Celtris Tales: Small Packages Chapter 6: Hunted

Small Packages: Hunted

Thankfully Luca called a halt. Marius dismounted quickly and started stripping Kane of gear. Even with Marius having stripped to his riding leathers and loading up Seline, since Luca rode Calia today, and even with the magic Luca used to ease their run, the pack had been ridden hard today.

The poor wolf was lathered in sweat and would need some water. It was why Luca halted, the water was clear and the stream was small and lined with rock. It looked like a tended water source. Behind it were dozens of hills, with the tall grass and the stream to hide their scent this could well end the chase.

Unfortunately one of that burn scarring patrol lickspittles managed to blow a trouble horn before he was dispatched. The orcs poured out of their Fort like five thousand angry ants. The empire’s war machine was a well oiled one as they splintered into formation based search parties working a grid pattern within a dozen or so minutes from the fight.

After the second time being spotted, they agreed to ride to try and gain some distance. Luca hated dismissing Iz but it was the only way. The trium of war boar mounted ranger trackers caused another merry chase. Marius had to waste another three charges from his web wand and Luca the majority of their pepper to lose that unit.

The last chase was by an air cutter. The small skyship was fairly fast and carried enough archers to ruin a good gnome’s day. Some light tree cover and an obscuring mist spell was their last bit of salvation. The wolves had been running at top speed for nearly three hours since then. Twice Marius laid hands calling on his paladin powers to ease the fatigue of each of the wolves, as Luca casts a spells to lend them strength.

Wolves were sprinters not distance runners. They could cover serious ground by utilizing an efficient trot but what they endured today was very different, the chases had really put a strain on them. Marius moved to attend Calia as Luca finished recalling Iz. Something in his brother’s posture made Marius a little extra leery. He scanned the area feverously fearing he was missing some kind of threat. Luca’s attitude was echoed by the wolves, as they whined slightly and cowered a little lower to the ground after they drank deeply of the stream.

Marius was unsure when his blade came out, but he suddenly understood the tension as his spine chilled and straightened and the hair on his neck rose. Something unnatural was nearby, something contrary to the idyllic scene before him.

“Hello,” Marius ventured in a normal voice that felt like a shout. It was then he realized what was wrong. He could hear the burbling of the stream but nothing else. No insect buzzed or birds making their songs. No frogs, no crickets, just a quiet foreboding.

Luca merged with Iz but remained silent. They all stood on their heels for a long moment, waiting. Then Marius realized he heard a new sound, a buzzing. The sound was getting closer.

“Pyrite,” Luca swore, “I know where we are.”

Marius then spotted the source of the buzzing, some sort of cattle like creature which was also clearly dead as its ribs were clearly visible and sun bleached shambled towards them. A rather large wasp hive filled in the spaces where it’s guts used to be.

“They weren’t trying to catch us. The orcs herded us here, into the famine king’s burial mounds,” Luca said this with almost a reverent tone.

The zombified bull sauntered into a position with a direct line to their own and waited.

Luca walked forward and insanely began to shout at the zombie, “I humbly request passage through your lands, great famine king. I would but request passage for myself and my companions and offer in tribute my brother’s wand of webs. Do you accept?”

To Marius’ horror the bull nodded.

Next Chapter

Celtris Tales: Small Packages Chapter 5 Slaver's Galley

Small Packages: Slaver’s Galley

Having activated Defiance’s larger form Valen managed to whirl the double mace like a bo staff to simultaneously block a coordinated number two (high left) strike and number ten (low right) strike, and side step the follow up number 8 (deep lunge) but not the rapid roundhouse kick follow up Jared loaded a cold punching snowball spell strike that rocked him back on his heels. The old man was serious today. Valen recovered his wits in time to see Jared complete a spell that created a half dozen illusionary doubles of the famed hero.

“You fight well my son, but you seem to think that matters. Your enemies will not wait to see if you’re ready to fight, they will simply look for the most expedient way to kill you.”

Valen spun Defiance again like a bo-staff and launched into a spinning assault that would offer him many strikes at the price of true momentum, it cleared all but one of the illusions solidly connecting with his father’s  shoulder with perhaps too hard a clip. Jared vanished in that moment to reappear with the tip of his rapier two inches deep under Valen’s floating rib.

Unapologetically, Jared withdrew his blade and flicked of his foster son’s blood. “Take a healing potion and fetch one for me while you’re at it. You need to stop relying on your eyes so much my son, or some clever spire mage will kill you one day.”

The words were a gentle but serious rebuke. Valen realized two things in that moment, it was the first time he had ever hit his adoptive father in a sparring match, and that his father had was pushing him harder today with a purpose.

“Something is wrong?” Valen had never been a man of many words, words came awkwardly to his lips. He preferred silent action, monks in his order rarely spoke.

Jared nodded. Before he could explain a messenger burst into the practice courtyard.

“General Ambassador, pardon my interruption but there’s a slaver ship on its way to the harbor.”

Jared’s face darkened, with deadly swift grace that Valen had heard tales of but never witnessed from his father, the half elf half goblin sheathed his blade into his walking cane, made a number of practiced arcane somatic motions and ran out toward the harbor casting spells as he moved.

Valen had seen his father shirtless enough times to know the brutal lash marks on his back, the brand on his ribs, and the deadly serious glint in his father’s eyes when the subject of slavery was broached. Jared had been a slave early in his life and few things infuriated him more thoroughly.

The bards told tales of Jared freeing himself from the southern slavers. His full elf wife was a former slave the hero had freed. Many of his men were once slave troops or caravan guards effectively stuck in a cycle of debt akin to slavery. He had fled north and begged sanctuary in Briar Hills for the price slaver’s had put on his head. Jared was worth six figures to those men, it would end up being the low bid compared to what the Imperium was willing to pay.

Jared became Briar Hill’s greatest hero. He was the high general of their armies and chief ambassador. At one point a mercenary company form the southern cities came to collect the reward on Jared’s head and their ships were burned in the harbor of Briar Hills. Since then no slave ship had dared enter halfling territory.

Valen raced after his father. No slaver would dare try to dock in the harbor, Jared was famous for what he did to slavers as he was for anything else. Valen fished a potion out of the pack he carried, it would lend him speed. He would likely have to fight his own father in more earnest if he was to prevent a terrible mistake. There was only one reason a slaver ship would harbor in Briar Hills, that reason being it wasn’t piloted by slavers.

Valen watched his adoptive father’s mental decline with silent distress. In the moment the man was deadly and sharp and with a little coaxing he could match wits with any foe, but his short term memory was declining and sometimes he acted rashly to cover for his deficiencies. Today that could mean the death of innocents, Valen buckled down and ran faster.

Next Chapter

Celtris Tales: Small Packages Chapter 4 Stones and Bones

Small Packages: Stones and Bones

Jared’s left knee thudded with a dull ache that usually indicated an approaching storm. The throbbing pain of that knee would act as a baseline, a lifetime of battles had made his body a symphony of aches and pains when the weather was about to turn. Each note was a reminder of a battle won, some by a minute detail and a little luck. The pains served as reminders of the best and worst moments in his heroic life.

Jared’s star-stone rapier was now sheathed in a cane, serving double duty, weapon and support. His boot still housed to his returning dagger won off a gnoll assassin, he could summon it to hand as an act of will. Defiance, his signature mace, was slung across the belt of his squire, along with his pack and most of his wands and potions.

The boy was a mixed blood, human and halfling, and the lad and had all of his father’s strength, but little to no cunning. What Jared found troubling was that he had trouble remembering the boy’s name. No the lad was half human and a genius next to his true father, Jared admonished himself for getting forgetful.

Briar Hills had spared no expense in keeping their most famous hero propped up. Jared wore a belt that enhanced all of his physical attributes and a circlet for his mind. He had a magical hat that could make him look however he pleased, and several magical protective items. What they couldn’t do for Jared was restore the arrogant confidence of his youth or bring back the brave men he once led.

The Starstone mercenary company lived on and had grown to two hundred irregulars and fifty auxiliaries. Jared had seen to each recruitment and subsequent training. Each was trained in precision striking and had a weapon made from the meteor. They were an elite force but their true mettle had never been tested these past thirty years.

Jared would trade the lot of them for the heroic bakers dozen spearmen he once led. Those men were the kind of warriors that would challenge hell with a smile and come out better for it.  But they were gone, just like their sergeant, Sergan Daine.

Orcs began training at age seven and one in three of them never lived to adulthood and military service which was mandatory for five years on reaching their majority. They then policed a population that largely despised and occasionally tried to murder them. They had conquered all but three far flung corners of the northern continent, and they held those three nations to the stalemate of a long siege.

If the orcs training was all there was to them, Jared Swift was confident he’d have ended their empire thirty years ago. For the second time in twenty years the orc empire sent a true invasion force to conquer Briar Hills, using Red Keel across the bay as a staging point. Jared beat them in the air by using a rusting grasp spell channeled through bird familiars to rust open their bomb bays early and bolts of magical lightning to ignite the sky ships’ alchemical payloads. They then tried landing forces onto the famous black sand beaches. Jared had spent the previous evening mixing tar into those sands, the screams of the landing parties still haunted his dreams at times.

The battles while costly to the orcs were not the true campaign though. Jared had sown the seeds of a hundred revolutions with spies, instigating bards, hidden weapon and supply caches, and a variety of safe havens all networked with a secret mail service. Every attempt to keep their invasion forces supplied was either robbed or destroyed. The wild fire plan predicted the orcs would remain stubborn and start rationing their empire’s citizenry to keep their invasion on. Such an action would have set in motion a series of revolts, riots, protests, and assassination attempts. The orcs would have had to scramble troops everywhere and their entire house of cards would have crashed. In the end they backed out the invasion force and actually started increasing social aid programs.

An entire human generation has grown up as a permanent merchant class, well fed, educated, and with steady work. Jared suspected the orcs could invade now without risking anything, the embers of revolution had all but died out to cold ash. Only the humans had the population numbers to challenge orc rule, and they were a complacent bunch at best.

The boy’s name came back to Jared in that moment, along with a terrifying realization. The boy was named Valen after Jared’s older brother who died a slave. He was a bastard boy from one of the men he dismissed from the mercenary company on the grounds that he was too stupid to follow orders. Jared adopted the boy and he was the third  he had adopted. The boy wasn’t exactly a genius but wise beyond his years and a fair monk.

Forgetting his adoptive son was troubling indeed, if he were to lose his mind then Briar Hills was about to be without it’s general. If Jared was right about the reports he was reading, Briar Hills was going to need a general again and soon. More importantly Briar Hills was in desperate need of more allies that only the southern continent could provide.

Jared began his stretching routine. He’d put Valen through his paces today, pain or no. The very thought made Jared smile a smile his enemies had grown to fear, it was a smile he only wore when he was properly motivated to fight.

Next Chapter

Celtris Tales: Small Packages Chapter 3 Scars

Small Packages: Scars

Luca hated fire. Fire had killed his parents and as a winter gnome, fire was especially painful to him. As Marius charged past him drawing his blade, acting without caution or forethought Luca was reminded of how like fire his brother could be.

There was little choice; Luca whistled the loose command to the pack of three wolves that served the brother’s as companions. There would be other orcs with torches, followed by more orcs with bucket. Luca recognized the implications immediately, this was a burn brigade keeping the grounds of the fort clear of cover. It was a standard tactic when expecting an attack.

The chance to reason and calm Marius passed in a blink, when something offends a paladin’s convictions it was best to get out of the way. Luca followed his brother in a guarded trot and called the eldritch cold to blast any foes.

The orc spotted Marius and called out for reinforcements. The orc was no slouch, he dropped his torch a couple feet ahead of himself drew his spear and braced it off his rear foot angled low and further supported with his shield. The moves were practiced and near mechanical in their precision. This was a soldier that had drilled until such movements were second nature, and he would be joined by at least two others before Marius closed the distance into melee. Luca sent a dart of freezing energy over that orc’s shield.

Luca had once skimmed an orc tactical manual and could hazard that this was likely a foot patrol unit. There would be eight legionaries with tower shields, longspears, a brace of pilums, and the deadly legion issue orcish gladius. They would try to form up ranks which made them more deadly as each man was trained to guard the man to his left with his shield. They’d form two lines with 4 spears in the back making attacks between the gaps while those out front stabbed and slashed with their deadly blades from closer quarters.

Allowing the orcs to form up into even a partial defensive formation would mean death for the gnomes and their wolves. It would take the orcs less than a minute to gather and form so every second counted. Luca had a magical bond with Calia and Seline, the two female wolves who he ordered into either side of the tall grasses to flank, the tactic would at least hopefully stall the orcs.

Closing more distance, Luca dreaded doing what he knew he must, as he dismissed Iz after launching another eldritch dart at the same orc he had already wounded. A flood of weakness and pain brought tears to the Winter gnome’s eyes but he needed his summons. Three of the orcs were set for Marius when Calia leapt from the grasses and scored a deep calf bite on Luca’s wounded orc dragging him down. He foolishly tried to regain his feet rather than a short blade exposing the back of his neck, Calia didn’t miss the opportunity.

Maruis adjusted the angle of his charge and caught a second orc patrolman who had drawn his sword rather than spear. This orc was perhaps a green horn as he lacked the skill and grace of his dead companion; he chopped a sloppy overhand strike that Marius easily evaded as he charged into his foe. The blade was that of an orcish longsword that had about half a foot cut from the base the handle, modified to serve as a bastard sword for a gnome. Marius drove the blade will all his charging momentum through the weak point of the footman’s breastplate, the sides where the armor is strapped. The green horn footman was dead before he hit the ground.

Seline and Kane occupied the third orc who had both his spear and his short sword out. He was using the spear tucked under arm and braced across his back to ward off Seline, while his sword stood in a defensive posture for Kane. The wolves had him flanked and would circle and strike.

In the chaos of melee, Marius had not yet noticed the other five orcs from the patrol who formed up with two in the rear pilums in hand and three up front with their shields covering one another and short-blades at the ready. The marched steadily holding their tentative formation.

Luca called a small elemental of earth to flank and harry the orcs from below. With a spell he called a hawk to dive and attack from the skies. His brother drew a pillum from the fallen and lazily chucked it at the wolf flanked orc with his off hand. The orc easily dodged but was put off balance enough for the wolves to strike him down rapidly, finishing him brutally in front of his marching companions. They responded with a pilum volley the wolves easily dodged, but held.

Luca was nearly to his brother’s side when he called the power of the cloak and turned into a winter wolf. The pack jumped into the tall grasses for soft cover and stealth. They’d circle round the rear and try to break the formation, Marius and Luca just had to hold up for a few moments.

Luca blasted the front with his new form’s breath weapon. Formations were bad at dodging. Marius drew and a specially carved bit of chitin and spoke a word of command in a passable draconic. Webs quickly formed and held the formation in a sticky mess.

Luca dropped wolf form and called out to Iz. There was no point in watching what came next. Held fast Marius would use either the remaining fallen’s pilums or long spears to finish the patrol and avoid the mess. Trading at the Fort was now a pyrite errand.

It was Luca’s sincere hope that the Fort didn’t spare a wizard from Black Spire College to investigate.  The last thing they needed was to get on the empire’s wanted list. Every orc would be a potential enemy, not to mention the bounty hunters.

Fire made scars on the land and in the hearts of two orphan gnomes, the burn squad that cleared the Fort’s killing fields would pay for being careless with their fire today. Marius was easy to underestimate, he was usually so kind and warm, like a crackling hearth on a cold day.  Though like that same hearth, if things got out of control he was capable of as much destruction and violence as any raging fire.

Next Chapter

Celtris Tales: Small Packages Chapter 2 Marius

Small Packages: Marius

Marius didn’t like the idea of stopping over to trade at Fort Furthest. Most orcs found the sight of Luca bonded to Iz unsettling and while both brothers had a charming manner, a nervous orcs on the edge of a warzone could mean trouble. A low whine from Kane his riding wolf echoed the sentiment.

“They don’t like short folk in that Fort Luca,” Marius argued again.

“We don’t look like Halflings, Marius and I want to know what they know of the road ahead,” Luca replied again.

Marius thought about it again. Luca was wearing Iz at the moment and Iz made him about the size of a muscular human, excepting for the fact that Iz also had razor sharp claws, gills, and a crocodilian head. Iz was also translucent so Luca wore his large winter wolf pelt covering most of his body despite the heat. Luca chose Winter so he radiated a low degree of cold and his hair was a shocking mix of snow white, ice blue and hints of a deep purple. The clothing he wore under Iz was all about hiding the shape of his thin sickly body under folds of fabric.

Marius in contrast to his brother had orange hair as wild and bright as a fire. He was short but clearly muscular with wide shoulders and a nice tan. He wore heavy mail and an array of weapon handles jutted from various angles from his back and his belt.

One had to look carefully at the gnome brothers’ faces to see the resemblance. While Luca rarely smiled, when he did those who knew Marius would recognize it. Marius was always smiling. They both had dominant noses that anchored the face and ensured their potency to gnomish women. They shared sharp cheekbones and solidly proportioned chins. Marius chose to allow mutton chops while Luca remained more conservative and cleaned shaven.

On his chest, Marius wore a tabard with the canine face that was the symbol of loyalty, clasped hands echoed that sentiment as a symbol around his neck, and his sword arm had an armband with a rose symbol for beauty. Like all paladins he was open about his convictions and shared them publically, being an example.

Luca took care of Marius growing up when they were orphaned by a fire. Later Marius had to take Luca to different healers when the wasting sickness started robbing his brother of vitality. Luca was fierce and enriched his mind, with Marius’ aid he searched library after library seeking answers on his disease, and the type of magics that could cure it.

There was nothing Marius would not do for Luca. No challenge he would not overcome, short of betraying the Summer court. Keeping loyal to both was not easy, but convictions weren’t meant to be. Being a Paladin wasn’t meant to be easy either. Luca was frequently bitter and difficult, he resented needing Marius, and at times the feeling was mutual. Marius believed that the core of love was loyalty, of staying with someone through the hard times and being there even when they push you away. That within everyone there was beauty.

To Marius, his brother Luca had a beautiful mind. His brother had such a will that he made a better body for himself on sheer will and an innate talent for magic. He read dozens of languages and absorbed facts like a thirsty man drinks.

It was hard for others to understand why a paladin consorted with someone who used warlock magic and who called on an otherworldly Eidolon. Or why a summer gnome served and protected a winter gnome. Marius usually answered such inquiries with a smile and said: “when I was a child and I cried for my dead mother, Luca always read me my favorite story no matter how sick of it he got.”

In his reverie, Marius almost bumped into Luca who had stopped. His hand had reflexively landed on the handle of his re-hilted legion blade, as Marius looked for the threat. There was an acrid burnt smell that hung in the air.

“What, brother?” Marius inquired.

Luca pointed ahead, the orcs had burned a swath around their fort a half mile wide. The tall grasses that had straddled either side of the road abruptly ended and the earth was blackened with ash. The smell was that of a drowned fire, it was purposeful.

A hot fire of anger burned inside of Marius at the thought. The fort was a menacing mound of stone surrounded by a scar burned into the grassland. It spoke of something ugly about those that resided within those walls and offended the appreciation of beauty that ran deep to Marius’ core.

Marius was running with his weapon drawn before he realized he had spotted an orc with a torch.

With an act of will his own fire sprouted from the blade.

Next Chapter

Celtris Tales: Small Packages Chapter 1 Luca

Small Packages: Luca

Luca awoke with a familiar sickening panic. His eyes scanned the area for Marius on reflex to see if the fool had fallen asleep on watch again. Sometimes his eyes would meet his dutiful brother’s and Luca would feel a pang of fleeting remorse, then the routine would take over.This time his eyes found Marius' back which was just as well. Luca kept to his rituals and ran a mental inventory, confirming that he could still feel and move all his extremities.  The wasting sickness stalked him like a thief, halted but never cured. If it returned he’d typically lose grip first, then his limbs, his ability to eat, to speak, and ultimately to breathe. His mind would remain sharp as his body became an inert prison. It was a terrifying sickness.

On an intellectual level Luca knew his brother would never fall asleep on watch again, it simply was not in Marius’ character to be so careless. The paladin had not tried dwarven spirits before that night and he only had a normal tankard full. Not only had Marius apologized, he had sworn off drinking all together. Luca just couldn’t help resenting his dependence on Marius.

The healer's amulet had halted the wasting sickness seven years ago, Luca’s slow appointment with invalidity and death had been forestalled, but his brother knew as well as he did that without more potent magic, Luca was living on borrowed time. The disease was still inside of him and could be triggered by any number of environmental factors.

A magic belt lent Luca the strength to move without assistance, though not without pain, and he was clumsy. Another magic trinket reduced Luca’s need to sleep and entirely removed the need to eat. It meant that once he merged with his Eidolon, he need not dismiss it to take a meal, or take a trip to the jakes. It meant that the amount of time a child could overpower him was reduced to two hours and a little over a minute every day.

A silent act of will and a single murmur of Iz’s name, would summon the otherworldly being that Luca wore like armor. When joined with Iz’s body his mind was no longer locked into a prison of weakness, ruin, and pain. Despite its fragile appearing translucence, Iz’s body moved with speed and power. It was almost enough.

Luca didn’t like to think about women, or more specifically one woman. There was no point in pursuing something that is so far out of reach, and she had married a few years ago. Nothing is more haunting than a kiss. Even one given out of pity.

Luca banished that line of thinking and focused on the body he had shaped with the force of his will and the bond with an otherworldly presence. When he was one with Iz he could feel the faint glimmer of a mind that was somehow distant yet content to be joined. To be whole was joy for both.

Luca rose, “get some rest Marius, tomorrow we leave this easy road for a war zone.”

Marius hunkered down with the wolves. Barely articulating a “thanks brother” before falling into a deep slumber. Like many traits Marius took for granted, Luca envied him for his ability to simply carelessly sleep. Luca’s mind was usually too loud and it took a good half hour to quietly sort his thoughts. He loved his brother, needed his brother, envied his brother, and hated his brother all at once. Cold reason battered away a deadly urge. It would be so easy.

Luca fled that line of thinking and got moving to check his trap lines. Luca left little to chance and set an elaborate series of warning and snare traps. The snares usually caught small game and served a secondary function in that they could trip up a stealthy approach if they went unnoticed. Then there were the dagger rakes, step on one of them and a dagger rose rapidly to stab the victim in the leg, they were outlaid in a secondary circle. Marius learned the pattern the hard way after a couple incidents.

On an intellectual level Luca knew that his brother was actually of about the average intelligence level, but he could not help finding fault in his brother’s mental abilities. Both brothers had their mother’s charm and looks, but Luca seemed to inherit all of his father’s magus wit while Marius just had his physical grace.

Luca avoided the subject of their parent’s death. Marius remembered the fire if not the cause. The failed rebellion of Lesh didn’t have a right side and telling Marius what happened would just repurpose him from useful to a creature of vengeance.

The snares yielded four rabbits, Luca would skin and cook one for Marius before dawn, he casually tossed the wolves one each raw. Less time wasted that way.

Next Chapter

Mishelved: 1001 Arabian Nights

Intro by Frank Gori
City of Glim by John Karatovic

Admittedly this week's theme was an axcuse to introduce you to some work I had from John Karatovic for a few months now. I was and still am working on a world building project that this city will be a part of called Celtris.

Celtris is a land where Orcs rule a large portion of the northern continent and opperate like Imperial Rome, if Rome had skyships and was a little more bloodthirsty. Glim is in the Southern continent hidden in the sands of a vast dessert that also includes various slavers and a clan of wily blue dragons.

When I read this I felt transported back into another tale of wonder similar to the flavor of the Thousand and one Nights, without furth hyperboyle enjoy...

The City of Glim

 

Hidden in the vast desert sands, the secret city of Glim has existed as a paradise for the imaginative and the bold. Glim is an impossible city, surrounded by sand for weeks, and far from any natural source of water. Yet, the people of Glim not only survive, they thrive and this is due to the unique nature of the city. When the gods died, Glimmera a goddess of dreams and creation fell from the heavens and crashed into the vast desert. Her body decayed, and her bones turned to sand which weft its way across the world.

The sand called to people in their dreams, artists and craftsmen, architects and dreamers, from all races across the great continent. Over time they left their homelands and began a long pilgrimage following their dreams ever towards the harsh desert. The first to arrive were four wizards of immense power Altus the Conjurer, Suleivo the Evoker, Sinna the Illusionist and Shahas the Transmuter. These four sensed the immense power in the sand and inspired by it worked together to create the city. At first they used their own magic, but fearing it would take too long began summoning mighty genie kind to aid in the task. As payment the genie-kind would be treated as partners forevermore in the city of Glim.

As the dreamers arrived they found a sparkling city built of glass and stone, glittering spires and impossible arches. At the centre of it all, four mighty palaces dedicated to the wizards surrounding the well of dreams. It is from this well that Glim draws its power. For within is the sands of Glimmera capable of providing inspiration (or madness) to any who consume it.

In the hundreds of years since Glim’s founding more dreamers have found their way to the city, and those that live there have had children of their own. The original conclave of wizards began bloodlines of their own, whether bred true with humans or mixed with some genie blood matters little there are no bastards in the nobility of Glim. The nobility provide the important resources the people need to live, the vast quantities of magically conjured food and water, the raw materials for building and repair, the magically lit fires for forges and heat at night and the powerful winds to keep back the sandstorms which always threaten to bury Glim, or worse steal away the sands of Glimmera. Now it is rare for a noble of Glim to have formally studied magic, most merely bind themselves to a family genie and use their magical bond to conjure and create.

Those not of the noble houses are usually called dreamers, and their prize for living in Glim is a taste of Glimmera’s Sand. For someone with a powerful ability to dream and imagine Glimmera’s Sand is not only narcotic it is capable of bringing imagination to life. These dreamers are capable of conjuring Eidolons from their deep subconscious. These Eidolons are a reflection of their creator, hideous eidolons are often the result of a broken or twisted mind, while beautiful and elegant eidolons are often a reflection of someone pure of spirit. The Eidolons’ personalities also reflect some part of the summoner, an eidolon built from the summoner’s base and brutish hunger might appear as a hulking juggernaut with a massive gut and all-consuming maw, while an eidolon representing a summoner’s morality might appear as a sweet and cherubic angel who often chides her master for straying from the moral path.

 The Wards of Glim

Glim is separated into roughly four wards these wards are divided roughly by their proximity to the Well of Dreams. Those furthest from the well usually have the least access to the sands of the well, while those closer have greater access.

The Outer Ward – Mirage Ward

Glim has no walls to defend itself from attack from greedy and destructive outsiders who live in a world of scarcity and base need. Instead the city’s greatest defences are its isolation in the middle of a vast desert and the grand mirage. The grand mirage causes the city to constantly shift on the horizon, causing those who seek Glim without the aid of dreams and divinations to become hopelessly lost in the desert as they follow their easily deceived eyes. Furthermore 8 white towers exist along the compass points of the city. These are called the wind towers , and they work to divert the all-consuming sandstorms of the desert around the city leaving those inside protected from the harsh skin flensing grit.

Life in the Mirage Ward:

Life in the Mirage Ward is probably hardest for most, as the supply of Glimmera’s Sand here is thinnest. Many new dreamers who come to Glim often camp in the Mirage Ward, living inside the massive tent city that seems to be expanding ever outward even past the wind towers. Nothing is as it seems in the mirage ward, and the constant moving of the tent city makes streets confusing. There are many unscrupulous individuals in the Mirage Ward always trying to make easy money from new dreamers, the petty and small minded will stay a long time in the Mirage Ward chasing their small dreams of profit and power. Those who live in tents outside the range of the wind towers are the unluckiest of all, for when the sandstorms come they are at best buffeted by the powerful winds of the wind towers that protect the city, and at worst flensed and buried alive in the desert sand.

Key Locations:

Posha’s Camel Emporium:

Posha is a rotund man who dreamed of being a powerful merchant. So strong were his dreams that he stole 23 of his father’s finest camels and stole off into the desert with them. At night he dreamed of a glittering city that would welcome him with open arms. Eventually he found his way to Glim, where he started a lucrative camel breeding operation. Posha often says: “I understand that a man who can summon beasts has little need of a camel, unless of course he needs a beast to work for more than 10 minutes?” Posha has since expanded to selling tents and lodging to new dreamers, as well as providing guides and mounts for those who wish to ride into the city in style.

The House of Secrets:

Not all creatures in the city believe Glim to be a paradise. The House of Secrets is home to a group of jealous spellcasters who have lost their inspiration. These conjurers believe their dreams have been stolen from them by the sands and they are incapable of creating anything new. They have turned to summoning Divs (anathema to Genie-kind) in an effort to steal the inspiration of the city’s greatest dreamers and nobles and either destroy them or pervert them for their own uses.

The Pool Ward

In the desert water is life, and this is just as true for the secret city of Glim. The pool ward is a ring of water that surrounds the inner circles of the city, dotted with island homes and bristling with sails. Those that live in the pool ward enjoy relaxing in the many bath-houses and taverns. Everyone from the city incapable of creating their own water with magic comes to the pool ward in order to refresh themselves and their water supply. The water is created by Marids and spell-casters in the 4 pump-houses around the city. These casters work in shifts to provide enough water daily for the city. The Pump Houses also send waste in the sewers beneath the city where it is poured into vast empty caverns that are sealed by the Shaitans when filled.

Life in the Pool Ward

A strange mix of bustle and serenity defines the Pool Ward. Those on the shores of the ward are busy getting water to drink, and clean and cleanse themselves, while those on the islands and boats relax and enjoy themselves. Aquatic species that somehow survive the trek across the desert often make their homes in the pool ward  and make their voices heard in the city via the breath-taking coral embassy. Those that work in the Pump Houses have long days of spell-casting in order to meet the daily water quotas that always seem to be rising. Controlled by the powerful Shahas House, the Pumps are a place of constant work where shifts are long and seem to get longer. Eidolons capable of creating water via magic use their abilities most of the day and are thankful when their absent-minded owners finally sleep so that they may wink out of existence and rest. Summoners with aquatic eidolons make their homes in the Pool Ward out of necessity, either taking a home on the pool’s shores or living in one of the many house barges.

Places in the Pool Ward

The Fountain of Love

A fine wine bar frequented by lovers and hopefuls. The Fountain of Love is quite popular the Pool Ward for the exquisite wines that are specially shipped in via ring gate. The fountain is leading a quiet revolution in Glim, and that idea is authenticity. Magically conjured foods, drinks and pleasures are but mere shadows compared to the authentic and real thing. Magul Ago, the bar’s owner works to convince people that instant gratification is robbing the city of inspiration and that by removing perspiration from the equation the city is dooming its citizens to die dreamless.

The Ooze Cave

While constructing the vast sewer system the glittering city would require Shaitan stone-shapers uncovered a sealed cave filled with vile and putrescent oozes. The oozes overcame the shaitans through sheer numbers and then slowly began moving into the sewerage system. The teeming and thronging oozes will eventually find their way into the Pool Ward proper at which point they may taint the entire water supply dooming the population of Glim to die of thirst if the spell-casters of the Pumphouses can’t make up the difference.

The Glass Ward

Towers of Glass and Steel in improbable shapes and angles define the Glass Ward, controlled by the Suleivo family, the Glass Ward is the most prestigious location for a dreamer to live outside the Palace Ward itself. Rarely do the denizens of the Glass Ward leave their glittering homes, instead they stay in their glittering tower homes and indulge themselves on narcotic pleasures. Down at the bases of the towers are the glassworks, powered by djinn-fire the glass works turns the sands of the desert into so much of the glittering city. Furthermore the Sands of Glimmera can be worked into powerful magic mirrors, and shard weapons capable of damaging not just a body but a psyche. The djinn are thus the weapon-smiths of Glim working in their blazing forges for the Altus family they are bound to.

Life in the Glass Ward

Indulgent and dangerous are the two words that best describe life in the Glass Ward. Many of the city’s lesser nobility and more powerful dreamers make their homes here and as the middle and upper classes increase in size space is rapidly becoming the scarcest commodity in Glim.  The instability of the over-indulged upper class has created an atmosphere conducive to duels of honor. Such duels are not mere physical confrontations but rather contests of psyche, ego and wit. As such while a physical battle takes place between summoner’s eidolons the summoners themselves are in a battle of quips just as important, lives are spent cheaply and the nobility are quick to crawl into any open space like rats in an overclogged pipe. Yet few artificial wonders can compare to the towers abundant artistic beauty. Delicate glass sculptures decorate the corners of the buildings and some have noticed Glass Gargoyles roosting along some of the more ornate towers.

Locations in the Glass Ward

Champion’s Spire

This beautiful octagonal structure made of glass and steel has a mighty claw atop it reaching for the sky. Inside the claw is a vast arena wherein the greatest of the Glass Ward’s duellists carry out their summoner’s battles. The battles are heavily wagered on within the city, and its said some of the greatest treasures change hands during the Spire Finals. During the season those participating in the Spire tournament must battle opponents in djinn crafted arenas. Only winners have the right to live in the apartments in the Champion’s Spire.

The Shattered Tower

The greatest tragedy to befall Glim was the shattering of Benjazi Tower. Few know what exactly happened that fateful night, but reports claim that some manner of fire and ice magic was used in some manner of battle before the tower suddenly cracked and shattered sending shards all over the city and injuring hundreds. Those inside the tower were all killed in a combination of magical energy and glass related trauma. Now the shattered tower is a haunted place, and few dare enter that cracked and broken tower that juts from the city like a broken bone. Rumors say that stained glass golems wander the ruins, and swarms of razor sharp glass bats bleed out any who attempt to enter, but still others believe the great treasure of the Benjazi Summoners still lies in their vault still somewhere in the Shattered Tower.

The Well-Ward

Four mighty palaces with designs obviously inspired by the elements of the four genie-kind surround the Well of Dreams. Here the four houses of the founders make their homes, conduct their business and attend the affairs of the city. At the well itself begins a line that wends and winds its way all the way to the edges of the city, for those who came to Glim for the merest taste of Glimmera’s Sand. For even just a small taste is said to make even the wildest dreams come true. The line is enforced by the founders genies and eidolons and it is through the understanding that only patience will allow a pilgrim to taste of the sands that keeps those in the line from rioting. It can take a matter of weeks for a petitioner to get a taste of the sand after joining the line. Petitioners are fed, and watered via minor magics it is considered one of the greatest traditions of the city to care for petitioners who take the role that traditional beggars would in lesser cities.

Life in the Well-Ward

For the four ruling houses, life is political. Each of the houses seeks to manoeuvre around the other and gain ascendancy, but when one house does seem to get the upper hand over another house, two more seem to be ready with a reaction. The most powerful in the ruling houses bind or make deals with genie-kind in order to retain services or magic. Otherwise the nobility create elemental themed eidolons to help them with their duties. While a life of public service is an important part of Glim’s nobility, so is the right to partake of the well more regularly than the standard petitioner. For the nobles there are no lines. For the petitioners, the Well-Ward is the last stop on a long pilgrimage to be free of the dreams and nightmares that call them across all lands. Once a pilgrim has tasted of the Sand their perception is forever changed and the concept of the real or the authentic becomes sophistry. To one who has tasted the sands what is imagined is what is real, and thus the boundaries of the real are bent just slightly every time another tastes the sand.

Locations in the Well Ward

The Well of Sand

The well itself is an impressive sinkhole, adorned by an elegant set of shaitan carved stairs. Petitioners follow these stairs to the bottom of a massive carefully carved cave at the bottom of which is a layer of what at first appears to be quicksand. Though as a mortal mind approaches the quicksand begins to take a different shape often reflecting someone a petitioner has lost. The well speaks to the petitioner and determines the pilgrim’s worthiness. Those that taste of the sands are usually granted a single wish, although others become permanently altered by the sand and become summoners able to summon forth their subconscious to the world. Like a dream the questions the well asks are forgotten soon after, and it is very rare for any petitioner to be allowed a second taste by either the nobility or the sand.

The Hanging Gardens of Altus

These mighty gardens hang in massive stone bowls which are suspended by impossibly large thick chains. The Altus family makes their homes in the Hanging Gardens, within each of which miniature ecosystems flourish around the Altus homes. The Altus family have an enclave of druids that tend the hanging gardens called the gardeners of Glim, protecting these precious ecosystems and keeping them balanced around the masterfully constructed homes and palaces. Lately Haltore, the smallest of the gardens has become stricken with a tree blight. The other gardens might follow, which is a major problem for the city as the hanging gardens are the greatest food-bowl in Glim.

 Secrets of Glim

Here are some possible Secrets for a GM to use if he is running a game set in Glim.

The Genies who serve the nobility of Glim were all once servants of Glimmera and seek to manipulate the mortals into raising their lost goddess who once employed the djinn as crafters of mighty dreams indeed.

Shard weapons are capable of temporarily damaging the bond between summoner and eidolon, but rumours tell of a mad eidolon who has a shard of such potency that it can permanently cut a mortal off from the dreaming entirely, turning such an individual into a horrid automaton. This eidolon seeks to free others of his kind and band against their creators for wasting their potential.

Divs have started infiltrating Glim, they seek a way of transforming all that has been built to dust in the wind. Their opening gambit is to sabotage the wind towers, so that when the next sandstorm hits complete chaos breaks loose as the petitioners desperately attempt to seek shelter in the glass towers.