:: Joaquim and the Marid's Lute ::

...or "The Frog Prince"

Once there was a ranai named Joaquim, whose name meant “Lifted by God.” Like his mother before him, he worshipped the marids, beautiful geniuses of the water planes that sometimes blessed mortals with their powers.

When he was young, Joaquim had fallen into a ravine, trapped where his mother could not reach him. Distraught, she invoked the marids on his behalf. Pulling a magical lute from her back, she plucked the strings in a serenade that ebbed and flowed like the waves. Presently, a marid emerged from within the bowl of the lute and asked:

:: Random NPC—Geir, Fenris Shaman ::

The old grizzled Fenris shaman will tell you the end is nigh, and you're tempted to disbelieve him—just as you would any other crackpot fool wearing a sign around his neck—except that this crackpot fool supports his claims with evidence. Though old, Geir's clothes are clean. Though prophesying the coming calamity, he is paradoxically cheerful. This, he says, is because there is still something that can be done about it.

:: Random Location—Kaawa by the Way, Forest Thorp ::

As you march along the trail, fallen pine cones crunching beneath your feet, the tall trees towering above you, the sound of trickling water meets your ears; your first sign that Kaawa is near. Soon after, you come upon the characteristic piles of stone that flank the trail, the cairns standing both as gate and sentinel for what lies beyond. The trail continues past the cairn, but you take the less-traveled path through the underbrush. The air turns crisp, and clear, and you know that out into the wood just a little more is the spring that supplies the inhabitants of the thorp.

Only just before you emerge from the green does the burbling of the spring give way to another sound. No, many sounds: many people laughing at the same time, the trill of a tinflute, a boastful voice, and then a melodic response. As you pass between the small, sturdy houses from behind, you smell the sweet, nutty wafts of a food vendor selling honeyed pine nuts. You enter the clearing proper and see a simple stage that has been built out of cloven trunks where an acrobat deftly flips several times before feigning a botched landing. The small gathering of local folk laugh in concert again. Your heart lifts: you've reached Kaawa by the Way.

:: Random NPC—Yale, Bórean Dendrite ::

Yale (“Fertile Upland”)

by Wm Jay Carter III, 6/25/15

a bórean

Race: Bórean

Age: Adult

Gender: Female

Stature: Short

Physical: Small Head

Outwardly: Paranoid

Inwardly: Desperate

Profession: Physician

Magic: Dendrite—Awakened

Animal: Lion “Caerwyn”

Catchphrase: “You there. Is the Winslie village up ahead? Tell me truths or I will know! Hurry, speak!”

As you leave the Winslie village toward the Dreaming Desert you see a strange sight; out on the horizon a silhouette wavers in the heat. You take it to be a lion, but struggle to understand why it has the upper body of a snouted creature, complete with two massive clawed hands, growing out of its neck. You shake your head, wondering if the sands have already begun to take hold on your mind. Regardless, the silhouette is fast approaching.

When the beast reaches you at last, your eyes correct themselves—it is not one beast but two. The snouted creature turns out to be a bórean with an exceptionally small head. The mole-woman reins in her snow-white mount and hails you from a cautious distance. “You there. Is the Winslie village up ahead? Tell me truths or I will know! Hurry, speak!”

:: Random Location—Tor Ysbryd Garreg ::

Tor Ysbryd Garreg

by Wm Jay Carter III, 6/19/15

Tor Ysbryd Garreg

Prominent Feature: Tor

Nation: Bóreans

Condition: Lush, Holy

Weather: Sprinkles

Color: Redwood

Keyword: Gargantuan

For the last hour of your journey all other conifers have given way to trees as tall as castles—the mighty redwoods. Through the bare lower trunks you see a dim glow the color of lapis gracing the silhouettes of the underbrush; you know you’re close. Finally, as you clear the treeline your full view is overwhelmed by gargantuan hunks of stone piled haphazardly upon one another. Tor Ysbryd Garreg towers above you, above even the tops of the redwood trees.

The company of bórean exemplars has already arrived, attesting to the efficiency of their tunnels. The avatar of stone steps forward, reciting the final plea of the ritual. You pause just inside the treeline to sit and watch the ceremony. The rain sprinkles your face, the spongy moss yields under your hands, and for a moment you let the sanctity of the place ease the tension in your body. Then, the avatar’s recitation reaches a crescendo, the lapis glow intensifies, and the forest floor begins to tremble…