"Mother...?"
"Yes, Kadtja?"
"If we live in Trundle, an' Trundle be in the Black Mountains, an' the Black Mountains be on the Mainland, where the Mainland be?
Anna grinned. Kadtja had ever so many questions. "Come Kadtja, and I shall tell you about the great wide world... and you too Alek, it be well enough time to stop trying to hide in those dark corners!" Anna shook her head, for her son was all too much like his rapscallion father. She smiled again, and began her tale.
"When I was young..."
"Like us?" interrupted Kadtja.
"No, little one, I was a mite bit older than you are now, but when I was younger, I traveled all across the lands. It started in grand Talantal, where I was born...
"...ooo..."
"And there I met many other people, and many of them had their own stories to tell... from Lords of Rames to the Eyes of Hastur. I saw a Kierkegaard once, and I even danced in the halls of Lord Korie. But a long while ago I met a woman who called herself Gwynn, and she told me what her mother told her, and now I speak to you...
"We call the world we walk upon the earth, or simply the land. But in the very Ancient writings it is called The Heartwood, and they said it reaches farther than Man could ever walk and farther even than the Firstborn might have ever run.
"And that is very far, my little ones. For even I have only been to the very edge of our small corner of the world, only to Talesan's Bay, gateway to the Sea of Opals. On those western shores rests small Talesan's Village, clustered about its great cathedral and its lonely Keep. From this little fishing town, the Highland Path snakes its way east across the High Tarn. The High Tarn is the greatest of the common lands, stretching from the Sea of Opals to the foothills of the Black Mountains. The Tarn itself is a carpet of rolling hills, little lakes, and streams and is scattered with rocks large and small as if one of the many Gods once played marbles across the moors.
"Among those rocks are three of the seven Little Kingdoms. There is Grand Talantal, lording over its many manors and its bound farms. Alone and lonely is Brockman's Holdfast, full of its reclusive and bitter folk. And rising on a mountain of rock is cruel Montague Keep.
"They say that the only water in Montague is that of the small gray lake from which the Tarn gets its name. The land is hard in Montague, and it is said that if one is not as tough and as strong as the Keep's granite hewn foundations, then they are lorded over by those who are. In the shadow of Montague lies Brockman's Holdfast.
"Brockman's, my children, is a dying place, and perhaps it soon will be naught but a hollow shell. Under Montague's gaze, they have learned not trust their neighbors... and to like strangers even less.
"And Talantal! I could talk about the splendor of Talantal for a handful of fullhand of days. No, it may not be as large or as sprawling as our home, but within its five rings live the aristocracy of the High Tarn. Into Talantal flows grain and wheat, and other such goods, and from Talantal rides gold and jewelry. Here the Kories rule. While I grew up in its third ring, the merchants town, I often charmed my way into the palace itself. There I would dance with the minor courtiers and with those who looked to gain power across the mainland.
"Talantal is the midpoint of that same Highland Path, the merchant's way that started from little Talesan's Village. And do not begin to think that it is empty between those two points. The people of The Heartwood live scattered all across the High Tarn. No towns or villages... at most a handful of farmhouses, each a day away from the next. There's gathering and growing, and every so often making that special trip to the next tiny village for a market day.
"And from Talantal the Highland Path continues its winding way east, across the great Silk Creek Ravine, over the Only Bridge at the little town of Highside Heather."
"Highside Heather. Why is it high, Mother?"
Anna chuckled softly. "It is so simple, Kadtja. The western side of the Silk Creek Ravine is higher than the eastern side. Thus all of the Tarn, like Talantal and the little Heather Village are on the Highside, and all the lands east, like Montague and Brockman's, and even Bordertown, are on the Lowside.
"Bordertown. That is where the Highland Path ends, my children. Poor beleaguered Bordertown. Once, long ago, it stood at the border of three Little Kingdoms. There were the lands of Roth, now lost forever in the Greenlands. And the Duchy of Talantal once sprawled that far. Highgaard's alliance of small forts touched that town too. But now it sits all alone, in the middle of crossroads, in lands where the influence of the Keeps no longer reaches. So it has become a place of its own. In Bordertown, no Lord rules, but the merchants argue with one another just as fiercely as the Noble Families vie for power.
"Now I have taken you from the Sea of Opals up the Highland Path to Bordertown. The High Tarn stretches east and west in between. Next I shall tell you of what lies on the Tarn's other edges.
"To the south of the Tarn the rolling hills flatten, and soon become prairie and then beyond even that the grass shortens and becomes dust, rock, and sand. This area of prairie is known as the Plains of Kaa, and here live the Clans of Amber. And from Amber comes horses. Where it can be said that no folk can train a horse like the Kierkegaard, no people can breed one like the nomads of Amber. Few people travel into those Plains. The folk from Amber are very jealous of their fields and herds, and only meet outsiders at the Amber Keep itself.
"And you know what lies to the north of the Tarn. Here, come close and don't be scared. The Dirkwood itself forms the northern edge of the High Tarn. Those twisted woods cover most of the land from the Sea of Opals and break upon the Black Mountains themselves. I'm told that a few farms live in the dread forest's shadows, but I have only seen empty farmhouses and abandoned barns where once a poor farmer tried to stake a claim. They say the Dirkwood is cursed, little ones, and those who roam within are lost to become food for the trees themselves. On a breezy day, you can hear the trees moan and call out your name, for the woods are hungry for souls. And they'll even catch you, Alek, if you aren't good 'n careful!"
Anna held her children close. Her own mother had told her the same warning, as mothers were wont to do. But she had looked into those blackened woods with her own eyes, and had herself heard the horrid wind cry. And she knew that there might be more than a little truth in the stories of the fell Dirkwood Forest.
"So now my children, we have bounded the High Tarn. But there is at least a little bit of the world beyond the Tarn, no?"
"Sure 'nough," Alek giggled, "Like ta Black Mountins wher' us live!"
"Alek, that's the Black Mountains where we live..." Anna smiled.
"Yes, mother... like the Black Mountains where... we... live..."
"But Alek and Kadtja, we are not the only ones who live in these mountains, and remember, Trundle itself rises only on a far back foothill. The Black Mountains stretch across the top of the Dirkwood, dance above the High Tarn, and then reach south and east to the Dawnview Mountains. Within the mountains live many folks. The noble family Kierkegaard rule over their collection of Keeps and Forts... Highgaard, Cragside and The Rock, Kraigskell, and Lilia's Castle. Between the Black Mountains and Bordertown lie the fields known once upon a time as the Greenlands, and also the forest that was once home to the Knights of Roth. Now there are only barbarians who hide in that wood and ride west to continuously raid Bordertown.
"The Dawnview Mountains contain the Dawnview Vale. And within the Vale are the three keeps of the Family Allaine: Glacier, Snowgate, and Dawnview. I have never traveled that far, young ones. Where the western shores are but one limit to the mainland, the faraway lands of Dawnview are at the other end of the world.
"Beyond the Dawnview Mountains lie the glaciers and snowfields of the Cold Waste. So cold it is there, that it is said it will freeze the very blood in your veins.
"And lastly I shall tell you of what lies beyond the mainland, beyond our little piece of the world that our Lord Prince named the Imperial Colonies.
"Across the Sea of Opals is said to be the Opal Archipelago, the home of our Great Bankorpool Empire."
Falling silent, Anna considered for a moment, knowing her lesson wasn't truly at an end. A single place had been left unnamed. With a breath, she continued, her words so soft they were almost a whisper.
"And just across the Black Mountains, over these tall, dark peaks, wait the nightmare of the East."
Kadtja shuddered slightly and snuggled closer to her mother. Anna hugged her tightly, looking over her shoulder to find little Alek fast asleep. Anna shook her head slightly and smiled softly. One moment a veritable Bouncer of energy, the next dead to the world.
"Come Kadtja, let's put your brother to bed, then I think it's time for your nightly chores, and then it's off to sleep with you too!"
"Please, Mother, can't I just stay up a little longer and hear about the East?"
"No."
| Hidden deep within the Tarn, quiet in her vale, there is a place that sparkles come night, so sing the Dall Gwynn tales. |
| She stands on columns finely carved and laced with softest gold, marble of warmest honey spun, and wrapped with crystal cold. |
| Her towers reach to pierce the sky a summer's breeze they slice, they shine like moonlight on a pond as sharp and clear as ice. |
| Her paths are strewn with many gems that light the cool night air, their colors dance across the sky, and weave enchantments fair. |
| Her blades they are as keen as sight, the darkest steel her pride, some shine as bright as winter's white, she tells of stars that cried. |
| She rests so very much alone, no one to count her coins that roll down forgotten alleyways, too many to purloin. |
| It is so very quiet now, silent is her touch, silver cascades down empty halls that echo far too much. |
| Where the fire-haired lady wakes above the fallen stars, they chase the dream they call Dall Gwynn. She strays men quite afar. |
The crowd milled and shifted along the cobbled Talantal street. Their attention was held by a fanfare of color and sound slowly ascending the city's Rings towards the heart of the Keep.
"Cor, Jamie," Lhoric said, " can the see them yet?"
"Sure 'nough," replied Jamie. "See there, look, it's our own Lord Marcus Korie himself, leading all and sundry, he is. Back from his travels, must be. I heard that Khorall Dorian Korie sent him to all the other Keeps, he did. To invite all the other Nobles to the Midsummers Council."
"Look, Jamie! There he is. Tall and proud under our banner. And his honor guard all shined up. There's Sir Nicholas... cor, Jamie... his armor be black as the very night. And an entourage that must be a league long, all in fine clothes and upon pretty horses." Lhoric looked down at his rough stained tunic, his tattered surcoat. Good enough for a simple cobbler. He chuckled. He could imagine himself in such finery, a funny sight at that. His father was a cobbler and his father before that. Lord Marcus was born a Noble. Lhoric made shoes, and that was his job. The Korie lords protected him, gave him a safe home. That is Nobility's purpose. And for that work they assuredly deserved the benefits of their station.
The Korie banner passed Lhoric and Jamie and the rest of the crowd. It snapped in the sharp breeze, a star encircled by a laurel, the sky blue field vanishing against the sapphire skies of Talantal. The procession continued.
Jamies' elbow jabbed at Lhoric's side, "Look, will ye. There, all by his lonesome. Under the black and red and silver flag..."
A single warrior, clothed in chain and steel, great helm hiding all identity, riding a destrier with fine and flashing mantling, lead a string of saddled but insultingly empty horses. From his lance fluttered the banner of Dawnview Vale.
Lhoric spat at the ground. "Well, Jamie, did ye expect any different? A land ruled by that Allaine family could nae be lorded well at all."
"There, look, there's the gold Seahorse of tiny ol' Talesan's Village down by the bay! And look! I'll lay you stars for crowns that that's Khorall Tieg Larsen himself, that is! See, look at him ride, coronet and all, greeting us with a wave and..." Lhoric dove for the ground, and collected a pretty seashell and a handful of pennies.
"What other lord would toss us such gifts!
"That small village is so lucky to have such a generous and noble Lord."
Jamie chuckled, "But I'll lay you stars for crowns that you just collected half the treasury of small Talesan's Village!"
Lhoric smiled. "Nae, I don't take losing bets at all!"
Jamie's elbow attacked Lhoric's side again. "Here, he don't look to happy at all, does he? That must be Kristof Kierkegaard of Highgaard Keep. Look at him, dour and disturbed. Khorall Kierkegaard must nae be too happy about the Allaine's now, eh? Their powerful allies insulting grand Lord Korie to his very face in his very town."
"All well and good my friend, but as happy as he is not, watch his prancing horse, and look at his guards all in line. I've never seen such as that! I hear that even Khorall Korie has his war horses trained up in those Black Mountain towns. They also say that the Kierkegaards can train their mounts to pavane to the minstrel's flute!"
"Ha. I can just see myself dancing with a horse!"
"Cor, Jamie, they have a pretty flag! All stripes of green and blue and black!"
"It's not just pretty, Lhoric... look, here's what I heard off of a Cragside merchant. The green is for the High Tarn fields, and the blue stripe above, the lakes and rivers that run upon the Tarn. The black stripe above that are the long Black Mountains that shelter Highgaard Keep and the green stripe above that are the hidden mountain valley farms. And, of course, above the mountains and valleys is the dark blue sky!"
"As if you can trust a Cragside merchant... I hear that most them are kind'a pagan..."
A hush fell over the nearby crowd. The Lord of Brockman's Holdfast was passing by.
"He looks as if he has a date with cold Krysta," Jamie whispered.
"Hush! If you canna' speak good of a Lord, don't speak at all! And never bring Her attention on a poor soul, lest someone talk to Her about thee!"
"Cor, Lhoric, that banner of his, with the Brockman sword on its yellow field, is tattered and torn. And if that be Khorall Dag Brockman, he looks as if he has the weight of a quarry full of stone upon him. That be his guard, and look, they have their swords drawn as if to fight off some horrid demon chasing them down. And look, Lhoric, at Khorall Brockman. He seems more interested in what might be behind him than us or the regal climb to the center of Talantal."
Brockman's small, lonely party passed on by, but the hush they left in their wake remained caught in the crowd. But this was a new silence, one based not on pity and worry, but of a quiet sense of wonderment.
"Lookit that, will ye..."
"Oh, Jamie, that's pretty."
"You hear that the Kierkegaard might train them best, but oh they canna' breed horses like those..."
"Look at them, all in flowing robes, scarves blowin' in the wind, on the prettiest horses I ever did see. They come all the way from Amber and their Plains of Kaa. Jamie, who is the Khorall of Amber Keep? Know ye anything about those far away folk?"
"No, Lhoric, I be only a seller of wines and beer. You gonna have to talk to a knight or a livery man for that. I talked once to an Amber merchant an' he had the strangest of names, Kahldjal Koranfnntkor or something very odd like that. And he had a horse. In Amber, even a merchant has a horse! A poor horse from the farms of Lord Korie costs more than I will ever see in my life, and I hear an Amber horse will set even a nobleman back..."
"Pretty..."
"Yes, Lhoric... look now, will you? There, behind the fine Lords of Amber, there be a banner of many shades of gray. Now we know why there be nary an Allaine here at that. Look, on a horse dusty and dirty as the rock they quarry. That, I hear, is Lord Jakal Montague. He looks as if he was cut out of stone himself."
"Lord Jakal? Where then is Khorall Montague? Does he send only his brother to the Council this year?"
"Maybe it is time for the young lord to learn his duties... but look! Look at Lord Jakal's side! That has got to be Dama Talia Montague, his niece! Why would Khorall Montague send his young daughter out on the rough road... and to Council at that? Hmm... maybe to just visit Dama Korie and all her ladies..."
Lhoric smiles, "I've heard my wife gossip with her friends... I wonder what noble ladies talk about?"
And the Montagues rode past.
The people of Talantal were quiet for a bit, but soon it became apparent that a cheer and shout was moving up the along the street.
"There it is! Look now, Jamie! There, far below, and reaching the sky, there... there is the Imperial banner!"
A small party ended the procession. In the lead was a Knight on a white mantled destrier, with a red cross emblazoned on his immaculate surcoat. He was leading a fine horse, with an empty golden leather saddle. To his side rode a Judge clothed in Hastur's dark blue robes. Behind this trio rode a pretty woman, with a very kind smile. Occasionally she would wander to the side, to chat with the on-lookers, only to be brought back in line by a curt command from the Knight. At the head of the Imperial party there walked a young man who carried a tall banner. Upon its deep purple field were placed the silver star, the golden crown, and the great bear of the Bankorpool Empire.
"Jamie, no Viceroy at the Council again..."
"I know. There hasn't been a Viceroy on the mainland for many a generation now... but that be fine. What's a few generations to an Empire a thousand years old? And we have the Lords of the Little Kingdoms. They represent the Empire here... here in their colonies. Back in the olden times all the Little Kingdoms swore fealty to the Emperor across the seas... and now we have peace. See there on his horse, The Bankorpool Empire brought us the Knights of Rames to protect us. And the Judges of Hastur to write our laws, and lastly the Ladies of Attera to heal our sicknesses."
"Oh, look... that be herself, Lady Katherine... she's playing the part of the Imperial high priestess... morning, Lady Katherine!"
Lhoric pushed forward, as did the rest of the crowd, as the pretty Atteran rode on by.
Jamie smiled. "Aye, and that be young Gregsson carrying the banner, and there's Sir Darren and Judge Thomas playin' the rest of the Imperial Court. We may not have been visited by our Imperial Lords in a long time, but we will never forget to represent their presence in their Colonies.
Jamie raised his hand to wave at the Imperial party. Aye, he thought, I may live in the rich lands of Talantal and must obey my Lord Korie, but the Kories bow before the great Bankorpool Empire. And thus even I am an Imperial citizen!
Jamie joined Lhoric's cheering, and the crowd roared, and closed in behind the procession, following them till they passed through the gates, into the center of Talantal's many rings.
|
...blackened metal, |
It comes from out of the Black Mountains, those dark crags that separate the East from the rest of The Heartwood. It is death in a Lord's hand. It is Darksteel, the prince of metals.
Darksteel is a special metal, found in rare strikes throughout the long Black Mountains. It is a scarce metal, and valuable not only due to its rarity, but for its strength and for its cultural importance. It is the metal that marks the Lords of the many Heartwood cults. Large or well-established cults generally gift to their Lords weapons and armor made from this metal, usually from well-hoarded armories, or passed down from older Lord to younger. Smaller and not as influential cults usually have to rely on much more imaginative means of acquiring Darksteel.
Darksteel is a black metal. When worked and polished it often acquires a dark blue shine. It is known to be lighter and stronger than normal steel. Darksteel is said to be easier to magic and thus is the preferred material for magic matrices and for containing bound and allied spirits. It cannot be purchased in the normal manner and must be either won in battle or received as a cultic gift.
|
...a sun began, |
Gregor looked hopefully up at his father. "Daddy, how do you know when to plant? I gotta know so's when I gets my farm I can know too!"
Patrick Greenhand smiled down at his small son. "Son, you're not going to be worrying about that for quite a few years now. But if'n you really do want to know, I'll tell ya."
Gregor hopped up on his father's knee, placed a determined chin on his fist, and listened attentively.
"Well, son, waaaaay back in the olden days they had these people called astrologers. They studied the skies and the stars and decided that the year was two hundred and fifty days. Well, that's all fine and good, but we farmer folk knew that a long time ago. You see, Gregor, you start with a handful of days, that's a week. Now, that's as many fingers as the Gods gave us on our hands so's we could count 'em. See... first day, Rameday; second, Hasday; third, Attaday; fourth, Marketday, and finally Restday. Then, you count one hand's fingers as many times as you got fingers on the other, and you get a fullhand. That's a month, twenty-five days. Now as many months as ya got fingers total, and that's a year. Two hundred and fifty days, just like them astrologers said."
"Khai, daddy, they musta been pretty dumb. You don't even need the stars to know that!"
"But, son, it's not all that silly... see it's from the names of the constellations that we get the names of the months, which lets us keep track of all those days. First month is Tiger when we do our Spring planting, then Horse when the first conjunction of the moons occur, then quiet Poet, and fierce Dragon, who marks the beginning of the Dry Season. When Dragon ends, we get Midsummers Day and all its festivals. You remember last year, Gregor, when we actually went to Kraigskell to celebrate."
"Oh, yes, Daddy! I had those candied apples, and the sweet pastries..."
Patrick shushed his bouncing son. "Yes, yes... now... after Midsummers comes the month of Fates, named after the three blind men who play Fourstone and determine the destiny of our crops. Then Scholars, when the hard work of Harvest begins, followed by Yrick and the second conjunction of the moons and our the traditional tithe to our Khorall."
"That's Lord Kraigskell!"
"Yes, Gregor, that's right. And after Fates comes Raven, when we do the winter planting. Then the Crown of Ice, with her cruel blizzards marking the beginning of Storm Season. That's our winter. And after Crown comes the last and biggest of the year's Festivals, Midwinters Night."
"Aye... that's 'cause it's always stormy and there's no work, right, Daddy?"
"Yes, Gregor, we rest and feast all night long. You were a festival child, you know. Your mother and I met at the festival in Kraigskell nine years ago. And you were born the next winter." Patrick smiled fondly at the memory. "And last, then, comes cold and lonely Wolf, caught tight between Midwinters and Firstday. And when Firstday is reached, the circle it all starts over again."
"Over again, always? How come?"
"Ah yup. Always... 'cause that's the way the Gods made the world, Gregor. You can't question the Gods."
| There's a far away valley, enshrouded in doom, broken and twisted and barren. Save for the hill where the daisies still bloom, and dandelions blossom forever. |
| It was a long dark harvest, planted in blood, the years upon years were ending. Down the East highway, bones mixed with the mud, the darkness slid down from the mountains. |
| It was early in Dragon that Tor-an-dal fell, three bridges burned behind them. In the next town the darkness did tell the East was now on their doorstep. |
| Then under night's cover the farmers did flee, not a man remained in the village. But twenty of Risha's children there be, tied by their vows to the valley. |
| There's a far away valley, enshrouded in doom, broken and twisted and barren. Save for the hill where the daisies still bloom, and dandelions blossom forever. |
| To defend the defenseless two handfuls did stand, ten swords to face the dark magics. Captain Jeminy Kilkenna led the brave band, ten souls to match a dark army. |
| There was a circle of stones on a little lost hill, it was there he laid his defenses. Then he gathered his fighters and then spoke his will... an oath sworn to soft Risha's people. |
| "The East, they shall come and on morn they'll be here. and its certain we'll fall before them. But I swear by the stars and of all I hold dear, we'll all die before they shall harm you." |
| There's a far away valley, enshrouded in doom, broken and twisted and barren. Save for the hill where the daisies still bloom, and dandelions blossom forever. |
| And when She arose, the very next day, the East vanguard was upon them. Clashing steel and silver announced the melee, death echoing across the valley. |
| Jeminy Kilkenna was the first to die, he didn't live to see nightfall. By noon not alone did his broken form lie, and tighter was drawn the defenses. |
| When night finally fell but a handful remained, battered and bloody and desperate. Through the night conflict raged unrestrained, till morning poked over the mountains. |
| There's a far away valley, enshrouded in doom, broken and twisted and barren. Save for the hill where the daisies still bloom, and dandelions blossom forever. |
| Young Mikal Allinna stood alone that red morn, his sword stood as tall as he did. Only fifteen short years since the day he was born, and now he stood bloody and wounded. |
| From behind, Risha's folk they begged him to run, but Mikal was too scared to listen. And the Eastern spearmen toward him did come, shouting and laughing and taunting. |
| About the hilltop lay those he held dear, lost to fulfill a fell promise. His fear so strong, but his duty was clear, and he turned to meet the dark spearmen. |
| There's a far away valley, enshrouded in doom, broken and twisted and barren. Save for the hill where the daisies still bloom, and dandelions blossom forever. |
| Mikal Allinna lay pierced to the hill, five spears tore his body to pieces. And yet with his last breath he stung the East still, for he kept Kilkenna's last promise. |
| There's a far away valley, enshrouded in doom, broken and twisted and barren. Save for the hill where the daisies still bloom, and dandelions blossom forever. |
|
...born of destruction, |
Among the tales told of the Ancient times, a single legend eases its way up from the destruction of the First Age. It is a metal, pure and bright, which is said to be more valuable than any Darksteel strike. It is Ironsilver. The whispered stories spoken of this metal have most assuredly grown and flourished as each age added its own flavor to Ironsilver's history. It is said that Ironsilver can cut through steel, shatter a priest's call for power, and it never, never, lose its milk-white shine.
Of Ironsilver's appearance, many different opinions exist. Most say its sheen ranges from a deep rich silver to a sparkling white. Its physical and magical properties have been rumored to be greater even than those of Darksteel.
Where Darksteel is said to be the prince of metals, Ironsilver is most assuredly its princess.
|
...the longest trail, |
The common coinage of the Mainland is that of the Great Bankorpool Empire and has been the standard of trade since Prince Lhannon Bankorpool consolidated the Little Kingdoms beneath Imperial rule. These coins are accepted almost everywhere, with other monies looked at with an extremely suspicious air. These coins are fairly large and are based on a gold standard, called the Imperial Crown.
The Imperial Star is the highest denomination of Imperial Coinage. It is a large gold coin with a five rayed star imprinted on it. The coin is minted so that it can be separated into five wedge-shaped pieces, each worth a single crown. Thus a star itself is worth five crown. On the back side of the coin is the Imperial Shield of Star, Crown, and Bear.
The standard denomination is the Imperial Crown. Smaller than the star, it is a round gold coin. On one side is the Imperial Crown, on the other is the great Bear of the Bankorpool Empire. As noted above, however, another coin worth a crown are the wedge-shaped fragments of an Imperial Star. These are also referred to as pieces or sparkles of a star.
The Half Crown is a bronze coin, two of which are equal to one crown. On one side is the Imperial Crown, on the other, a bear's head.
A Guilder is a silver coin. It takes ten guilder to equal a crown. This coin has the Imperial Shield on one face, and the initials I.C., which stands for "Imperial Coinage," on the other.
And finally, the smallest denomination is the penny. It is a small copper coin, and it takes one hundred pennies to make one crown. It has I.C. stamped on one side, with the other being blank.
The Grand Duchy of Talantal has the only chartered Imperial Mint still in operation on the mainland.
|
...ye work to break your back, (workers' song, Montague quarries) |
A tapestry of work and machines across the lands...
"Heh heh... told you it would never last. See, the Keep's sheriffs have come, and brought them some of Khorall Hadrian's men too. Bloody windmill. I heard ol' Jacob saw one out along those farms by that there ocean, and thought he could bring one up to our windy rocky land. Fact, I heard ol' Jacob say that, after all, the winds was free and that he was only gonna grind his grain there at all.
"He should have known, that ol' man. Outside world made him soft, I guess. Hadrian Montague wouldn't stand for it. He brought his men and are now taking it apart. Lay you odds they find ol' Jacob's bones out in the quarries... unless he had the smarts to leave Montague lands. Now me, I knew what to do, I wasn't gonna be a farmer all my life. When Lame Erik had his accident two years back, I just moved into this here mill. On the only stream out of that highest Tarn. An' when the Khorall's men came by, gave them a good price for my work, and a tithe to boot. An' now they gave me a fancy wife, an' I got a daughter to cook and do my cleaning, even if I gotta put up with Montague visits every now an' then."
And in Rolf McLaine's mill the overshot waterwheel turned, and powered the many gears inside. The mill now not only ground the village's grain, but it reached into the neighboring smithy, operating the trip hammers and bellows...
And within the hot smithy below, the master speaks to his apprentice.
"Here brat... watch and listen well. Watch as I heat the forge red hot, get the coals glowing... now get the bellows goin'... this fire's gotta be real hot! Listen now...
|
...when the iron flows like a bloody tear, Spring remember this chant of simple lore, |
Elsewhere, much farther east...
Patrick looked out across his farm. It rose and fell across the valleys around Kraigskell Keep, from the high mountain pastures to the rich and deep soils along the Kraigskell Kill. It was early spring, and Patrick Greenhand was looking into the future.
"Daddy! Here he comes... all shiny an' bright! An' on his real big horse! He's coming over here just like you said! An' look! He's bringing even more horses!"
"Yes, Gregor, now be still... be a quiet child and remember how to behave before our betters."
Gregor stood still and quiet. For a little while.
"Greetings, Squire Kelvin! How does the morning treat you?"
"Good morning, Farmer Patrick," the young squire said, "My Lords have bid me bring you four strong horses to help you till your fields this year. Are your oxen not well? It seems strange to me that my father would lend a farmer such fine beasts for such a lowly task. Never before has such a request been made."
"Come, Squire Kelvin," Patrick said, "and I will show you what has swayed Lord Kraigskell's mind."
The three walked to the side of Patrick's barn.
"Squire Kelvin, surely you know that the wooded fields along the Kraigskell Kill — while having rich and fertile soil — is far too heavy for a plow to turn? But at Midwinters I had a chance to talk with a Trader from Talantal, and he described to me a new plow that they use down on the Tarn. So as the Storm season ended, I had the smith make me one such as the merchant described.
"See, m'lord Kelvin... here I have two wheels to support my farming machine. Here is an iron colter to cut straight into the soil and a sharp metal plowshare to cut the grass at its roots. And this last is a deep moldboard to turn the soil. With this plow I can turn over much deeper and heavier soil than my neighbors... more land can be farmed that can bear more food for the Keep and my family."
"I have never seen such a thing before, Farmer. Are you sure that it will work? Remember, the old ways were tried and true. And you still haven't proven to me why this new plow of yours shouldn't be pulled by your team of oxen."
"M'lord Squire, even once the old ways were new. And where my oxen are as strong as your fine horses, the horses are twice as fast. And so I approached my Lord Kraigskell at court with a simple proposal. As he knows, most of the other Kraigskell farmers farm one of their two fields a year... the second being given over to... ah..."
The young Squire of Rames leveled a cold stare at the Farmer.
"...lay fallow so that it will be fertile the next year. Where I and little Gregor here..."
Gregor beamed, and quickly said, "Yessir Master Squire! Me an' daddy are good smart farmers, he teach me!"
Kelvin couldn't help but smile at the child. Patrick was relieved at the return of the Squire's good humor. The farmer then continued.
"...farm two of our three fields, putting in a spring and a winter crop. Usually, we planted beans and potatoes for the later months. So, only a third of our fields lay unworked each year."
"That I know. The Keep was very grateful to you this last year when the rains flooded out a goodly portion of the spring planting. And it was your and Farmer Michael's winter crop that helped Kraigskell have food throughout all of winter."
"Your words do me kind, Squire Kraigskell." Indeed, Patrick thought, it was probably that sacrifice of food to the Keep that brought him into the Khorall's favor. "But what good is a new plow if I can't farm more land? With my oxen, I would only have enough days to plow the fields I already have, which I can do with a more simple plow. But with the swift horses I can open up new richer fields with the time they save. And so I presented my offer to your Lord. I said 'lend me four of your beasts — they need only be strong and quiet — and I shall be able to tithe more to you, my Khorall. And I shall also set aside a portion of my winter fields to plant grain to further feed your herds.' And Lord Kraigskell thought this was wise. For, young Squire, this year you will have more food on your table, and all winter long your fine mount will have grain for his feed."
And once again, Gregor got to interrupt.
"An' I get to pet a great big horsey!"
Both Farmer Patrick and Squire Kelvin Kraigskell laughed.
| The sky was the blackest of midnight between the jagged peaks. Two moons upon the horizon, Krysta our souls she seeks. The path was a shadow in moonlight over the Corliss moor. For at Snowgate Pass we're waiting, waiting, waiting. For Prince Lhannon we're waiting, Imperials at Dawnview's door. |
| There's a rank of sword on the brambles, a brace of pike in the pass. And I stand all alone here 'tween walls of the black crevasse. I leaned hard on my tall spear, it shone like the stars in the sky. We knew what it meant to be here, her soldier upon the frontier. Her word our lives held dear, and fell her will was clear. |
| In the valley we were broken, black steeds lay dead in the dark. And there's no way that we would be standing come dawn and the Imperial mark. I looked to the tallest ramparts, to who is now watching there. There was Dawnview's snow-cast daughter. Cold was Dawnview's daughter, her arms crossed still at her breast beneath her long red hair. |
| One look is all that I wish: that she sees me this night, To know that I will give my only life against the Imperial might. But if they press us sharply, they'll break through the pass come day and our farms will be theirs come sunset. Dawnview will fall by sunset. But she won't break by sunset, even if Krysta wins the day. |
| But she gazes in the darkness, counting the stars in the sky. And we make our peace far below her, watching the firelight die. But it's our homes for which we fight. We trust her to keep them free. And soon will come the morning, too soon comes the morning. We'll stand once again come morning, against the Empire we will be. |
| The sun was a bloody dawning o'er their banners fair. Steel was the color of daybreak, and fate had stained the air. Like the breaking of a sea wave, o'er our cold armor, Prince Lhannon's troops came marching, marching, marching. The Imperials came marching up from the Corliss moor. |
| She said no word to the priestess, but watched us fall instead. And farther up the chasm the Imperials they were led. Between the tall black mountains, where not a one could hide, there was death with every footstep... death with every footstep. And she could see from her rampart the path that we must ride. |
| Each step was won by hot blood; my best friends they lay dead. And Krysta danced beside me to the fate that we were lead. But it's our homes for which we fight. We trust her to keep them free. But our farms will be theirs come sunset, Dawnview will fall by sunset. But she won't break by sunset even if Krysta does find me. |
| She watched from the stone black ramparts, and nary a tear was shed... for cold was her heart like snowfall, while for her our blood ran red. The Empire just marched forward, into Snowgate Pass. She watched, and it was noontime. She looked down from noontime. We died beneath the noontime for the Empire's last trespass. |
| K'tack, k'tack, could they hear it? The sound of their death rang clear. K'tack, k'tack, in the valley... could not their death they hear? Above the clash of shield walls, o'er the Empire's kill, she stood there quietly watching, watching, watching. Above us she was watching. She stood up straight and still. |
| K'tack, in her lonely silence. K'tack, in the mountains black. The pebbles they did clatter, not a pause in their attack. She spoke one word to the priestess, she drew a frosty breath. And the pebbles they were falling. Rocks they now were falling. Heavy rocks now falling. Arms crossed beneath her breast. |
| And the mountains fell upon them. And the mountains fell on us. At Snowgate Pass it ended beneath a stone chorus. And come the final sunset, no sound there was to hear... just Dawnview's daughter walking, Dawnview's red haired daughter, walking the stones in the moonlight, silver haze upon her hair. |
| In the end there was only silence and dead was Snowgate Pass. Was bought the Vale's freedom in lives for an ice heart lass. Blood red ran the mountain's lonely path, the color of her crimson hair. For Dawnview has a snowqueen. For Dawnview has a snowqueen. For Dawnview she did become the Snowqueen. The fate of rule ne'er fair. |
| The sky was the blackest of midnight between the jagged peaks. Two moons upon the horizon, Krysta our souls she seeks. The path was a shadow in moonlight over the Corliss moor. For at Snowgate Pass we're waiting, waiting, waiting. For Prince Lhannon we're waiting, Imperials at Dawnview's door. |
Dunwich Scott's breath roared in the heavy steel helm. His horse paced nervously beneath him as if it fully well knew that its death, too, could lie before them. The Captain was to his right, and Ironhand was on his left. Their mounts were deadly quiet. The quiet jingle of metal and the stamping of hooves drifted along the line. The troop was ready.
"Come, Duffy," the Captain said, "it's time."
Through the morning fog they walked, and as the fog lifted, he could see the opposing men below. Duffy shook his head. Before them stood a long and sturdy shield wall, with spear and pike in the second row. They looked strong in the morning light, and in earlier years they probably could have held their little piece of ground until Krysta's crown melted.
But today they had little chance.
Duffy urged his horse forward, balanced carefully with sword at the ready. The heaving bodies melded into a single line that rolled down the hill, picking up speed and terrible momentum. The horses' hooves made the roar of a dragon, steel-shod — and down upon the shield wall thundered over forty tons of flesh and steel.
They smashed through the shield wall as if it was a mist, longswords crashing down on the panicked shield men below. It did not take long.
As he walked his horse from the now quiet field, Duffy's stirrups shone in the sunlight.
|
...a woman's place... |
In the common realm of The Heartwood, a woman's place is in the home... at least according to the dominant mores of The Heartwood's people. As such, the social status of your average woman is tied directly to the status of her husband or family. And so, the most common occupation for a woman is that of wife and mother. In truth, most women never see further than this. No woman in her right mind would leave the security and protection of her home and husband. While not normally an influential or notable position, this lack of social position does have its advantages. They are protected and cherished in their place, and in most instances they do have the responsibilities of running the household. In many lands, especially when the Nobles are quarreling and the men are called off to war, running the household is just as demanding and brings as much social influence as any man's work. Most women — especially in those areas looked over by the Knights of Lord Rames — are treated with courteous and chivalry. And most women are happy in this place. Women seldom carry weapons, seldom have any true need to carry a weapon, and when they do it is at most a small dagger to protect their virtue. A woman with a sword is, simply put, a joke. Those women who leave the home to take up other kinds of work are looked down upon. These are your ordinary wenches, barmaids, and prostitutes. However, women do have some means of rising in the world. In Pagan territory, Risha's people are very valuable, and in the Little Kingdoms, the Priestesses of Lady Attera are the most beloved of the Heartwood's folk.
Now that I have probably insulted over half of the people reading this, I beg a little indulgence and a chance to reassure players that the Gamemaster is not a sexist pig.
When the Heartwood was developed, one of the goals was to create a gritty world that reflected more realism than fantasy. As such, on The Heartwood there are just as many idiots as in the real world. And the general cultural mores have to reflect this.
Several facts should be remembered.
First is that the player's guide, as stated, represents only the common point of view. This means that there might be drastically different views and cultures out on The Heartwood waiting to be discovered by the players. Conditions in The Heartwood are seldom black and white, most of the time there are many shades of gray.
Second is that, by their very nature, player characters are special people. They are all (regardless of sex) people who do not fit into the social norms. Otherwise, they would stay on the family farm and never adventure. Therefore, there is no reason for a player not to have a female character.
Third is that women are not the only socially outcast people. If you look at the magic and religion notes, you can see that sorcerers and loud Pagans are in a similar social position. At least the average Heartwood woman does not have to worry about being turned into firewood!
Fourth is that, if you think about it in player terms, the low social rank does have its advantages. The cultural mores of The Heartwood may (and have in face-to-face games) often backfired. Anna is no simple housewife. When run as a player character, she was a thieving type who used the culture to her advantage. Never taken seriously, she was often overlooked when some man was yelling "thief," and fighters tended to leave her alone because she was just a defenseless woman. (And those self-same fighters were very embarrassed when she coshed them on the head, from behind, with a bottle of wine!)
And the last, while female characters may be saddled with cultural disapproval, every success they have is much more rewarding. The system can, and has been bucked (just ask the daughter of Rolf McLaine). In this way, female characters on The Heartwood have the possibility for a much more exciting and rewarding development than any other character.
In game terms, the only limitation (in this matter) put on players is in the make-up of the party as a whole. The party should at least attempt to fit in with Heartwood mores. Roleplaying does include the ability to play within the framework of the world, good or bad.
|
...Kashkhanash stev 'doashk, |
The languages of the Heartwood are varied and different. Their roots reach back to the great Shattering Wars, and since then the languages have branched and developed. The written word is a fairly rare phenomenon among the common folk, and many of the older languages have no written form at all. Illiteracy is the norm, and the written word has less value in both business and historical records than in a literate society. In many cases, a written article is given less credence than a spoken tale. The common opinion is that something spoken can be gauged and backed up by the word of the speaker while anybody can write anything down. One of the major contributions of the Great Bankorpool Empire was the standardization of both the spoken and written word across the mainland.
The major tongues on the Heartwood are:
This is the common tongue of the Bankorpool Empire. It is the most prevalent and dominant of the human languages, reaching across the entire world from the fabled Opal Archipelago to the valleys of the Black Mountains. There are three major dialects of the Imperial Speech.
This is the dialect spoken on the mainland of The Heartwood. There are few who cannot speak it, and while it varies from place to place, it is commonly intelligible to all. Thus, while a person from Dawnview Vale might have a drastically different accent from a man of Talantal, they are still speaking the same language.
The written form of this language is taught to the Nobles, usually by the Lords of Hastur.
This is the tongue spoken by those originally from the Opal Archipelago. Spoken, it is almost a vanished language. It survives mostly in a written form, used in official documents and contracts. It differs slightly from Colonial, in both accent and terminology. For example, in Colonial the word is "jam," and in Old Imperial it is "marmalade." A person who knows Colonial usually can easily decipher the differences in Old Imperial.
High Imperial is the oldest form of the Empire's language. Even less common than Old Imperial, it is only known or used by a few scribes so that they can read and transcribe a few very old scrolls. Both Old Imperial and Colonial have evolved to the point that it is difficult to understand High Imperial unless one has been specially taught this rare dialect.
This is an older tongue that dates back to the Second Age. It survives in the back areas of The Heartwood, most often among the farmers who are lost in the vastness of the High Tarn. Forestalk is the language that was spoken on the mainland before the coming of the Bankorpool Empire. It is rarely spoken in the Keeps and surrounding areas, for it is also the language of the dark Pagans that cursed the Second Age.
There is no written form of Forestalk.
The oldest known tongue of Man, it is only remembered by a few words that have lasted since the dawn of time...
Of course, it is rumored that the legendary creatures and beasts might have their own tongues and be capable of speech... but that is not the concern of true men.
...and throughout the ages, tradition has given rise to innumerable oaths and epitaphs... |
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The favor of some God with whom you are on better terms than you know |
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Lady of Shadows, aid me |
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As cold as Krysta's Crown |
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By (with) the Lady's mercy |
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Taking the Greenland Path |
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While the sun goes down, the fox comes out to play |
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It came upon an Eastern wind |
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By Her light |
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As steadfast as a unicorn |
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Crowns for stars |
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Stars for crowns |
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Pull a few bricks from his/her tower |
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As cold as the Snowqueen's heart |
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The naming of names... |
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He found a red scarf |
...and terms... |
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Danya! |
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Tcha! |
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Dama |
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Khorall |
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Doshka |
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|
|
...and come my children dearest, (traditional children's tale) |
The fire burned bright in the night, its warm glow shedding a golden light over the Tarn. In the sky above, the two moons chased each other; Silver and Hunter running over the hills.
"Yes, Cadell, keep your eyes sharp tonight. There's that ever so light fog rising now. I seen that only once or twice in my life, I have.
"Now you listen good and listen oh so well... We do nae leave this fire, not whatever you may see tonight, no lights be flashing or strange noises in the dark. For I feel it in my old, old bones... the Fair Folk be out walking on a night such as this.
"Let me tell ye, back when I was as sharp and young as you - before I sold my sword to our strong Lord - I lived in a small farmers' holdfast. There was five homes in the midst of green fields an' corn. Me' ma'am always put out the tray of cream for the Little Folk, an' in the morning it twa' gone, an' we never had no troubles from rats or snakes or goblins too. We ne'er questioned it, an' we lived well enough.
"But ol' man Tucker, well he had this daughter, an' a fine young lass was she. She had hair that shone like Her at noon, and eyes, so deep blue that you could loose yourself for years upon years. She was ol' Tucker's gem, she was. But one night, a quiet foggy night as this, she went walking across the Tarn, and they say she got lost and began to walk where the Fair Folk tread.
"They say she met a fine Sidhe prince and they did court and woo, and she done said that she loved this elven prince and that to him she lost her heart.
"She didn't return that night, nor the next after. 'Twas not till the seasons had passed a handful of times that ol' Tucker found his lost child. Out on in the cornfields 'twas, on a night in which the twin moons danced and a light fog drifted amidst the plantings.
"She was not a day older, her young face still a child of sixteen years. But her face was white and she lay dead among the crops. She had nary a drop of blood left in her, like some dread creature had sucked her dry, as if..."
Cadell shuddered. "As if she truly had given the Fair One her heart..."
"Aye, lad. And on her face there was a quiet smile, and for a while her eyes sparkled like dying stars."
|
...the bite of stars, |
"Come on, Brenny, we're gonna miss it!" Linnet pulled her young friend behind her.
Brenda stumbled along in the dark. "Linny, I still don't think this is such a good idea. You know what they say 'bout those Rhoni..."
"Oh, come on, Brenny, you don't really believe those tales your momma told you, do ya? They're just to scare us and keep us away from the fun. Don't be such a child."
"How do you know? My momma says they are terrible thieves, and they'll steal a young girl's heart away, takin' it with them as they dance across the Tarn. And old Jesse says she knew a poor lady who had her young babe stolen by 'em... I think we should stay far away."
"Oh, Brenny, those are just old wives tales, what mother tells my little brother so he'll be good. We'll be fine. Besides," she added with an evil smile, "here we are. Too late to leave now. Quick! Keep your head down."
They lay on the crest of a hill and peered into the small clearing below. Gaily painted wagons were pulled into a half circle, protecting one side of the camp. On the other side, a roaring fire blazed, surrounded by clusters of the slender, fair dark-haired people. A group of older women sat nearer the fire while the older men talked and gestured wildly by one of the wagons. It was to the young men, however, that Linnet's eyes were drawn.
"See there! Look Brenny! Hear that music? They're dancing! Ooh, how pretty! Look at that girl there — he's lifting her into the air!"
"Linny! I can see a hint of ankles! Tcha!...what they say 'bout those Rhoni girls must be true!"
"Oh, and Brenny, look at that one — so tall and dark. If he looked at me, I'm sure I'd just melt."
"Which one? They all look alike! How can you tell them apart?"
"Oh, Brenny, don't be so silly. He's wearing the long fancy crimson robes. See, they shine with gilded gold. But he's not dancing yet... he must be waiting for me!"
Brenda turned to gape at her friend and was aghast as Linnet rose and ran down into the camp. "Linny, no!! We can't go in there!"
Frozen with indecision, Brenda simply watched as Linnet entered the camp. She was greeted by whistles and waving hands, and quickly Linnet joined the dancing group. Brenda looked on, shocked, as Linnet was twirled and thrown into the air, just like the other young Rhoni girls. Her plain brown tunic stood out amid the bright Rhoni clothes, but that was the only thing that could tell her apart. Unable to abandon her friend, or dare go into the camp, Brenda was trapped on the hill, watching. The music from their drums and oddly tuned three-stringed gitars had drifted across the grass, as alive and vibrant as those that danced below. Within that swirl of color and life, Linnet was lost. Brenda waited deep into the night, but her friend did leave the Rhoni camp. Tears rolled down Brenda's face, and slowly she rose and left the hillside.
Linnet was back in the village the next day and came knocking at Brenda's door. Her face was quiet and just little bit sad.
"He wouldn't take me with him, Brenny. I wanted to go, but he said no. I thought he loved me! But he just laughed and said that it was just one dance in many!"
Brenda shook her head at Linnet. "I tried to warn you. But now it's too late.
Linnet, I can't talk with you again. My momma says no. You're not the kinda girl I can be seen with." Then Brenda shut the door and disappeared into her house.
Linnet looked for a while at the silent door.
And all across the village it was said that Linnet had her heart stolen by the Rhoni.
She was never wed.
|
...not light or dark, |
"Hey, Terrill! How are you this cold winter's morn? Good to see you back home and back in the ol' Dragonstooth... say, where's Kelly, sick is he? You two are usually never apart. Terrill? You're as white as a dead man..."
"Kelly is dead.
"We were on our way to Trundle-on-the-Hill, walking the thin line between the Black Mountains and the dark, dark Dirkwood Forest. And all seemed well and good, we had a caravan filled with wine and grains, and a guard of ten.
"But one day the wind blew from across those Black Mountains, it blew from the East.
"Now here at Bordertown we live with those crazed Chaos Riders from out of Roth, and the histories tell of their hordes sweeping from their lairs beyond the Mountains. And I know that old Jacob Marrennen will pay handsomely for tshokolat and the Jvrillians for grey. But never again will I tempt that pass on route to rich Trundle.
"It was early evening when they tore through the camp, their pale skin and white hair shining in the moons' light. If it was a raiding party, a warband, or simply Eastern brigands, I just didn' know.
"But I heard our mercenaries die as I ran for the shadow of the Forest. To die in the Dirkwood seemed infinitely more preferable than at the hand of the East. They caught Kelly... that I know.
"Because from my hidden shadows I heard him scream.
"And it took him well past the dawn to die.
"Mommy, Father won't tell me the answer!"
Anna smiled at her petulant young daughter. "Well, Kadtja, what do you think?"
"Ooohhh... you're just as bad as he is! Well, something small, and quick, and childlike... but farms and holes? I just don't know!"
Anna laughed. "Aye, Kadtja, I guess it really isn't fair. Come sit in my lap. Have I ever told you about the halflings that live in the Plains of Kaa?"
"Halflings? No. What are they?"
"They're little people, Kadtja. They live in small villages spread across the plains, keeping mostly to themselves. It is said that they come from the lands of Faerie, where the Fair Ones live, but that they wished for peace and solitude. So when the lands were in one of the conjunctions, they migrated across to our land."
"Ooooo ... that must'a been exciting!"
"Well, I wouldn't know, it happened quite a long time ago. But anyway, now they live on the Plains of Kaa, in homes closer to burrows than buildings. There they farm out a living for themselves, discouraging visitors."
"Why don't they want visitors?"
"I don't know, Kadtja, I haven't ever visited them. When you grow up, maybe you can!"
Kadtja grinned. "Aye, then I can come back and tell you!"