In the heart of Ayrlaston, at the centre of a vast region of rivers and marshlands known as the Middemire, lies the city of Daggeron. It is an old city of water and wood, one with a history divided by circumstances of both valour and vanity. Which era can be attributed to which though is entirely dependent on who sits as the baron of the riverborn at any given time. Continue reading “The Damned Sons of Baron Thorn”
‘Impure and wretched are the cursed who walk amongst us. Pity not their fate for it has been decreed by Altyr when he spoke to his vanguard Daryan that they bear an unforgivable taint. May the pure and dawning light of the One God wash over them in death for the blight of magick, a wicked conception cast upon us by false gods, dwells deep within them. May He have mercy on them, for we cannot.
Let it be known, now and forever, that they who carry the taint, they who harbour this sin and they who forgive this curse – there is no sanctuary for you. You will be sought, you will be found and you will be Judged.’ – the teachings of Godrik Gatekeeper, Grand Minister of High Kairon. Continue reading “The Woeful Tower”
Fourteen days spent locked in the dark hold below of the merchant ship Wavedancer was the fate of a crewman who just couldn’t help but crack open a bottle of one of Blackport’s finest. He told himself he’d try just one mug, I mean what’s all the fuss about? He had convinced himself that he was more than a match for any man who said he could drink a barrel dry by sunrise. Three small cups of the stuff, that was it! With barely enough room to squeeze out a gulp or two with each pouring. But it was enough to drive him to near insanity. Continue reading “The Folly of Jolly Tobyn”