Lux Tenebris: Moontree - Part One

          

Seal of Moontree

  Moontree is one of the oldest cities in Nur and it is the oldest city on the continent's west coast. It was established over twelve centuries ago by human refugees from the continent of V'resh.  When the humans arrived, they met the gnome clans who had lived in the region for millennia. It is highly doubtful the first settlement would have survived without the assistance of the gnomes.  However, relations between the two races would sour as the humans began to expand their colony into gnomish territories. Eventually, the gnomes would declare war on the humans and thus would begin a protracted conflict that became known as the Gnomeblood Wars.

            The Gnomeblood Wars lasted for almost forty years. Although the gnomes had superior numbers on land, and laid siege to Moontree for years, they had no naval power at all. The humans survived off of trade with V'resh and the Phoenix Kingdom and what they could harvest from the sea. Eventually, the war ground to an end. The humans, led by a battlemage named H'rin Sevov, allied with a dragon called Whitescale, to overpower the gnomes. In the end, only a single gnome tribe survived. Knowing they had lost the war, the gnomes invoked Redethal, the God of Destruction.

            Redethal answered their petition, laying waste to the entire region, killing everyone present. When travelers and traders returned to the area, they discovered the blasted ruins of the city and a countryside haunted by the tormented ghosts of those who had been killed by the God of Destruction. 

            Remarkably, a minor son of the Moontree family survived and pledged to rebuild the city.  Lanor Moontree and his heirs dedicated themselves to the task, which involved placating the restless dead as well as convincing folk to settle in the god-blasted region. It took centuries but Moontree was eventually restored to its former prominence and stature.

            However, as Moontree's material wealth and influence increased, there were concerns that the city's history would repeat itself. Lord Sarrel Moontree was aware of these concerns and whispers and worked to counter them, turning his attention away from the economic growth of the city, and toward more civic and diplomatic matters.  Lord Sarrel instituted sweeping legal reforms, guaranteeing the same rights and responsibilities to all citizens of Moontree, regardless of race or gender.  He invited paladins of Abasha, Goddess of Justice, to oversee the courts and empowered them to ensure that justice and fairness were observed at all levels of the legal system.

            It is Lord Sarrel who is widely credited with ensuring that Moontree did not remain as insular and closeminded as most of its neighboring communities. Indeed, Moontree became a haven for individuals who did not fit in with their families, clans and communities. The city established a reputation for tolerance and inclusion that no other city along the Gulf of Promises could match, and it became a haven for artists, poets and writers, as well as philosophers, radicals, heretics and revolutionaries.  And although Moontree never developed a significant college or university, its Artists Quarter became famous, and infamous, across Nur and V'resh.

            Moontree enjoyed a long history of prosperity and peace. And although the city maintained a strong navy, to defend against pirates and other nautical threats, its land-based defenses were not maintained as stringently.  As such, when the Draconic Invasion began, Moontree was caught by surprise as much as all the other cities in western Nur. They assumed that if the Draconic Empire was going to attack the city, it would be by water and so fortified their defenses facing Silver Moon Bay.  Their neglect of their terrestrial fortifications would have deadly consequences when the Empire attacked, not by sea, but by land.

            Led by General Akor Korkiri, the Draconic Legions marched across Nur and laid siege to Moontree with spell and sword.  The city's neglected fortifications were overwhelmed. The western fortifications fell and the dragonborn soldiers swarmed into the city. Lord Baris Moontree led the city's militia in a defensive battle, to give his subjects a chance to flee. His nobility cost him his life, but hundreds of Moontree's citizens escaped with their lives. Many fled by boat into the bay, while others ran south, seeking refuge in Krake.  General Korkiri set Moontree alight, then gathered his soldiers and their spoils and led them back east.

            It is widely speculated that General Korkiri's actions were not part of the Empire's formal battle plans, that his forces were dispatched with general instructions to harry local communities, to disrupt the morale of local populations.  The Draconic Empire never intended to hold Moontree, but attacked it as part of a larger strategy to destabilize the region.  If so, their efforts may have backfired.

            Moontree's survivors returned and began the process of rebuilding. Assistance and resources were provided from the neighboring communities of Krake and Astordo. With the death of Lord Baris, the only surviving son of the Moontree family is the youngest, Lavic Moontree, who currently resides in Darkwater and has no strong desire to return to the city. Needing leadership, the citizenry turned to Raul Sybrow, a paladin of Rasha, to govern them. He is aided by his wife, Lilah.

            Under the Sybrows leadership, Moontree has recovered far more quickly than anyone expected.  Also, unexpectedly, the city has adopted a war-footing, reaching out to its allies and trade-partners across the Gulf of Promises, hiring mercenary companies from V'resh to reinforce the city militia and contracting with dwarven engineers to repair and upgrade the city's defenses. The attack on Moontree has also had unexpected diplomatic and economic repercussions for the Draconic Empire.  Moontree's allies have invoked trade sanctions against the Draconic Empire and some, observing the Empire's actions in Western Nur, have expelled Imperial embassies from their own territories.

Inspiration Photos: The Graymist Way

The Graymist Way is a long, winding road that connects Darkwater, in the North, with Moontree, in the South. Below are some inspiration photos that, I think, reflect the general atmosphere of the Way and the small, mean-spirited communities that exist near it.

Lux Tenebris: The Graymist Way

            The road stretched before Malora, wide enough for two carts to pass each other. To the east, the road was bordered by thick woods. On the western side, the road dropped away to nothing but air and sea. Thick fogs were common, making the road slick and perilous. Malora saw the remains of more than one cart crashed on the sea rocks. More often than not the skeletons of horses could be seen, still harnessed to the vehicles. Malora kept her own pace slow and careful.

            She knew that the Graymist Way ran from Darkwater, in the north, to just south of Moontree. The route was used by traders to transport goods from the major ports to the smaller villages and towns that lined the route, and provided access to the major trade routes that ran east.  Moontree and Darkwater were the biggest ports, but there were scores of small fishing villages along the way.  From what Malora had seen, traveling between Widowmaker Bay and Gullcliff, many of those villages were clinging to existence by their fingernails.

            Most of the local economies were based around fishing and logging. Trade was limited between the villages. Most of the communities were self-sufficient and insular to the point of actively distrusting strangers.

            It had taken her a day to make it to Gullcliff from Widowmaker Bay. The town was small and the source of its name obvious. Gulls in their hundreds nested on the cliffs around the town. She wasn't at all surprised to discover that gull pie was a local specialty.

            The liveryman in Widowmaker Bay had given her the name of an inn in Gullcliff where she would find safe lodging. The Blackwood Inn stood on the outskirts of town, near the Graymist Way, and offered no-frills lodging and meals. Malora had stayed at much worse placed and, after making sure her horse was properly tucked away, she'd had a meal and gone to bed. The night had passed uneventfully and she'd left the next morning just after dawn.

            The innkeeper had told her she'd make it to Moontree before sunset, depending on the weather. It was changeable this time of year, the thick fog often heralding coastal storms that could be inconvenient to dangerous. An hour after leaving Gullcliff, the fog turned into a heavy, persistent rain that prompted Malora to take shelter in a copse of trees until it relented.

            The rain had cost her a couple of hours, but she was hesitant to rush. The road here was made of fitted stone, hard and durable, but slick as glass when wet. She slid off her mount and they proceeded on foot.

            They passed tiny hamlets comprised of a few stoutly built wooden houses. Smoke rose from chimneys, but she saw no sign of the inhabitants. Occasionally, she could hear the sound of trees falling in the woods, and surmised the local folk were more loggers than fisherfolk.

            The further south she went, the more the landscape flattened until the road was flanked by forest and beach. Gradually, the road twisted eastward, taking her away from the beach, until there were tall pines all around and the only hint of the sea's presence was the smell.

            Ahead, a wooded track diverged from the Graymist Way to the east. A simple wooden sign identified the track as leading to Elawor. The name was Elvish but the meaning escaped Malora. Remembering Master Dusk's warning, she did not leave the Way but continued south.

            The road twisted west again and, once more, the sea came into view. The sky was blue and cloudless, a rarity in this region, and the water shone like polished silver. Malora ducked her head against the glare, but enjoyed the sunlight on her skin.

            Now, she began to meet traffic on the road, coming from the south, from Moontree. She adjusted her cloak, pulling her hood over her head.  Her hand drifted, quite unconsciously, to the hilt of her blade. Old instincts died hard.

            Another hour and she passed a waystation. It consisted of a three-sided structure with a roof. There was a firepit, a cistern and a trio of latrines.  A battered carriage, being pulled by a team of four, was parked nearby. The top of the carriage was laden with trunks and luggage. A lanky human youth sat beneath the waystation roof, next to an older looking man that Malora assumed was the carriage driver. They nodded amiably as Malora drew her mount to a stop.

            "Well met, mistress."

            "Well met, sir. Might you know how far it is to Moontree from here?"

            "Just a hop, skip and a jump, mistress," said the driver. "Be there before nightfall, you will."

            "Thank you, good sir," said Malora.

            "And the road north, mistress?" asked the driver. "Was it hard traveling?"

            "No, sir. Well-kept between here and Widowmaker Bay. Not a bandit or a beast in sight."

            The driver nodded. "Good to know, mistress. Our thanks."

            "Fair travels to you and yours," said Malora, and guided her horse back onto the road.

            The day progressed, the sun marching toward the west. The area became more inhabited. Tracks led off the Graymist Way toward wood and water, toward small hamlets with names like Silverbeach and Honeywood.  There was more traffic than before, heading north and south.

            The road began to snake up cliffs and coil around hills. And, then, cresting a small hill, Malora looked down and saw Moontree.

Lux Tenebris: Widowmaker Bay - Part Two

Widowmaker Bay is a small, insular community located on the western coast of Nur. To the west is the Gulf of Promises. The Graymist Way, a major travel route, lies just east of the town. South of Widowmaker Bay are a string of small fishing villages and hamlets that make Widowmaker Bay appear positively cosmopolitan. North of the town are pine forests, but no other communities for at least a hundred miles.

The town's population is predominantly human and nonhumans are seldom encouraged to settle within Widowmakers Bay.  Fishing is the dominant industry, followed closely by logging.  The recent opening of a Circle Station just outside the town has opened up new trade opportunities, but many local merchants and townsfolk are suspicious of the Station's motives.

The town is governed by a mayor, elected by the citizenry every four years, and a six member town council, its members chosen by popular vote every two years. Widowmaker Bay is a 'Free Town' and swears no allegiance to any noble lord or king.

Places of Interest

Widowmaker Bay offers few places of interest or note to travelers or adventurers. 

The Circle Station (1) just north of town has become a point of local interest. It occupies the home of the Stark family, one of the town's oldest and most respected bloodlines.  Although use of a teleport circle is too expensive for most locals, tours of the Station are available via appointment for a small fee.

South of the town proper is the Widowmaker Bay Lighthouse (2), established over a century ago to warn ships of the treacherous coast surrounding the town.  Local history, not typically shared with strangers, records that the Lighthouse was built and commissioned after the town was laid seige too by the angry ghosts of folk who perished in the bay.

On the northwest side of town is the Temple of Solat (3). Built by Widowmaker Bay's wealthiest families, the temple is a modest stone building. The exterior is painted black and purple and the color theme continues on the interior. The Temple is weatherbeaten and has seen better years. As the wealthy merchant families moved away, the Temple has fallen into disrepair. There is no priest or clergy in residence, although on occasion an itinerant priest of Solat will appear to bless the temple and lead informal prayers. By longstanding tradition, the town's widows look after the Temple, as best they can.

South and east of the Temple of Solat are the town's graveyards(4). In Widowmaker Bay, the dead are burned and their bones are interred in crypts and mausaleums.  Only residents may be buried in the town graveyard.

The area further west of the town graveyards is known as the Wreckers' Yard(6). For a time, Widowmaker Bay's residents employed shipwrecking as a means to keep the town's fortunes afloat. They would light bonfires on the beaches to lure ships close to shore where they would run aground and sink. Survivors of these shipwrecks were brutally murdered, their bodies buried in the marshy land that became known as the Wrecker's Yard.  Today, when someone from outside of Widowmaker Bay dies, they are buried in the Wreckers' Yard.  The area has an unpleasant reputation with locals. There are rumors of undead prowling the Yard, and most locals avoid it after sundown and on overcast days.

At the western end of the small peninsula Widowmaker Bay occupies, beyond the Temple of Solat, the graveyards and the Wreckers' Yard is the Bottom(5).  Even a town like Widowmaker Bay has its undesirables and this area is where they tend to congregate. Although technically part of the town, the town does nothing for the Bottom. Its residents, known as Bottom-Dwellers among the locals, are a mix of outcasts, criminals and rejects. If you're an outsider in the town proper, you'll probably get snubbed. If you're an outsider in the Bottom, you'll probably get stabbed.

Persons of Interest

Thalia Arthoria, L14 Human Hermit

Thalia Arthoria is the last living descendant of the wreckers who once led ships to their doom in Widowmaker Bay.  She's a crone who lives in the Bottom, but spends her waking hours in the Wreckers' Yard, tending its makeshift graves. Thalia's a bit mad, but she knows more than anyone else in town about the strange happenings in the Wreckers' Yard.

Aldoral Dusk, L9 Human Conjurer

Aldoral Dusk is the Master of the Widowmaker Bay Circle Station. An affable, but rather mediocre, wizard, Dusk is originally from Darkwater. He doesn't much care for Widowmaker Bay, and has decided that when his current contract is up that he will move to Moontree where people are "more civilized and less inbred." 

Arabella Stark, L8 Human Merchant

The Stark family was one of Widowmaker Bay's wealthiest and most-revered families. Arabella Stark was the youngest of four children and the only member of the family to still reside in the town. The family's fortunes have fallen recently, necessitating Mistress Stark to lease out a floor in her home to the Circle Station. It's not something she would have done under other circumstances, but she didn't have much choice. And Arabella Stark, for all of her narrowminded prudery, is a survivor.  She will do whatever she has to, to ensure the success of herself and her family.

Doric Rider, L4 Human Merchant

Doric Rider runs a livery stable in Widowmaker Bay. He mostly rents out horses to folk who need to travel to Gullcliff or Moontree. Rider's family is fairly new to Widowmaker Bay (less than three generations have lived in the town) and there are rumors he has orc blood in him, considering his prodigeous strength and stamina. Of course, no one says anything about it to Doric, but behind closed doors people gossip. Doric is aware of the gossip, and it's starting to grate on him.  Sometimes, he dreams about setting fire to the town and riding away on one of his horses.  Outsiders, especially those with orcish blood, might find Doric a useful ally while in town.

Issilor Roseoil, L9 Half-Elf Pirate

Issilor Roseoil walks through the streets of Widowmaker Bay at night, sure in his confidence that there is nothing more frightning in this shithole town than himself. A smuggler and pirate, his fortunes took a turn for the worse and he wound up in Widowmaker Bay. He's biding his time until he can leave the town, trying to keep a low profile, but its hard. Issilor hates this town with a passion and spends as little time as possible among the locals. Most days, he can be found wandering the beach or sitting in the Temple of Solat. The Temple has become his favorite place in Widowmaker Bay. He's started reading some of the old books there, more out of boredom than anything else, and feels a curious sense of empathy with the Deep God.

Lux Tenebris: Widowmaker Bay - Part One

Physicality returned with brutal suddenness.

Malora found herself on hands and knees, gasping for breath, trying to remember how to breath and process sensory information.

"What in the Twelve Hells is that?"

The voice was feminine and nasal, the kind of voice that could strip paint off of a wall. Malora had heard such voices before. It centered her.

Raising her head, she saw a tall thin human woman standing over her. She wore a long black dress and leaned on a mahogany walking stick. Her hair was pulled back from her face and secured in a tight knot. The woman's face was powdered and thin, with black tinted lips and a beauty mark at the right corner of her mouth. She peered at Malora with suspicion.

A figure moved forward, brushing past the woman. The man was tall and thin, wearing wizardic robes, and a blue cap. He bent and helped Malora stand.

"Please forgive, Mistress Stark," said the wizard. "I am Aldoral Dusk, Master of the Widowmaker Bay Circle Station.  Mistress Icefire sent word that you would be arriving today, Lady Malora."

"Lady?" Mistress Stark's nose wrinkled in disapproval.

"Yes, Mistress Stark," said Aldoral Dusk. His tone was firm and cold. "This is Lady Malora of Fallen Baramir. You will address her by her title and show her proper respect. Am I understood?"

The pale woman shrank back from the wizard's tone and she bobbed a quick curtsy. "Yes, Master Dusk. My apologies, milady."

"Come, Lady Malora." Dusk offered her his arm. "We have a private lounge nearby where you can recover from the circle."

Malora took the wizard's arm, somewhat reluctantly. "I've traveled by circle before but it was never like that. Like . . . ."  Words failed her.

"Aye," said the wizard. "It's a unique experience. Fortunately, once you've been through our circle network once, subsequent journeys are less upsetting."

He led her away from the circle. Malora let her gaze wander over her surroundings. The circle occupied a large, dim room. The walls were made of unadorned wood. Light was provided by a trio of large oil lamps, set in the corners of the room.

Dusk led Malora through a set of double doors, into a corridor painted a ghastly shade of green. Framed paintings of sour-faced men and women lined the wall. They bore a strong resemblance to Mistress Stark.

Aldoral Dusk led Malora into a side room. It was small and furnished with a fainting couch that had seen better days. There was a side table with a bottle of spirits and a number of small glasses. He poured her a glass of something thin and green.

Malora sniffed it. The glass smelt strongly of licorice.

"A restorative, milady," explained Dusk, and poured one for himself. "Would you like the window open?"

He nodded at the narrow, shuttered window at the far end of the room.

"Please," said Malora. The room was stuffy. The couch smelt of dust and neglect.

Dusk waved a hand and the window opened, revealing a gray sky. A cool, wet wind blew into the room. Malora inhaled, smelling the familiar scent of the sea.

Mistress Stark appeared at the door. "I've had the lady's belongings taken down to the hall, Master Dusk."

"Thank you," said Malora, but the woman had already gone.

"She's never met a drow before, has she?"

"I'm afraid that Mistress Stark has led a sheltered life," said the wizard. He tossed back his drink, and smacked his lips appreciatively. "Ah! But what she lacks in the social niceties, she makes up for with her expertise in spirits."

Malora took a tentative sip of the drink and almost choked. It smelt like licorice, but burned like strong peppermint.

"Demon's teeth! What is this?"

"It's called heartsfire, I believe," said the wizard. "Very popular around these parts."

"And it's a restorative?"

"I believe they give it to drowned sailors, to get them back on their feet."

"Yes, well, if someone poured that down my throat, I would probably get to my feet just to run away from them," said Malora.

Dusk chuckled.

"Mistress Icefire said you were heading to Moontree. Will you be traveling by horse or carriage?"

"Horse, if I can find one."

"There's a livery stable in town," said Dusk. "I can put in a word with the owner if you like."

"That would be very appreciated," said Malora.

"I'll write a letter." Dusk hesitated. "Were you planning on staying in town overnight?"

"Do you advise it?"

"Honestly? No, I don't. Widowmaker Bay is a small community, milady, and not the most . . . egalitarian. If you understand."

Malora chuckled. "I understand perfectly."

"The folk in Moontree are much more open-minded," said the wizard. "Especially since the Sybrows were chosen as the new leaders."

"What happened to the old leaders?"

"Killed during the war. There's supposed to be a son up north somewhere, still alive, but no one's heard a thing from him. And, well, if he came back now, I doubt he'd be welcomed with open arms."

"What about the city?"

"Sacked," said the wizard. "But they've rebuilt, and trade has never been better."

Malora nodded. She took another tentative sip of heartsfire. It was less shocking the second time.

"And the road between here and Moontree?"

"Fairly safe, milady. I would avoid the villages between here and Gullcliff, if I were you, and, er, there is an elvish settlement called Elawor. . . ."

"I'll avoid it," said Malora. "Thank you."

"You are very welcome, milady. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll go and write that letter for you."

He bowed and withdrew, leaving Malora alone.

After a moment, she stood and walked to the window. The breeze was constant and cool. From the window, Malora had a vague sense of the house that circle station occupied. It was large and weather-beaten. The exterior walls and shingles were black and she identified a widow's walk on a nearby roof.

Beyond the house, the ground appeared to slope away, ending in a dense cluster of similar black-shingled rooftops that made up the town of Widowmaker Bay. Beyond the town, the waters of the bay slapped ferociously at a gravel beach.  Arms of rocky land could be seen jutting into the waters of the bay. On the nearer arm, the one to the south, Malora saw a lighthouse rise like a defiant soldier, facing down gray sky and blackish water.

It all looked very quaint, but if Mistress Stark was an example of the locals, Malora had no desire to linger in this place. Better to get a horse and start south, to Moontree deliver the letter and then get on with her own affairs.

Halloween :)

Sorry for the lack of posts lately, but Halloween has eaten my soul.

Inspirations for Treeport

 When I first got the idea for Treeport, I looked around the web for photos that I could use to help convey the idea of this town sprawled around the base of a giant tree. I didn't find anything that exactly matched the image I had in my head, but I did find some really cool pics in that same vein. So, here for your entertainment and inspiration, are some of the photos that helped inspire Treeport.
As a disclaimer, I own none of these images and they are NOT being used here for any kind of profit.

Lux Tenebris: The Secret of Treeport

"Eamor got together with the priests about the Temple of Ryat we found," said Fericille. She had been waiting for Mallora when the drow returned to the guesthouse. Her battered cap and cloak were back in place, but despite that she somehow managed to look completely at home in the guesthouse's upscale parlor.

"The godbotherers have spoken. We can take the treasure without any sort of divine retribution, so - Hurrah! - you can get your things back."

She reached for the plate of iced spice-cakes on a side table and popped one into her mouth.

"That's good to know," said Mallora. "I'll have to travel quickly to make up for the lost time."

"Oh? Are you on a schedule?"

"I'm meeting some old acquaintances in Moontree. Their ship will dock a few weeks from now."

"Then you have some time," said the sorceress.

"Not as much as I'd like," said Mallora. "The Graymist Way is more traveled than the Old Road and, well. . . ." She waved a hand at herself. "I'll have to be a bit more cautious than I have been, travel a bit slower."

"Ah." Fericille nodded and eyed the plate, considering another cake. "Well, there might be something we can do to help with that."

"Such as?"

With a shrug, Fericille plucked another cake from the plate. "Haven't you been curious as to why our little community is called Treeport?"

"I assumed it had something to do with the giant tree," said Mallora.

Fericille chuckled. "Very adroit of you, lady. And, yes, it does. Somewhat. Eamor has sent a caravan to bring the treasure horde into the city. When it gets in, we'll retrieve your belongings and I'll show you what's going to put Treeport on all the maps."

* * * * *

Two days later, Mallora followed Fericille through Treeport's streets. She had recovered most of her possessions from the treasure horde. Her pack was waiting for her in the guesthouse room, her hands resting comfortably on the hilts of her old blades. She'd returned the borrowed weapons to Elkedren.  The Sheriff seemed indecently pleased. Mallora suspected the gallows being built in the middle of the plaza had something to do with it.  Lord Terret had condemned the captured bandit-monks to death.  Mallora didn't begrudge him his feelings.

"Where are you taking me, Fericille?" Mallora asked.

"Here," said the sorceress.

They stood in front of a large, two-story building with a dressed stone facade.  The building occupied the entire block and was surrounded by high stone walls.  A trio of guards in heavy armor stood outside the entrance, examining everyone who approached with grim, narrowed gazes.  Fericille nodded at the guards as she swept past them, pulling Mallora into the building behind her.

Mallora found herself standing in a large, airy chamber. The floor and walls were honey-colored wood, and the room smelt strongly of green, growing things. The pungent odor made Mallora's nose tingle.  Looking up, Mallora saw that the building was a shell; there was no upper floor. Arrowslit windows and carefully placed reflector glasses made the interior of the place nearly as bright as the outside.

At the center of the room was a stone-topped desk. Behind it, sat an older man in wizard's robes. He was leaning back in a wooden chair, hands folded over his ample belly, softly snoring. 

Fericille led Mallora toward the desk. As they drew near, the sorceress cleared her throat. Immediately, the wizard's eyes flew open in alarm. His panicked demeanor evaporated the moment he saw Fericille.

"Oh! Mistress Fericille! Thank the gods! For a moment there, I thought you might have been one of the Green Sisters."

"Count your lucky stars that I'm not, Master Hawkthorne," chided Fericille. She gestured at Mallora. "This is Lady Mallora of Fallen Baramir. She needs to travel to Moontree. How close can we get her?"

"Moontree? Hmm." Master Hawkthorne stroked his wispy white beard in thought.  "The closest station we've established to Moontree would be Widowmaker Bay." He smiled at Mallora. "That's about two days ride from Moontree, lady."

"How would you send me there?" asked Mallora. "A teleportation circle?"

"In essence, yes," said Master Hawkthorne.  He opened a drawer on his desk and produced a slender leather volume. "We've got a circle scheduled for Widowmaker Bay in three days time, lady."

"Nothing sooner?" asked Fericille.

"I'm afraid not, Mistress Fericille.  There's not much traffic, yet, between us and Widowmakers Bay."

"Go ahead and schedule a circle for Lady Mallora," instructed Fericille. "Lord Terret will waive the cost."

"Of course," said Master Hawkthorne. He glanced at Mallora. "Pardon me, lady, but have you ever traveled by teleportation circle before?"

"Once or twice," said Mallora. "It was a . . . novel experience."

"I'd recommend skipping breakfast," said Master Hawkthorne. "And eating lightly the night before your travel."

"I'll bear that in mind," said Mallora.

"And there you have it," said Fericille, after they had returned to the street. "The secret of our fair little town."

Mallora frowned. "I don't understand. Many cities and large towns have access to teleportation circles, Fericille.  Why do you act as if Treeport's is any different?"

"Because it is," said Fericille. "How many times can a wizard cast teleportation circles in a day? Two times? Maybe three?"

"I don't know," admitted Mallora. "But I know it's a low number."

Fericille grinned. "Indeed. But we can use our circles as many times as we like."

"How?" asked Mallora. "Unless you've got a batalion of wizards hidden away in that building back there, I don't see how that's possible."

"Our circle network isn't powered by wizards," said Fericille. "It's powered by the tree."

She pointed upward at the massive tree, towering overhead.

"How?"

"Eamor figured it out," said Fericille. She smiled at Mallora. "He's a genius."

"I don't doubt it, but how does it work?"

"Treeport sits on a convergence point of arcane ley lines," explained Fericille. "They're the reason the tree is so huge. Eamor devised a way to tap into the energy of the lines and use it to power the circles."

"Impressive," said Mallora. "And you can open portals anywhere?"
"Ah. There's the rub. We can't, actually. We can only open circles to other points within the ley line network. Karina compares the ley line network to the tree itself, says its like all the stations are like the branches and roots of the tree."

"Who's Karina?"

"Ah. Pardon me. Lady Terret. Eamor's wife." She jerked a thumb in the general direction of the tree. "She's the Holy Mother of the Green Sisters. They make sure that our tapping into the arcane energy isn't damaging the tree itself."

"Anyway," said Fericille, "the part that matters to you is that we can get you two days ride from Moontree in less than two days.  Which will actually put you well ahead of your original schedule, I think."

"Yes," said Mallora. She bowed her head. "Thank you, Fericille."

"There's no need for that," said Fericille, waving away Mallora's thanks. "If it wasn't for you and your unfortunate encounter with the monks, they'd still be plaguing the area.  The Sheriff would still be chomping at the bit to do something about them and Eamor would still be holding him back."

"Well, I'm glad I could provide a reason for the Sheriff to act," said Mallora, dryly.

"If you hadn't come along, Elkedren would probably have gone out on his own and done something rash and foolhardy," said Fericille. "We should all be thanking you for preventing that."

"You've done more than enough to help since I arrived," said Mallora. She glanced around the street, at the people passing by, going about their business without really giving her a second glance.  "And I'm glad I could help Treeport. It's very . . . civilized here."

"We try," said the sorceress. "Now, what are your plans for the next two days?"

"Rest, I suppose. Eat light."

"Well, darling, if you want to rest, I know an absolutely amazing spa on Hilere Street," said Fericille.  She slid her arm through Mallora's and began to extol the virtues of a half-elf masseuse named Jalen.

Lux Tenebris: Quicksilver Gnomes

Quicksilver gnomes are a rare breed among gnomes, found on Lore. Known for their intelligence and wisdom, quicksilver gnomes are easily recognized by their silver eyes. They tend to live more sedate lives than their cousins and have a deep love for learning. 

Quicksilver gnomes have a natural inclination towards academia and scholarship. Many become revered sages, experts in obscure branches of science or magic, while others feel a strong compulsion to serve  Amhog, the God of Knowledge, or Ariel, the Goddess of Wisdom.

Sometimes a quicksilver gnome will embrace a life of adventure and travel, but this is rare. Most prefer to remain in one place, and experience the world vicariously, through the experiences of others. 

In addition to the standard gnome characteristics, quicksilver gnomes have the following traits.

Ability Score Increase.  Quicksilver gnomes have +1 Wisdom.

Improved Memory. Quicksilver gnomes can recall everything they have experienced in the last month with crystal clarity.

Scholarship.  When creating a quicksilver gnome, you can choose one of the following skills: Arcana, History, Insight, Medicine, Nature or Religion.  When using this skill, you have advantage on all skill checks.

Lux Tenebris: The House of Knowledge - Part Two

The Temple of Amhog was almost cozy. The plaster walls were painted pale blue and,  in place of wooden pews facing the altar, there were long tables with benches set behind them. Several people occupied these seats, heads bent over books in reverent study. A pair of temple accolytes moved quietly among the tables, offering guidance or advice.

There was an altar at the far end of the room. It was a lecturn arranged in front of a tapestry depicting the god, Amhog, sitting beneath an apple tree. Books were scattered around him in the grass. The expression on Amhog's face was compelling, displaying bright eyes and a soft smile on his sharp-featured face. As was usual, the God of Knowledge was depicted as a gnome.

The half-orc led Mallora past the altar to a door. She opened it, revealing a set of stairs that led to the upper floors.

"Follow me, please."

They climbed to a third floor landing and came to a stop outside a green door.

"Wait here, please."

She did not wait for Mallora's assent, but knocked gently on the green door. A man's voice bid her enter and the half-orc pushed open the door and slid into the room beyond. She shut the door, carefully, behind her, as if she suspected Mallora might try to listen at the keyhole.

After a moment, the green door opened and Mallora was ushered into a large room. Her first impression of it was that there were lots of books. They occupied shelves along the wall and were piled in neat stacks on the floor. The room smelt of books, of old paper and old ink.

Mallora's second impression was that everything was neat as a pin. The books were organized by size and shape.  There wasn't a speck of dust to be found on any of their covers. The shelves were likewise spotless.

At the far end of the room, seated in a small chair before a privacy screen, was an elderly gnome. A single glance at him and Mallora knew he was no forest or rock gnome, but a rarer breed. His hair, shorn into a neat tonsure, was stark white and  his eyes were like pools of silver. The gnome's face was deeply lined, as gummy as a monkey's and he offered the drow woman a soft smile.

The half-orc stood, somewhat protectively, at the old gnome's side.

"This is the Learned Brother Ostren."

"Well met, brother." Mallora inclined her head.

"Well met, lady." Ostren's voice was soft, but clear as a bell. "Please. Sit."

Mallora glanced around, realized that there was a chair tucked away among the stacks of books. She sat, gingerly, concerned her weight would break the fragile-looking wood.

"You may go, Nina," said Ostren.

The half-orc woman looked uneasy. "Are you sure you won't need help, Learned Brother?"

"We'll be fine," said the old gnome.  "Back to your duties, little sister."

Reluctantly, Nina obeyed.

"I don't think she likes me," said Mallora, after Nina had vanished through the green door.

"Not surprising, lady, considering what you ask for," said the Learned Brother.

"I don't understand."

"No." The Learned Brother studied her for a few second. "You really don't. Do you?"

"If I knew about this man, this Isteban Mirelle, why would I come here?"

"Forgive me, lady, but I do not suggest any subterfuge on your part. I am merely surprised at your . . . lack of knowledge. Most learned folk on Nur have at least heard Mirelle's name."

"I have not," said Mallora. "Who he is?"

"The orcs called him Horde-Breaker. In Goldsun, they refer to him as the Butcher of Redcap Hill. To the dwarves, he is siridir-fel, the Man With the Iron Soul."

Mallora frowned. "What do the folk of Fallen Baramir call him?"

"The Crownless King."  The Learned Brother studied Mallora's face. "Would you like some water, lady?"

"I'd prefer wine if you have it."

"Sadly, I do not."

Of course you don't, thought Mallora.

"So, Mirelle is not a good man?"

"I never said that, lady," Ostren corrected. "I can make no claims of insight into Mirelle's character, having never met the man. However, the few autobiographical references to him that I am aware of do not paint him as a monster."

"Then how would you describe him?"

"A man of portent and will," said the Learned Brother. "A military genius who did unthinkable things to destroy his enemies."

"Why would the Regent of Fallen Baramir call him back to the city?"

"Perhaps," mused Ostren, "because they need him more than they fear him. Especially in these difficult times.  He is a native of that city, you know."

"I did not."

"He was born and bred there," said the Learned Brother. "Perhaps the Regent hopes Mirelle retains some shadow of affection for his birthplace. Who can say?"

"I think I'm starting to understand why your doorkeeper was so unhappy."

Lux Tenebris: Nina Stonescorer

NINA STONESCORER, L3 Half-Orc NPC

STR     15 (+2)

DEX    17 (+3)

CON   10 (+0)

INT     12 (+1)

WIS     10 (+0)

CHA   09 (-1)

HP       18

AC      13 (Unarmored)

Traits:

Darkvision

Relentless Endurance

Savage Attacks

Languages: Common, Dwarvish, Elvish, Orc

Proficiencies: +2

Armor: N/A

Weapons: N/A

Tools: N/A

Saves: N/A

Skills: History +3, Intimidation +1, Religion +3

Feats:

Library Access

Equipment:

Scholar's robes, a writing kit, a book on religious history and a pouch containing 10 gp

Nina Stonescorer is the daughter of a human mercenary and an orc healer. She is the second of three children and the only girl. Tall and thin, even for a half-orc, Nina grew up somewhat self-conscious and buried herself in books. While still a youth, she stumbled upon the Temple of Amhog and felt like she had come home. Here was a place where people did not care about her appearance or mixed heritage, but only the quality of her character and the focus of her mind.

Nina would have liked to join the temple as an acolyte, but her parents objected, insisting that she wait until her age of majority before making any decision. Still, Nina spends most of her time at the Temple of Amhog, working as a lay sister. More often than not, she is assigned to greet visitors to the Temple and discern what they are seeking. When she feels their questions merit it, Nina introduces questioners to Learned Brother Ostren.

Lux Tenebris: The House of Knowledge

The water was hot, drawing the little aches and pains from Malora's limbs. She lay in the tub, her head lolling on her shoulders, thinking of her next move.

After discovering the shrine to Ryat, the raiding party had returned to Treeport. Lord Terret had been informed of their discovery and had gone into immediate consultation with the town's spiritual leaders. Malora had excused herself from the scene and slipped away. She'd run into Fericille who had escorted Malora to an inn near the High House.

"I'm pretty sure Eamor is going to want to hear your take on the matter," said the sorceress. Then she'd left, with a wave at the innkeeper, and Malora had asked for a bath.

When she saw that her fingers were going pruney and the water was going lukewarm, Malora reluctantly climbed out of the big wooden tub.  There were thick, soft towels to hand and a bathrobe that was almost indecently fluffy.  She slid into it, winding one of the towels around her head.

Her gear was, no doubt, still among the horde at the monastery.  The only thing she really wanted back from that were her blades. They had been custom-made for her, a gift from an old friend in V'resh.  Her horse, poor beast, was long gone. Probably sold to a horse-trader or a butcher. It didn't bear thinking about as there was nothing to be done for the animal.

She made her way to her room from the bathing suite. The inn was small, but luxurious, obviously accustomed to dealing with individuals of wealth and taste. The floors were carpeted, spell-lights dispelled the darkness and there were tasteful paintings and tapestries hung on the walls. The rooms were comfortable, with thick, soft mattresses and there were bell-chords close to hand to summon a servant any time of the day or night.  Malora was fairly certain that, in a place like this, the maids and houseboys did more than turn down blankets and move luggage. If the price was right.

She entered her room and locked the door.  Her fingers brushed the globe on the bedside table and soft spell-lights blossomed from several small glass spheres suspended from the ceiling. Malora shook her head at the extravagance, then dug in her boots for the scroll-case. She opened the case and pulled out the scroll. Its wax seal was broken. Unfurling the paper, Malora scanned the contents again.

For all his faults, Brother Varre hadn't lied about the scroll. This was no letter between academics, but a request from the Regent of Fallen Baramir to one Isteban Mirelle, asking him to return to the city and take charge of its defense during the coming war.

The wording of the letter was terse and direct, much like the Regent himself. Malora got a sense that the Regent was not so much requesting this Mirelle person return to Fallen Baramir, but requiring him to do so. Which implied there were unpaid debts between either the Regent and this Mirelle character or the man and the city.

She was more curious about why she had been given the letter under false pretenses. If the Regent had wanted her to deliver the message, he could have hired her. Why go through all this pretense? Why go through Selne Venestar and the Adamantine Archive? Discretion was one thing, but this all smacked of secrecy, of politics.

And Brother Varre's words drifted through her memory. That his letter was no mere letter, but the spark to a powder keg that could blow the entire continent apart. Varre may have been a thief, but he would have had no reason to lie to her about this once he knew she didn't recognize the name.

I need information, thought Malora. I can't just ride into the dark. I need to see where I'm going and who I'm going to meet.

She returned the scroll to its case and dressed.  It was after noon and the sun was high and bright in the sky. Not her favorite time of the day to go out, but she needed answers.

The woman seated behind the reception desk probably could have told her where to go, but Malora wasn't certain she trusted her discretion. Malora nodded at the woman as she drew her hood up and stepped onto the street.

The great tree towered overhead, its broad branches and massive leaves filtering some of the sun. This afternoon, the streets of Treeport were busy with activity. She noted that several shops were doing a thriving business. Curiously, she stepped into one or two and was surprised at their contents. 

One shop was a dress boutique, catering to an upscale clientele, with wooden mannequins adorned in expensive silks, satins and laces. Another was the jeweler's shop she had seen her first day in Treeport. Malora had expected to find a few simple wares, brought from cash-strapped travelers. Instead, she'd found herself in a room of glass cases filled with glittering necklaces, strands of fine silver and gold adorned with precious and semiprecious stones.

Her curiosity sparked, Malora started to truly study Treeport's people. They were an eclectic mix. Humans were the majority.  There were olive-skinned men from the Palatine Peninsula, fair-skinned blondes from the northeast dressed in elvish style and even, to her surprise, solidly-built men with raven-black hair displaying sigils and coat-of-arms from V'resh. There were elves from Moonhome and a trio of aasimar from Pax. A water genasi man in a sailor's cap strutted past her smelling of brine. Ahead of her, a dark-skinned tiefling crone tottered out of an apothecary's shop, her skin adorned with ritualistic scars, chattering at the large black man who held her arm in a language Malora had never heard.

These were people Malora would have expected to encounter at a port city, not a large town in the middle of the countryside.  There was obviously more to Treeport than she had suspected, but she put those questions aside and refocused on her own task.

Eventually, Malora found a small, pleasant cafe run by a gnome family. A young gnome woman showed her to a table and brought her tea and pastries. The fare was excellent and Malora complimented the establishment.  When she had finished her tea and was paying, Malora asked, as casually as she could, for what she sought.

"Go two blocks ahead to Lark Street, then take a left onto Ryonteen, miss. You can't miss it."

Malora thanked the girl, left a generous tip and continued on her way.

She found the building easily thanks to the directions. It stood on a quiet street, a simple three-story structure of wood and stone. The building was not ostentatious. There was nothing to indicate what it housed at a casual glance. You had to look to notice the apple tree carved with care and artistry into the heavy wooden door, and you had to know what that apple tree signified.

Malora pulled and the door opened on well-oiled hinges without so much as a whisper. Beyond the door was an antechamber, that led into the sanctuary. In the antechamber, sitting on a wooden stool, reading a thick book, was a thin, half-orc woman.  She raised her head and Malora saw that she wore spectacles.

"Well met, traveler," said the half-orc. "Welcome to the Temple of Amhog. Do you seek knowledge?"

"Yes," said Malora.

She lowered her hood and studied the woman's reaction. The half-orc's eyes widened behind her glasses, more in surprise than consternation, then her expression smoothed itself out.

"What sort of knowledge do you seek?"

"Information on a man," said Malora.

"Living or dead?"

"Living," said Malora. "In Moontree."

The half-orc's eyes narrowed. "Why do you seek this knowledge, traveler?"

"I was sent to deliver a message to this man under false pretenses. I want to know who he is so that I might know why I was lied to."

"What is this man's name?"

"Isteban Mirelle."

The half-orc flinched. She drew a hitched breath and carefully shut her book, marking her place with a paper strip. Holding the book to her chest, almost like a shield, the woman stood. For a half-orc, she was tall and skinny.

"You should talk to Learned Brother Ostren. Follow me."

Without another word, the half-orc turned on her heel and walked into the sanctuary. Malora followed her.