Black Thorn Resistance/Free North News Issue 7
Title: The Free North News Issue #7
Author: Various
OOC Disclaimer: The following is about Empire, revolution, settler colonialism, and it’s many consequences. The opinions stated here are to be taken in character and should not be taken as out of character judgements. It is intended as in character rhetoric. Except that we should have a rolton cryptid. Oh and do not insert into any orifices. Or do, I’m just not legally responsible for it.
IC Disclaimer: The Black Thorns are more of a collective, and less of a organization with hierarchy and a roster. Please do not take the perspective of one member to apply to all of us.
Across a city still filled with the rubble of the latest attack, pages of torn articles fly through the air in the Landing. Some grumble and some look amused as headlines and articles flip this way and that....the message is clear though. There is a new issue of the Free North News
Guest Editor
We are guest editing again! Much rejoicing you may have! We are also told this is most unity creating issue. Much rejoicing you may have! There is much celebration, it is the festival of falls and the time of lights in many cultures. We must remember the good times.
We must also not forget though. We do not forget the dead fisherman, the dead children, and the dead mothers and fathers, it is a time for remembering so we will remember. We remember the death march of Talador, the Death Camps of Chaston, the Pylons of the Empire recently turned on the landing…. we remember….but it is a time for rejoicing.
How could we forget, with the blemish on the Trollsfang a short walk away from the landing? We remember the sound of hammering, so loud it reached inside our walls, a reminder to each citizen of the landing that they come, and they come to stay. We remember the child-baron and his well voiced dreams of stone and castles and his desire to warp the north into something else….but it is a time for rejoicing.
We remember the fires of Gnul, burning city and forest alike. We remember the turmoil in the Reiver camps and the blood spilling onto the ground. We remember the noble Rooks hanging by the neck in our town at the hands of an angry servant of the empire supported by those who ride from the south….but it is a time for rejoicing.
We remember hundreds of years of displacement and stolen lands, hathlyn torment, elven deaths, halflings dismissal, and dwarves buried in mines. We look upon this constructed castle, called empire, and see clearly who sits at the top, human blood all….but it is a time for rejoicing.
So let us rejoice, here in this Free North News there are things to eat, there are stories of cats and scary stories, and perhaps stories for children.
Perhaps in these days we must be reminded that fear can be conquered.
Read and rejoice…but also remember.
~ Dendum
News From The North
- In Zul, the dwarves have uncovered an ancient shrine to Imaera. The fungal paradise has people asking what other secrets are buried under that mountain.
-Adventurers from Solhaven, with the help of a magistar and imperial blade, capture a high priestess of Ivas who has plagued the lands. Unfortunately this also spread a plague known as the Green Death, or Solhaven Pox, that has infected all known major cities. Alchemist across the lands worked tirelessly to release cures, blunting the spread of the disease.
- Ta'Nalfein and Ta'illistim join in a historic pact with the Human Empire to open trade routes and patrol the seas. No word from the rest of the elven nation on how it views these two city-states independently entering into defense pacts.
-Ta'Faendryl is silenced. No words from the House of Faendryl on how it views its ancient enemies joining hands around its borders.
- There are rumors from the fabled isle of four winds about missing locals and dangerous cults. Travel with caution.
-The Human Empire's war machine strikes the Landing, A Pylon Ship striked the walls of the landing turning people and building to ash. The survivors mourn in a war torn city. So far Amos has not been held accountable for selling these weapons of war. Thankfully the ship was sunk by a coordinated attack including local adventurer and visiting sell-swords.
- The Empire Strikes Again, Not a day after having its wayward weapons wound and war with Wehnimer's a magistar released a magical attack on the Reiver Camp even as citizens of the empire, adventurers, and captured citizen's of the Landing were near the blast zone.
- The North Unites, Adventurers from Icemule, led by Mayor Dabbings, cleansed an ancient building of unknown, possibly giga, origin and earned the loyalty of many giant clans in the process. It is said a great darkness was snuffed out in the process.
The Five- by Faerinn
Created in Midjourney by player of Draelor, Uploaded by player of Dendum With Permission
Once upon a time in the quaint town of Wehnimer's Landing, five extraordinary kittens roamed the land, known collectively as the Suns and Daughters of Madame Dowager. The group comprised Lil Gravy, the curious adventurer; Smoked Sausage, the wise strategist; Blue Bismarck, the athletic daredevil; Big Tator, the strong and gentle giant; and The Unnamed One, an enigmatic kitten with mystical abilities.
Lil Gravy was an insatiably adventurous kitten. Her whiskers twitched with excitement at the mere whiff of danger. She had a map of the town etched into her little feline heart and loved leading her friends on exploits.
Smoked Sausage was the mind of the group. With his sharp eyes always hidden behind a pair of tiny spectacles, he could devise a plan for any situation, no matter how dire.
Blue Bismarck was nimble and agile. She could scale the tallest tree in seconds and had a knack for acrobatics, using her abilities to navigate the group through treacherous terrains.
Big Tator was the muscle. Towering over his siblings, his sheer size and strength made him an invaluable asset when it came to moving obstacles or fending off threats.
And then there was The Unnamed One, cloaked in mystery. No one knew what powers lay beneath those enigmatic eyes, but when they glowed, everyone knew something magical was about to happen.
The town they protected was now in peril. An ominous structure, known as the Murder Obelisk, had risen overnight. It was a weapon of the evil Empire, designed to corrupt the spirit of Wehnimer’s Landing. The obelisk had to be destroyed.
"We need a plan," said Smoked Sausage, leafing through ancient scrolls. "Each of us has a role to play."
And so they went, guided by Lil Gravy’s daring leadership. Blue Bismarck led the way by scaling the obelisk to attach ropes for the others to climb. Big Tator used his powerful paws to dislodge the foundation stones, destabilizing the structure.
As they worked, Smoked Sausage suddenly announced, "We need a distraction to divert the Empire's guards." Almost on cue, The Unnamed One’s eyes glowed a mystical blue. Shadows danced around the obelisk, confusing the guards and buying the kittens precious time.
Finally, they reached the core of the obelisk. "It’s enchanted," Smoked Sausage warned. "We'll need something more than physical strength to destroy it."
The Unnamed One stepped forward, her eyes glowing brighter than ever. With a mystical incantation only she understood, she broke the spell that held the obelisk together.
It began to crumble. Big Tator knocked out the last supporting stone, and the obelisk toppled, breaking into a million pieces and freeing Wehnimer's Landing from the Empire’s dark influence.
The town was saved, and the legend of Lil Gravy and her remarkable friends spread like wildfire. They were the unsung heroes, the Suns and Daughters of Madame Dowager, who saved Wehnimer’s Landing and lived to embark on more adventures.
And so, in hidden alleys and sunlit parks, the kittens would meet, forever bound by the epic they had lived and the friendship that would last them nine lifetimes.
The end.
Created in Midjourney by player of Draelor, Uploaded by player of Dendum With Permission
Created in Midjourney by player of Draelor, Uploaded by player of Dendum With Permission
Fall Cooking
Honeyed Apple-Berry Tarts
There are many fruits and berries that are easiest to find during these fall months. Chokeberries, Elderberries, Raspberries, and Blackberries all grow the best this time of year. As such there are dishes that remain common across the lands where such things are easy to find from Icemule down to the southern tip of the human empire and across the east.
Ingredients:
4 medium-sized apples, peeled, cored, and sliced
2 good handfuls of berries of your choice, 3 handfuls if you are a gnome, 4 if you are a hungry halfling
1 cup honey
1/2 cup breadcrumbs
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
A pinch of salt
Pastry dough
Tools:
A wooden mixing bowl
A rolling pin
Tart or pie molds
A pastry brush
An open hearth or wood-burning oven…maybe an agreeable mage.
Instructions:
Start by preparing your pastry dough. Roll it out on a floured surface and use it to line your tart molds. Trim any excess dough from the edges.
Preheat your open hearth or wood-burning oven to a moderate temperature (This is around 350 degrees)
In a wooden mixing bowl, combine the sliced apples, honey, breadcrumbs, ground cinnamon, ground nutmeg, and a pinch of salt. Mix everything together until the apples are evenly coated with the honey and spices. Slowly add the berries in near the end to keep their shape.
Fill each pastry-lined tart mold with the honeyed apple mixture. Be sure not to overfill, as the apples will release juices as they cook.
Place the filled tart molds in your preheated oven, either on a sheet or directly on the oven floor if using an open hearth.
Bake the tarts for about 30-35 minutes, or until the pastry is golden brown and the apples are tender.
Remove the tarts from the oven and let them cool slightly before serving.
Optionally, you can drizzle a bit more honey or sliced almonds and powdered sugar over the tarts for added sweetness and crunch before serving. In the north they save a few fresh berries to add to the top for decoration. The difference between an Icemule Tart and a Seareach Tart often comes down to the finishing touches!
Garlic Rolton In A Pan -Recipe by Yardie
As the heat of the sun cools off in these cooler fall months many in the north take to hunting. A few ingredients, a fresh shank of meat, and a nice skillet are all you need for a quality dish this time of year. For those less inclined to hunt there is always your local butcher.
Ingredients:
1 pound of Rolton meat (shoulder or leg meat works well)
4 cloves of garlic, minced
Zest of 1 lemon
Zest of 1 orange (optional)
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 teaspoon dried thyme
1/2 teaspoon dried rosemary
Salt and black pepper, to taste
Fresh parsley, for garnish (optional)
Lemon wedges, for serving
Instructions:
Start by marinating the rolton meat. In a bowl, combine the minced garlic, lemon zest, orange zest, olive oil, dried thyme, dried rosemary, salt, and black pepper. Mix well. If you are being pursued by wild orcs or do not have a bowl, feel free to marinate in the pan stirring well. The longer you let it marinate the better the flavor at the end!
Stick your skillet over the fire to get it nice and hot!
Once the skillet is hot, add the marinated goat meat in a single layer. Avoid overcrowding the skillet; you may need to cook the meat in batches.
Sear the meat for 3-4 minutes per side, or until it develops a golden-brown crust and is cooked to your desired level of doneness. Goat meat is best when it's cooked to medium-rare or medium for optimal tenderness.
Remove the cooked rolton meat from the skillet and place it on a serving platter. If you cooked the meat in batches, you can keep it warm by setting it in a pot near the fire.
Garnish the Garlic Zest Rolton with fresh parsley (if desired) and serve hot with lemon wedges on the side for an extra burst of citrus flavor. Garnish adds personality and covers up flaws in cooking!
Created in Midjourney by player of Draelor, Uploaded by player of Dendum With Permission
Resist- By Aubron
Ladies and gentlemen, I am Aubron, Aubron of Talador, a name that may not echo through your town, but one that carries a weight of purpose. I am a healer by trade, a humble practitioner of the mending arts. Some of you may have crossed my path and experienced my mending touch, and to you, I extend my gratitude for the opportunity to serve.
Yet, let us not dwell on my humble deeds or the recognition they may or may not have garnered. Fame is not my pursuit, nor is it the crux of our discourse. In this moment, the pursuit of truth reigns supreme.
My father, a good man in the eyes of those who knew him, was killed by one of you. Perhaps not the very soul reading these words, but a member of your defense forces. I truly don’t know if it was a knight, an assassin, or some halfling with a crossbow. News was poorly gotten from the frontlines.
I was but a child of eleven when this tragedy befell my family, and my memory of him is painted by the innocence of youth. Those who knew him as adults attested to his goodness. He marched for justice, rallying behind our Baron after a heinous act that replaced our rightful ruler through dark arts. His cause was just; his righteousness unwavering.
Davard, the leader of our troops, started as a man of virtue. But desperation, that relentless adversary, led him astray down the treacherous path of expediency. The allure of the easy way out, it whispers seductive promises to the desperate soul. I have heard the tales of catapults raining death upon your city, of fires consuming families, and of dark magic tainting your streets. I have no reason to doubt these accounts.
Yet, we must also acknowledge that your Mayor Walkar was not without his own blemishes. His name echoed far beyond the bounds of this town, and not for noble reasons. He was labeled the "monster from the landing." Just as I am certain that good men defended his name for reasons unbeknownst to me, good men followed Davard into the crucible of battle.
After the conflict in the landing, and our forces disbanded, allowing other baronies to lay claim to our land. We had an abundance of land, but a scarcity of able-bodied workers to tend to it. It felt as though our beloved home was being divided among strangers, and you never knew which Hendoran or Jantalarian would stake a claim on land once tended by familiar hands. Now, dear reader, if you have journeyed this far, heed my words carefully, for we are approaching the crux of this tale.
When Prelate Chaston arrived, his silver-tongued oratory found a people crushed beneath the boots of others. Our pride was not merely wounded; it was maimed by our defeat at the hands of a seemingly inconsequential frontier town. Our lands lay fallow, our herds ran wild or perished in the jaws of ravenous beasts, and our borders and interiors teemed with terrors without our knights to hold them at bay. We were gripped by fear.
Prelate Chaston offered solace with his honeyed words. He assured us that our miseries were not of our own making and that he held the key to our redemption. I, too, believed his every syllable. But for my aunt's skepticism, I might have met the same fate as my kinfolk, who perished unjustly. Fearing that I would be ensnared like so many others, she sent me away to learn the art of herbalism. I was incensed—a knight's son relegated to picking plants? The indignation of youth on the brink of manhood.
In retrospect, I count myself fortunate for her wisdom. You, too, know the tragic tale—the half-elf camps, Prelate Chaston's betrayal, the innocent lives snuffed out, the blameless, and the sudden destruction of my homeland. The horror continues to expand, reaching its shadowy tendrils into the present day.
I impart this narrative for a single purpose: the empire deceives. It deceives itself and deceives those who stand outside its inner circle. In times of desperation, we were ensnared by these falsehoods, sometimes with skepticism, sometimes with reluctant acceptance, but we trudged forward, for we saw no alternative.
The empire lied when it painted Walkar as the root of our problems while concealing the puppet masters in the form of Mestanir mages. The empire lied when it assured us that the outpost near your town would never be used for invasion, and that it would cease with a single outpost. The empire lies now when it claims it will halt its expansion.
When I arrived in this town, you might have called me a refugee from Talador, though I had spent years honing my craft in Seareach and Highmount. Few escape the clutches of Talador these days, as our homeland crumbles into ruin. I did not carry the empire's banner with me; I was merely a curious guest seeking to understand a place that had only existed in my imagination—a place of nightmares.
But I did not find a land of nightmares when I crossed your threshold; I found a place much like any other. Perhaps a touch more diverse, with elves and gnomes mingling in your streets, but it was not an incarnation of evil nor a paragon of virtue. It was simply a place that many called home. Here, I learned truths that the empire dare not utter.
I do not assert that the empire is a realm of malevolence, for my father and my aunt stand as testaments to the contrary. Nor do I claim that the empire is a monstrous aberration like Walkar or a cabal of Chastons. However, I have been fed enough falsehoods to discern a chilling reality—the empire will not retreat unless you compel it to. It will not change its course of its own volition. My people did not halt Prelate Chaston, and we paid a grievous toll for that omission. I implore you, I beseech you, do not let others pay that same price.
The rumors of magical constructs designed to cause death from afar are enough to give pause to any true son of Talador.
Resist.
Resist as we did not.
-Aubron of Talador
Burghal Crossed Words
Created by player of Dendum, Uploaded by Same With Permission
A Farmers Tale
The sun had only just begun to sink behind the rolling hills, casting its last light upon the small hamlet of Roeddall’s Holding. It had seen better days, and many of the homes in the village were little more than shacks, crumbling under the weight of the oppressive Imperial Knights from the far off Barony of Jantalar that occupied all of Talador. The Jantalar knights treated the local dwarves, humans, and elves alike no better than livestock, often forcing them to work long hours in the fields with little pay and no respect.
It was on this particular evening, when a small group of farmers had gathered in the village square to hear the words of a mysterious half-elven man. He had heard of the oppressive conditions here, and had set out on a mission to bring hope and freedom to the people of Talador. He spoke of a plan that, if successful, could restore dignity and freedom to the citizens of the barony.
“My brothers and sisters of Talador,” he began, his voice carrying over the crowd with a passion that matched the fire that glowed in his eyes. “I have come here to bring your liberation. Your oppressors, the knights of Jantalar, have subjugated you for too long. But no more. For I bring with me a plan of action that will put an end to their tyranny.”
The murmuring of the crowd rose in pitch, and a few brave souls began to cheer, though to do so openly was tantamount to suicide. But the half-elven man beckoned them to be silent, and the crowd obliged. “My plan is simple,” he continued, his voice growing with intensity. “We will arm ourselves with the most basic of weapons: pitchforks. They may seem like simple tools of farming, but with training and discipline, they can be transformed into a formidable force. We will also make use of a powerful yet easily obtained weapon: moonshine. When thrown upon the elite knights of Jantalar, its explosive power will be enough to dismount even the most powerful of soldiers.”
The crowd erupted in cheers. Here was a plan that was not only practical, but one that could give them the upper hand against their oppressors.
The half-elven man gestured to the village square, now illuminated in a flood of moonlight. “Gather here in two days’ time. I will teach you all of the skills you will need to mount a successful uprising against the Jantalar knights. Together, we will throw off the bonds of oppression and bring justice and freedom to our people.”
The crowd roared in agreement, and the half-elven man vanished into the night, leaving only a sense of hope and possibility in his wake.
Two days later, the village square was alive with the sound of clinking pitchforks and muffled whispers. The half-elven man emerged from the shadows, followed by a group of seasoned warriors, their faces shadowed by hoods. He began to speak, his voice low and commanding. “The first thing you must learn is stealth. Our success depends on our ability to remain undetected until we are ready to strike.”
The group fell into silence, eyes fixed on the half-elven man.
“Next,” he continued, “you must learn the art of using your weapons. A pitchfork might seem simple, but in the hands of a trained warrior, it can be deadly.”"
a figure emerged from the shadows. It was a young woman, with long brown hair and piercing green eyes. She held a pitchfork in her hand, her knuckles white from where she gripped it tightly.
“I want to fight,” she spoke up, her voice shaking slightly. “I want to help free my people.”
The half-elven man regarded her with a nod, and then turned to address the crowd once more.
“Anyone who wishes to join us in this fight is welcome,” he said, his voice ringing out with conviction. “But know that this will not be an easy task. We are up against a powerful foe, and they will stop at nothing to maintain their hold on Talador. But with discipline, skill, and courage, we can overcome them.”
The crowd let out a roar of agreement, and the half-elven man began to instruct them in the ways of stealth and weaponry. The night was long and filled with hard work, but by the time the
The crowd nodded in agreement, eyes sparkling with anticipation.
“Finally,” he said, “we must learn to make and use our secret weapon: moonshine. It will take precision and careful planning to create it, but the results will be worth it.”
The crowd let out a roar of agreement, and the half-elven man began to instruct them in the ways of stealth and weaponry. The night was long and filled with hard work, but by the time the sun began to rise over the horizon, the group had become a well-oiled machine. They moved with silent grace, their pitchforks held at the ready, and their eyes trained on their goal.
It was the night of the uprising, and the group assembled outside the gates of the Jantalar fortress. They moved in the shadows, their steps silent as ghosts, and their hearts beating with a fierce determination. The half-elven man led the way, a small barrel of moonshine strapped to his back. They reached the gates in no time, and the half-elven man carefully poured the moonshine onto the hinges of the gate. With a single match, he set it alight, and the gates groaned as they began to swing open. The Jantalar knights were caught off-guard, their eyes wide with shock as the group charged forward with their pitchforks held high. The moonshine exploded on impact, sending knights flying in all directions. The group fought with a ferocity they didn't know they possessed, their pitchforks piercing armor and flesh alike. The young woman with the brown hair fought with all her might, her green eyes blazing with a fierce determination to free her people.
As the battle raged on, the half-elven man made his way to the heart of the fortress, where he knew the Jantalar lord resided. He burst into the lord's chambers, his pitchfork at the ready. The lord sneered at him. "You think you can defeat me with a simple pitchfork?"
The half-elven man replied with a smirk. "It's not the pitchfork that will defeat you, but the people. They are no longer afraid to fight for their rights and freedom." With that, the half-elven man lunged forward, his pitchfork piercing the lord's heart. The lord fell to the ground, his body lifeless.
The battle was won. The Jantalar knights fled the fortress in disarray, and the people of Roeddel’s Holding rejoiced. The young woman with the brown hair and piercing green eyes was hailed as a hero, her bravery and determination inspiring all those around her to fight for what was right.
In the days that followed, the people of Roeddel’s Holding worked to rebuild their village, free from the oppression of the Jantalar knights. The half-elven man became their leader, guiding them with wisdom and compassion, and the young woman with the brown hair became his second-in-command.
Together, they built a new society, free from tyranny and fear - if only for a little while. As for the Jantalar knights they would be turned away from the array of helmets that now decorated every doorframe from the farms to the town hall in Roeddel’s Holding.
Wildcat Warcat
In a time when stories were whispered by the wind and bravery was a spark in the heart, there lived a determined cat named Ember. Ember's fur was as fierce as a flame, and his eyes burned with courage. In the sky, a harsh and unyielding sun ruled like a merciless king, casting its scorching rule over the land.
This sun, once gentle, had turned tyrant, making the land suffer with its scalding heat. The land was dry, and fear gripped those who lived under its glare. Yet Ember stood strong, leading a group of animals who refused to bow down to the sun's cruelty.
Ember's call for resistance spread like wildfire through the forest, bringing together animals of all kinds who were tired of being ruled by fear. They decided to take a stand against the sun's power and bring back a gentle light that nurtured life. Their bravery inspired others who had forgotten the strength of standing together.
One moonless night, Ember and his companions sneaked into the heart of the sun's territory. They planned to create a mirror using the stream's silver waters, a mirror that could send the sun's blinding light back at itself. As they got closer to the sun's place, Ember's determination grew stronger, fueled by the belief that even the strongest ruler could be challenged.
At dawn, as the sky turned golden, Ember faced the sun with the mirror held up high. The sun roared in anger, its heat growing hotter as it tried to defeat Ember. But Ember stood strong, showing the same unyielding courage that his friends had shown.
With all his might, Ember aimed the mirror at the sun, sending its blinding light back where it came from. A blinding flash filled the sky, and the sun's power wavered. Ember's brave act became a symbol of unity for all those who watched below.
The sun's grip weakened, and its rule became less harsh. The land celebrated as life returned to the once parched earth. Trees blossomed, rivers flowed, and hope lit up like the morning sun. The animals learned that when they stood together and faced their fears, they could overcome even the strongest ruler.
The story of Ember's bravery and the fight against the sun's cruel rule spread far and wide. It taught everyone that even in the darkest times, a small spark of bravery and unity could bring down even the mightiest tyrant.
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Scary Stories
Sheer Fear
Created in Midjourney by player of Dendum, Uploaded by player of Dendum With Permission
The sun hung high in the cloudless sky, casting dappled shadows through the thick canopy of the ancient jungle. Elowen, a forest gnome of solitary disposition, stood at the edge of the lush undergrowth, her heart filled with anticipation. It was a day like any other when she would venture deep into the verdant wilderness, her instincts guiding her in the pursuit of sustenance and precious herbs.
Her keen eyes, the color of mossy green, surveyed the jungle's intricate tapestry. She had lived in harmony with this untamed realm for as long as she could remember. The jungle was her sanctuary, a realm of secrets and wonders that called to her in the gentle rustling of leaves and the harmonious chorus of birdsong. She had left her kin to wander without her so she could stay here, in this place that called to her.
Elowen adjusted the backpack slung over her shoulders, its worn leather and canvas filled with empty jars and woven pouches waiting to be filled with herbs and fruits. She knew the jungle's treasures intimately, and her daily ritual of gathering herbs and hunting for sustenance was as natural as the rising sun.
With nimble grace, she stepped onto the mossy forest floor, her bare feet making no more sound than the whisper of a breeze through the leaves. Each footfall was deliberate, a connection to the ancient wisdom that flowed through her veins.
Today, she would follow the familiar trails, a choreography of paths etched into the earth over countless seasons. Her goal was to collect herbs with medicinal properties, their secrets passed down through generations of gnomes. She also carried her slender bow, a symbol of her self-sufficiency and the means to provide for herself.
As she ventured deeper into the jungle, the air was heavy with the scent of rich soil and the chorus of unseen creatures. Elowen's senses were finely tuned to the jungle's myriad sounds and scents, a testament to her deep bond with this untamed world.
But the day would stretch into a night that held a relentless enigma. As the sun dipped below the horizon, and the jungle's shadows grew long, Elowen's solitude was shattered by an unsettling presence. She felt as though she were being watched, stalked by something that defied the natural order.
As the hours passed, the suspenseful game of cat and mouse continued. Elowen relied on her knowledge of the jungle, attempting to lose her pursuer among the thick foliage. Yet, the stalker was unrelenting, refusing to fall for her tactics.
During one particularly harrowing moment, as she climbed high into the canopy to evade what she assumed was a tiger or other jungle cat, she dared to steal a glance downward. What she saw sent a chill down her spine—the predator wasn't any ordinary tiger. Its movements were too calculated, too deliberate to be natural.
Elowen clung to the tree, her heart pounding like a frantic drum, as the realization began to dawn on her. This was not a hungry jungle creature. It was something far more inscrutable, something that defied the laws of nature. The feeling of being hunted had shifted from a typical jungle encounter to a chilling enigma that threatened to unravel her sense of security in the only world she had ever known. A sense of dread washed over her like a cold wave.
Her breaths came in ragged gasps as her eyes darted through the shadows, trying to make sense of the presence that loomed ever closer. She had always been attuned to the jungle's natural rhythms, but this entity was different.
A shiver ran down her spine as the supernatural nature of her pursuer became undeniable. It moved without sound, its form shifting in and out of the darkness like a wraith. Elowen's gnome instincts, finely tuned to the natural world, were utterly confounded, leaving her with a profound and suffocating sense of helplessness.
As the creature's presence enveloped her, a cold sweat broke out on her brow, and her body trembled with a mixture of fear and disbelief. She barely moved even as the creature’s aura surrounded her. Only in the last second before its teeth found her did she remember to scream, a sound that was devoured by the jungle’s many noises and thick foliage.
Two Words - by Darphin
We live our lives in a way that say we believe we will never reach this moment.
But here we are. Tears flow from the eyes gathered here.
Soft whispers, cracked voices and general murmurs fill the air as family and friends gather to remember with the rose colored glasses of nostalgia. It's always sad when our mortal flaws are exposed. After all we are mortal. Those flaws that we never see till it's too late. It's funny how that Day of the Huntress started so normal. He went out with friends to a tavern, never knowing a killer was on the prowl.
He met her with the same tired lines that had worked and failed 100 nights in the past. Tonight it worked. Before long conversation lead to touching lead to him leaving the tavern with her. Now, I wish we could say it was a quick death, but no.
She flirted with him, toyed and drug it out over months. She even sent letters and started gossip so his friends who hadn't seen him in person or even knew where he was could see his slow death. But often that is how it happens.
To let him just fade away wouldn't do for her final act though. No, she had planned and orchestrated the entire reveal of her coup-de-grace.
So it was, surrounded by family and friends, the death of a free man was witnessed with those two little words... She said "I Do".
Imitation Game
"Yes, we used to call Hendor our home. Life was good, making tables and chairs. Carpentry was my trade, and while I could create just about anything, I excelled in crafting tables and chairs. My wife, she always had a vision of us becoming wealthy by providing comfortable places for others to sit.
Rumors began circulating about a mysterious Fey presence, and some people insisted it was something more sinister. Whispers in the town spoke of a shape-changer with peculiar eyes or pixies with the uncanny ability to mimic voices. One particularly colorful character even claimed he had been lost in the woods for two days, all because of those mischievous pixies. Of course, we all thought it was merely a consequence of his overindulgence in spirits.
However, everything changed one fateful night when I went to tuck my young son into bed.
As I began the routine of tucking him in, he said, 'Daddy, please check for pixies under my bed.' I indulged his request, looking underneath his bed to amuse him. What I saw, though, sent a shiver down my spine: there was another him, an identical figure, under the bed. He stared back at me, trembling and whispering, 'Daddy, there's something on my bed.'
....we don't live in Hendor anymore"
Old Dom’s Accolades for the Adventuring-adjacent
by Anon Imus Bystendar
“Aye, heavy is me head that be wear’n the crown this fine night!” Dominucci the Elder, son of Diminucci the Dense and recent failed-to-register mayoral candidate of Wehnimer's Landing uttered as he adjusted the wax-paper mock coronet he’d donned for the festivities and took a deep guzzle from his tankard of ale.
A less-impressed patron scoffed at his words. “Oi, Dommy boy, ‘tat just be some butcher paper right ‘tere, on ya head. Look’n light as a feat’er ‘tere and grimy too! Ya been fish’n out old butcher’s papers from ‘teh trash ‘tere again, Dommy boy?”
Old Dom pointed at the Sylvan muttering guff in his direction with two meaty fingers, still managing to cradle the heavy tankard in the remainder of his bear-like hand. “Yas be shut’n yas trap or I be pound’n yas face in. This here be an important eve, and I ain’t gonna have yas ruin’n it with yas mouth!”
Dom nodded as other Helga’s patrons crowded in around his table, expectant and ready. Tonight was indeed a special one. He continued.
“I be mean’n, that as a meaty four because I got hard choices to be make’n. I gotta be use’n my response Billy tonight as a big man round this town.”
“Aye, Dommy, yas indeed a biggun.” Laughs drifted through the crowd, but Dom continued.
“Yas knows that we’ve all been through hard times as of late, the lot of us round here. Them folks be come’n from down southway shooting magic cannons and death cannons this way and that way six days to Restday, blow’n up our ships, walls, friends, neighbors all willy nilly like chicken’s with ‘em heads cut off. When the rubble stops smolder’n, then afterwards we is all in the outhouse scream’n bloody murder with the Greeny pus’n out our wee holes.”
“Aye, Dom, been a rough summer it has.” Many of the assembled nodded in unison.
The greasy butcher-paper crown slipped slightly down Dom’s brow as he raised his eyes to the gathered masses. “That be why yas all here tonight, eh? We all been through a cold-as-Lornon winter, a rough spring, and a summer that no liquor can wash away. Now them nights be getting darker, the Manrolt bleats his terrifying cries in the darkness, and yas kids be tell’n ‘em spine-tinkling tales of the Hatman take’n ems away on his ghost ship that be row’n between the moons. Yas need a good night. Well, Old Dom gots jus what yas all be need’n.
A shoddily dressed elf in the back threw his voice into the mix. “Ya gonna pay us, Dommy Boy?”
“Oi, yas gonna be raise’n money to fix ‘tem walls ‘tem arses blew up?” queried another.
A third patron shook his head. “Nah, Dommo gonna pitch in for dat Greeny cure all dem richie riches be use’n rubb’n gems on demselves.”
Old Dom raised his hands to quiet down the expectant masses. “Nah, yas bark’n up yas wrong trees. I got better than alls that there, I got great honors to be showering yas with.”
Single-foot Shem shook his head in disgust. “I ain’t come to no bar for no bath.”
“Ain’t like that, Shemmy, me goal this eve be honor’n what yas all done for this here town during all these troubles here.” He pulled a wrinkled yellow scroll from his pocket stained with numerous splotches of food and drink. “Let’s get on with it eh?”
The crowd simmered down and turned an ear to the giant man at his table. “All right, Dommy boy, we’s all ears”
Old Dom unfurled the scroll and cleared his throat. “For her being passionate in her Manrolt hunt’n, never quit’n the chase, always find’n that next piece of ever-dense that be turn’n up the real TRUTH and always doing her own research, I’d like yas to step on up to the table, Crazy Mabel.”
An extremely shifty gnome weaved her way through the assembled crowd, unblinking eyes darting back and forth at all she passed before settling her endless gaze on Dom.
“From today on, yas no longer Crazy Mabel. Yas can go about the world as the Magnificent Manrolt Maven Mabel, Seeker of Mysterious Mystery. We be know’n yas ain’t found him yet, but yas never be quit’n, and that’s a trait we all be respect’n.” The gnome’s cold stare haunted all as she faded back into the crowd as Dom moved to the next in line.
“That Greeny went ‘round Shanty Town like wildfire, but it wouldn’t have gone around quite so speedy-like without the help of Skanda over there.” Dom pointed to a man that might not pass for debonair anywhere else, but among the Shanty Town folk was suave and reasonably well-dressed. “Aye, many a spouse, both man and woman be come’n down with a fit of the Greens after a visit to Skanda’s for a pinch of sugar, eh? Ain’t never seen a sickness move so fast without Skanda fuel’n it. So from this day here, yas be Scandalous Skanda, the Scorching Spreader. May no one ever achieve your feats in spreading Greeny like yas.”
The crowd laugh as Skanda puffed his cigar in a bid to remain cool as his ego deflated.
“To Berrington Berganoff with the fancy-pants name, who struck it out Empire way, tell’n us he ain’t ever come’n back, that he was gonna make it big, become Baron Berrington and all thats.” Old Dom grinned at a man in the corner trying to hide under the brim of his hat. “Step up here, Berrington. Let everyone get a good look. From this day, yas shall be “Back-agains Berrington, Re-fallen Townie. Yas tells us yas betwixt, but yas just a bum true as any of us!
…and so Old Dom went down his list as the night stretched onward, different patrons of Helgas and assorted Shanty Town denizens receiving honor after honor after honor after honor. The town walls still smoked from the recent ship attack, the land nearby smoldered from an Imperial weapon, and their insides still burned from a plague, but in that small moment in Helga’s, little did it all matter, as they had fancy new accolades and appellations to impress their friends.
Ask Lithyia
Dear Lithyia, I am trying to throw a get together for the family but my husbands family is always nit picking everything, sometimes it seems like they pretend we are not even married! What is your secret to a good get together even if everyone does not always agree? Cooking in the Middle
Dear Cooking in the Middle,
Unfortunately, we do not get to choose our family. The good news is that we DO get to choose the weapons in our collection. What do these two things have to do with one another? I'll let you be clever and figure that out. But I will make one recommendation... a small dagger or knife. Something most folks would not notice. You can use it to cut up the meat at the family gathering or you can use it to dispatch with... other... issues.
If for some reason, certain ideas do not appeal to you then I recommend bringing some strong alcohol with you to the event....and consuming all of it... by yourself....quickly.
Good luck!
Miss Lithy
PS poison works wonders
Other (OOC) Resources
Created in Midjourney by player of Lythia and Dendum, Uploaded by player of Dendum With Permission
Black Thorn Resistance
Black Thorn Resistance/A Guide to Playing in the Resistance
North by Northwest