The Available Adventurers!: The Available Adventurers!, #1.1

By Nym Sudoh

Adventure begins! … Aaaaannd it is not off to a great start.

 

Imagine a world of unbridled fantasy – a world where magic, dragons, elves, and even happy endings actually exist. That world is called Nedroj and it has, for eons, been the stage for an unceasing war between the forces of Good and Evil. So far, so cliché. Yet (unlike certain TV series producers), even Good and Evil know when "enough is enough"! And so, the final battle – the one to decide all battles – begins!

 

Against Evil's greatest and vilest champions, Good marshals … Hold on. How would Marketing spin this in such a way as to not give Legal a migraine? Perhaps: "Good was not too picky and used the adventurers that were, well, 'available' at the time"? Certainly sounds better than "Good is probably getting a little something on the side to take a dive on round one"!

 

But maybe – just maybe – there is more to this motley adventuring party than meets the eyes (and because they are on the road adventuring so much, probably the nostrils as well).

 

Our story begins, like all such tales, with a group of knights and a quest for their kingdom. Yet no sooner is the quest issued that things start going sideways quicker than a crab escaping a seafood buffet. In fact, this entire first book is mainly about the adventurers gathering their party (preferably while postponing the whole dying business for as long as possible).

 

Will they succeed in their quest? Almost certainly not. Will they at least survive in their endeavour? Again, probably best to hedge that bet. But will their story at least prove entertaining (from a third-person perspective)? Ah, now that, Dear Reader, can be arranged…

 

TLDR: The first book in a series of books. Fantasy genre mixing action, adventure and, especially, comedy. Expect a colourful cast of unlikely adventurers, an impish egomaniac narrator and, for some reason, obscure references to memes. You have been warned!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nym Sudoh
• Release date: Mar 21, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224439645

Book preview

Introduction

Dedication

To the Sphinx, my eternal muse.

To the fox, the mermaid, the panther and the frog, my anchors.

Thank you for all your love, patience and support.

Foreword by the (Actual) Author

Hello and welcome.

Not sure who you are or what questionable life choices have led you to my book (maybe a misclick on the e-reader; perhaps life-threatening boredom with a dash of morbid curiosity; mayhaps good old fashioned masochism) regardless – hello and welcome!

If you are still reading, I might as well dish out some warnings, disclaimers and (why not?) random thoughts:

First, the quasi-obligatory trigger warning. No, this book is not a weapon, or, at the very least it was not designed to be a weapon.¹ This book (or, hopefully, series of books) is where I will write the stories I wish to tell. Let me reiterate that: they are stories I feel need to be told. I am writing for me. If (by sheer dumb luck or weird coincidence) you enjoy what I write, that will make me very happy (and possibly a little concerned for you…). This book holds no delusions of grandeur of pleasing everyone. Quite the opposite: the Reader should be forewarned that the entire series is narrated from the point of view of a whimsical trickster deity who delights in needling everyone as long as it (hopefully) generates humour. As such, regardless of whether you lean left or right, exercise profession X or Y², chose Charmander or Squirtle when you were young, etc. at some point this book might feel it is making a joke at your expense. It is not, if for no other reason than you would be surprised (or, perhaps, depressed) if you knew just how few people the Author actually knows. There is no target, subliminal message or conspiratorial agenda in this book, save to hopefully entertain, distract and humour those willing to give it a chance. Moreover, if you dislike the contents of this book, well, worry not! We have prepared a special solution to avoid antagonizing you: we have carefully designed this book so that at any moment you can put it down and stop reading it. Poof! Just like that the offending material disappears. Magic! No need for a cancel campaign, disparaging feedback or anything else. You can save both of us some time and move on to, optimistically, something else that entertains you better. That said, there are usually one or two die-hard critics who feel their commentary must be heard. Fine. Send your harshest language to me. I can take it. You can reach me at [e-mail]. I guarantee you will receive a measured response.

With that out of the way, let us move onto what really matters: what can you expect to find in this book? Oh, wait, I am supposed to be counting these off…

Second, you can expect to find here (see, I can get back on track!... sometimes) writing hewing to the medieval fantasy genre. This is a light-hearted fantasy story called The Available Adventurers!.³ It will (with any luck) be funny, entertaining and, well… Adventurous!⁴ The style will – in theory – be the (probably unwanted) love child of Terry Pratchett, Dungeons & Dragons,⁵ the internet’s classic memes and (somehow) animé⁶. A dangerous combination you say? Well, yes, probably. Almost certainly, in fact. But I attempt it here anyway!

TLDR: #Fantasy-Fiction; #Comedy; #Action; #Adventure(!); #Please-Buy-This-Book!

Third, in case it has not become patently clear yet, this author enjoys talking to its Reader.⁷ Unfortunately, the dialogue is a bit one-sided / passive, that is, the conversation only really flows one way. If that upsets you, the Author highly recommends you avoid all pets (with the possible exception of parrots) and perhaps moderate your expectations when praying to whichever spiritual entity you identify with.

Fourth, the Author is not a strictler for the commonly accepted rules of the English language. And there are a good many reasons for this. Firstly,⁸ as far as my lawyers have advised me⁹ the rules of grammar are not actually laws. So, I figured… meh! Secondly, I never quite mastered¹⁰ the English language, so, I could not respect the rules even if I wanted to. Just being honest here (and, purely incidentally, saving tons of money (I do not have) on editors!). Lastly,¹¹ I will be writing about a world filled with magic. A world where sorcerers, wizards and monsters cast spells that outright defy the very immutable laws of physics. I thus figured: what is inventing a word here or there when you fling Newton’s laws out the window?¹²

In any case, you can expect an almost criminal abuse of parenthesis and footnotes (you know you can just skip those, right?¹³). In addition, there are a few features I should warn¹⁴ the Reader about:

I dislike how dialogue is currently set out in prose. The speech marks just do not really work for me. Blame the internet.¹⁵ As such, instead of those, you will find much of the dialogue to be more script-like. An example:

Author: [With a mad gleam in its eyes] I will be writing like this.

Society:

[Slowly edging away in a seemingly calm and controlled fashion, while desperately pressing the silent alarm button] Are you sure?

Sometimes you will see at the footnotes a marking of NAA. That stands for a Note from the Actual Author. A.K.A.: Me. The stories will be narrated by another persona, but every now and again the actual author (again, me) will want to make a point. In short, if you see, NAA, hold a moment of silence for the fourth wall, and assume an observation straight from the actual source.

I am fairly certain that is enough for now. Nobody can say they were not notified this will not be your average story. If you are, however, still here (again, not judging the why), might as well make the plunge and carry on. Who knows? You might just have a good laugh when all is said and done.

Hello and welcome!

Nym Sudoh, 2024

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Foreword by the (Fictitious) Author

At the end of Nedroj’s Fifth Age, this universe almost ended.

This extraordinary occurrence – commonly known as The Creators’ Downfall – has been a perennial topic of interest to, apparently, every scholar, historian and academic since then. Turns out a near brush with a universal apocalypse can leave quite the impression. Who knew? In fact, the Creators’ Downfall was so astonishing that even the gods will not shut up about it.

Let none say¹⁶ that Loptír, the God of Mischief, Trickery and Fun (i.e. the greatest god in all of Nedroj!) does not give credit where credit is due! Loptír hereby recognizes that the most meticulous research and thorough account of those events belongs to Sapiuthamax, the All-Knowing Iron Dragon God of Knowledge & Magic.¹⁷ Of course, when Loptír, says meticulous and thorough what Loptír actually means is mind-numbingly boring! Oh my me! Seriously? 18 tomes just mapping the lineage of a side character whom the protagonists met once at an inn? An elf would die of old age¹⁸ before he could read even a fraction of that tedious work. Truth be told, Loptír thinks that the ‘bookwyrm’ is just overcompensating. For someone who carries the title of All-Knowing, it must sting twice as hard to learn – after the fact – that the universe almost ended and nobody (not even us Gods) saw it coming.

Loptír also acknowledges the epic opera composed by The Muse, patron Goddess of the Arts. Loptír (and all trees from which cellulose can be extracted) applauds it for being (considerably) shorter than Sapiuthamax’ work. Yet, Loptír is sincerely of the opinion that things that can be said, need not be sung. Moreover, in trying to create a grand ballad, The Muse glorified and distorted the protagonists, casting them as heroic larger-than-life figures (and then some have the gall to call Loptír the Cosmic Trickster).

Yet the truth is much more amazing than that. When the universe was at the brink of complete annihilation, the gods and legendary heroes were oblivious to their peril. The universe was not saved by mighty champions. No, we did not get the A-list, nor even the B-list – we simply got the adventurers who happened to be available and were at the wrong place at the right time.

As such, Loptír is disappointed (but unsurprised) to see that after all the research and retellings there is no definitive narrative of the Creators’ Downfall. All we have are pseudo-tales, spanning from a desert-dry objective account of the facts to a lyrical litany of limericks. It thus falls (once again) to the outsider, Loptír, God of Mischief, Trickery and Fun to set the record straight and – based on Loptír’s divine sense of ‘storyness’ – tell the story as it should be told.

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Pre-Prologue¹⁹

In a dimension between dimensions, where time had no meaning, Good and Evil – for that is what they represented – waged their eternal dispute.

After so many eons locked in unending struggle, each had become intimately familiar with the other. In more than one sense, they were like siblings: similar in so many things, yet universes apart in others. Two sides of the same cosmic coin. Yet, for all their time together and for all their similarities, they still had one unbridgeable disagreement: which side was superior? Good or Evil? It all boiled down to that: which side would triumph when the time came?

Countless times, they had tried to settle their debate through the Board of Fate. Again and again, they watched with interest as mortal champions of both sides clashed. Sometimes good prevailed. Other times evil. The results were inconclusive and it seemed the only certainty was that good and evil would continue to fight until the end of time.

Evil: [Lays out the Board of Fate] Another game?

Good: [Pausing to reflect for a moment, while staring intently at his opponent] No.

Evil: [Surprised] No?

Good: [Firmly] No.

The two forces locked stares, as power on an incomprehensible scale welled up within each, harbingering a titanic, devastating battle. The universe held its collective breath as the showdown announced itself. If there were a background music to this scene, the maestro would have, by now, dislocated at least a wrist and a shoulder from the crescendo (and probably impaled the first violinist with the baton).

Evil: [Rather peeved] Oh come on! What do you mean no? What else are we going to do here? It is not as if though there are endless distractions in the dimension between dimensions! I am not going back to stone-paper-scissors! We play out our debate with mortals. It is what we do. It is what we have always done.

Good: [Trying to get a word in] Wait-

Evil: [Now on a full-blown rant] I mean, sure, the score is a bit evenly matched at 8,364,562 to 8,364,561, but you know what? I can feel the tide is turning! Come on! Best out of a billion? What do you say?

Good: [Very annoyed] Oh, now I get a say? I was just going to say "Not ‘another game’ for it is time for the last game!"

Evil: [Surprised and a tad embarrassed] Oh…

Good: [Having its own rant] Oh indeed! Do you have any idea how long I have been planning and preparing this reply? How epic and cool it sounded in my head? But noooo, you had to go and ruin my moment. [Sulks]

Evil: [Feeling really uncomfortable] I didn’t know. I really did not mean to ruin your moment.

Good: [Pulling itself together] Well, you did.

Evil: [Trying to make amends] Don’t sulk. We can have a do-over!

Good: What?

Evil: [Making this up as it goes along] I mean, it is just you and me here. So, technically, if we agree it is like it never happened.

Good: [Looking a bit concerned over its counterpart’s sanity]

Evil: It’s like what they say about the tree falling in the middle of the forest.

Good: [Nonplussed] Ehrm… don’t stand beneath the falling tree?...

Evil: [Equally concerned over its counterpart’s sanity] Look, for once, you are completely right and this latest exchange just proves it: we have been here and at this for too long. Far too long. I agree, the moment is upon us to play our last game. So, from the top? …Please? [The last word almost made Evil choke, as if though it was trying out some new dish and sorely regretting the foul taste in its mouth²⁰]

Good: [Taking a deep breath and composing itself once more] Fine. [Pauses in thought] From the very top or just where we stopped?

Evil: [Sighing and gnashing its teeth with every word] Wherever. You. Feel. Like. It.

Good: [Cheering up] Okay. [Clears its throat and proceeds with exaggerated drama] No, the time has come for the last game!

Evil: [Feigning surprise] Finally! The time has come: the one match to settle all!

With but a wave of Evil’s hand, the Board of Fate expanded and grew, until it resembled a planet.  Then, with another wave of its hand, Evil caused tiny motes of darkness to coalesce into a series of pitch-black figurines, like small chess pieces carved out of pure shadow.  Yet, each piece differed from the other.  They ranged from a giant bat to an orc bristling with muscles, to a giant arachnid.  A ‘who’s who’ of mortals’ most dreaded nightmares.

Evil: [Drawing itself to its full stature and letting its voice boom] Behold: My evil champions!!  The worst of what Nedroj has to offer! Muahaha!!! [Though there is no weather in the dimension between dimensions, somehow thunder crackled in the background, drums beat and a horse neighed in panic]

Good: [Lost in thought]

Evil: [Deflating] Oh what is it now?

Good: [Pensive] Just considering the color for my pieces.

Evil: [Shocked] What?!? What do you mean considering your color? You use white. You always use white!

Good: I know… but don’t you think [looks behind its shoulder as if though expecting to spot a crowd of onlookers on the dimension between dimensions and then, confirming that nobody else (literally) exists in this place, lowers its voice to a whisper] it’s a bit racist?

Evil: [Flabbergasted and mute for a good many seconds] Oh my. It has finally happened. You’ve completely lost it. [Drawing from every ounce of patience and control] Darkness is the absence of light. White light is the opposite of darkness. White light is literally the combination of all colors of the visible spectrum. When you use white, you are using all the colors in one go. It does not get less racist than that!

Good: [Visibly mulling the idea over in its head] Well, when you put it like that…

Evil: [Tired] Can we continue? Please!?

Good nodded and waved its hand causing tiny motes of light to coalesce into a series of sun-bright figurines, seemingly carved from molten light. It stared proudly at its creations, like a man who has taken a record-setting dump and desperately wants to share this with his wife (who, coincidentally or not, is talking to her attorney about the divorce filings).

Evil: [Wanting to claw at its skull] What, in the name of all that is cursed, are those?

Good: [Confused] Why, they are my champions.

Evil: I can see that. But here I am casting some of the meanest, toughest, vilest beings in all of Nedroj and you are going to oppose them with this lot? Where are the legendary paladins and mighty heroes?

Good: [Confidently] They will not be necessary.  These [points at the figurines it has chosen] will suffice.

Evil: [Skeptical] I don’t know… they look very fragile. Do you want me to pare it down a bit?  Maybe rotate in some goblins? Perhaps an ogre with a penchant for eating poisonous frogs?

Good: [As confident as a drunk man picking a fight with a man twice his size] No. That won’t be necessary, but thank you. If this is the last game, then it has to be these adventurers. Either good is a force that can, no matter the odds, triumph on its own or it is really just a contest of raw power and brawns.

Evil: [Hesitantly pokes the figurines of light as if though expecting them to disintegrate at any moment and gives its rival a concerned look that speaks volumes]

Good: Look, we only get one last game and it has to be now. If I use champions that are too strong, there is a chance we draw too much attention or lose control and it will all have been for naught. Trust in my decision. These will suffice.

Evil: [Hesitantly nods] Very well. In that case, let us both agree on the terms of engagement.

Good: No direct interference. We can influence and guide. That is it.

Evil: [Smiling like a politician after being entrusted with taxpayer’s money] Agreed. My touch will be as subtle as the wind from the flap of a butterfly’s wings…

Good: And mine, as gentle as a feather’s touch!

And so it came to be that the Last Game began and with it, the fate of Nedroj and all the universe was placed on a knife’s edge.

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Book I – Humans

Prologue

Imagine for a second that you are as blessed as Loptír (wonderful, is itnot?) and able to look down on everything from the heavens.

Picture a large planet. It is called Nedroj. You look closer and you see that Nedroj has oceans and continents, seasons and inhabitants, mountains and deserts. In many ways, it may remind the reader of its own world. It certainly reminds Loptír of Loptír’s original domain. Yet there are²¹ key differences. If you were as wise as Loptír, you would know that Nedroj is a world of wonder.²² A place suffused with magic, deities and other fantastic beings.

Our story pre-begins²³ in one of Nedroj’s continents: the continent of Aporeu.  As your eyesight zooms in further from the heavens you will note that Aporeu is the largest continent in Nedroj. It is a large longitudinal landmass that snakes its way from within freezing distance²⁴ of the North Pole down all the way past the equator and then some. Aporeu is, in fact, so large a continent, that it seems the gods (or some other powerful entity) decided to cleave it into two.  Some distance above the equator, there is a perfectly straight shallow channel that divides Aporeu into two parts. Had you lived among the Aporeans, you would know them to be a practical people, prone to simplifying things. So, perhaps unimaginatively, the upper part of the continent is often²⁵ called North Aporeu, the lower part (you guessed!) South Aporeu and that ruler-straight channel that divides them is The Cut.

Continuing our descent, the northwest part of South Aporeu is dominated by a large desert known as the Forgotten²⁶ Sands. It is a desolate and harsh place. When the wind blows and the sand dunes roil, you can see the ruins of once-mighty kingdoms from ages past, their spires, pyramids and towers, appearing momentarily before being swallowed up again by the unforgiving sands, like the desperate hands of the drowned, begging for rescue before the sea pushes them down again. In short, a place where the expression sand castle acquires an entirely different meaning.

No normal person would inhabit the Forgotten Sands. But on its borders, where the desert meets the water, life becomes possible, though never easy or welcome. On the very northwestern tip of the Forgotten Sands, where the Cut meets the Akirfan Ocean that bathes the entire East coast of Aporeu there exists a human settlement known as Salimar.

To say Salimar is a coastal or port city is to undersell it. Salimar is a city-state trying its very best to not be in the neighborhood it actually is. The whole city seems to be trying to escape the Forgotten Sands and head into the water, like a prehistoric fish that caught a glimpse of the future and had serious second thoughts about the whole evolution business.²⁷ The waters around Salimar are densely packed with a labyrinth of long wharves, docks and veritable floating buildings. Only a small portion of Salimar is actually tethered to the Forgotten Sands and even then, it is only by the protection of a mountain on its left flank and a large stone wall cordoning off the rest of it from the unforgiving²⁸ desert.

Despite everything, Salimar is a relatively prosperous settlement. Strategically located as the first town in the entrance to the Cut, it profits from much of the trade that flows through that waterway. There is a semblance of law and order in the town, as the merchant class oversees the running of the city. Like so many other settlements in Nedroj, Salimar’s population is dominated by humans, with a respectable contingent of Halflings.

In an effort to expand the city, there have been attempts at land reclamation, digging up the seemingly endless sand to pile it into the harbor waters. Only one such attempt has been successful²⁹ and that is mainly because magic was used.³⁰ To the east of Salimar is a minute man-made island, reachable by a narrow stone bridge. On it stands a mighty temple constructed with the abundant chalk-white stone that can be found in Mt. Salimar to the west. The temple is dedicated to the Sun God who is one of the patron deities of Salimar.³¹ It is a resplendent edifice, all in white and gleaming in the sun. The temple is topped by a gold-plated dome, with a wide hole in its center to allow the sunlight to flow into the temple. That light, in turn, is complemented by a series of windows. Inside, a succession of mirrors ensures the light penetrates every corner, so that all may bask in the warmth of the Lord of Light.

Every day, pilgrims, priests and the faithful shuttle up and down the stone bridge as they go about their business in the Sun Temple. At noon, the flow intensifies, as the faithful flock to the temple to perform the holy ritual associated with the noonday sun. This happens every day and today is no exception. As the sun approaches its zenith, all worshippers make it across the bridge and enter the temple as the service begins.

Yet, on the other side of the stone bridge a short lone figure – humanoid in shape and stature – remains standing on the scalding sands and staring at the walkway, as if though undecided whether to cross or not. The stranger stands out. Its clothes are solid desert attire like that worn by most citizens of Salimar: light fabric covering the body from head to toe to avoid the worst effects of sunburnt and the stranger certainly wears them with a familiarity that indicates it is well used to local custom. Nevertheless, whereas most don white or beige vestments – the better to reflect the excess sunlight –, this stranger prefers a dark green color.³² Up close, the choice is understandable, for the only part visible are its eyes, and even from a distance their bright green color is impossible to ignore. In fact, those green eyes, by themselves communicate volumes. Surrounded by effeminate and carefully manicured eyelashes they seductively hint at a beautiful woman hiding behind that green attire. But the eyes also burn with a strength that makes even the noonday desert sun seem like a timid firefly. Those burning green eyes are also filled with purpose: up, down, left, right – they scan everything, take in every detail in an effort to help their mistress reach a decision. They are the eyes of a predator, worried it might not be the hunter today.

Eventually, she seems to make up her mind. With a frustrated muttering under her breath, she takes the first step onto the bridge, setting a high-heeled sandal against the warm stone of the passage. Having taken a first step, she now exudes commitment and she walks down the bridge as unstoppable and determined as an ogre who smells a buffet in the vicinity.

She arrives at the entrance unopposed; the faithful, including the staff are busy inside attending service. She exhibits one last sign of hesitancy, as she pauses beneath the archway, as if realizing that once she takes the next step, she will be fully inside the temple. The hesitation, however, lasts but a split second, for in one corner of the temple, in a more secluded pew, a tiny figure spots her and waves to her, beckoning her to approach and join her. The green-eyed woman obliges and heads towards her.

As she makes her way across to the pew and her contact, the green-eyed woman tries to take stock of everything. At least a dozen clerics, priest and staff. Scores of worshippers, all seemingly local. Sunlight all around. The high priest wielding divine magic as he intones the holy prayers and blesses the faithful. Beneath the folds of her green headscarf, she gives a wry smile.

The green-eyed woman then turns her attention to her contact. She has already removed her headscarf – as is proper inside the temple – and she is not what the green-eyed woman expected. A Halflinga.³³ Pale of skin, but as comfortable in the desert garb as any native of Salimar. Plain of face, except for two ruby earrings and a red dot on her forehead. Her facial features betray nothing, except an air of calm composure – confidence mixed with boredom. That unsettled the green-eyed woman who could not help but wonder how this Halflinga could even pretend to be blasé under the circumstances. As she approached the Halflinga, the small humanoid pointed to an empty seat in front of her, indicating it was empty.

Halflinga: [Pointing to the seat, smiling and whispering in the Common tongue the usual greeting for such occasions] The Lord of Light fill your days with sun and your nights with warmth, Sister.  Please have a seat.

The green-eyed woman pointedly ignored the greetings and the proffered seat. Instead, she picked a spot behind the Halflinga and chose to stand there, alert and with her back against the wall.  The Halflinga did not so much as twitch or turn her head, seemingly unfazed that the green-eyed woman now stood at prime backstabbing location.³⁴

Halflinga:  [Keeps staring straight ahead, as if though engrossed by the High Priest’s sermon.  Then whispers in a tone of voice used by mothers all over when dealing with misbehaving children] You are supposed to respond: He does and may the Light shield you and blind your enemies. And please take that green headscarf off – it is rude to keep your head covered in here. You will draw unwanted attention.

The green-eyed woman paused for a second, bit back some retort and then, begrudgingly, began unfurling her headscarf.

She revealed a face whose beauty was worthy of her deep and piercing green eyes. To say her hair was black would be an understatement: it was as dark as a drunk uncle’s sense of humor.³⁵ The darkness was punctuated, however, by small emerald-studded hairpins that caused the hair to resemble a nighttime sky filled with green fireflies. The hair was voluminous and carefully braided into a single long strand. That strand, for its turn, was so long it looped around the woman’s neck, like a baby black boa constrictor determined to choke its prey to death, notwithstanding its snakelet proportions. Crowning the head, a silver diadem, topped with an exquisite emerald. Assuming someone made it past this exuberant sensory overload of capillary information, they saw a beautiful feminine face. It was beautiful despite having at its center a rather large beak-like nose. On any other woman, such a nasal appendage would have spelled instant ugliness. Yet here, the remaining items of the facial collection were so breathtaking, that third-party minds could not conceive that there was an ugly nose present. No, it had to be a nose that added charm, or character. Beautiful women do not have ugly noses, they have noses with personality! Indeed, like a tiny hill in a tsunami, the nose’s disproportion was submerged and forgotten by the compensating hair, jewelry and jungle-green eyes.

That gorgeous green-eyed face was, at present, making no effort whatsoever at hiding its sense of irritation. In fact, those facial features were so often displaying anger, annoyance and irritation that it was sort of their default setting by now. The current excuse for anger was that the green-eyed woman had hoped this series of movements behind the Halflinga’s back would finally cause her to swivel around, but the Halflinga’s gaze did not flinch for a second; she kept staring straight ahead as if though she had the mother of all stiff necks.³⁶

Green-eyed Woman: [Incensed, bending over until she is level with the seated Halflinga’s ear and whispering] Rot in Inferni cursed Halflinga.

That got a reaction.  Not so much for the foul language, but because as the green-eyed woman almost brushed the Halflinga’s ear with her lips, she emanated a smell impossible to ignore from that proximity: the smell of carrion.

Halflinga: [Gagging a bit, covering her nose and half-turning around before getting a hold of herself] No need for the expletives or coarse language Uqur’Virx.

Uqur’Virx: [Grinning at her small victory, then proceeding in a sarcastic tone] Oh, it speaks my name… so much for not drawing attention…

Halflinga: [Regaining her composure and resuming her berating-mother tone] As long as we whisper, nobody will hear us. High Priest Glebor loves the sound of his own voice during sermons and this temple seems designed to echo it. Moreover, and, to be perfectly frank, I would be surprised if your name elicited any recognition this far away from the Sultanate of Dal’Afarash.

Uqur’Virx: [Practically snarling at the slight on her reputation] What do you know of my reputation Halflinga?

Halflinga: [Without missing a beat and in a matter-of-fact tone] Everything.  I know everything there is to know about you Uqur’Virx.

Uqur’Virx: Ha!

Halflinga: [In a flat whispering voice, with all the emotion of a call-center recording] Uqur’Virx Remin. Also known as the Emeraldplague.  Originally from the province of Miryiom in the Sultanate of Dal’Afarash.  You are 1.56m, though you wear high heels to look taller. You –

Uqur’Virx: [Interrupting] Spare me my life story, Halflinga. I’ve lived it. And memorizing facts about me, hardly means you know me.

Halflinga: [Subtly shrugging] As you wish.

Uqur’Virx: [Letting the anger show in her voice] I do so wish. And while you are granting wishes like some cursed midget genie, I wish you would tell me who the curses you are and why I’m talking to you and not your cursed master? Since you know everything, you Goblin-sized encyclopedia, you should know this is not what we agreed to. I was supposed to meet your master, not whatever cursed free sample of a minion you are.

Halflinga:  [Ignoring the name-calling as easily as the media can ignore inconvenient facts] Firstly, you can call me Secretary Aylad. If the title doesn’t make it glaringly obvious, I’m the personal secretary and right-hand Halflinga of my master. [Charging on to avoid being interrupted by Uqur’Virx] Which means I’m well empowered to speak and act on my master’s behalf. Secondly, we agreed to all your other demands. Including that we meet at this, of all places. Now, you cannot really expect to pick this place AND have my master show up here. You can have a false sense of security or a face-to-face with my master, it can’t be both.

Uqur’Virx: [Smiling like a bully] Oh, is your all-powerful master afraid of the Sun Temple?

Aylad: [Not taking the bait and continuing calmly] Hardly. But he also has better things to do then come all the way to Salimar for a meeting you might not have showed up to and could have been a pointless trap. Now, do you want to do business or did we both risk our lives meeting here for nothing?

Uqur’Virx: No. You don’t get to flip this on me. Your master reached out and asked for this meeting. You tell me if there is business to be done.

Aylad: [Clearing her throat, as if preparing to launch into a rehearsed speech] Very well. Let’s get down to it. Firstly, my master expresses his sympathies for the loss of your master …

Uqur’Virx: [Rolls her eyes so far up, she could almost see Loptír staring down at her]

Aylad: [Somehow sensing or expecting this reaction] While it is true that my master and yours were less than friendly, my master never denied you master’s skill and considered him a worthy rival.

Uqur’Virx: [Barely whispering] Oh cut the Ogre-shit.  What do you want?

Aylad: Very well. There is no denying your master was probably one of the foremost experts in the One Spell. Put simply, my master has, of late, taken an interest in carrying on your late master’s work. He wants to know what you know and, especially, if you are in possession or know the location of the fragments of Umooan’s tablet?

Uqur’Virx: [Sarcastically] Oh, is that all?

Aylad: Need I say you will be richly rewarded?

Uqur’Virx: Do I look like a charity case? I have amassed my own fortune.

Aylad: That may be, but my master can offer you what money cannot buy.

Uqur’Virx: [More sarcasm] Let me guess: power beyond my wildest dreams?

Aylad: [Taking the question seriously] Yes, but more than that. My master is your best shot at avenging your master’s demise and completing his work.

Uqur’Virx: [Losing her temper, but, mercifully, still whispering] I don’t need anyone’s help to defeat the Steel Claw. I will be the one to gut that cursed stain on Nedroj. [Calming down somewhat] And besides, how can I possibly trust your master?

Aylad: Trust in the convergence of interests. They align with yours. You both want the One Spell to be cast and you both know that, to do so, the Steel Claw must be terminated.

Uqur’Virx: [Pretending to be unconvinced, but clearly thinking it over in her head] Well, if that is the case, why don’t I just sit back and let your master take his shot at the Steel Claw? He will do so anyway…

Aylad: Come now Emeraldplague, are we to believe you would be content to sit idly by while another avenges your master? No. You must be a part of it, if not the tip of the spear, the hand that thrusts it. Nothing else will slate your thirst for vengeance.

Uqur’Virx: [Unconvincingly] I’ve warned you before not to assume you truly know me secretary.

Aylad: [Lets the silence drag on]

Uqur’Virx: [Scratching at the side of her head] I’m not ready to commit to any partnership just yet. But let’s just say I might be amenable to further meetings. Where would we –  hypothetically – go from here?

Aylad: [Sitting up, turning around and, for the first time, exhibiting some emotion. Specifically, smiling like a spider that feels its web tingling] I’m glad you asked Uqur’Virx. Indeed, your question betrays that you do have knowledge regarding the One Spell and the fragments of the Umooan tablet. Now that your usefulness is confirmed, the first thing we must address is that I must disabuse you of any delusions of partnership. [Steamrolling on over the shocked Uqur’Virx] You master might have dreamt of a partnership – you, well, don’t make me laugh. You are second fiddle at best!

Uqur’Virx: [Balling her fists and switching her whispering for growling] Listen here you cursed Orc-spawn, even your stunted Halfling brain shouldn’t be too small to comprehend your impending demise…

Aylad: [Almost giggling] Temper, temper Uqur’Virx. Do you forget where we are? [Gestures at the Sun Temple and the surrounding congregation]

Uqur’Virx: [Realizing the High Priest and the congregation have paused and are looking in their direction. Clears her throat] Apologies Lighted One… just some theological debate that got heated.

Congregation: [Resumes prayers, though a few members keep eyeing the pair]

Aylad: [Whispering] Very good Uqur’Virx. You finally realized it. In an effort to level the playing field against my master you picked a place threatening mutually assured destruction. Too late you realize, however, that, with him absent, the only one in extreme danger is you, who has voluntarily surrounded herself by a bunch of sheathe-happy³⁷ paladins who would smite you in a heartbeat if they knew who and what you truly are.

Uqur’Virx: [Practically hissing] You little shit! Scratch that: I have taken shits bigger than you. You think I didn’t take precautions when I came here? You think I don’t have an escape pl- [Gasps in horror and reaches out to her left hand, looking for something that is no longer there]

Aylad: [Coyly] I imagine you are looking for your ring with a teleportation spell? I told you Aylad: this little shit knows you. You think we haven’t been tracking you since before we asked for this meeting? We pick-pocketed that ring off your finger the moment you entered this temple. So, there will be no escaping via teleporting for you. And we both know none of your dark magic spells will work on this hallowed ground. So you are going to learn some obedience and follow my instructions. You will tell me everything you know, or so help me, I will set every zealot in this temple on you. Do you understand?

For a while, Uqur’Virx was just stunned. Her green eyes open wide in shock as she digested her predicament. In a matter of seconds, however, the burning intensity to her eyes returned and they almost seemed to burn like boric acid on fire.³⁸

Uqur’Virx: [As cold as your partner when you forget the anniversary] Oh, I understand Aylad. I understand I will not be teleporting out. Tell me: will what transpires here reach your master no matter what?

Aylad: Certainly.

Uqur’Virx: Good, I would hate for this message to get lost. You tell that self-styled Shadow Emperor that he crossed the wrong person today.

Aylad: [Seems entirely unimpressed]

Uqur’Virx: [Carries on unfazed] Make no mistake: I will cast the One Spell, I will kill the Steel Claw and your master will perish by my hand!

Aylad: [Faking a yawn] Is this before or after you single-handedly vanquish the Steel Cl-

But Aylad never finished that sentence, for Uqur’Virx pulled an emerald-encrusted dagger from a hidden pocket and, as casually as slicing bread, gave the Halflinga’s windpipe a more direct passage to the outside world. Aylad crumpled to the ground faster than the hopes and dreams of those who buy the wrong shares in the stock market.

Aylad’s consciousness was fading fast. She knew she would die: she had been cut by a blade from the Emeraldplague and no cleric or doctor would be able to neutralize in time whatever was now coursing through her bloodstream.³⁹ In her last moments of lucidity, she watched as the whole congregation’s attention turned to them. As predicted, the sheathe-happy paladins, true to their nature, began unsheathing their silver-coated swords and charge at Uqur’Virx. Yet, to Aylad’s surprise, Uqur’Virx made no attempt to flee or halt them. Rather, she dispelled the illusion that surrounded her, allowing all to see the cadaverous horror she truly was. The silvery swords never reached her: she was smote to dust on the spot by the combined spells of High Priest Glebor and his clerics. Uqur’Virx’ final act, as she was enveloped by a flaming pillar of holy light, was to turn to Aylad and smile. It was a smile of triumph. The smile a dog gives when punished after it has already eaten the sandwich that fell on the floor. Uqur’Virx smiled triumphantly… and then she was gone.

Death took Aylad, but not before one final thought popped into her dying brain: of all people, she should have seen this coming…

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Another Foreword⁴⁰

The reader might have a thousand questions about the prologues, starting with "What the blazes⁴¹ just happened? and progressing onto Well, what happened next?⁴² and possibly passing by Why am I still reading this? or even, Do stipes really make us look fat?". Loptír promises all such questions will be answered as the story progresses⁴³ – you can trust the word of Loptír, God of Mischief, Trickery and Fun.

Yet, this story cannot be properly told if Loptír focuses on a single character.⁴⁴ This is a story with multiple characters. Some good, some evil, most just really bumbling into each other as the threads of fate form a tangled knot of chaos.⁴⁵ This is a tale that will skip from one individual to the other⁴⁶ as each character’s story trickles along to join the inevitable torrent that is this unusual tale.⁴⁷ So do not grow overly attached to any one character dear Reader, for it is but one of many faces you will meet and many of these personae will come and go, returning only if and when the time is right.⁴⁸

Similarly, Loptír – divine as He is – is not constrained by such petty details as time and space,⁴⁹ so why should Loptír’s narrative be? The reader will be taken all across Nedroj and back. The chapters will leap across continents and oceans, transporting the reader as magically as a flight attendant with blackouts.⁵⁰  Time will also be inconstant. The events of Chapter XII may precede the events of Chapter I. Loptír only assures the Reader that the story will have a beginning (you’ve just read it), a middle (I guess everything else) and an end (technically whenever the reader gives up and closes the book).⁵¹

So, for now, the reader will be whisked away from Salimar⁵² to catch up with the story in another place and at a later point in time.⁵³

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Chapter I – Stonecastle

There are many great and powerful⁵⁴ human nations in North Aporeu. In terms of size, the largest is the Riuz Empire – a decadent empire north of the Stoneheart Mountain Range where long winters and strong liquor blend to form tough and unruly men. When it comes to wealth and soft power, the undisputed leader is the city-state of Truwun, the largest metropolis in all of Aporeu. In terms of piety, the winner is the Holy Seat, a theocracy dedicated to The One, which has come to be the dominating religion in many human kingdoms.⁵⁵ Perhaps the most feared is the Krafith Archipelago, with its many sea-faring barbarian tribes, known to constantly raid and terrorize the eastern shores of North Aporeu. Of course, the well-rounded Kingdom of Salteux, with its lush fields, thriving cities and first-class army is a power of its own.

Patriots of every one of these nations have spent hours arguing and shed much blood (usually in that order) over which is the greatest human nation in North Aporeu. Indeed, as a benevolent peace-fostering deity, Loptír once made it so that, one stormy night, representatives of each of these nations happened to all arrive at the same roadside inn, where there was only one room left. Loptír assumed the guise of the local innkeeper and offered the room to whoever convinced Him they were more worthy. In truth, the room was large enough to accommodate them all (a detail Loptír may have forgotten to mention), but Loptír hoped this coincidence of desires would provide these geopolitical rivals an opportunity to amicably settle their dispute over who was the greatest nation or, perhaps, even learn to share the title. The results were… mixed.

*      *      *

It was a dark and stormy night. The wind howled as fiercely as a Mastiff who has just discovered the folly of fighting a Chihuahua that is just the right height for its mouth to be level with the crown jewels. Rain poured from the black clouds, like a dog with an unenviable case of urinary incontinence (seriously: do not underestimate the vicious little dogs – the effects can be… lasting).

In the middle of this dogged downpour, a roadside inn provided shelter against the deluge. Rainwater pelted the inn’s shingle roof, poured down its wooden walls and encircled it from all sides, rushing and pounding against the windows and walls like a tenacious pixie army looking for a way in. In such a tempest, any traveler would have been excused in confusing the soaked roadside inn with a capsized ship (especially if they were fighting off the cold with the assistance of some booze). When the lightning crackled, the signpost outside the inn was illuminated and its name becomes visible: The Jester’s Smile.

Inside the inn, at its very center, a stone hearth and a circular fire pit made a valiant attempt at keeping the drenching cold out. It was late and the common area was empty, save for the divinely dashing innkeeper⁵⁶ who stood behind the wooden counter patiently staring at the oaken door as He expected His ‘guests’ to arrive.

At last, close to midnight, the heavy oaken doors opened and closed five times. Each time a different group of travelers came in.

First came the travelers from Riuz. Two men wearing heavy fur coats. One clearly a nobleman – with jewelry glistening around his neck and hands – and the other his footservant. By ordinary standards they were large men: there was enough meat and fat on them for four common men. All in all, it seemed like two bears (with a taste for bling) had just walked into the common area.

Then came a group of three merchants from Truwun. Two humans and a Halflinga. All sharply dressed according to the latest fashion of Truwun. They had an unmistakable air of superiority to them, eyeing everything in the inn and measuring its monetary worth.

In third place came a group of holy men from the Holy Seat. A priest leading three monks. They had sturdy traveling cloaks, but as soon as they arrived, the priest removed his to reveal opulent jewelry with motifs dedicated to The One.

They were followed in by two sisters from the Krafith archipelago. The two screamed battle-readiness. Their athletic frames were covered in tattoos and clad in leather armor. The armor, for its turn, bristled with weapons strapped onto every available space. Between their odd shaven hairstyle and many weapons, they resembled bristly porcupines.

Lastly came a noble couple from the Kingdom of Salteux. Finely dressed and attended by a footman and a handmaiden. Despite all the rain, they somehow still smelled of expensive cologne.

The five groups crowded around the fire pit, hoping the warm flames would evaporate some of the water that drenched their traveling clothes. As was so common among these rival nations, each group immediately identified the others’ origins and there was a visible effort to not mingle and, somehow, make it clear they considered the other groups inferior.

Salteux Nobleman: [To his wife] I know what you’re thinking, my heart.

Salteux Noblewoman: [With a disgusted look] That this place is unfit even for my dogs? That the present company leaves something to be desired? I could go on…

Salteux Nobleman: [Hugging her] I know, but think of it as an adventure! What stories we’ll have to tell back home…

Salteux Noblewoman: I wish we were back home. We should’ve never left our civilized borders!

Truwun Halflinga: [Trying to get her clothes dry] Oh, I will fire my secretary as soon as we return to Truwun! How dare she make a reservation at such a pigsty? I cannot believe there was nothing better available!

Truwun Human 1: [Fumbling through a tiny book and making a face of despair mixed with disgust] Urgh! This place isn’t even on Ynfloo’s Guide! I’m not talking about a place with poor reviews, I’m talking about an unreviewed place! The savagery!

Truwun Human 2: [Shivering] And why is it so cold here? Haven’t they heard of pipe heating? I begin to ask myself not where are we, but when?

Riuz Baron: [Takes off his fur coat to better show off his jewelry. Then pointedly projecting his voice, which somehow already sounds drunk, in the direction of the Truwunian who complained about the cold] By the Eyce of Yskarch,⁵⁷ what a refreshing little drizzle that was! If it hadn’t been for the rain, surely I would’ve melted in this heat. [Produces a flask from somewhere and takes a long sip]

Holy Seat Priest: [Pretending he did not overhear the blasphemous comment, but that, for completely unrelated reasons, he must lecture his monks] Blessed be the One, who with the wisdom of the Scholar, allowed us to find refuge in this inn. [Makes a holy gesture]

Holy Seat Monks: Amen!

Holy Seat Priest: And blessed be the One, who with the patience of the Judge [eyes the Riuz Baron] allows even the more primitive of folk to wallow in their religious ignorance like two drunk bears…

Krafith Sister: [Talking to her sister] Oy! Was baldy over there speaking about us? [Begins unsheathing weapons]

Other Sister: Might’ve been. [Hefts a huge notched axe with blood stains on it] Best start with the killing to be on the safe side… Be reckless not to!

Innkeeper: [Clears his throat and catches everyone’s attention] Good evening travelers. Welcome to the Jester’s Smile. I am sure you have all had a trying journey through this unseasonable weather…

Truwun, Holy Seat and Salteux Travelers: [Nod]

Krafith Sisters: [Shrug] How else are we supposed to wash off the blood?

Riuz Travelers: [Drink]

Innkeeper: … and are eager to rest for the night. I regret to inform, however, that we were not expecting so many guests tonight and, as such, we, unfortunately, have but one room available. And so, we shall have to reach some sort of ‘accommodation’…

Travelers: [Explode into a cacophonous uproar as all try to speak at the same time]

Innkeeper: [Raises his hands and, as if by divine magic, causes all travelers to quiet down]: Please, travelers – one at a time. Let us be civil: I will give the word to each based on the order of their arrival. Hopefully you can convince me of your worthiness.

Riuz Baron: [Pulling himself to his full height and, for good measure, taking another sip from his flask, before slurring his words] Listen here Innkeeper! Do you know who I am? I’m a Baron in Riuz and, as such, I will be afforded proper treatment! [Towers over the innkeeper. Tries to put a meaty hand on the Innkeeper’s shoulder, but fails because the innkeeper (and the room) keeps spinning and not standing still. Gives up and just crosses his arms menacingly.] It would be in your interest to give that room to me and my servant. We can do it the hard way [Cracks his knuckles] or the easy way [shows off an old gold ring on one of his fingers] your choice! [Takes another sip from the flask. Notices it is dry. Chucks it away and produces a new flask. Chugs away.]

Truwun Halflinga: Ha! Riuz and their titles of nobility. You can’t throw a rock in that old empire without hitting a count or a baron. I never understood their obsession with titles. [Produces a business card] I am CEO of the Truwun East Riverdock Trading Company. [Points at one of her companions] This is my CFO [points to the other] and this is my COO. Surely you have heard of our franchise and surely you must understand [jingles her heavy gold pouch] that we’re able to pay in upfront cash for this room, matching and surpassing any offer from tonight’s other travelers. [Jingles the gold pouch again] Surely there must be some VIP fee we can pay? [Jingles the gold pouch so enthusiastically it probably suffers from whiplash] Surely?

Holy Seat Priest: [Shakes his head like a disapproving parent who has just found out his son’s web browser history] Tsk, tsk, tsk. All these threats and promises of material goods… They are worth nothing Innkeeper, when compared with true divine salvation! Think how The One, in his aspect as the Judge, shall view your actions tonight. How will you be reincarnated if you deprive his most faithful of a room in exchange for cowardice or greed? Why, you might even come back as a heathen northerner or a soulless capitalist! [Pauses to assess his options. Then, trying (but failing) to look casual, pulls out a gold chain with a holy symbol] And, ehrm, we shall certainly pay for our stay.

Salteux Nobleman: [Clapping the Innkeeper by the shoulder as if though they were best friends; their parents were best friends; their grandparents were best friends; etc.] Ah, Mr. Innkeeper. I’m certain you will reach the right decision. How do I know? We are the same you and I! I also am in the business of entertaining guests back home. True, my little castle is a tad more grandiose than your establishment and my guests a bit more – how should I say? – refined, but in essence, we are the same. Different, but the same. And I’m sure a fellow host will not leave us without lodging, especially when my wife and I are on a romantic trip. No?

Krafith Sister: [Grips the axe tightly] Too much talk! Solution is simple. We kill everyone and take the room! [Attacks]

Battles are never a tidy affair. The battle of the Jester’s Smile was no exception. Yet look closely and a few lessons can be gleaned (assuming at least one survivor with tolerable levels of cranial damage):

Firstly, threatening someone’s soul with eternal damnation, is, apparently, less effective than an axe to the head. A rather ultimate lesson for the Holy Seat priest and his monks.

Secondly, fighting inebriated is good to numb the pain, but not so much to pick the right targets. The Riuz travelers demonstrated immense strength and endurance. A pity, that they demonstrated it on one of the columns in the common area and on each other.

Thirdly, gold can buy many things, but you need to be in the right market for it. At that moment, the executives from Truwun saw the harsh economic reality of a huge demand on their end for mercenary protection, but zero supply on the other end. Turns out there is little hedging against a mace to the face.

Fourthly, there can, apparently, be such a thing such as too many weapons. If you choose to fight back to back with your shield maiden sister, first make sure you do not have so many weapons strapped to yourselves that by simply approaching one another you accidentally cut each other to ribbons.

Lastly, there are times when a tactical retreat makes sense. Yet other times one must have the courage to stand and fight. The Salteux travelers could have inherited the title of victors had they just waited out the battle. But, no sooner did it start, that they threw down their rapiers and ran screaming away into the night saying they surrendered.

As the battle concluded, the Innkeeper stared in disbelief at the carnage left from the battle. He marveled at the irony that five groups had come and, somehow, the cause of it all – the vacant room – remained unoccupied even after all the bloodshed. Apparently, the question of mightiest nation would not be answered tonight.

As the Innkeeper reflected on the night’s bloody affairs, the oaken doors opened one final time. It was a traveler from Stonecastle. Stonecastle is a small Human kingdom, sandwiched between the others. It is certainly not one of the mighty nations and no sane person would throw Stonecastle’s hat into the ring of greatest Human nation. In fact, Stonecastle is primarily known for simply surviving despite its more powerful neighbors.

Yet that night, through sheer dumb luck, the last man standing was the traveler from Stonecastle. Who, by the sole feat of arriving late by getting lost in the storm, had made it just in time to claim the unoccupied room and with it, Loptír’s esteem of greatest nation.

Stonecastle Traveler: [Sees the mess] Warrior preserve us! What happened here?

Innkeeper: [Sighing] Travelers from the great Human nations all arrived at the same time, but there was just one room available. Discussions over which group would get the available room got a little… ‘heated’.

Stonecastle Traveler: [Gulps] Oh my. Sorry to hear that. You need any help?

Innkeeper: [Shakes his head] That is all right. Thank you. I am sure this mess will magically sort itself out. [Grins mischievously]

Stonecastle Traveler: [Confused] Well, if you’re sure…

Innkeeper: [Nods] I am. Now, I imagine you will be wanting the last available room…

And so it was, that humble Stonecastle, on that night, surpassed all the great Human nations to claim the divine prize they were all denied! … Or, so it should have been.

Stonecastle Traveler: Oh? Me? The last room? No thanks! Sounds like more trouble than its worth. Besides, someone else might come and need it. I was just wondering if I could sleep in one of the empty stalls in your stable?

Innkeeper: [Dumbfounded] What!? No! [Growing in size, eyes flaring, causing reality to quake] You must claim the room. The fates will it so! For Stonecastle!

Stonecastle Traveler: [Oblivious] Stall’s not available then?

Innkeeper: [Deflating] What? No. I mean, yes. Yes, it is available.

Stonecastle Traveler: Excellent. Thank you. I’ll take the stall then. [Leaving] And good luck with the mess!

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And that dear Reader, is the essence of the Kingdom of Stonecastle. A nation bordering other Nations.

Stonecastle is not so much a landlocked nation as a cornered nation. The Stoneheart Mountain Range begins in a quasi-horizontal line in North Aporeu, but after a given point, it makes a right angle and travels vertically downward. This given point is also known as the Kingdom of Stonecastle. The whole nation is wedged close to that right angle. That is, if you head north in Stonecastle, you meet the Stoneheart Mountain Range. Head west and you get the same result. Head East and you come across a river – called Stoneheart River (given it begins in the mountain range and flows down all the way to the Cut). The reader might therefore think the citizens of Stonecastle would feel hounded by the very mention of the word Stoneheart. Yet, in truth, they are grateful. Beyond the mountains to the north lies the Empire of Riuz. Beyond the mountains to the west is the Verdant Sea, a dense magical forest not exactly welcoming to Humans. Similarly, if you bridge the Stoneheart River, you find yourself in the Kingdom of Salteux. As such, the Stoneheart acts as a sort of protective demarcation line, signaling to the Verdant Forest, Riuz and Salteux where to halt their expansionism, leaving the unclaimed area between the three as the Kingdom of Stonecastle.

What about Stonecastle’s south? Therein lies the Kingdom of Golm. A modest-sized Kingdom best known for its pork products. You might think it silly that a whole kingdom is associated with porcine agriculture, but at least it is known for something. Stonecastle, on the other hand, was not known for anything. In fact, the only reason Golm did not swallow up Stonecastle is that its lands were not suitable for pig farming. Far be it from Loptír to be boorish about this, but the border between the two kingdoms literally starts where pigs turn around.

Stonecastleians are hardworking and straightforward folk. They are mostly humble farmers with no appetite for unnecessary complications. The best example of this "keep it