Ariss

Treasured are the skills of those that can turn simple materials into complicated tools, goods to simplify life, weapons or any other things that the human mind can devise and hands can craft. Famous are those that become masters of their art, whose sign on a ware is a mark of quality and value.

Far to the east the crafters bustle und the searing desert sun, making space and plans for the construction of new wagons. Many things will be needed and frowns cross their face as the lists grow longer with every passing moment. Plenty are the needs of men, yet scarce the supply of goods in such a wild land, where towns and traders, crafters and gatherers are scattered and few.

Still they make new discoveries, devise new things and brood on new inventions; for the human mind loves to see the fruits of his labour grow and shine at the end of a day. Some go further still, enjoying with childlike glee to try and tinker, to play with what they find and make things work. A simple stone, a heap of ore, can make their minds forget the world and set to work on prying out its secret, its use and its weakness. As soon as the gypsies arrived with their samples or ore and stone the Citadel began to hustle and bustle like a heap of ants. Tests were made, samples hammered, heated, dunked, pinched, pierced and tasted, broken and reassembled, twisted and turned, cursed and praised.

To the west, the inhabitants of the Forest Home set to work as well, trading ores for bows and arrows, fresh supplies and even a falcon for the hunt. And having waited long for new materials their crafters, too, set to work on making new knifes, heads for arrows and spears, nails and bolts. The gypsies laugh and sing and remain to spend the night, another celebration staring around roaring fires, roasted meat and casks of ale. On the morrow they shall wake with sore heads like their brothers and sisters that left the Pass today to return home, still thinking of the great feast the night before.

Only in the south do the nimble hands of miners and crafters rest as they stand before the yawning mouth of the Lakeshire mines, daring not to set a foot into the darkness that claimed not one, but two of them by now. They who live from the treasures of the earth now fear its embrace. Such is the fate of those who know how to craft: that their goods are used by all, yet that they need the help of all to make their goods at times.


Game meeting tonight at 7:45pm GMT in the Trinsic tavern.

Ariss

Simplicity

Often seen as the fruit of laziness and inability, yet at times the greatest display of skill and design. To deliver a whole image in just some words. To capture beauty in a simple stone. To devise clear lines that guide the mind. To avoid great effort where none is needed to reach the goal.

Simplicity

Deep in the desert the artists carve on blue stone. If asked they would jest; would tell you that they simply chisel away everything that is no part of the figure they create. And yet their works are beautiful and invite the soul to dream.

Simplicity

Late at night the sky above the Citadel and its twin bridges erupts in fire. Under cover of explosions some ragged scouts scramble for the safety of the yard, while the orcs on their heals turn back and flee in fright. Why shed blood if fireworks will do the trick… and are much prettier anyway.

Simplicity

To stay faithful to your fields and nets on any given day, heading not the call of great deeds, fame and fortune. To stay alert during hours of your watch as you stand atop the towers of your home, protecting those that rest within its walls. To sleep on the ground, among flowers and shrubs, covered by the night and guarded by your friends.

Simplicity

Sometimes the simple things need the strongest characters.


Game meeting tonight, 9pm GMT at the Spiritwood Tavern.

Ariss

Time flows like an infinite stream, tearing away everything in its grasp. Days and nights have passed since yet another new beginning has taken place and once more, the people settled into their fate. Caravans move back and forth, scouts roam the land to explore its many mysteries and messengers hast back and forth among the towns, two reaching Mistas and Karnaugh just on this very day.

First moves have been made and new plans devised, soon they will be tested for their worth and either bear fruit or perish. Eternally the stream flows and none know what lies ahead.


I will be away from tomorrow until tuesday. However, I tried to capture a victim to continue the game in my absence. In addition, I will attempt to look in occasionally and see things advance and hopefully move on without too many disturbances. Game meeting tonight, 7:45 GMT at the Keg and Anchor tavern in Trinsic.

Kaelyn

Time flows slowly and bad weather over Ilshenar slows things down.
Troops are trained in Mistas with the promise of work and pay, despite a shortage of gold from the council there.

A caravan with goods slowly makes its way to Mistas but a storm forces them to camp and reach their destination later than expected.

As the storm slowly rolls over Ilshenar things slow down and daily life takes a break to wait out the rage of the elements.

Ariss

Fire! Friend and foe alike. Useful tool, giver of warmth, destructive element.

Many fires are lit under the firmament tonight, no two alike in kind, nor purpose. Horns awaken the citizens of Mistas when watchful guards spy the burning houses in the city. People form lines to handle the buckets of water, yet dawn lights up naught but heaps of smouldering wood and ashes where the two houses have been. Exhausted helpers gather around, staring into the fire with burning, reddened eyes, wondering what caused this disaster.

To the east, the mines of Lakeshire are lit day and night by torches thrown into the darkness by the miners. What began with chairs and tables at the entrance slowly turns into a barricade; by unspoken agreement never fully abandoned. None knows what happened in the caves beyond, yet after the disappearance of yet another miner and his horse, after a piercing scream in the dark, none dare to enter such a cursed place anymore.

Far to the west another tragedy takes place. Exhausted, shaking scouts tell of plants come to live, great mounts of leafs, roots and refuse sitting in the swamp, yet coming alive and trying to grab the passing explorers. Only by means of burning torches could those attacks be repelled, for like everything that grows, these beasts too seem to suffer from the heat.

Yet not all fires lit this night bear messages of fear and destruction. Like a dancing swarm of fireflies the lanterns of the caravans move through the night, hurried along by the outlook of arrival on the very morning. From the west the gypsies return to Mistas, with them the guards that served as escort as well as messengers from the Forest Home. Past the Citadel the second caravan travels home, expected to return once another day has gone by. In the citadel itself the glaring fire of the forges heat the room as the smiths work to reinforce the wheels promised to the gypsies for their new wagons.

Such is the nature of fire, that it is necessary, that it makes life pleasant and bearable, yet that it may bring sorrow and destruction as well. Use it with care, such as you would take care of a sharp blade, for it is naught but a weapon in the wrong hands.

Game meeting tonight, Keg and Anchor Tavern in Trinsic, 8pm GMT. Apologies once more for the interruption in the game.

Ariss

Suspicion, fear, hate. Like a phoenix from the ashes these feelings arise from the ruins of the houses in Mistas, jumping from citizen to citizen till every stranger is eyed, every unknown face suspected. Who would do such, why should it be done at all, why now, why in such a way? Questions that burn as brightly as the fires on the night before. Appalled by such mood the gypsies hurry on, past Mistas and towards Lakeshire. Soldiers from the great town of the south, now patrolling the road and the area around Lakeshire, ensure a safe trip, yet they, too, carry fear and suspicion in their hearts.

Far away in the north, where such news have not yet been heard, the gypsies trade with the crafters of the Citadel, exchanging a load of the curious blue ore for new wheels for their wagons. Further west, a small caravan of packhorses and traders strikes through Alexandretta’s Bowl and reaches the Pass of Karnaugh – traders from the Citadel presenting themselves and offering their service.

So few, and yet so many. Not enough people to colonise and meet what dangers the land holds, yet too many to know them all, too many to find those with murder in their hearts, too many to find those that throw torches in the night. And like a fire that jumps and spreads, such is the nature of suspicion: that it will flow and grow till it consumes all and destroys what remains.


Game meeting tonight, 9pm GMT at the New Spiritwood Tavern (which is a lot of fun and highly recommended for all!)