The Waybetween

Outlining Again: Snowflake Method, Pt. 5.3 – All About Elayne

Knightess of Nowhere

Name: Elayne (no last name)

Age: Elayne appears to be in her late twenties but in truth she died long ago. She is undead now and effectively immortal but does not know exactly how old she really is.

Place of Birth: It’s strange… for some reason, Elayne has no idea where she was born, or when, but she tenses up and feels angry when she thinks about it…

Current Location: The Void, amongst the stars.

Nationality: It should be significant… the heraldry of her armor, the distinctive design of the pauldrons… they were the emblems of some great order, proud knights of… of Somewhere! It was important to her, she’s so sure… They called her Elayne of… no, no it’s no use, she can’t remember.

Education: Well read in courtly etiquette, knowledgeable in fuedal law, and a trained singer and dancer.

Occupation: Knightess.

Income: None.

APPEARANCE

Height: 6’1″ Weight: 174lbs

Build: Tall and lithe, with impressive muscle definition.

Eyes: Grey

Hair: Windswept and brown, short but just long enough to occasionally get in her eyes.

Tall, athletic, and more muscular than most men, Elayne is rather plain, even mannish some would say, lightly-tanned of skin and with angular features and scowling eyes that make her seem dangerous. She doesn’t care what men think of her, she’s not interested in them, and thinks her appearance suits her station as a warrior. She wears an intimidating, custom suit of armor, heavy steel plates with huge pauldrons shaped into mangled faces, gazing into the sky, from which, oddly enough, thick, thorny branches grow, dotted with blooming roses. Her tabard covers her breastplate and is cinched by a plated belt at her waist, trailing in four flowing bolts of fine fabric to just below her knees. It’s faded, but a crest that was once greatly detailed seems to depict perhaps a battle or a dance between two winged creatures, but it’s difficult to make much sense of it. She carries a massive, oval-shaped tower shield, seemingly made of tortured, rotted wood and many weapons, a huge greatsword on her back, and two swords scabbarded at her waist, a shortsword and a curious longsword, again, of rosewood motif, the hilt a tangle of thorned branches.

Elayne seems healthy, being undead of course, she cannot be afflicted with diseases or sickness like a mortal would, but she does bear several deep scars across her body that no longer heal as they ought to. She seems to take them well enough in stride and if she’s in any pain, she never admits to it.

QUIRKS AND TICS

Elayne is a stone, betraying no emotion or fear publicly. She is stoic to a fault and can be overbearing, rude, arrogant, and downright offensive. She does not care what others think of her, or so she wants everyone to believe.

She walks with the surety of someone who never expects to lose, with the knowledge that she is elite and powerful, and yet she is perhaps, at times, too confident.

Her speech is crass, blunt and to the point, peppered with swear words and curses, not exactly what you might expect of either a knight or a lady. Privately, however, among those she loves, she is downright doting, nurturing, and full of warmth.

Preferred curse word: All of them.

Outlining Again: Snowflake Method, Pt. 5.2 – All About Ziegander

Name: Ziegander (no last name)

Age: 43 eons. No, really. Death doesn’t come easily to one chained directly to The Spider’s web.

Place of Birth: We called it Earthsong back then… I think it went by a different name there for a while… … …We were good… I’ll never know what set him off… See, that… that’s what haunts me… not knowing why…

Current Location: The Switchboard.

Nationality: There weren’t nations in the beginning and we moved around a lot. I come out of the lands north of the Drakgaduns, warm, sunny, green fields for miles on end. We hunted and planted and we liked to roam to give the earth time to heal after harvest. It wasn’t until later that we had to build walls to keep us safe… from each other…

Education: No formal education. Just lots and lots of experience.

Occupation: Dispatcher for The Waybetween.

Income: None.

APPEARANCE

Height: 5’11” Weight: 190lbs

Build: Broad and muscular.

Eyes: Amber.

Hair: Dense and frizzy, Ziegander’s hair is drawn into dozens of tight locks that hang from his head to about his shoulders with a thick but neat black beard and mustache to match, lightly dusted with a bit of grey.

Tall, dark, and handsome, Ziegander is of a dark brown skin tone and has a strong, squared-off jaw with deep dimples, yet a round nose and cheeks to take the edge off. He can look both warm and intimidating in almost the same breath. His style of dress seems mismatched, taking articles of clothing and accessories from several cultures and periods of time and piecing them together in a way that almost does, but just barely fails to blend together seemlessly. But the most immediately obvious piece of his ensemble are the chains. Chains around his waist, chains around his wrists, shackles around his ankles connected to chains that trail behind him allowing him to step only so far as the edge of his streetcorner. A heavy, two-handed sword is chained to his back and the pommel is connected to chains as well, those that wrap around his right wrist and hand. Some of the chains dangle and drape, others hold him tight in their grasp.

He appears to be perfect in health despite his age and his burdens. He has the appearance and apparent vitality of a hale man in his early forties. Even against the chains, he does not seem to chafe, drag his feet, or limp. He stands straight and tall and his voice does not falter.

QUIRKS AND TICS

Ziegander seems always to wince when talking about his past, as though he has deep regrets there, and he doesn’t like to talk about it in the first place.

Uses humor as a mechanism for deflection and defense.

Speaks with a relaxed, modern parlance, often using words and turns of phrase that seem, honestly, not to suit him.

Preferred Curse Word: Fuck.

Though he seems to perform his role with poise and confidence, it is clear Ziegander longs to venture the stars, and almost equally clear that this is a longing born from experience having already done so.

Outlining Again: Snowflake Method, Pt. 5.1 – All About Len

My Novel’s Main Squeeze

Name: Len (no last name)

Age: Len was 23 when she was married and still looks that age. She is undead and effectively immortal and honestly doesn’t know how old she is anymore.

Place of Birth: Does it matter anymore? It’s gone. Fine. Lothersburg. Father Lother had been travelling a long while before he made his way into the ruins far below the mountain castle. Our ruins. And he brought us all together. He brought hope back into our cursed lives and together we built a cathedral as gleaming and tall as anything you’d have seen in the great cities of legend. We built the settlement off from there and it was almost like we had lives again. We opened up the shop, we took care of each other. Of course we named the town Lothersburg. But then the Deacons took control of things… and that Abbess… they killed him. And everything went to hell again…

Current Location: The Waybetween/Void. The stars. Outer space.

Nationality: She doesn’t remember.

Education: Religious. Can read and write.

Occupation: Currently none. Previously: Assistant shopkeep. Assistant innkeep.

Income: None.

APPEARANCE

Height: 5’4″ Weight: 125lbs

Build: Slim but not very fit. Working on building muscle, though.

Eyes: A greyish blue/green

Hair: Unruly, long, light blonde hair with a braid.

Rosy cheeked, pale, with angular bone structure, Len is considered quite the beauty, but she hates her teeth and thinks her nose and ears and feet are too big. She prefers to wear short, flowy sun-dresses but instead wears magical robes and chainmail for protection. Carries a blessed crossbow, a big, fuck-off holy symbol that can double as a mace, and a boxing caestus for each hand. Her style is best described as barely put together. She is a mess but is always trying to look presentable, given her circumstances.

Technically, she is in great health, no diseases or pain, but then again technically she’s been dead for who even knows how long anymore? Her mental health could use a little therapy.

QUIRKS AND TICS

Turns her Ring of Remembrance (her wedding ring, it disguises her mangled, dead flesh so she appears as her husband remembers her on their wedding day) whenever she’s frightened or thinking of her husband.

Walks fast, eyes darting everywhere, nervous and distracted, yet watching everything for signs of danger.

She speaks with an elegant temper, though at times emotional, but usually very measured and proper, the way a lady of the cloth should. Only… she’s not a lady of the cloth and is trying to loosen up. She prefers to make direct eye-contact.

Preferred curse word: Sindamn/Sindammed/Sindammit.

She is typically guarded around strangers, but a gushing open-book around those with whom she feels safe. Highly emotive when vulnerable.

Dragonscarred of Ticonderos, Pt. 6 – Alo Pagtria, the Sovereign City-States of the Southern Desert

In the far south, beyond the reach of Ticonderos’ tallest, most treacherous mountains, lies the mysterious and scorching heat of the Kingdom of the Alo Pagtria. United by faith, by tradition, by loss, by perseverance and power of will, three once-independent city-states are now ruled by a fourth Sovereign State providing order, security, and prosperity to the entire region.

The city-states themselves are densely-packed, adobe-style metropolises, vast cities even compared with most of the wealthy cities in the north. They are the oases of the scorching deserts and must accommodate over ninety-nine percent of the Alo Pagtrian population. The three city-states represent a triumvirate coalition ruled from the newly-constructed and ever-expanding Sovereign State by the recently chosen God-King Rogelio Xhecote, an enterprising, charismatic figure huge both of personality and physical frame. The God-King is, ostensibly a title given by the holy men of the Alo Pagtria, as was done with Xhecote’s predecessor; however, the circumstances were different then and the political climate has shifted such that Xhecote was chosen by men and “confirmed” by god, so to speak. While the counsel of the holy men holds significant sway, they do not make the final, or even initial choice, in who will sit the throne in Sunshadow, the opulent bronze palace at the heart of the Sovereign State. The Alo Pagtria believe no foreign power should ever rule the southern desert again, and many believe that they are the rightful owners of Ticonderos. There is significant political motivation within the Alo Pagtria leaning toward open warfare on the rest of the kingdoms of Ticonderos to reclaim lost native territories and restore dominion of the entire continent to native peoples and their descendants, driving out foreign invaders. It is perhaps ironic that much of the Alo Pagtrian population is of mixed heritage, yet also impossible to ignore the injustice and genocide taken against the native peoples of Ticonderos, who are not entirely gone, who have descendants everywhere across the continent who, regardless of their mixed descent, may agree with such a bold course of action.

At the base of the Dragon’s Tail, the archipelago that swings off of Ticonderos’ southwestern corner, at the western edge of the desert, lies the oldest of the three city-states, Beltheraine, overseeing miles of humid, mountainous jungles and villages in the foothills. Though the region has been conquered many times, Beltheraine has arguably been ruled for centuries by an ancient lineage of proud warriors whose line can be traced to the first native peoples that lived in the tundra of Elnard, and whose citadel itself had never been taken by any foreign force, the Dolmas, led currently by King Eduardric Dolma. Beltheraine is known throughout Ticonderos for the manufacture of armor, specifically exquisite suits of plate armor and not only supply such pieces to extravagant knights and lords of the northern kingdoms but also maintain their own retinue of knights in a fashion quite unlike the military of the other city-states and outfit them with some of the lightest, sturdiest, and most stylish armor on the continent, the secret blessings of their ancient, northern gods engraved into the plates to keep the metal cool even in the southern noonday sun. Their Knight-Captain, King Eduardric’s uncle, is also called Keeper of the Starslayer after the legendary sword he bears the burden of carrying and caring for that is said to have been forged from the crystalline chitin of a monster that emerged from a meteorite that struck Elnard thousands of years ago.

At the southern edge of Ticonderos, arid cliffsides divide the Cochimec Bay on the west from the Tloch al-Laam Inlet on the east, and as the high desert mountains slope back into the shifting sands near the end of the inlet is where one would find the great agricultural heart of the Alo Pagtria, the Devejhraine city-state. The Alo Pagtria of Devejhraine have grown many varieties of corn, hot peppers, and beans in the area for centuries and have recently introduced dates, melons, and drought-resistant grains such as millet and sorghum due to the massive and varied influx of (and importation by) foreign bloodlines. Religion is very important to the region and many rituals and festivals are dedicated to Devejhraine’s gods and goddesses of harvest, rain, wind, sea, and more. The holy men of Devejhraine choose their sovereign, in the current case, Queen Ashakti Baranar who is at once warm yet devious, pious yet worldly. She is a fiery, populist politician, a powerful orator, and a merciless debater. Though not a warrior herself, Queen Ashakti is served by the Seven Spears of the Sun, an old, militant, ascetic order and her personal guard, ordained by the highest clergy in the land.

Finally, tucked in the shadows of the mountains along the desert’s eastern rim lies the mysterious Teluraine city-state just south-west of the ominous Tower of Eternal Flame. No one knows the origins of the Tower, it stood when the native peoples of Ticonderos first roamed the desert in search of places to settle and is said to be a playground for imps and devils and demons, or perhaps a prison. Teluraine is known throughout Ticonderos as a place of superstition and cults, the dwelling of witches and warlocks, and a home for dark magic and evil secrets, but they also produce weapons of fine manufacture and magical properties. In truth, within Teluraine two cults do form the most significant expression of religion in the area, the Water Finders and the Cult of the First Fire, and Teluraine is currently ruled by the enigmatic King Elazar Lazuli, High Priest of the Water Finders. The streets of the strange city of Teluraine are lined with apothecaries and vendors of odd dolls and other curios. Fortune tellers and star-readers and numerologists (with the occasional mathematician) are not uncommon, and even the rare demonologist or warlock might be found in unexpected and/or unscrupulous places by one who knows where to look.

One might say, in the Free City of Tyfaine, there is, in fact, a fifth city-state in the south of Ticonderos, apart from the Sovereign Capital, not subject to the triumvirate coalition of Beltheraine, Devejhraine, and Teluraine; however, the tale of the Free City is one all its own.

Dragonscarred of Ticonderos, Pt. 5.5 – A Brief (ish) History of the Native Peoples of Ticonderos and the Founding of the Alo Pagtria.

Rallied together by millennia of tradition that had been trampled for centuries not only by the Dragonlord but other conquerors before him, the Alo Pagtria, a term that is used both to refer to the desert city-states in general but also to their people, redefined themselves in the spiritual iconography and heart of their native cultures to embrace a unified, new future.

It was a scorching desert south of the sprawling mountains that dominated Ticonderos. For thousands of years it was a place uninhabited by mankind. Who would want to make home in such a relentless, barren place. Why? Thousands of years ago, in the northern tundras of what has become Elnard, when resources began to grow too short for too many mouths, about half or more of the native population began driving southward to find more suitable climes for habitation. They began to settle into what has become Domhnath and the plains in which Kingspeace has now been built, further south to the western coasts where the King of Coin rules the land today, and some few even made it to the rocky southeastern shores. The desert lie beyond yet more mountains and it seemed actively hostile to human life. Unfortunately, foreign human life would prove even more hostile to their own very human, native-Ticonderean lives.

They came, at first, from the north, in powerful oar-rowed galleys built for transport, not war. Tall and sun-kissed, strong and proud, speaking a foreign tongue, yet ill-suited to the cold. Their journey was long, perilous, and desperate. They were disproportionately many. The natives of northern Ticonderos were welcoming at first, despite early misunderstandings and hostilities, but the foreigners from the sea just kept coming by the hundreds, by the thousands, their homeland claimed by some horror or catastrophe lost to the ages, remembered by no living soul. So the natives moved south.

They came, next, from the east, in carracks driven by sails that caught the powerful westerly winds. Dark of skin and wiry of hair, speaking a new foreign tongue, worshipping but one foreign god, used to hot, barren sands and not temperate rain forests. Their journey was long, perilous, and desperate. They were disproportionately many. The natives, now of eastern Ticonderos, were welcoming at first, despite early misunderstandings and hostilities, but the foreigners from the sea just kept coming by the hundreds, by the thousands, their homeland engulfed in the blood and flames of civil wars. So the natives moved south.

But then they came from the south. The natives had moved as far south as they could. The tall, sun-kissed men that had come north had already come south as well, taking the lands along the western coastlands of Ticonderos. The mountains were claimed in large part by the Oreiad who had lived there for time immemorial. So the natives began roughing it in the desert south of the massive mountain range that dominates most of Ticonderos. They carved out a meager living there. They had made peace with the little they were able to claim for themselves and took pride in the strength they had shown to survive and thrive in this desiccated place. But then they came from the south. First the bronze and curly haired men, large and muscular, suited to both sea and heat. And yet, next the holy men, gaunt and pale, they seemed to hate climate and land of all sorts equally and wore this hate as armor against all that would oppose them. The native Ticondereans had tried to be welcoming, despite numerous early misunderstandings and hostilities, but the foreigners would not stop coming, would not stop killing, would not leave them their lands that had been won and bought by generations of sweat and blood and death and rebirth.

The natives had been forced onto the Isle of Mourning even before the Dragonlord had breathed flame across the sweltering desert of slavery and broken promises. Thousands of natives died before the dragons took to Ticonderos’s skies in conquest, and the number became horrifically too great to count or attempt to imagine during the Dragonlord’s tyrannical reign. The Ticonderean natives were painted as savages, followers of a despicable pantheon of horrific Dhogem deities that brought nothing but uncontrollable mutation and the “blessings” of barbaric demon-gods bent on destabilizing and destroying all human culture.

But Ticonderos’ native population would not stop fighting for who they were and what they believed in. Centuries of good will, of building bridges were behind them, the seeds of rebellion planted within family lines longer than the whole family of the Dragonlord had been alive. There had been centuries of congruence between the millennia old natives and the peoples that had conquered them, or attempted to, both spiritual and physical. The majority of the native peoples, and people of mixed foreign and native descent, in the area had exchanged traditions and assimilated their spiritual systems into a compatible network of religious beliefs. When the time came that the Dragonlord and the religious zealot that swept the capitol after him were put down for good the Alo Pagtria asserted themselves for the first time in thousands of years. They rallied. They stood together and the foreign nobles they fought forced them into conflict against their conscripted armies of native slaves and their peasant descendants. Many enslaved natives turned on their cruel masters and eventually the Alo Pagtria took for themselves a kingdom, long passed between various cultures and conquerors. They took the desert and they built a new nation upon it through sheer force of will.

While the Alo Pagtria are ruled, ostensibly, by divine right, the God-King and the lower Sovereign Kings of the City-States are said to be chosen by the gods, each is in turn supported by advisers elected by a council of noble families from the territories themselves. There is a religious ceremony to it all, but in the centuries of being conquered and defeated in the name of various cruel gods, the Alo Pagtria have taken a defiantly agnostic approach to rule and diplomacy. The strong will survive and the weak will die out – unless they are protected. The Kings of the Alo Pagtria know all too well what the lords and kings of foreign descent will do to hold on to their power, stealing ancestral lands, taking slaves, and forcing kin to fight kin, and thus know that their most vulnerable must be shielded by their strongest.

Dragonscarred of Ticonderos, Pt. 5 – Thanolund, the Kingdom of God atop a Cursed Mountain

Ticonderos is dominated by a range of perilous mountains that carve their way out of the northern tundras and stretch all the way into the southern desert, their huge, unforgiving crags reaching their claws near to every coastline on the continent. As such, precious little area is left for forests, plains, savannahs, or other more settle-able land. But the view from the peaks, ah, hundreds of feet or more above the treetops, overlooking mountain lakes and green ridgelines. Breathtaking. But from the resolute mountain fastness of Godsreach, the striking, bronze and granite fortress of the Meduseldt royal family, the Pillar of the Juste that stands at the center of the pious kingdom of Thanolund… the view is somewhat more… stark.

*Welcome to Godsreach, child. May the Allfather guide your way.* (Artist Unknown)

The peaks and ridges of the awe-inspiring, continent-spanning mountain range covering huge swathes of Ticonderos are normally the domain of the Oreiad, an empire of feylike beings, thousands of years old, their skin like marble, their magical attunement granting them supernatural power over cold and wind and stone. But they do not dwell within a hundred leagues of Thanolund and haven’t since the earliest days of the Dragonlord’s reign. History, of course, is only as good as those that keep it and many have fled the region or died in the decades since. Did the Oreiad ever live here? What evil drove them away? Nothing green grows in the area. Perhaps it simply couldn’t sustain them? Rumor within Thanolund has it that there was a fateful battle in the middle of where they’ve now built their kingdom, between the Dragonlord and a disavowed legion of Oreiad witchblades. It is said the Oreiad forces committed acts forbidden by their people to defend the Great Wyrm of Moonlight, yet their fight was still lost, and the Oreiad avoid the land now out of both shame and revulsion for what had been done there. But other tales are told out of Dragonscarred earshot…

Thanolund grew out of the failed movement to enthrall the whole of Ticonderos under the religious rule of the disciples of the Highfather Galebriast. Galebriastianity is the most widespread and influential religion in all of Ticonderos and in the chaotic vacuum of power directly after the Dragonlord’s fall it was no king, no clan chief, no lord of merchants, but Aschebourg Meduseldt, the War Chaplain of the Highfather’s Hand (an armed, combat-trained branch of Galebriastians that had little following during the Dragonlord’s reign but expanded into a brief but formidable military threat) who took the throne at Dragon’s Roost and claimed dominion over all the human lands of Ticonderos. But after the allied forces of the other remaining religions and secular peoples of the continent rallied against him, Asche retreated into the mountains far south, high into the abandoned lands where no one could, or wanted to, reach him. There he built Godsreach and there his followers carved out their kingdom. There, to this day, Galebriastians from across the continent make pilgrimage to affirm their faith or seek direct guidance from god.

Thanolund is a small, insular kingdom, unbothered by the goings on of those “lower” countries. The people here bow to a rigid and militant theocracy, old and powerful, the Galebriastians claim their god as creator over all realms and all peoples. Their god is both wrathful and forgiving, both vulnerable yet all-knowing and all-powerful. The head of their order, Dashiel Meduseldt, Holy King of Godsreach and of the Church of Galebriast now rules over the country with the same cunning ambitions as any nation’s ruler, but he holds something the other kings do not.

Lately, kept private within the Holy King’s most inner sanctums, Dashiel clutches something to his bosom, and he speaks with a bold voice on matters he should not comprehend. Secrets are laid bare, disciplines foreign to the Holy King are like an open library for him to pluck knowledge from. The Holy King of Thanolund is consumed by some artifact he refuses to let anyone see and claims to be spoken to, not always by his god, Galebriast, but by another force, aligned, he says, to the teachings of the Ten Wise Men, but those in his inner circle begin to grow wary… The things the Holy King utters are nothing short of blasphemy, and yet, he bolsters the might of Thanolund day by day, and adds new ministry unto the flock with each passing moment…

Holding the flock together are Dashiel’s closest confidants and heads of their own noble Galebriastian lineage, lords Peter Leishbrae, the owner and wealthy preacher of Thanolund’s largest worship hall, and Laryn Corwyyll, the deadliest swordsman in all the Highfather’s Hand. However, while the Holy King is distracted by whatever it is that’s taken root in his mind, it can be assumed his faith is not misplaced. As the Holy King’s judgment, and even that of his own wife and children, is called further and further into question, where exactly would these two steer their country of godly men atop a mountain of secrets and curses?

Dragonscarred of Ticonderos, Pt. 4 – Zelos, the Kingdom of the Western Coast

A flourishing, wealthy country of booming trade, daring seacaptains, and mighty warriors, Zelos is ruled by Celdas Celafir, the shrewd and daunting King of the Coin, from his hilltop fortress, Khodashmindas, overlooking the bustling mining city of Alacasba. Zelos is the source of the most widely accepted currency on Ticonderos and is easily the most culturally cosmopolitan and diverse country on the continent, but while all faiths are technically welcome in Zelos, King Celafir often finds himself and his policies at odds with many religions and religious officials. While Zelos as a nation trends secular, this does still make Celafir one of the more controversial and divisive members of Ticonderos’ ruling class.

*Celdar Celafir, the King of the Coin (*Artist unknown)

Even though the King makes his dwelling and sits with his advisors upon the Alacasba hilltop, the true heart and capital of Zelos is, of course, Zelosport the grand coastal anchorage that sprawls out past the soft, sandy beach along the west Ticonderean coastline and stands tall amidst the savannah that rolls its way into the foothills of the mountains. Even the reclusive and prideful Oreiad come down from their heady mountaintop dwellings to do business in Zelosport, and men of all shapes, sizes, and colors from across the continent join them, as well as those from beneath it. Within Zelosport goods and crafters of them from all of Ticonderos’ races and nations are represented, and there are even whole quarters of the city certain cultures and people have carved out and claimed for themselves, such as the Little Empire in which some Oreiad have come to live permanently, for just one example. Though it is a melting pot where all can come together and trade harmoniously, there can and often is quite the clash in everyday life. Regrettably, perhaps, the guardsmen employed by King Celafir very often crack down on the minorities within Zelos, forbidding certain practices which ruffle local majority feathers, or persecuting minorities, often publically, more harshly and more often than those of Zelos’ mainstream Dragonscarred culture.

Recently, King Celafir finds himself dealing with the unenviable task of quelling panic as Dhogem pour out from the mines and into the streets of Zelosport and surrounding towns, seeking shelter from the horrors that spill out of the bowels of the earth. Various groups from within Zelos are mobilizing against the Dhogem, rallying masses with messages of fear and hatred. And though Celafir would have none of it, privately he admits to not knowing exactly what to do with, or for, these beleaguered refugees.

And it wouldn’t be Ticonderos if King Celafir had only two major problems to deal with, would it? Of course not, thus, in addition to butting heads with religious figures and dealing with a huge mass of Dhogem refugees, a few fishing vessels and every one of Zelos’ trading galleons that have departed on their normal voyages across the seas to exotic lands to the west have vanished leaving no trace. Much of the king’s fleet remains anchored and suspicions grow of an enemy in waiting beyond his sight. For now, the king has kept this a secret from the rest of Ticonderos, but rumors are spreading… rumors of shadow sorceresses infiltrating Celafir’s cities, rumors of a chink of the King of Coin’s gilded armor, and rumors of black dragons on the wing…

But there is more to Zelos than ships and chaos. Zelos is also known as a titan of military might, not only possessed of an agile and powerful navy, but also well-renowned for its knights and schools of martial arts taught and refined for centuries. In fact, it boasts two noble houses, both Marbhall and Craicgrand, with entire lineages of celebrated warriors. Not only is the infantry of Zelos some of the most fearsome in all Ticonderos, Zelos-trained mercenaries are just as much an export of theirs as any other commodity. Despite all of his recent woes, King Celafir puts his military might into play even now, seeking out dragon scales, and not only on the surface. His forces are engaged as far south as the Dragon’s Tail, the archipelago west of the southern desert where the King of the Coin seeks to absorb a few coastal villages currently under the rule of the fierce and fiery Alo Pagtria.

Dragonscarred of Ticonderos, Pt. 3 – Domhnath, the Eastern Realm of Wonders

A region of beautiful complexity, Domhnath is filled with lush, green forests and surrounded by wonders on all sides. The Shrouded Mountains to the west, the Glimmertide Coast, Cerulean Sea, and the Sphinx’s Roost to the east, across the Trollsrush to the north lies the Frozen Heart of the Oreiad Empire, and to the south the dangerous Forest of Illusion. Once a nation of overflowing abundance for the native Ticondereans that began migrating south, Domhnath is now inhabited by a hybrid people and culture created thousands of years ago when immigrants fleeing across the ocean from civil war in their own country discovered the Sphinx’s Roost and were rescued by the native people that lived in the area. Over the years the two cultures, who once remained separated, began to unify and intermingle until they formed a cohesive new culture that settled further inland in the deep, bright green forests that surround their capital city, Abbaras.

The Domhnathean people are ruled by an almost corporation-like hierarchical bureaucracy they call the Callamnliefht, or Clan Law, where the heads of the largest, oldest, wealthiest families in the region perform the chief executive duties of governance, other family members or heads of families with less stature handle legislative powers, and a body of wisemen – priests, doctors, teachers, skilled masters, etc – provide the Callamnliefht with its judiciary. Like any corporation, Domhnath has it’s “CEO,” the Head of Clan Law, Caliefodr Ishad M’fir, sometimes called King Ishad of Abbaras.

Family is of extreme importance to Domhnathean culture, as might seem obvious, but while ancestral lineage is an easy early indicator of one’s social status, rising (or falling) in class can be accomplished on the basis of one’s personal merits through wealth, unusual skill, public service or other means. A whole system is in place in which low members of the wisemen class manufacture and supply the citizenry of Domhnath with badges, medallions, and other codified decorations meant to be worn so as to convey one’s personal achievements. It is at once a culture rich with traditional family values, yet bolstered by ambitious youth who dream of exalting their (and their family’s) station. Indeed, the Caliefodr is not an inherited title, but one granted every generation or so to the most capable “manager” of the most powerful family in Domhnath and as such, the position and power that comes with it is often changing hands.

On the archipelago east of Abbaras, known as Sphinx’s Roost, lay the ruins of an ancient city established thousands of years ago by native Ticondereans where they worshipped a great Sphinx as their vengeful god. This ruin, called The Saruceanleid, or Nest of Stone, is now the home of Domhnath’s wisemen and the center for their artistic and educational pursuits. The Saruceanleid houses a prestigious Bardic College, where the budding discipline of Wizardry is being explored, an extensive library and amphitheatre, both open to the public, as well as a hospital held in high esteem across the continent.

The Domhnatheans are the only Dragonscarred culture with widespread literacy, their ancestors from across the sea having brought with them printed books and the knowledge of how to make them, and the library in The Saruceanleid houses the only printing press on the continent. There is a deep value to both the spoken and written word within Domhnathean culture and great importance placed on religion, poetry, theatre, and debate. And, particularly with the secular members of society and in proximity to any establishment for the performative arts, the Domhnatheans certainly do not neglect the pursuit of the (often alcohol debauched) party. While they do not have the most powerful standing military, the hazardous natural terrain surrounding Domhnath and their advanced tactical expertise in guerrilla warfare makes the country nearly impossible to invade or conquer.

South of Abbaras, beyond the Forest of Illusion, lies the eclectic city of Blackwater where Clan Cu’Laiomh, ruled by Ca’Lief Foehn Cu’Laiomh, a proud old clan of nearly pure native Ticonderean descent manages a diverse group of wizards, doctors, historians, and archeologists, cooperating with the Dhogem that remain underground and welcoming those that flee to the surface, as together they all uncover the ruins and artifacts of an incredibly ancient culture predating any known native human civilization.

The Dragonscarred of Ticonderos, Pt. 2 – Kingspeace, the Tattered Heart of a Crumbling Continent

All of the territory south of the arctic regions of the Ice-Heart Empress and Peltast’s Kingdom are referred to collectively by the northern humans and Oreiad alike as “The South,” but the Dragonscarred that dwell there subdivide those lands. There the humans refer to the dry bluffs and vast desert south of the High Mountains as “The South,” and to all the rest of the landmass between The Arm and the High Mountains as the Mainland.

*Approaching Kingspeace main gate. Art by K*ieran Lakey-Solomon.

Just south of the Trollsrush, a large river running east to west dividing Ticonderos’ northern tundra just under The Arm and just above the Mainland’s vast mountain ranges, lies a tall volcano near the Mainland’s northwest shore. To the west lies a small, but dense woods obscuring the Savage Sea but to the east the hills open into plains where the sprawling city of Kingspeace rises, governed by a sort of legally stitched together family of lords and ladies brought together from across Ticonderos’ peoples called House Whitebranch. Their unnamed keep lies in the ruins that were once the Dragonlord’s enormous castle, Dragon’s Roost, decreed to forever remain ruined as an example of the Five Nations’ collective wrath, and there are some who refer to their seat disparagingly as Ruin’s Roost. There they are committed to the task of offering council to the rulers of the Five Nations, brokering trade and peace deals, and dispensing justice such as they can. A task easier said than done as the Five Nations are currently embroiled in a lust for the last remaining power of the Great Wyrms once controlled by the Dragonlord. Six dragon scales imbued with incredible magic power are all that remain of the dragons’ might, and the Five Nations all have spies, thieves, adventurers and even armies out looking for them, and their petty squabbles have enflamed into border skirmishes across the continent.

While House Whitebranch is not permitted to have a standing army, Kingspeace itself does have a city watch of sorts under the command of House Drakeshead, a newly established minor nobility given to the commander of the Dragonlord’s enslaved native forces after he turned on the Dragonlord and dealt a fatal blow to the Great Fire Wyrm in the climactic final battle to end the Dragonlord’s reign. Additionally, House Whitebranch maintains a personal retinue of elite guardsmen for their protection, the Ruinguard. Unbeknownst even to House Whitebranch, a famous swordsman among the Ruinguard employs a vast network of spies and agents throughout the Five Kingdoms.

Recently, House Whitebranch has become suspicious of the Oreiad Empire who dwell in mountaintop cities, but have been ruled for centuries by their Ice-Heart Empress in the North. The lords and ladies of Kingspeace have received grim reports of Northern cities under attack, of undead shambling out of the river flowing south, and have even heard rumors that the Empress herself is dead. They have called for a Congress of Kings to address what they earnestly believe to be a serious threat to the whole continent, but few have answered the call at all, let alone with their actual presence. The conditions of House Whitebranch’s position demands they act only with the permission of all of the Five Nations’ rulers, but secretly they have sent an intrepid battalion of knights into the Savage Sea to offer support to the forces at Greengate, to investigate the rumors of undead armies, and to assault them in a pincer attack from behind if the rumors prove true.

As if things weren’t bad enough already, Dhogem from the Deeps flood to the surface in droves, fleeing from frenzied monsters in the Great Chasm and worse, darker nightmares they speak of only reluctantly, in hushed tones, abominations made from their loved ones that subjugate and murder with reckless abandon. Kingspeace has been flooded by Dhogem refugees but House Whitebranch also finds itself strained with the task of managing this diaspora of underfolk to Dragonscarred settlements all the way from Zelosport on the western coast to Sunshadow in the Southern Desert. Tensions between Dhogem and Dragonscarred run high in many places and the nations of the surface are disinterested in supporting this heavy influx of new people. Blood has been shed already and House Whitebranch finds themselves at a loss trying to wrangle in their wayward rulers in response to the undead threat to the North in the midst of this clear and present disaster. How will they bring the Five Nations to task and hold the realm together?

The Dragonscarred of Ticonderos, Pt. 1 – Elnard, Kingdom of the Northwest Tundra

Scattered human realms, recently independent from a tyrant, warring, politicking, and backstabbing one another for control of six powerful dragon scales.

In the years after the Dragonlord’s defeat, the Dragonscarred have reconsolidated power a handful of times as wars of military might as well as political and even religious ideology continued to scorch the earth years after the dragons breathed their last.

Artist unknown, but let me know if you know who it is!

Their society is in a state of barely contained chaos, always threatening to boil over and drown the fields in blood and fire. Political intrigue and cunning machinations run high and highest at the former seat of the Dragonlord’s power, now dubbed Kingspeace. There the new rulers of the Dragonscarred have appointed a council of lords from across the continent whose desperate, thankless job it is to attempt, with what limited faculty they have, to keep some semblance of order between these powerful and willful new nations.

At the moment, the continent is divided into the territories of five countries, the authority of their rulers having only been established roughly twenty short years before the action begins; however, other powerful lords and agents plot to seize territories of their own. These Five Nations are Elnard to the North, Domhnath to the East, Zelos to the West, Thanolund in the High Mountains, and Alo Pagtria in the Southern Desert. Other areas of interest include the Frozen Heart of the Oreiad Empire, Kingspeace, the Free City of Tyfaine, and the Isle of Mourning among others.

Elnard, the Northern Kingdom

King Eisos Peltast rules the small section of the north not controlled by the Ice-Heart Empress of the Oreiad from the wrought granite and iron fortress Chillrend. Peltast was a ferocious and shrewd battle commander for the Dragonlord and perhaps the only man among the Five Nations who remembers their deposed despot fondly. The northern High City of Ilemmel surrounds Chillrend a few miles in any direction before breaking up into villages and outskirts, but other major cities and centers of commerce exist in the north.

On the coast of the westernmost region of the North called The Fist, House Merestel governs the fishing hamlet Beacon Hill from their castle Highlantern, which functions as both holdfast and lighthouse to the dozens of fishermen and sailors that live in the town. House Merestel is an old, proud family that long feuded with the Peltasts and did not support the Dragonlord’s reign, but after decades of bloody skirmishes, only after the Dragonlord’s defeat, a treaty was signed between Merestel and Peltast that swore House Merestel into the service of King of the North. Beacon Hill has become the epicenter of the theory that the rest of the world Ticonderos was once a part of has disappeared and stuffy Wizards have begun to roost there for research…

The northernmost community within the Dragonscarred’s northern kingdom, Coldharbour, a small village of fishers, hunters, and traders is watched over by House Bight, loyal to King Peltast, from their more modest castle Fossegrim’s Tear, named after the shape of the Dragonscarred territories on a map and how it looks like a dull trollish face. The village and castle lie just under where the Fossegrim’s eye seems to be.

The native elders of the Wolfgoar Tribe are ruled by a sect of pious hunters, the Sacred Spears, the best of which (regardless of gender) is given the mantle of rule (if he or she desires it), and govern the ferociously independent settlement of hunters and trappers known as Wolfhaven. The people who live here, among which can be counted Dragonscarred but also a not-too-rare population of Dhogem and Oreiad, view the Dragonscarred as, at best pompous melodramatics, at worst as a group of psychopathic, genocidal colonizers. The Sacred Spears maintain a sturdy keep/temple they call House Bloodmaw and do not serve Peltast. The vast majority of Dragonscarred, especially those south of The Arm, fear the Wolfgoar and regard them with a mixture of awe and bigotry. The Wolfgoar are a powerful tribe, but are just one of many tribes that were native to Ticonderos before the conquerors that now call themselves Dragonscarred came into their lands and drove them out, killing and enslaving native Ticondereans by the thousands. Long ago the native people of Ticonderos lived almost exclusively in what is now being called Elnard, but scarcity of resources drove them toward the south where far greater numbers of native Ticondereans can be found thriving today.

House Noblennar of Greengate rules over the fishing and ranging town of Noblessavognn. They more closely serve House Merestel than King Peltast, having been a vassal house to the Merestels long before the treaty was signed pledging House Merestel to the King’s service. In those old times, Greengate was built to keep native Ticondereans or the Peltasts’ forces from attacking and taking Beacon Hill. House Noblennar was granted sovereignty by King Peltast with the writ of the peace treaty between his house and the Merestels, but the Noblennars have not forgotten their generations of loyalty to House Merestel and remain their stoic allies.

As of late however, the situation in the North has turned grim. In the beginning, hunters and gatherers from Wolfhaven began disappearing. Oreiad rush to the settlement by the dozens seeking shelter from unnaturally strong storms, whispering of horror, of the dead and the damned. Then the Sacred Spears reported slaying the first of the undead.

Now, an army of the dead, led by merciless undead Oreiad witches, has taken House Bloodmaw as well as Coldharbour and lays siege to Chillrend. They reach as far west as Greengate where a pitched battle is currently underway, and their scouts have been sent south.