Fur in the Flux Capacitor, part 2

As if to look behind the ship, Alexander glanced over his shoulder, I guess that was more common in cruisers and luxury ships, so I thought nothing further of it. Alexander had found a handkerchief from seemingly nowhere, “The Tyze system, Tyze 5, to be exact. I have my office there, it’s nice and a bit more… secluded. I’m certain a person of your character can appreciate that.” That last remark was probably a slight stab at scrap-sellers. Not all scrap-sellers were able to find wrecked ships, and it was a lot easier to get the exact part, if they were taken from perfectly functional ships. Where could one such person find a lot of ships, just sitting there? The answer; a ship-seller’s lot. I had never scrapped anything from functional ships, too much risk, and I prefer my tail un-zinged by laser-blasts. I decided to not let the words get to me, and started typing in the coordinates for Tyze 5 into the dashboard, the autopilot would handle most of journey anyway.

The Tyze system wasn’t a place for a girl like me, well not unless I was looking to act as a gold-digger, I would stand out like a pulsar at an anti-matter gathering. A central system, Tyze was home to wealthy persons, Tyze 13 was commonly known as “The Imperial Holiday Planet”, high-ranking Imperial officers would enjoy time off from their duties to the Bufadeach Empire. Tyze 13 was as such the only planet to not be guarded by the TDM, the Treaty for Mutual Defense corp, a private army, funded by merchants and philanthropists seeking refuge and solitude from a galaxy in turmoil. TDM was currently responsible for upholding law and order for the Tyze, Jahilt and Emeryne systems, a total of 35 planets, more than a 100 moons and several other objects, protecting the daily lives of about 63 billion lifeforms. Despite their high-class client-group, TDM aren’t likely to shoot on sight, and will only use force in response to force. It was vastly different to the standards under the Empire, part of the reason I made plans to stay far away from the Empire at all times.

I turned to Alexander, I don’t think he noticed that I slowed the ship down a bit, “So, a three stock drive flux capacitor for a cruiser, eh? How many do you get in the net with that one?” I had a blaster hidden under the seat, just in case. The whole ordeal, and how nervous Alexander appeared, something had to be fishy. He looked genuinely surprised however, “Pardon? I’m not sure what you are implying here…” I waggled a finger at him, “There is something you’re not telling me, about this job, about yourself, or perhaps why you’d ask a scrapper at a Nexus station for aid. I don’t know what it is that you’re hiding, but, and trust me on this” I showed him a fanged grin, “I would have no qualms ejecting you into the void, should you fail to tell me the truth.” Alexander now looked more worried than before, he was unarmed, and probably aware that you don’t usually want to corner a black tiger. Or was that a rat? I can never remember, but my message seemed to have gone through, Alexander was now actually looking scared, “Uhh, whoa now, there’s no need for such rash deeds, I can assure you. I will tell you everything right away, no secrets, I-i-i promise.” My tail was swishing, I had always slightly enjoyed scaring and interrogating people, a useful skill when it came to haggling the price of something down or up. “Good, I’m glad we could reach an agreement on that.”

Alexander took some time to wipe his brow once more, trying to get himself comfortable. “So, what knowledge do you have of the Knives of Darkmantle?” This was surprising, coming from someone like Alexander, Darkmantle was a system on the edge of galaxy, it’s three dark planets housing different horrors in their own. The Knives were known as the best, deadliest and most expensive bounty-hunters and assassins in the Galaxy, the dark-feathered crows were known for cruelty and for their intelligence; few survived having a mark of execution on them, when the Knives made their moves. Their ships silent, cloaked on most radars, their units swift and stealthy. “So, what in the name of Tongudd, would a salesman like you be worth for someone to send the Knives after you? Made a bad deal? Sold a faulty ship?” Alexander sighed, “No, well a bad deal is the right word for it, alright… So, you know of Zymwah 2, the planet where the young Bufadeachan Officers receive their new grades after finishing the academy? Well, the yearly party where the officers celebrate is good for business, the officers have plenty of money at ready, and many of them are influenced by SwampVodka, I’ve gone for three years in a row and made good money every time. But this time was different, there were several high ranking officers from outside the academy, I’m still not sure why exactly. Anyway, so I make a couple of deals for some speed-cruisers, ships that’d violate several Imperial laws, when this one young frog coming up to me, showing the Mark of the Knives, saying if I could not deliver a luxury cruiser with a three stock flux capacitor, I was a dead man within a year.”

Alexander spoke fast, but I think I understood what had happened, I needed clearance though before I was going to agree to help him out of that pickle, “So this frog… He wouldn’t happen to have bight yellow markings around his eyes, pale-blue skin elsewhere?” Alexander looked surprised, “Yes, in fact, very much so… How did you know?” Well, this was bad, I reached over with a serious glance, padding Alexander’s shoulder lightly, “Well, let’s just say that I keep notes on who important Imperial people are, and how they look. You’ve gotten into a deal with a bad one of the kind. The yellow markings are the Emperors own clan-markings, and the pale-blue skin, plus the dubious deals… That would be Galreth Prime, the Emperor’s highest ranking spawn, and the potentially Emperor-to-be. He have been scouring Imperial space for objects of power to secure his position, or perhaps take over from his father. Best advice is to stay as far away from that one as possible, but that advice is a little late to give now.” Alexander’s look of worry was now even more visible. I nodded understandingly, “So, I can see the problem you have… Now, normally I’d stay out of any and all deals regarding the Empire, but you have yet to say how much you think this job is worth. Let’s just say that I COULD be interested, but as you can guess, this won’t be cheap…” Alexander nodded, his worry had turned into determination, I’m guessing he wasn’t good at backing out of deals, even if they were bad. To be fair, it didn’t sound like he had much of a choice though.

The Scrap Eagle’s CommsUnit beeped, and began to glow, someone was hailing my ship. I looked to Alexander, “You expecting someone? My radars are not picking up any signals of ships nearby.” Alexander nodded, “We should be close to TDM protected space, I know they have orbital stations cloaked around, it is most likely one of those. Does my seat appear on the holo-projector?” I shook my head and turned to the console, the “accept call” button was buzzing slightly, I gingerly pressed it, and the holo-screen lid up in my face. A part of the ship’s front-window turned green, then dark and finally lit up with a helmeted, white-uniformed person. “Tidings pilot, this space is under the protection of the TDM, the Treaty for Mutual Defense corp, a file have been sent to your ship detailing laws and etiquette, while faring in TDM protected space. Can you please state your name, gender, occupation, ship-type and ship-name for identification.” I hesitated slightly, but seeing as I had no prior history with the TDM, I saw no reason to not comply, “Jade Khezad, Female, ship-parts merchant, custom built cargo-ship, the Scrap Eagle. So, as good customs go, who am I talking to?” The guard on the other end seemed to be busy, possibly typing my information in, he didn’t even look up as he spoke, “This is TDM OG3 station speaking,” he paused, seemingly running the data into the computer, “well, we have no prior data on you, miss Khezad, enjoy your time in TDM space, OG3 station, out.”

With that the screen turned off again. As if used to dealing with the TDM, Alexander, reassuringly said, “Do not worry, you can trust the TDM, they are notoriously hard to bribe, I have tried, and they are generally honest about their methods.” I nodded and looked at the autopilot’s monitor, there was still a small amount of time till the Tyze system, with it’s crowded 22 planets. Tyze-A itself was a dim, dark-blue star of decent size, I looked out the window; far in the distance I could see the vague blue light. A bit closer to the ship was a bright green star and a massive, off-pink/purple star a bit off to the right; Emeryne-A and Jahilt-A. The Emeryne system had a lot of luxury companies, such as the Olbany Cruiser Head-Quarters and main factory was the only thing present on Emeryne 5. As for the Jahilt system, things seemed a bit shadier, with only three planets, and all of them far from the star and always covered in thick atmospheres, they rarely saw as much traffic as Emeryne and Tyze. The awkward silence in the cockpit after the call eventually got to me, I needed something to talk about.

Obviously it shouldn’t be something that would make Alexander more wary of me than he already was at this point. “So, how long have you been dealing in luxury cruisers?” To my surprise, it seemed the silence wasn’t Alexander’s cup of tea either, he looked pleasantly happy with it being broken.

Fur in the Flux Capacitor, part 1

”Space… An endless void that we are all floating in, towards unknown borders, new frontiers or certain, impending doom? No one can truly know how far space is reaching; no one knows the final destination. Well… I’d hope the pilot of this goddamned vessel knows; we’ve been stuck in this cargo hold for three hours now!”

Oh, hi, didn’t quite see you there… Perhaps I should start by introducing myself; my name is Jade Khezad, I’m a black anthropomorphic tiger. I know, I know, that seems a bit weird, and frankly; there aren’t a lot of tigers around. At least not what I’ve seen so far. I’m mostly a merchant of pretty much whatever I can sell and buy. But in the most recent times I’ve also had a side-job, a side-job that got me into this situation; bound and chained to a make-shift bench, in the cargo-hold of an Imperial freighter, along with several other people. Let me go back to where it all started…

It was a regular day at the Nexus-8 trading station, many people coming around looking for items, for supplies, for a chat. Anything you’d expect from an intergalactic market, really. I had managed to acquire a stall for my wares this day, mostly tools and ship-parts left for scrap, but at the Nexus you could almost be certain to be able to sell pretty much anything and everything. A couple of hares bought a crate of laser-wielders, small but accurate and quick assembly tools. They were hover-racers, as it turned out, and due to a series of sabotages, many of the teams had lost most of their gear for the crew. I’ve made a standard out of never asking where my wares come from, of course it never hurts to be careful. With the Nexus being a neutral place, no planet or organisation had security forces at the station. But the Overseers, mostly storks and cranes, were always keen to follow requests on stolen or illegal equipment. Everyone at the Nexus was there for the sake of trade on equal terms, so other traders quickly disrupted the few attempts at attacks there had been over time. The station itself weren’t armed with any weapons, though it had an energy-shield, kept running by a massive hydrogen-plasma generator in the centre of the station, this was more meant against comets and meteors, rather than attacks from ships. The halls inside the Nexus were filled with wares and people looking to sell or buy, the brushed blue silver floors could almost not be seen from the bridge, located directly above the main hall. Several shops were permanent, by agreement with the Overseers, typically these shops had items that was needed at all times, such as food, fuel and stock exchange. I was about to close down to get some dinner, when a rather corpulent hippo in grey striped business suit approached me. As a merchant, you get accustomed to reading what people want from their looks. This guy however was hard to read, he seemed to be focused when he walked towards my stall, but when he got over, looking over my wares and me, he seemed confused and unsure about himself. The suit was neat, albeit a bit tight around his stomach. A pale red tie was fastened around his neck, and there were small pearls of sweat hiding in the folds of his grey skin. Having taken him for a businessman, on the wealthier side, and seeing as how he did not take contact, I decided to break the ice: “Can I help you, sir?”

He turned his gaze downwards, he was quite a bit taller than me, but he didn’t feel threatening. He spoke, a pleasant, somewhat deep (and slightly constipated) voice: “Ah well, err… Yes, maybe… You deal in ship-parts, yes?” Hmm… that was an odd approach, I had never a particular ware more than any other, and I didn’t really care much to let the Nexus know what I was selling. But, there was truth to it, I had been scavenging around for wrecked ships. Mostly because, through listening at other stalls, I discovered that there was a lot of scrappers around, so ship-parts in good condition would sell nicely. I would have to show that I wasn’t suspicious of his question, so completely unfazed, I replied: “Yes, on occasion, I do. Anything particular you’re looking for?” His small black eyes blinked for a couple of seconds, as if surprised no questions to the request were made. “Well, I am looking for a flux capacitor to a personal cruiser ship, three stock drive.” Okay… well, that was unexpected. Personal cruisers were more than often designed specifically to the buyer’s demands, this made them expensive and the parts equally so. A flux capacitor were almost only installed in much heavier and larger ships, typically war-ships. This complex technological engine part helps using the fuel much better for short usage, normally known as the ship “warping”. Before the first flux capacitors, invented by Jegarr D. Flux, larger ships used a so-called “burst-engines”, where the fuel consumption, when warping, often came with the risk of wrecking the engine, as many of the burst-engines weren’t built to perform that much. As for the stock drive, personal cruisers were meant for comfort, the stock drive allows the engine to filter more of the cosmic dusts out, thus making the flight smoother. For a “standard” cruiser, a single stock drive would be considered a luxury, two stock drives was very rare, and the mere existence of a third stock drive was to most people, a myth. So, naturally, I raised an eyebrow, “I am afraid that I cannot help you in that, it’s quite beyond what I have on display.” Expecting that amount of quality from a stall at a Nexus was a bit on the odd side. Strangely enough, the man just smiled, shaking his large head slightly, “I wasn’t expecting that either, but if you’d like a job offer that pays well, and” he added in a lower voice, as to hide it from other people nearby, “I mean REALLY well, come and see me at the loading bay in one hour. Here’s my card, with the frequency to my CommsUnit, if needed.”

A CommsUnit is a small, but hugely practical, device. It uses a set of twelve-symbol frequency code, using both letters and numbers; this gives a total of 3.379.220.508.056.640.625 possible combinations, and thus it’s nearly impossible to just guess a frequency. Typically, a CommsUnit is placed in a bracelet or as a small trinket, placed on the side of the head. CommsUnits come with a holographic projector, which allows them to receive messages, with both sound and visual input.

I glanced at the card, as the man turned around and walked, or rather waddled, towards other stands. “Alexander Swift Jr., We’ll find a ship suiting your needs.” I took some time to consider it, and as the only trade I had, was a badger looking for hull plating for his cargo-ship, I had plenty of time to think things through regarding the offer. I began thinking about how much I disliked being at the Nexus, not that the people were bad or hostile… It was just… Boring. I enjoyed scavenging for parts and other items a lot more. Especially when the scavenging wasn’t exactly legal, that always got the adrenaline flowing through me. Flinging my leather jacket over my shoulder, after having locked my stall down with the remaining wares, I headed for the loading bay. The ramps from the main hall were mostly empty, though the Nexus was open for trade all the time. This was mainly due to the fact that it kept itself out of planetary orbit and maintained it’s own gravity, this also meant that there was no “days” and no “nights” on the Nexus. The loading bay was, naturally, connected to the docking area, where the ships were located. I quickly spotted Alexander; he was talking to a pit-bull in overalls, part of the docking crew, no doubt. The pit-bull signed on a clipboard, and slugged himself towards another merchant and another ship. Alexander looked up at me, and then at his CommsUnit, “You’re about seven minutes too early. That is good, that is good. I was half expecting you to not show up at all.” I shrugged my shoulders, it was in general a good idea to not straight-out trust a ship-salesman, he spoke again, not awaiting an answer, “Can we take your ship? I’ll have some-one bring my own back to the shop. We can discuss the terms of the job on the way.” There was nothing of a threat in his voice, but still you quickly got the feeling of Alexander not being a man you said no to. I was inclined to hear more though, so I just signalled for Alexander to follow.

My ship was of somewhat elder date, a lot of the plating was considered as “old-fashioned”, even though most of the parts weren’t more than a couple of years old… Tops. The oldest part, and probably what I loved the most of the quirks to my ship, was the dashboard. I had stripped it from a newly wrecked Hunter-7X fighter, a very fast and agile single-pilot fighter, with a fuel-consumption like a black hole. The few of them that were even put into service, had a short lifespan, most crashed because of the Hunter-7X’s high speed, but also because the fuel containers were largely exposed, turning the Hunter-7X into a potential superfast fire-bomb, rather than a sleek fighter. And verily, not long after I had gotten into the damn thing, it started reeking of gas; the tanks were gonna blow. In fact, much of my ship had scrapped or scavenged parts, to say nothing of the countless moderations added and removed again. Alexander raised a brow on his grey, wrinkly head, it was easy to see as his stubby hairs were few and far apart. “Might not look it, but she’s reliable, mostly built her myself.” I padded the under-side of the “Scrap Eagle” (as I had come to call her), to ensure Alexander that my ship was sturdy. Pressing a hidden panel, three buttons appeared, pressing the middle one (the two others were meant to do something, but those functions was not a part of the Scrap Eagle). A hydraulic gasp came, as the entry hatch into the small cargo hold of my ship opened up. “Pardon the mess, I practically live in this ship, so things are a bit cramped.” Alexander had to duck, squeeze and push his way through, but for his size, he was surprisingly nimble. Closing the hatch behind us again, Alexander made room, so I could take the lead. For me, I could manoeuvre the mess and other stuff, pretty much in my sleep, but I had to slow down for Alexander to follow, I noticed him taking into account many details about my ship.

Finally we reached the cockpit, I conveniently closed the side-room with my bunk and clothing; a girl’s gotta have some privacy. A total of eight chairs were present in the cockpit; two by the controls and six in two rows of three. I had taken odd-jobs like freighting passengers back and forth, usually shady stuff, but also pretty rewarding in the end. Had a few rough batches, not so much with passengers themselves, except for that one turkey, who tried to have his way with me while piloting the ship. He got into a lovely and very close relationship with the pipe-wrench that I kept under my own chair. Paid a little less on delivery, but it was worth it. Mostly the trouble was either with getting passengers on, or when the “welcoming party” were greeting my passengers. The two chairs by the controls were comfy and soft, kind of a need if you are to sit on your own tail for hours on end. While it was comfy for me, Alexander sank deep into his chair beside me, as I began warming the engine up. Signalling to one of the Overseer cranes, a hatch soon opened up into outer space, and as the Scrap Eagle began taking off, I turned to Alexander, “So, where’re we headed?”

Blood, Whiskey & Parfume

Last night
I looked up at your open windows
From the muddy yard, beneath the old, crooked yew
Your curtains seemed like yellow silk
In the rainy darkness

I was silent as the drunkard came through
And silent the chef took the maid from the restaurant
To the darkest corner of the yard
I was silent when the dogs chased some sap in the alleys
I was silent, because I was afraid that you’d hear me

The light from your windows
It was like angels in the night
I knew you were sleeping
But, standing in that light
Made me feel closer to you, somehow

I have seen you
Once, a hot summer night
You leaned out the window in a white night-dress
Like a ghost, I hid behind the trunk of the tree
The wind made the dress dance
And in the light from your room, the shadows danced too

When you stopped, I felt my mind dancing
Dancing to that lonely jig
I imagine your smile
Your lips
And I’ll come back here
Again, tomorrow

Redwoods at Nightfall

2:57 am, Graham Bates’ apartment, Lindsay Circus, Los Santos

It was 3 am, when was I brutally awakened by the noisy ringing of my phone. I thought about letting it ring, but the display told me it was my boss. Already having a hunch, about what the call would be about, I got out of my bed to get dressed while I was talking. The Bulldog sounded the same as always, his grumpy, baritone voice was pretty easy to remember: “Bates? Yeah, someone have found a body in the River… So, get yourself up and come down to the station, oh and give that Jim Richards a call, he could use the experience of some night-time work.” I didn’t get to say anything, not that I planned to really, when the Bulldog is talking, it is just so much easier to shut up. While I descended the staircase from my apartment on the third floor, I phoned Jim. Jim, or James as his name is, had applied to become a detective’s assistant, eventually hoping to become a detective himself one day. Some guys up high, even above the Bulldog, had decided that I should have the “honour”, of having a young, overly-eager officer running tail on my day. I was worried at first, but Jim turned out alright, he’s got a good head and he knows when to use it.

The phone didn’t ring for long, and Jim sounded a lot more awake than me, despite being woken up in the same way as me. “Hey Jim, boss says we’ve got a 419 down in the LS River, briefing’s at the station in one hour. I’m coming by to pick you up, so be ready, alright? Be there in 10.” Jim doesn’t have a driver’s license, and he refuses to borrow his wife’s Radius, until he have a license. Not that anyone would bat an eye if he didn’t. No-one really cares in this town.

As I walked out onto Lindsay Circus, I lid a cigarette. As expected, the weather was awful, it was raining heavily, and the hot summer night made my overcoat stick to my body, like wet paper. Before getting into my car, a dark burgundy Washington, I checked the tires and the engine. just to be sure. The Korean Mobsters of Little Seoul usually wouldn’t tamper with such, instead they’d go straight to the man. However, the gangs had been on their toes recently. Apparently, shootout between the Lost MC and the Vagos happened on the parking lot next to the Del Peiro peer just last night. Of course, we got no notice from the hospitals, that someone had entered with a bullet wound.

I parked the Washington outside Jim’s house in the Vespucci Canals. I was in no mood to get out in this kind of weather, so I just honked the horn a couple of times. It didn’t take long for Jim to come, he was already in his uniform, with an apple in his one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. I had told him, he didn’t need the uniform as a detective, but as Jim pointed out; he wasn’t a detective yet. Considering the size of Los Santos, there were surprisingly few cars out on the streets. I guess the weather didn’t exactly call for a nightly drive. In my job though, I couldn’t really be that lucky to have a choice. Driving through Downtown was like a haunted house, only a few windows high up on skyscrapers, had the lights on. Like eerie, yellow eyes staring down on the little man.

The bridge across from Downtown to East Los Santos was empty, looming over Mission Row, as I turned the car in and down into the parking garage below the station. The rain could still be heard, battering at concrete and tarmac all the same. I looked at my watch, we were here fifteen minutes earlier than needed, so when we got up the stairs, I went to get a cup of coffee from the dispenser. Black, of course. As we passed the homicide department, I could see through the window, that the whiteboard for putting details onto, had already been cleaned up. Knowing the Bulldog, it would likely had been the first, the best, officer, he met as he came in. I knocked a few times on the tinted glass on the Bulldog’s door. The handle turned and the door opened.

The office was fairly large and well-lid, but the presence of the Bulldog, did take the focus off of the rest of the room. Besides the Bulldog himself, there was only one other person in the room, a young, red-haired police assistant, I didn’t know her name. Then again, most of the people I knew on the force, have now retired or perished from police work in other ways. A fancy overhead projector had been set up on a table, the dim blue light fitting on a whiteboard on the wall. Must have been the girl’s work, the Bulldog was notoriously bad at anything that resembled technology. Back in the old days, we used chalk and post-it notes on a black board for these info boards on cases. The Bulldog cleared his throat to gain our attention.

“Alright, we don’t know much about the body yet, other than it’s a Caucasian male. The body was discovered by some punks, racing dirt bikes on the slopes of the river, that was two hours ago, at 2 am. Carlos is already down there, setting up, so he can give you more details, I reckon. We assume that this is not a gang crime, but we cannot, as of yet, completely rule it out. We’ve got the punks sitting in the interview rooms, their bikes weren’t registered anywhere. But head down and talk to Carlos first, see what you can figure out.”

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).