Samuel Graves and the Akemic Chronicles

Bet it On Bloodmire!

The old man was a Druid.

Samuel had been told this, but felt like he should ask what that means for, well, everything.

Skellington Whiles (“Call me Skelly, everyone does!”) had explained that he was a member of a Druid Circle known as the Ashen Pine. They were located to the far northeast, past the Dragonspine Mountains and the Norturlends in a desolate stretch of tundra and frozen forest known as the Star Fields. He was a skilled archer and best tamer, though he had more talent for elemental magics.

“Mostly anything to do with lightning, or thunder.” He finished up, staring down into his tankard. “Makes me somewhat effective in nearly every role for an adventuring party, if I’m being honest.”

“That’s pretty nice.” Samuel mused, swirling his Troll Sweat about in his tankard. “But, and I hate to be a buzzkill, why are we at your table? I mean, you seem nice, but your dog is terrifying and I haven’t heard why we should all be friends.”

Wheeze was guzzling his fifth tankard of the foul booze, while Needles was digging into a tray of roasted meat slathered in thick gravy with Elena. Skelly, after giving the three a long glance, heaved a sigh and answered. His haggard features seemed even more grim as he spoke, the circles under his eyes and the thick stubble all the more gray.

“Your friend here,” he said, motioning to Wheeze, “asked if I needed some hired help. No clue how he knew I did, but I told him I did and he called you over.”

Samuel glanced at Wheeze, who was patting his stomach happily. When he caught the look, he burped. “Wha’? ‘E’s an old bugger in a bar! Best place ta grab a job is from old men in bars!”

Samuel shrugged, nodding. “Okay, the fact I agree with that logic scares me…” he sniffed the air and looked between everyone else seated around him. “Anybody smell toast?”

Elena snorted into a rib she was chewing on but didn’t comment. Skelly cleared his throat, one knotty hand drifting down to the massive hound to rub between one set of ears. “Yes, well… if you all are skilled adventurers, I wouldn’t mind having you join me. I have a task, truth be told.”

“Great, let’s hear it!” Samuel said, slapping the table. “Roll the flavor text!”

Skelly paused, confused. “I’m sorry?”

Elena grunted and swatted at Samuel. “Ignore him, go ahead.”

“Ah, okay then… ahem. I came down into Gilded Hall as I seek the location of an ancient relic that was stolen from my Circle centuries ago. It’s taken me nearly eight years and thousands of gold, but I think I’ve found where it could be. The only difficulty facing me now is that the lair is home to a foul species of violent monsters deep in the Rubyvein Mountains.”

Needles groaned. “Are you serious? You aren’t saying we need to fight Trogs, are you?”

Skelly nodded. “I am. I tracked down a journal from one friend of the thief, and they wrote of how the scoundrel met his end in a Trog ambush. There is a large tribe here, and they have a subterranean city. Most likely, it’s there.”

“Pardon my ignorance, but what’s a Trog?” Samuel asked.

“Big ol’ lizard men, lean and ugly. Stink to Hell and back, and fight dirty.” Wheeze explained, shaking his head. “Damn, I hate fightin’ in tunnels.”

Samuel turned to face Skelly. “You’re certain the relic is with them?”

He nodded. “Certain. It was a tome, written in our own cyphers and codes. Made from enchanted leather and vellum, they would know it has power and keep it rather than cast it aside or trade it.”

“Trogs love magic.” Elena explained when Samuel was about to interrupt. “Sad thing is, they’re kind of… dumb. Like, all of them. They rarely gain any kind of spell casters in their tribes, but they tend to hoard magical items and treasures. If they found a very obvious magical book, they’d keep it.”

Wheeze lit up a cigarette and puffed on it as he leaned back. “Wha’s the pay?”

“I could offer a thousand coin to each of you, along with equal shares of treasure found. Only thing I must have is my Circle’s book.” Skelly replied. “The entrance I’ve had scouted out is in a small valley dominated by a cold marsh, Bloodmire. It’s about two days’ travel from here.”

Needles nodded. “Seems fair. When would we be leaving?”

“Tomorrow, noon, I’d say.” Skelly said after a moment’s thought. “Posnev here hates early mornings, so always a pain to get up and going.”

“They’re names are Posnev?” Elena asked, leaning over to study the massive wolfhound. “They seem… nice?”

“They’re not.” Skelly said, cutting any humor from his voice. “Posnev is a war hound, a bodyguard. They’re aggressive but well trained, so I will say do nothing in jest around them. They may respond with a flash of tooth and claw.”

“Good ta know!” Wheeze coughed, waving down a barmaid when he caught her eye. “If I’m gettin’ a grand, might as well order another round!”

Skelly chuckled at Wheeze’s antics and went back to his drink, the conversation moving to lighter topics as they ate and drank. Wheeze ordered five mugs of Blackjack, which was apparently flammable, and tasted similar to sour apples. Samuel nursed his for the next few hours, learning more about the world around him as he listened to the four tell tales and gossip about the kingdoms of the world.

He learned that there were four nations/empires that ran the world, and he understood that none of them matched their traditional stereotypes.

Where he sat, here in the Dragonspine Mountains? That was part of the Norturlends, a massive collection of smaller kingdoms that were led under one banner by the will of the Dwarven Council, a collection of representatives from each smaller kingdom, and the Church of Three Hammers, a massive cathedral that was like a Norse-inspired Vatican. They worshipped Odin, Thor, Heimdall, Freya, and Surtur primarily, with a host of lesser deities that seemed to largely be ignored.

The Dwarves were superstitious, conservative, and tradition-bound. They rarely changed their laws, but they seemed to have a general peace with other intelligent races within their territory, namely Goblins and Orcs.

To the southeast of the Norturlends was Blackheart, ruled since the dawn of history by their God-Queen Rowena Darkholme. An immortal vampire, all the nobles were such undead; in fact, a good chunk of Blackheart’s population was intelligent undead, bound to serve their pantheon, the Frozen Temple. The Silver Prince and Mostef were the common deities to the dour Elves, deities of winter and death, respectively.

If the Norturlends was akin to a Norse Vatican, Blackheart was a mix of Renaissance-era France and Victorian England, with a splash of punk rock culture injected that was primarily found in the younger generations. They were elitist, racist, and generally amoral in almost all regards. They had a vehement hatred for “mutts” and had legal slavery within their borders. They’d, at one point, controlled almost all of Terra save for anything north of the Dragonspine, but their slaves (the various subraces of humans they’d conquered) rebelled and pushed them back into their homelands.

Further to the south was the crown jewel of “The Human Colonies”, which Samuel found a tad insulting… though he couldn’t explain why. The God-Blessed Kingdom of Shing was far smaller than the previous two, but it was quite strong in its own regard. Built over a manmade river that opened to two separate gulfs and oceans, it was the nexus of trade for the southern half of Terra to the northern, and flaunted the fact with its well-fitted military and high-quality city. The kingdom had but two deities, Benitsuki the Lawbringer and Matsur of the Smiling Sun. Whereas many religions focused on evil vs. good, this pantheon cared for law vs. chaos, seeking a balance between the two. They also boasted a high population of Martial Artists and Monks, classes that revolved around unarmed combat to frightening degrees.

The group of natives told him of the fourth empire, but they didn’t say much. Far to the north, past the Dragonspine Mountains and the Norturlends, was a frozen wasteland. Deep in it, after hundreds of miles of open tundra and savage snowstorms, were cities built around massive hot springs. Here, the Nyss dwelled.

The Nyss were blue-skinned Elves heavy into tattooing, from what he could gather, though he was warned the two races loathe each other and never mistake one for the other out loud. They were resistant to the cold, preferred the night, and were universally more attuned to magic than any of the other races. They were also notorious for lying, tricking people with faulty gear, and illusions. They had a few wars with the Dwarves, but because the stretch of desolate nothingness between them and the nearest Thanedom of the Norturlends, said wars were few and far between.

Other noteworthy kingdoms within Terra were the Far Jungles to the south, dominated by Halflings and Goblins, and the Scharde Isles, the homeland of the Gnomes. As he was used to this now, he merely nodded when he found out that Halflings don’t live in hollowed out hills and have five meals a day. Instead, the short folk were fiercely competitive. They were also very close with nature, preferring Druids over Clerics or Priests (Samuel didn’t know the difference between the latter two, and made a note to himself to look into it later.) They dealt with Thunder Serpents, which after hearing the variety of different ones, Samuel realized that dinosaurs apparently walked this world, and the Halflings kept them as pets and beasts of burden.

When he cracked a joke about great dragons, he was shocked to learn that such beasts of legend existed on Terra, they just weren’t as… impressive. They were all smaller, never larger than a barn, and varied by the region. From the Ice Drakes of the Dragonspine Mountains breathing great swathes of freezing bile to the Talani Needleteeth that were as large as cows and roamed in great packs like venomous wolves through the sweltering Far Jungles, the creatures were genuine threats, though they were little more intelligent than animals.

The Gnomes of Terra seemed more in line with modern fantasy gaming, at least more so than the rest of the races. They were short and friendly enough, with a love for humor and jokes. That they were isolationist, rarely leaving or allowing others onto their Isles, is where they changed. They were technologically advanced, relying on a convoluted steam-powered machinery, large exo-suits and trains being the common examples of this tech. Add to the fact that they had primitive guns, cannons, and zeppelins, and Samuel decided that they were never worth antagonizing, and promised himself to leave them the Hell alone.

The night drew to a close when Wheeze drunkenly waved over the same barmaid (she looked tired but was in good spirits, for a Goblin) and loudly offered to pay for everyone to have a room.

Skelly declined, saying he already had lodging, but Samuel and Elena took him up on the offer, each getting a small closet of a room for their troubles. He didn’t mind, as he was fairly drunk. He was so far gone, he didn’t even disrobe as he dropped onto the creaking cot pushed against the wall, laid back on the flat pillow in dire need of a wash, and passed out.