Heroes of Aurivyn

Hail and well met, you Truly Adventurous Souls!

In our last exciting episode, you remember that I shared with you the dubious beginnings of the Aurivyn line.  So today I thought it would be nice to start telling you about some of the heroes who live in that world!

First of all, there's Darg Demandrov.  He's a human, he's a warrior.  Pretty healthy, pretty strong, not too bright.  He lives in the Kingdom of Kordania, but comes a the native Vogadaran family.  When our story begins, he lives in the village of Ramalov in the easter side of the kingdom, and is a guard at the local Keep.  

He has only lived in Ramalov a few months, though.  His hometown was a village on the western side of the kingdom, which has been razed to the ground by a warband of hobgoblins less than a year ago.  Darg was actually found wandering the countryside, obviously the victim of some harrowing ordeal and suffering from a bout of amnesia.

Vlad Ludeski, Lord of Ramalov, treats him like an interesting brain teaser, and tries to help him peice together who he is, where he is from, and how he came to be in his current circumstances.  

Darg does not make this easy.  He is understandably frustrated, impatient, and has a strong abhorrence for the Trycadian immigrants and wizardry in almost any form.  

Secondly, there is Maxalla Trigostian.  She, too, is human.  With a Trycadian father and Vogaradan mother she is one of the "New Kordanians", a new generation uniting two disparate cultures into one.  She is a priestess devoted to the Holy Troika of the Church of Vogadara.  

She has lived in Ramalov her entire life, and has endured several attacks on her village by a pack of gnolls who wish to reclaim tribal lands which were once theirs eons ago before humans ever arrived.

Her Vogadaran mother was once under the thrall of a vampire, who induced her to deliver her own daughter to members of the Cult of Zolgon.  The Cultists planned to sacrifice the baby to their demon lord.  The mother-daughter duo was saved when they inadvertently led a band of priests and guardsmen to the Cultists' shrine.  Maxalla was only months old and has no memory of this, but this incident renewed her mother's faith, and she, in turn, pushed Maxalla into her service to the Church.

A dutiful young woman, she strives to live up to all that is expected of her.  Secretly, she harbors a doubt about her worthiness to serve the Church.  Is it the natural trepidation that plagues us all, or some residual taint placed upon her by the Cultists?  She does not know, but she fears what damage can be done to her loved ones and her neighbors if...or when...she fails.

These two, together, discover a wrinkle in reality caused by some Evil Entity that tried to free itself from the pocket dimension it was locked it long ago, and escape back into an unsuspecting world.

Can this unlikely pair stand fast or fall beneath the attack of some unspeakable Evil?  Follow their adventures and see if they can face "The Wrath of the Ancient Prisoner"!

Until then, I wish you all...

Good Adventuring!

Timothy A. Sayell

The Crystal Cage Part Two

THE CRYSTAL CAGE

An Aurivyn Tale

First published in Abandoned Towers Magazine Issue 3, 2009

Part Two

“Do you suppose that Zowtholter was trying to save the princess?” I asked as we picked our way through the woody foothills. “But couldn’t get past the magician’s goblins?”

“Perhaps,” Rolglor replied, his steely eyes ever-wary of our surroundings. “The Zowtholters often cross the mountains into Engathar. There is much trade and mercenary work to be had with the chieftains of that land.”

“I see!” said I through a gleeful grin.

“Or,” he continued, “Perhaps he was no more than a hunter, like me, who wandered too close to the magician’s tower.”

“Oh,” said I, disappointed this time.

It was about that time that we found the clearing. In it was a great white slope skirting the rocky outcropping low on the mountain. Upon that outcropping, just where it ought to be, stood the ancient tower. Its great bricks had been carved out of the mountains themselves. Its top, well below the high peaks, was crowned with horns.

I’ve done a bit of research since, and apparently this tower once marked a caravan route through the mountains into Engathar. There ought to be another up in the mountains someplace, and a third where the path meets up with Engathar’s rolling steppes. You know, I couldn’t find any reason for them to stop using that route. There must be a story there somewhere…

Oh! Sorry Hazerium! The way up to the tower was easy enough to follow. There was a roadway, covered with a skin of packed snow. We could have followed it high into the mountains, I suppose, but only went to the tower’s wide steps.

A courtyard was at the top of that short stairway, surrounded by a stone wall only three feet tall. There was snow there, too, packed into the cracks between the cobbles.  But that snow was red, painted by the lifeblood of fallen Zowtholters, four of them.

Rolglor looked the place over, turning bodies and weapons over with his foot.  His piercing eyes examined the stones for footprints, but there were none that I could see.  He glanced with some concern at the double doors, left ajar, that led into the darkened keep.

“These men fought hard,” he said at long last, “They are Holgonn, great fighters. They should be avenged.”

I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, Hazerium, how fiercely that statement seized me. I was certain a worthy story would unfold, and here it was, doing just that, right before my eyes! All it needed was a little…helping.

“Yes, and avenged they shall be!” I assured him, “For when Lord Thelosius’ men arrive, these goblins shall be shown the price for murdering people under Trycadia’s protection!”

“The Holgonn need no protecting!” he growled at me. “We avenge our own!”

I must have smirked. I simply hadn’t expected it to be quite that easy. “Do you mean to say that you are going into that tower to kill those goblins, and the wizard, and save the princess?”

His expression transformed into one of doubt. “Well…” he stammered, and I began to worry that I’d pushed too hard.

I smiled and raised one hand in a calming gesture. “That’s all right, Rolglor. No one expects you to do anything heroic.”

“Heroic?”

“Yes. You are just Rolglor the Hunter. No more and no less.” I said in my most understanding tone. “No one will be disappointed in you, for none have any reason to expect more.”

“I am able to be more!” he insisted defensively.

“Of course you are,” I said, assuring. “But to kill those goblins…the wizard…  To save the princess… These are not jobs for a simple hunter. No, you would have to be a Great Hero. You would have to be Rolglor…the…”

A terrible thing happened at that moment, Hazerium. My mind went blank! It was no magic; I simply could not produce an adjective that would make a good title for a barbarian such as him. I floundered.

“Rolglor the WHAT?” he insisted.

So I said the first word to spring into my mind: “Palindromic.”

He peered at me distrustfully through narrow eyes. “What does that word mean?  Why not Rolglor the Good? Or the Strong? Or the Mighty?”

I chuckled at his ignorance. “There are heroes already claiming those titles. Fear not, Palindromic suit you. It, uh, means all those other things…and more!”

He considered it for a moment, then shrugged. “Then let us go inside. No Hero who awaits soldiers could dare to call himself Palindromic.”

I smiled and held my tongue. Rolglor drew the sword from his back, turned, and eyed the doorway with childlike trepidation. We trembled in the cold mountain winds for long moments while he stared stupidly. Overcome with the cold and impatience, I said, “Well?”

“It is unlucky to enter a wizard’s house for the first time through the front door,” he said. Have you ever heard such nonsense? More than half of Trycadia’s people qualify as wizards, how do they think we visit one another for tea? Climb in through the windows, like thieves?

Naturally, his prejudiced comment offended me, and I fear I snapped at him, risking the well-being of the story. “We espied no other entrance, you ignorant fool! Is there no way you will enter here?”

He grimaced and sheathed his sword. “None,” he said as he crossed his arms and pouted at those heavy doors. I grumbled and mumbled curses but he was adamant to await the coming soldiers.

“I will not set off some spell cast to safeguard this gateway!” he firmly announced. “You are from the Empire of Wizards, you should know of many curses that could be placed to fall on the uninvited guest.”

Ah, but my stalwart hero presented me with the answer to this problem! “I do, indeed,” I said coyly, “and also the chant to ward off such affects. I would teach it to you, if you would scout out the tower.”

He was most eager to learn it. So I showed to him a game the children play, with much clapping and the slapping of one’s own shoulders and knees. Also, I taught him the nonsense chant “Owah Tafoo Layyam”, and instructed him to say it faster and faster until it came out as “Oh-what-a-fool-I-am”. Satisfied with his safety, he again drew his sword and slipped into the keep. I wiped a tear from my eye, and followed.

The entry hall was frigid, and cobwebs filled the corners. Platters of half-eaten food rested on a table with stout legs. A time-worn tapestry lay in a heap on the floor by a wall.

Looking around with awe, I jumped when Rolglor suddenly spoke. “Story-man!  You are Trycadian; tell me, what sort of wizard would deal with goblins?”

To Be Continued...

The Creation of Aurivyn

Greetings to you Tremendously Astute Spirits!

So, I'm gonna tell you straight up:  I'm taking a little break from Mutant World.  Now, now, calm down.  Yes, there WILL be more Mutant World coming in the future.  But I'm taking a little break to write up a few episodes of another series called...

I won't lie about it, Aurivyn grew out of Dungeons and Dragons.  

I don't really remember when or how I first learned about Dungeons and Dragons, but I remember being completely enthralled with it once the concept was explained to me.  My sister had the Basic Set, and I got to look through it and formulate impressions that have pretty much lasted my lifetime.

Played a few one-shot adventures, and collected books, adventure modules and the BECMI boxed sets.  Of course, I moved up to Advanced Dungeons and Dragons, and 2nd Edition is the version that I played the most.  

  

Over the years, I created a fair few continents...not really complete worlds...but definitely big enough to house several campaigns.  Never really got to play them though.

Eventually I found the world of Mystara, and it quickly became one of my favorite published campaign worlds.   I collected as many products related to it as I could.

Someplace along the line we had moved to another state and I lost my gaming group.  Being socially awkward and the demented loner type in my younger years, I rarely tried to hook up with new players.  Eventually I grew out of the habit of playing, and looked at the material as inspiration for writing and drawing.

That's the preamble, now for the beginning of the actual story!

I was taking care of my Poor Old Mother (TM) and somehow it was decided that my oldest brother's two boys should get to visit Grandma on weekends.  We decided to take one at a time.

The younger of the two boys, my nephew Jason, came to visit for the weekend.  I'm afraid he probably spent most of that weekend fairly bored.  But he popped into my study to see what I was doing, and spotted my collection of D&D stuff, so he asked about it.  I told him it was a game and that there was no board, you use your imagination instead.  I told him some stuff about it and he decided he wanted to play.

So, I drew up a quick five-minute dungeon, we pulled out a sample character and a map from one the box sets and we played.  I don't really remember why, but I figured he would dislike it and never want to play again.

Boy was I wrong!

So when I took him home, it was all he talked about.  So of course his older brother--Richard--wanted to play, and I mus admit that I wondered how he would have handled the adventure.  So he picked out a sample character and I sent him on the same adventure.

What was the adventure?  Well, they lived in a rural town populated by a superstitious medieval people.  A small statuette was positioned on the edge of town as a ward against evil spirits, and one day it was missing.  Each of my nephews was sent off--separately and alone--to retrieve it.  The search led them to a secret dungeon in the nearby forest, where they faced monsters and traps, rescued the statuette and found the person that stole it.

They both loved the game and wanted to play some more.  So the next weekend, both came for a visit.  They decided to keep the same characters and I sent them on a brief published adventure.  Their third adventure was a watered-down version of yet another published adventure.  

But for their fourth adventure, they were returning to the village where the first adventure took place and suddenly I had a problem: which one of them retrieved the statuette?  They didn't go together.  Some villagers would swear that Jason returned the statuette, while others would insist it was Richard.  How could I fix this?

Suddenly it hit me:  I had two alternate realities overlapping!  The rest of the campaign was about them trying to fix this.

I've always wanted to write up these adventures, so I'm going to!  I'm adding in some other elements from some of the other homebrew worlds, partly for plot purposes, partly for legal reasons--to differentiate my story-world from the published game setting.

I have written a couple of stories that take place in what would eventually become Aurivyn.  The Saturday Serial story "The Crystal Cage" takes places there.  So does the story "Buy the Sword" currently available in "The Adventure Sampler", which is a free gift received by the folks who sign up for my newsletter.  But these were minor experiments while I was trying to hammer out the plot for the series.

I have the details worked out now, and I'm pleased to announce that I am working on the first installments of an Aurivyn story arc called "The Wrath of the Ancient Prisoner", and it all started on that weekend when my nephew wanted to play a fighter!  Little did we know what that began...

Well, I'd better get to work, so until next time I wish you...

Good Adventuring!

Timothy A. Sayell

The Crystal Cage Part One

THE CRYSTAL CAGE

An Aurivyn Tale

First published in Abandoned Towers Magazine Issue 3, 2009

Part One

Hazerium, my friend! It’s been a dog’s age since last I’ve seen you! I’ve been abroad, didn’t you know? By invitation of a very good friend of mine. You recall Thelosius the Centurion? He is now one of the sovereign Lords, charged with watching over the Holgonn Territories in the name of the Mother Empire!

Thelosius sent for me especially, you see. Oh yes! “Ganderamathrus,” he said to me, “please, I implore you to come and witness firsthand the dramatic changes I shall introduce to this land.” How could I refuse an invitation like that, I ask you? Exotic lands and exotic peoples mean exotic stories!

What an opportunity and what a terrible place it is, Hazerium! Picture it: the Holgonn Territories, far north of our beloved Trycadia, beyond even the arid plains of Yzaruam and the rolling steppes of Engathar. It is a place of unforgiving mountains and slanted fields of snow. I swear upon the grave of the First Emperor, it is always winter there.

If my visit told me one thing, it is that the Holgonn are in desperate need of our guidance and leadership. They are a simple, superstitious, and uncivilized people.  Instead of togas, they all—men and women alike—wear trousers and tunics made of…yak-skins, or something equally unpleasant.

Still, they are an intimidating lot. They are all bred tall and wide-in-the-shoulder up in Holgonn. A strong and burly people, and small wonder. Their legends all claim they are somehow descended from an extinct nation of giants.

Nonetheless, a remarkable people, with surprising talents! They are skilled hunters and skinners. They know the intimate secrets of metalsmithing, supposedly a knowledge their ancestors stole from the dwarves long ago. And sailing! I’m told they are sailors and ship-builders without peer!

Hmm, you know, it’s actually quite lucky for those simple barbarians that they were welcomed into the nurturing embrace of the Trycadian Empire before they could be exploited by some unscrupulous kingdom or other.

….Where was I, Hazerium? Oh, yes! Thelosius! He was granted a stark, cold keep overlooking a tiny village in a vale at the foot of the mountains. The little valley was surrounded on three sides by tall, steep mountains making it highly defensible and sheltered from the cruel winds. However, it was susceptible to small but regular avalanches. The place was named Vesterholt long before Thelosius got there. But within three days, our countrymen began calling it ‘the Snowbowl’.

After a week of freezing misery, witnessing Thelosius issue proclamation after boring proclamation…something interesting happened in the village.

I looked down from the keep and saw a gathering in the village square below. It set my insatiable storyteller-senses aflame, and I simply HAD to find out what was going on. So, quick as a wink, I rushed to discover the goings-on among the natives.

It was a fellow named Rolglor, who’d been out checking his traps for rabbits, or wolves, or some such and found something he did not expect. It was one of his own, a Holgonn, though apparently from the village of Zowtholt. The poor fellow was beaten and bloodied, and I understand he breathed his last just mere moments ere I arrived.

“I found him just beyond my farthest trap,” Rolglor told his fellow villagers, the Trycadian soldiers, and me. “He’d been badly hurt; I think the cold kept him alive so long. He was babbling about a magician who’s claimed the abandoned tower not far away, and goblins, and a kidnapped princess!”

“Goblins! Here?” I exclaimed, with a few others in the crowd. All of the Holgonn spun in place for a single revolution, then spat upon the snowy ground.

One of the soldiers said, “Lord Thelosius will not like goblins in his territory, whether they are the servants of a magician or not!”

“I know where this man was found, and his tracks should be easy enough to follow,” said Rolglor. “Tell your Lord that I shall scout ahead, and gather what information I can for the soldiers he is sure to send.” As I recall, he said these words with great respect and admiration. Though, had I not spent a week among their funny manners and customs, I should have mistaken his tone for sarcasm.

The soldier consented and rushed to the keep. The barbarian adjusted the heavy sword strapped to his back, then turned without saying another word and trudged back into the snow. And I followed him.

Well I had to, didn’t I? We all know what those simple barbarians are like. Their primitive minds would jumble all the facts into gibberish. In order to obtain all the proper facts, and put them into the proper perspective for the story’s maximum potential… Well, I just had to go with him.

He asked me, too, nervy fellow. “I am Ganderamathrus, a teller of tales,” I told him, “and I go where the story wills. What is your name?” Uh, please understand that I spoke much more slowly to him than I am now speaking to you.

I was fortunate. Except for his weird Holgonnic accent, he followed the Emperor’s tongue well enough, as long as I avoided the use of very big words.

“I am called Rolglor,” he said to me, poorly hiding his awe and reverence of my Empirical heritage behind a phony sneer. “I am a hunter. The animals I trap provide the village with meats to eat and skins to wear.”

I smiled at his effort to impress me. “Very admirable! I mean, very good and noble of you!” He rolled his eyes and shook his head; it is the way they show appreciation in his culture, so I’ve observed.

Hazerium, I can honestly say that I spent more time out in the snow that day than I ever wanted to! If I have my say, I never shall again! Rolglor told me it was no more than an hour ere we found the farthest of his traps, but I do not think his primitive mind keeps an accurate account of time. A dozen yards beyond that trap was the spot where he found his dying countryman.

The barbarian pointed at the shallow crater in the snow, at the end of a shallow trench. “This is where I found the Zowtholter,” he said placidly, “He stopped crawling here. Come on.” He followed the trench deeper into the woods.

Before too long, we found the place where he had fallen. The snowy ground was trampled; footsteps over footsteps, and Rolglor said it had been the site of a small battle. The Zowtholter fell there, perhaps to goblins.

To know for certain, we followed the footprints.

To Be Continued...