bones in the large cabinet. There should be plenty of room. I hope the smell of burning flesh won’t attract any of the mages or the guards they have hired in the barracks above. Should I have a taste? It’s cooked after all. Maybe just a little bite. Kept the tongue and sealed it in a jar.

Entry #30

AgY 604, 30th of the Drawing Down:
I was tasked with a public execution. Not something I normally do, I work best without eyes gawking at my work. A prisoner, apparently a rogue mage from the east, had been captured. I had to prepare the female Half-Elf for the pyre, a common punishment for witches. Two heavy-armoured hirelings with halberds, poked her forward, her tattered robe was clotted up with blood from the stab wounds, not enough to kill, but just piercing the skin, the guards kept their distance. Straight behind them, one of those hulking golems, that the mages enjoy to make. It could barely fit in the barracks, having troubles with getting through the door.

The Half-Elf woman was pretty, her green eyes had a wild shimmer to them, oft hidden behind the locks of her raven-coloured hair. The guards left, as I took over. Free to do my bidding. They had gagged her with a tightly locked leather strap, that was starting to gnaw into her cheeks. Her eyes followed me as I circled her, even here, in my lair, she had rage, anger, contempt in her eyes, I knew she would try and attack me, where I to release her shackles, or her gag. As I pulled forth my curved dagger, she began squirming, trying to wiggle out of my reach. I could feel her pulse racing as I grabbed her by the throat, it was enticing. I told her to hold still, unless she wanted to get cut in the face. It took some gasping moments for her to understand that I was planning to cut her gag off. I released her throat, my fingers left red marks on her pale skin, and reached into a bag. I slided the dagger very slowly, and slower than I needed to, up along her throat, letting her feel the cold steel on her skin. She gasped, but managed to hold her composure. The point of my dagger made contact with the leather strap of the gag, slowly I began to cut the leather, it was sturdier than expected, which only made it so much better for me. She was shaking, scared, feeling the blunt side of my dagger against her cheek. She didn’t notice that I placed my other hand, now fitted with a Sea-stone ring, on her one arm.

A short, dry snap, as the leather strap was cut over. And as expected, she spat the gag out at me, and began to shout and yell incantations at me. It took her a while before she realised; her spells had no effect. Oh the hopeless struggle of the people I am given. I didn’t explain what I had done to her magic. She didn’t ask. I had been studying her closely, too closely… With my dagger at her throat, I took her body for my pleasure, I had not had such a rush since I took the old Half-Orc’s life almost a year ago. This finally broke her, she didn’t even scream anymore, just a blank, soul-less stare. Cutting her tongue out was almost too easy, but the effect of the Sea-stone was fading. I branded each of her cheeks, as was requested; the mark of treason. She might physically have died on that pyre, but she was dead inside before any flame struck her.

Entry #65

AgY 605, 22nd of Highsun
The guards are confused, they speak about that the Abborgardian Empire have crumpled. Some mages had apparently tried to take power of Abhelm, with some magic conduits overcharging or something along those lines. And this happened about a week ago, given the distance from Abhelm to Cyndarr. I am not sure what this means, the guards talk about deserting, some of them already have. There are voices I can no longer hear, and the guards haven’t had their scheduled shift today.

As I went up to investigate, I heard the voice of the puffy Gnome. I hurried back to my chamber, and pretended to be cleaning some of my tools, when a sharp single knock, presumeably by the Gnome’s staff, was followed by the door being opened. It was never locked, no-one would leave unless they were meant to. The Gnome started a tiring tirade about loyalty, employment, my silence and such. I pretended to not know, which seemed to calm him significantly. The last thing he said before leaving was “Be ready, you may have a lot of work in the coming time…”

Entry #77

AgY 605, 6th of the Fading
The Gnome was right, of course. I had several mages that needed the treason branding, a couple of fingers were clipped, some toes as well, but I refrained from taking tongues, tempting as it was. The Gnome seems pleased that I’m following orders.

At least half of the guards are now gone, whether they ran, or were killed, I don’t know. And I don’t really care either. But I know that the time where I am the master of this place, with all the prisoners in the cells at my disposal, is coming soon.

Entry #82

AgY 605, 13th of the Fading
His paranoia finally snapped, his hair and beard and robe had scorch marks, when he entered my chamber. The calm, cold arrogance that had been in the Gnome’s eyes earlier, was exchanged for a cold, blank madness. He was stuttering, spitting at almost every word, I could make out something along the lines of backstabbing bastard and so on, but most of it was a mixture of Gnomish, common and Dragonic.

Using a new supply of Sea-stones, I calmly walked over and gently grabbed his one shoulder with a Sea-stone ring on my finger. At first he was furious, ready to attempt to hurl spells at me, but it seemed his madness was also tied to magic, as he started to calm down, and just as he was trying to reason, I knocked him out with the branding iron. It was a surprising hassle to tie him up, his limbs being much short than I was used to. I cut out his tongue, the blood in his throat woke him up. If he was incoherent before, it was even worse now.

I drove a nail through one of his hands, the blood dripping down in the grating I had made. And then I went for some food in the pantry, I didn’t see any of the guards. The meal tasted extra sweet that evening.

Entry #83

AgY 605, 14th of the Fading
I added a nail to the Gnome’s other hand, he is barely conscious now. So I brought him some ice-cold water from the creek up on the surface, keeping him alive till the very last point is going to be a lot of work. But I have time. Plenty of time.

Entry #84

AgY 605, 16th of the Fading
The Gnome hasn’t got far to live now, he have lost too much blood, he is constantly slipping in and out of consciousness. I had to sew his eyelids open, I needed to see the moment that life left his worthless body.

Entry #85

AgY 605, 17th of the Fading
He died shortly after midnight. As he did, the entire walls shook, and I heard a massive crash coming from the barracks above. Upon investigating, the cieling in the barracks had collapsed, cutting of access to the surface.

Entry #90

AgY 605, 24th of the Fading
The pantry is empty, the food I didn’t manage to eat have gone bad. There is still some wine left. The Gnome will do as food source now.

I’ve discovered a weakness in the barracks wall, I saw clayish water seep through a crack. If I can weigh out my strength and the rations the Gnome will provide, I think I can get through.

Entry #101

(no date have been entered for this entry)
I’ve made it, I’ve dug a tunnel up to the surface. I pushed the Gnome’s cleanly gnawed bones into the cabinet, where the bones of my first victim were still stashed.

I have found some books and have begun to study basic magic, if I had known the possibilities one could use magic to hurt… and regenerate and then hurt again. Endless torture, the thought warms my heart even now.

I’ve installed a sawblade to hurt anyone not observant enough, the wiring was difficult, but it should now be hooked up to the slab, just around the corner.

Entry #102

(no date, the text is barely readable, written by a visibly shaken hand)
Well, this is it, it is over. My freedom was short. I ate some roots and mushrooms from the forest. I am dying, I’ve hurled blood three times today already. Well, this will be the first, and only time, I end a life quickly.

The Council of Catacrach

Archive of Catacrach, Midwinter year 48 (AA), added by scribe Nahkriin Korell. The following documents and verifies the recent changes to the Catacrach Council. Nine council members represent the districts of Catacrach, five from the guilds and five representing other parts of the city.

Current members:

From Fjodor’s Run:

Barnys Steelbellow (Dwarf, f), stand-in is Risoffs Berga (Human, m).

From Fjodor’s Square:

Daaki Isthan (Tiefling, m), stand-in is Venobar Eagensprig (Half-Elf, m).

From Daaze’s Walk:

The Warden, stand-in is The Watcher.

From Haddorn Dockyards:

Kilrash Kalkal (Dragonborn, f), stand-in is Zabeen Hao (Human, m).

From Henjathi Theater:

Ronau (Half-Orc, m), stand-in is Yayaass Arjooqe (Dragonborn, f).

From Findl:

Orveinn Nessir (Human, m), stand-in is Joalda Nessir (Human, f).

From Cirrian Gardens:

Edakis of Bahamut (Gnome, f), stand-in is Feia of Avandra (Halfling, f)

From The Marrow:

Gesthan Mudnoog (Gnome, m), stand-in is Hilda Flintbrow (Dwarf, f).

From the Merchant’s Guild:

Neeqa Zeihtahl (Human, f), stand-in is Loravaris Cedolliam (Elf, f).

From the Craftman’s Guild:

Neirdrisal Endameld (Elf, f), stand-in is Thrandi Flamehair (Dwarf, f).

From the Docks & Wares Guild:

Vragwenn Fraxalteen (Half-Elf, m), stand-in is Bevila Flintstream (Halfling, f).

From the Food, Drink and Linen Guild:

Uttan Blarnfebblun (Gnome, m), stand-in is Wrakaryn Myelkuustel (Dragonborn, f).

From the economic adminstration:

Sarris Tamon (Tiefling, f), stand-in is Vuyt Pin (Halfling, m).

The Herald of Holidays:

Gurnord Bleh (Halfling, m), stand-in is Zustan Onne (Half-Elf, m).

Archmage:

Zenluke the Ascendant (Half-Orc, f), stand-in is Adren Fallir (Elf, m).

Commander of the City Guard:

Bostras Dreamfall (Halfling, m), stand-in is Deceas Willowseed (Elf, m).

Outer City affairs:

Mohfrada Atealian (Tiefling, f), stand-in is Burrin Emberhelm (Dwarf, m).

Newly elected or selected members are:

From the Mason’s Guild:

Finbar Branhoeg (Human, m), stepping up instead of retiring Horkann Goldpick (Dwarf, m), stand-in is Alowar Kenstorr (Half-Elf, f).

From Geblegard:

Brallenora Orehaul (Dwarf, f), elected instead of Galdarai Yorreth (Elf, m), stand-in is Mollod (Half-Orc, m).

The Farlanders

When the High Elven clans left for the Feywild, the Wood Elves remained to defend their forest homes. As written story isn’t in Elvish tradition, there is no evidence that the Wood Elves ever encountered the rampaging Giant armies that roamed through Fellmir at the time. And yet there is, though it seems a wild estimate as no solid proof yet exists. In the deepest jungles and forests, where the Wood Elves either live or once lived, now roam some new strange creatures. The Farlanders have Elven features in their body build, slim and athletic, even with the same facial features including the enlongated ears. However, Farlanders stand well over 10 ft tall at their adult age, and their skin ranges from onyx black to ashen grey.

Despite their size, Farlanders does not exactly sport great strength like other Giantkind, they are, however, fast runners and relatively good at climbing. They use these feats to quickly get out of harms way. Farlanders are shy, and will try to avoid detection if possible. Even Elven Druids, meditating for days in the same spot, have not been able to get the Farlanders to come closer, though they were under observation from somewhere the entire time. Farlanders are foragers, hunters and fishermen, typically hunting and fishing with long spears. Visible scared of fire and lightning, they eat most of their food raw, and they have developed a nearly completely immune relation to poisons, presumed to stem from eating mushrooms and fungi.

The only known contact with a Farlander, was a starving Elven ranger, who was about to eat some really deadly mushroom. The woman described it as a “tall. dark and very quick figure, that snatched the mushroom out of her hands, making a few low grunts, and then pointed her to some good ones instead, out of a reflex, she said “Thanks, friend” in Elvish, and the figure seemed to understand.”

Obviously, Farlanders are an interesting study to mages and scholars, but their elusive nature makes them nigh on impossible to research.

On the Jahsen

The Jahsen is a not oft seen creature, mostly residing below ground, and only common in the Underdark. They have been spotted by Dwarven miners as well as scholars and adventurers through the ages. Though hardly flattering, they are more commonly known as “Goat-Slugs”, because that’s how one would best describe them; the lower body of a slug, the upper that of a hairy humanoid with goat or antilope horns. Mostly they have a darker colour on the slug part, than their torso. Primary colours are usually moss-green, bark-brown and dark turquoise. The current theory amongst scholars, is that the Jahsen technically are Satyrs. However, instead of existing in magical groves and mysterious ruins, the Jahsen got teleported from the Feywild to the Underdark, and over time transformed into their current form.

The Jahsen (singular; a Jahs) have adapted to the strange (and often dangerous) environments of the Underdark. Many of them speak both Undercommon as well as Deep Speech. They don’t exactly live in harmony with other races of the subterranean world, with the odd exception being the Svirfniblim (Deep Gnomes), with whom the Jahsen appears pleased to be around. Their relationship with Drow and the Duergar seems reserved at best, the Jahsen are not fighting creatures, and they don’t really have anything that the two other races want.

Jahsen grows in size their entire life, but as they grow, they also become slower as their bodies gets too heavy for their muscles to move. At this point, a Jahs is typically the size of a small hut. They seek knowledge more than anything, and while an ancient Jahs may no longer be able to move, they still take pleasure in hearing stories from the world above, thus gaining new knowledge. Obviously not suited for actual combat, most Jahsen, in addition to seeking knowledge, also take up magic, over time becoming quite potent with their spells. If they are attacked physically, their slimy skin is able to secrete a thick, sticky slime, that acts as a slippery armor. While the Jahsen do not mind hot weather, although it can cause secretion without their own control, they only rarely take to the parts of the Underdark that’s cold. Typically Jahsen lives in small tribe-like groups of up to fifty creatures, while they don’t seem to have a direct leadership, they show respect and honor to older (and larger) Jahsen.

Due to the dangers of the Underdark, it is difficult to carry out extensive research about the Jahsen, but they are believed to be able to reach ages 6-700, before their stillness reaches their inner organs. A few Jahsen speak common, though it seems their grasp on grammar is lacking quite badly. Elder Jahsen speak only through telepathy, as it requires too much energy to move their mouths.

D&D 5E Homebrewed ability: Ice Song

Having an innate relationship with ice and snow, you gain the ability to, through a focused hymn, shape ice and snow. The ability also allows you to freeze water (or other liquids that you have direct access to). The Ice Song requires you to concentrate on a specific amount of ice, snow or water, so attempting other spells or actions would break the hymn. Already frozen water remains as ice and ice remains in whatever form it had reach, but shaped snow collapses.

At 3rd level character

Can be used once per long rest. The hymn takes time to finish; a chunk of ice the size of a person, can be shaped into looking like a person in about 10 minutes. Shaping a small hut would take an hour. Shaping anything out of snow is easier and only takes half the time. You can also freeze (or cool) most types of liquids, that you have direct access to (you have to touch said liquid), however, turning things into ice takes time. A bucket of water would take about 10 minutes to freeze solid. A small pond would take an hour to freeze solid (but only half an hour to give it an ice layer). It only counts as one use, if you continue the hymn, to shape the ice you just froze.

Notice that you HAVE to touch (and keep touching) the liquid or ice while using Ice Song.

At 6th level character

Your abilities are enhanced as you become deeper in touch with your cold heritage. You can now use Ice Song twice per long rest.
With this experience, you become able to compact snow into an ice-like substance, which you then can shape again. Compacting snow takes the same time as freezing water.

At 10th level character

Your Ice Song is now closer to a reflex, allowing you to halve the time it takes to shape ice. You can now use Ice Song three times per long rest.

At 15th level character

Icy thoughts become reality, and you no longer need to touch a liquid to freeze it. You still need to be in relative range (30 ft) of the liquid though. You can now use Ice Song four times per long rest, and short rests gives you one of Ice Song use back (can’t become more than the four per long rest). You are now also able to freeze the moisture in the air closest to you (5 ft range of each affected target of your choice, assuming there is any moisture), as the air turns cold around you, enemies attacking you with melee attacks are less likely to get through to you, you subtract 1d4 from their attack rolls for three turns. This ability requires 5 minutes to prepare, if you’re in a moist environment, 10 if you’re in a normal environment. Any allies within 5 ft of you also gains this bonus.

A Mage’s Journal…

(written in Draconic, the handwriting is old but very delicate)

Journal entry #1

I have discovered four strange, wooden dolls. At first glance they looked like children’s toys, but the markings carved into them suggests something else. They don’t appear magic per say, but I will certainly have to research more into this.

Journal entry #3

The carvings are not magic, however, I do believe I have seen similar markings elsewhere. After conferring with the esteemed Jorka Gredels, he too agreed that the markings had use, he suggested part of a ritual, which seems possible as many early summoning magics used runic-like carvings to spell out or enhance the magic used.

Journal entry #4

Jorka have found some tomes on how to build magic mirrors, and to my joy, he handed them to me. Jorka said the mirrors were used as a way of long-distance communication, but due to their size, fragility and how difficult and expensive they are to build, only very few of these mirrors remain intact, at least to his venerable knowledge.

Could this mean that the dolls have a use in the same manner, as in messaging across Fellmir?

Journal entry #10

I’ve tried almost everything, every word for activation in Draconic, even a few in Infernal. Nothing. No shimmer of light, no reaction. How does it work? Jorka suggested asking the resident alchemist. I don’t think I even know who that is in this place. It’s only been a month, with my research, I can’t be expected to know anyone here.

I asked the quartermaster as my dinner was brought up. The resident expert on alchemy is some Elven woman, but he said she went into the forest about six days ago. I shall await her return.

Journal entry #18

It’s been more than two months, and the Gnome that considers himself our “leader”, have sent out some mercenaries to search for the Elf. Now I either have to wait for a new, and potentially unskilled, alchemist to arrive. Or I’ll be forced to give up researching these dolls and their markings.

But I won’t give up, this could be a breakthrough. I’ll be known as the one to reinvent long distance communications to Fellmir, I’ll have my seat at Abhelm’s Golden Tower, as I deserve it.

Journal entry #29

Finally, I got to get something out of the markings. The revelation came to me in my sleep; I had been overthinking it, and slept poorly, it must have been in the early hours of morn, when a voice of confidence, not my own, spoke the activation word; “Talk”, in the common tongue. I rushed out bed, collected all the dolls on my study. And as I said “Talk” in common, the markings lit up, and the dolls seemed to hum. I could hear them whisper, like a small, almost silent wind between them.

Journal entry #30 (the hand-writing seems more shaky from here)

I heard the whispers all trough my sleep. The dolls suggest I leave this place, they do not feel safe. I need them, I cannot prove my theories without these dolls. But I cannot let the others on to what I’ve found, this is MY research… The Gnome would take the credit for himself, what does he know? He’s busy running money in for himself, looking over the shoulders of the apprentices for ideas to steal. Well, soon my wealth will surpass his.

Journal entry #31

With the help of the dolls whispering, I have crafted a letter that tasks me to go south, to Ezolder, to assist with some apprentice’s exam there. I handed it to the Gnome, telling him about the story I’ve crafted. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to care one bit, perhaps because I have not been producing valuable research for him. I’ll begin packing the most required at once.

(Added, in common)

When I think about it, I don’t need anything else than these dolls, they’ll tell me what to do, and my magic can surpass all dangers.