Made in general reference to and Other Stories, by doc, though lacking her characteristic charm. Doing the little watercolours was fun.
A note on Kelkoran names - Kelkorans go by a double-name, their own name prefixed by the name of their eldest parent. I.e., the mother of Shobha-Sonam is called Avinash-Shobha, and her father is called Siddhi-Avinash, and so on.
Kelkorans belong to clans. Clans belong to banners, and are led by a noyan, sardar, or equivalent. Banners belong to a crown, and are led by a khan, peshwa, or equivalent. Some particularly prestigious banners are instead “crowns” - three remain in the Empire, these being Okiri, Nau’u and Ythak, but tales tell of others in lands lost to struggle - Aruhm, Vishek and Kham.
Once, there were khagans (also called emperors or kings of kings). They were the supreme rulers of the Empire, and often were khans of the Crowns also - but there has not been an (uncontroversial, universally-accepted) khagan for over a thousand years.
Some Spilled Blood, and a Grudge
(The Streets of Okiri, the Capital)
The Cast
The Waterway Howlers, or just the Howlers: An Okiri street gang. Cunning and evasive.
The Rooftop Larks, or just the Larks: An Okiri street gang. Proud and acrobatic.
Tejal-Varsha: The leader of the Howlers, a powerful street gang in Okiri. Broad, sun-kissed, tangle-haired. Uneducated, famously beautiful, occasionally cruel. Desperate desire to fuck Vijay-Apurva cannot due to social pressures. Originally from a city clan called the Bagana.
Vijay-Apurva: The leader of the Larks, another powerful street gang in Okiri. Tall, dark-haired, aquiline. Well-read, famously cunning, occasionally reckless. Desperate desire to fuck Tejal-Varsha cannot due to social pressures. Originally from a city clan called the Tsenkher.
His Excellency, Milian Sudhir Zhēn, (A.K.A. Edmund-Sudhir): The luckless, taciturn governor of Okiri. Grim, statuesque, strawberry blond. Kelkoran and Dradian both, loves the city but is loyal to the King. Locked in Okiri by the war, under pressure, if not yet active siege. Desires to be rid of all street gangs.
Market-Keeper Kempu-Arnaq: The governor’s secret servant, keeper of the Blue-Door Market of Okiri. Round, perfumed, expressive eyebrows. A wealthy man, if otherwise fairly virtueless. Desires peace between the gangs, or at least, the total victory of one over the other.
Along the wide raucous streets and in the plazas overhung by ancient trees, two gangs are engaged in a bloody microcosm of the battles rocking the World Above.
The Waterway Howlers practically live on the clear, unpolluted waters of Lake Ok, which touch and entangle with the city. They fight with ribboned polearms, long blades, and fishers’ knives. They sleep on their boats in the city’s canals, and retreat out onto the water if they find themselves troubled. Their ancestors have been in Okiri since time immemorial. Their tutelary spirit is Breath (named Mhambi), a Lunar spirit, and they worship her on a sacred island in the lake. Sometimes with her blessing they move under the water, and often let out seemingly endless ululating howls, from which they derived their name. They are unphilosophical, emotional Defiants, who demand an end to the imposed order and a return to Kelkoran freedom.
The Rooftop Larks come from inland, and reside in the outer districts of the city, where fine things are crafted, and the long high-road to the Kingdom begins. Their name comes from a habit for roof-running, acrobatics, and vertical stunts. They fight with sabres, hammers and lengths of chain. They are the grandchildren of mountain folk that came to the city to work in gunsmiths, mills and forges, and maintain their country manners alongside the songs of their home villages. Their tutelary spirit is Exert (named No’oroa), a Solar spirit, who they worship in the fiery heart of the city’s cannon-works. Sometimes with his blessing they display great strength, or act tirelessly. They are loyal to the new order in Kelkora - not to the distant King, who they hate, but to the Governor, who they see as a fair leader that brings progress and prosperity.
These two groups have been engaged in an on-again-off-again war for the better part of a decade now, all beginning over an insult, and worsened by an accidental murder in a drinking-hall last year. Many now lie dead in the streets - most of them Howlers and Larks, but not all - and the state of warfare between them has become intolerable to all.
At the advice of uncriminal friends and secret patrons in civic society, the two gangs are going to have a peace talk. They will meet at the bathhouse in the middle of the prestigious Blue-Door Market, a walled quarter of the city where trade is conducted. Within the blue gates, there are wisterias and silk trees, tiled plazas flanked by curtained porticos, sweet smoke and scented steam, and the pale tiled roofs of the bathhouse in the centre, under the great chimney the people nickname “The Giant.”
The market-keeper reasons that the bathhouse is a good place - the young thugs being naked and unarmed will limit their potential for violence - and, well, planning to drown anyone in the bath is basically fruitless thanks to No’oroa and Mhambi. Obviously, the gangs know the market-keeper believes the setting will limit their potential for animal brutality, and plot to subvert him.
The Howlers have had special rings made. They were made by a highly-skilled Iron Scribe and jeweller, living in the village of Achuka outside of the city, and contain concealed spring-loaded poison needles. They also have bribed the two masseuses to come into work with butcher’s blades tucked inside their soft patterned robes. Also, they bet the jars containing the fragrant oils are heavy enough to give a Lark a concussion with.
The Larks worship in the cannon-works of Okiri and the old artisans think of them as nieces and nephews. They have some allies set up the next building over, crouching over a loaned prangi loaded with iron shards, cutlery and bullets. They are also paying off a merchant to be sitting outside the bathhouse’s front door with a bunch of long knives concealed under his shipment of Dradian silk. They also have this wild idea that they could probably use the bathhouse’s towels like really thick garrotes, probably?
A Broken Taboo, and a Temple
(Parvishek, in Southern Kelkora)
The Cast
The Shadow: A mysterious intangible giant of great power, immune to ordinary weapons. Vast, moves as if draped in a shroud, dark as the night sky. In service to the great spirit Still World Night, desires what she desires. Also, kind of puckish.
Minik-Nauja: Noyan of the Khoka Clan. Waist length black hair, gold jewellery, semi-permanent scowl. Strong and beloved, but under great stress - the shadow bedevils her people, and her sister has been missing for two weeks. Desires to be rid of the Shadow without allowing anyone to pry into her business.
Ujaraq-Jnyana: Mightiest hunter of the Khoka Clan. Red-faced, belly like an iron pot, wild black hair. Fearless, probably too fearless, birdwatcher. Organising a brigade of the clan’s warriors, and of local experts, to attack and destroy the shadow. Desires the glory of having saved the clan, and to become Noyan.
Altan-Sonam: The leader of the appeasers. Small, handsome, long curly brown hair. Especially tattooed even by Kelkoran standards, recently has started dressing entirely in black. A would-be priest of the powers of darkness. Desires to appease the Shadow, and secretly, to advance himself by serving it. Also, to escape his otherwise boring life.
Mummify: An Unlit spirit, and tutelary protector of the Khoka Clan. Stick-thin, looks dead, burning eyes, dripping with jewels. Archaic, crude, avaricious, extremely deferent to the Shadow. Known to serve the monstrous spirit called Onyx Mask Anomaly. Desires to get rid of the curse without angering a greater power, and while reclaiming the very lost trust of the Khoka Clan.
Minik-Svapna: Missing sister of the Noyan. Knee length black braid, glimmering glass beads, semi-permanent smirk. Intelligent and forthright, with an excellent memory, and many friends. Knows many secrets - perhaps too many for her own good. Had a desire to position herself well by brokering knowledge.
Still World Night: Supremely ancient, powerful and inclement Unlit spirit. Engaged usually in more important matters deep in the Void, she nevertheless keeps a keen, silver-lashed eye upon her worldly temples. Desires the respect and worship she deserves.
In the rolling arid hills of Parvishek, where towering cacti grow between the yardangs and the distant mountains always wear graceful snow mantles, a shadow sent by the great spirit Night bedevils the Khoka Clan. It hangs over their lands, pulling the breath from livestock, rendering fields barren, following them at night, and generally just being a Grade A prick.
Making matters even worse, their tutelary spirit, Mummify, reacts to all of this with a look to the side, perhaps a shrug, or even a slightly scared expression. What does a nightghost of the void have to be scared of, huh? What were all those offerings worth, eh?!
So, what is to be done? Well, if you ask Altan-Sonam, aspiring priest, the Shadow’s presence is a clear sign that we have broken some old agreements - a failure of Memory, which is a Kelkoran virtue, of course. We should bow and scrape, seek omens, and interpret from the Shadow’s movements what we have done wrong. Perhaps it can replace that coward Mummify!
None of that shit! If you ask Ujaraq-Jnyana, who says, didn’t the Iron Scribes free us from this kind of superstition? Didn’t we agree spirits had to give us something in return? To protect us in exchange for offerings? We’ll get a new tutelary spirit when we’re good and ready, but it won’t be this thing that’s tormented us. No, no, we’re going to gather our arts and secrets, and do as the old Kelkorans did, and slay that which troubles us.
Both factions are incredibly troubling to Mummify, who neither wants to be replaced, nor allow a servant of Night to come to harm on his watch (unlikely as it is that the Shadow will be harmed). Both factions are also incredibly troubling to the noyan, who has a fairly strong suspicion why the shadow is here, and fears anyone discovering the truth.
You see, there is a hidden temple to Still World Night concealed in the Khoka Clan’s lands - an ancient temple from an ancient time, carved cyclopean in a time before the word Kelkora was ever spoken. It descends into a deep canyon at the far end of their lands, under a hill made jagged and unwelcoming by a small forest of cacti. In that deep temple, filled with faint sandalwood smoke from an unknown source, ancient rituals to bind darkness to a human hand were done, and the power echoes there always. In fact, if a Void Astrologer were to pray there for a night and a day, they would get +1MD.
The temple, like all temples, has a taboo. Minik-Nauja broke that taboo by murdering her sister Minik-Svapna in secret. Svapna, you see, wished to blackmail her - knowledge of her correspondence with and quiet allegiance to Royal forces in Saral Sar. She met her sister alone, in secret, because she assumed their bond would protect her. It did not.
What does Night care for a secret murder? She’s done the same thing many a time. But when Svapna’s body was hidden in the deep lightless fane, it began to rot, and the overspilling decay destroyed the ancient purity of the temple precinct. That is what has angered her, and brought the Shadow - the body must be found, then removed, and the temple reconsecrated by a priest of dark powers. But of course, the noyan (and her loyal but unknowing guards) have every reason to oppose it, and she keeps the temple under watch on a reasonable excuse. She won’t hesitate to kill again to protect herself.
Her Old Promise, and a Feud
(Silla, in Western Kelkora)
The Cast
Abhimanyu-Sarvesh: Khan of the Silami Banner. Beautiful silky black hair, piercing blue eyes, usually lounging. A lazy and disinterested ruler, he wants interclan troubles resolved without needing to put much effort into it. He is willing to pay anyone who manages. Fears the Khan of the Zaxai Banner, which controls the other, more iron-rich half of Silla.
Grishma-Shriram: Noyan of the Sakhali Clan. Wild spiky hair, heavy practical garments, onyx eyeglasses. Staid, serious, practical, favours tradition. Would prefer to spend his days in prayer, meditation and study, but doesn’t trust anybody else to run this damn circus. Desires peace in Silla (generally), and the preservation of its uniqueness against the Sun King, and even against other Kelkorans.
Bolanle-Darshan: Noyan of the Khutgakh Clan. Neat golden hair, red tattoos, the finest of Okiri fashion. And a Reformer. A Defiant, ideologically speaking, over and above the baseline anti-Royal attitude of most Kelkorans. Desires to control Manora Lake, and more broadly to transform and industrialise Silla, which he views as a backwater.
Abayomi-Saroja: Most skilled warrior of the Sakhali Clan. Braided black hair, piercing eyes, ritual burn on half of her face. Unadorned armour, punch-daggers and a curved sword. Serene, ready to kill. A Herald in a bright green cloak, emulating the deeds of the hero Venomous Tsetseg. She could cut your head off at great speed. Desires to win eternal glory in service to Kelkora and her clan, and to surpass Venomous Tsetseg - whose most famous deed was slaying a spirit, of course.
Kapil-Oorunfemi: A powerful Iron Scribe of the Khutgakh Clan. Long hair streaked with grey, florally patterned robes, third-eye tattoos. Analytical, experimental, wants to test out his Inscriptions. He knows many interesting ways to put metal into your organs. Desires to serve his clan, of course, but also to examine the otherworldly structure in Manora Lake for any evidence of Rewrite, the greatest Inscription.
Supernova, personal name Unyana: A Solar Spirit, and tutelary protector of the Sakhali Clan. Armoured, luminous. Polite, manic, pyromaniac. She upholds the old promises made by Hope, a deposed Prince of the Sun, though she currently is a member of the disordered, mostly-rulerless “court” of Prince Detonation.
Aim, personal name Athum: A Stellar Spirit, and tutelary protector of the Khutgakh Clan. Darkly and finely garbed, eyes glowing, kind of serving cunt. Precise (naturally), focused, callous. He is a modernist political maneuverer, and member of the Complexity faction of Stellar politics.
Erhard Chowak: An Arumite adventurer. Leader of a band of thirty. Black walder hat, frayed garments, pronounced limp. Permanently dishevelled. Crack shot, insanely reckless. A complete bastard, but nevertheless an ideological Defiant. Desires a small kingdom in Silla, will settle for treasure.
Distant Silla at the world’s western edge, the land of lakes, sweet-leafed trees and picturesque glades. Here, two clans of the same banner are engaged in a brewing feud. The banner is Silami, and the two clans are the Sakhali and the Khutgakh.
The Sakhali have lived around Manora Lake since ancient times. Never have they occupied all of the land, at least, never at once - with natural cycles, they slowly moved around the lake like clock hands. All of the neighbouring clans recalled that their generous portion and sole control of the rich Manora Lake was decreed in ancient time, even before Silla was part of Kelkora. Back then, it was a kingdom ruled by a descendant of the Sun herself, and a Prince of the Sun, called Hope, was the one who gifted them their lands.
But Hope has not been called by a summoner for a long age now, her priesthood has died out, her books are burnt, and her temples have been felled by looters or by weather. All that’s left are her promises - and now, one of the neighbouring clans of the Sakhali plan to get rid of that, too. The Khutgakh, guided by Aim, their tutelary spirit, are moving into the open land around the lake. They are settling, building, and grazing their herds, to the great offense of the Sakhali. Trouble has brewed into a feud. The Sakhali are a larger clan, but the Khutgakh are better armed, with modern guns. Those guns are especially dangerous when Aim gets involved.
The usual Esilai practice for clan troubles is one of sequential ritual duels, and it predates the Agonists’ tradition that resembles it. They have employed this, but it is not going well, with four successive duels now proving inconclusive. Most in both clans suspect this is due to the invisible interference of Supernova and Aim, against the protests of those involved - spirits can be so patronising!
The next duel will be with Abayomi-Saroja and Kapil-Oorunfemi, the most dangerous person in each clan. It will occur three days from now, and they will be bringing a group of their clan’s warriors each - not forbidden, but not in the spirit of things, either. Neither plans to leave without spilling blood, interference of spirits be damned. Both Noyans are aware this could be the spark that turns this from an extended skirmish into outright bloodshed, and are positioning accordingly. Abhimanyu-Sarvesh receives regular updates on the situation from the Sun-priests of each clan, and would be extremely grateful if this particular duel never came to pass.
There are also bandit-adventurers in the area who have travelled all the way from Arumell in occasional leaps across Kelkora. They are a band of fifty looking for plunder in a disturbed time. They made a living as mercenaries in Neydes and a wealthy merchant’s guards in Okiri, before the high road to sleepy Silla called them. They are trophy takers, self-proclaimed master-hunters, dressed in tall tin-badged walder hats and grey sheepswool capes. Both clans are aware of the Arumites somewhere in the forested hills overlooking the Lake, but neither has the exact location of their camp. Aim is optioning Chowak as a possible trump card - after all, a mercenary man is easily guided.
One more thing of note: in the middle of Manora Lake is an island, small and rocky, upon which stands a large, strange pyramid. It is constructed of an almost otherworldly black stone, cold and smooth - the very same stone as Sar Arum, the Black Tower. If you asked any old sage of the Sakhali Clan, they would say, with a slow nod - that they were given all the land around the lake because they are the custodians of this strange building. Most have forgotten exactly why - for Hope thought it best for the world to not allow just anyone to wander the dark passageways within.
Their Metal Army, and a Fort
(Dhola, in Northeast Kelkora)
The Cast
Maral-Dhurakarh-Togū: The advocating spokesteel. Rusted right arm. As soft-spoken as someone with a metal voice can be, a naïve-art poet, ekphrastic. Armed with a long slender blade. Takes as the name of its parent the conclave that made it, and the name of its grandparent Maral, the very first Iron Scribe. Togū is the noyan-in-waiting of the strange metal clan, by acclaim. Desires to see the eidolon army recognised as a proper clan.
Maral-Dhurakarh-Alkh: The warlike spokesteel. Damaged face has a frightful mien. Laconic, reconstructing witty sarcasm from first principles, likes to boast. Armed with a spiked, powerful crossbow, and integrated arm-shields. Alkh is the second-in-command, and the devil on Togū’s shoulder. Desires to die gloriously and be emulated by later Heralds, in so doing proving that it has a soul and an independent personhood for all time.
Kublai-Varna: The current peshwa of the town of Nilapul. Slate-grey hair, almost oddly blue. Fine Dradian silks, lots of jewellery, extravagant hats. Charming, flighty, anxious wreck. Has a habit of fainting under extreme pressure. Prefers peaceful solutions. Desires to recapture the eidolons, to regain the trust of the Scribes of Dhurakarh, who even centuries later (and centuries after the abandonment of Dhurakarh) still maintain a black mark against the name of Nilapul. Memory is a Kelkoran virtue, of course.
Kublai-Gerelt: Captain of the warriors of Nilapul. Younger brother of the peshwa. Same bluish hair, but messy and spiky. Stout plain garments, usually in armour, perfect winged eye-kohl. Deliberate, unsocial, mind like a double-entry ledger. Unlikely to forgive a single drop of spilled blood. Desires to destroy the eidolons.
Daromila Asiniy: Leader of the Zzargovi regiment lurking nearby. Tall, lanky, strangling hands. Wry sense of humour. She wears a frightening hide mask with glass eye pieces - not a regimental thing, just a habit. Would cut your ears off. Unlit spirits would love her, but she hates that which comes from the heavens. Desires to capture Nilapul, to serve as a base for further punitive anti-Defiant action deeper into Kelkora.
Eon Eye History, or History’s Scribe: Extremely ancient, powerful Stellar spirit, who records a vast chronicle of happenings in Heaven and Earth, and discovers prophecy of the World’s coming ages. Statuesque, metallic, vast wings always blowing freezing winds. A singular genius, far-seeing, aloof. Desires to observe and record novel and significant events.
In wet and windy Dhola, beyond the high pointed mountains and the narrow rust-red canyons, in the land of oak forests and many small rivers winding like snakes, an army of eidolons is on the march. They are made of iron, mostly wrought and black, but sometimes mirror-polished or a bloody rust red. They are slender and towering images, their sharp faces, strong legs, and long cruel hands freed from iron by the strikes of many hammers, and the works of scripture. Most are silent, but a few serve as their spokesteels - once “singing” eidolons with metal vocal implements like a Dradian sheng, they were small and light, messengers or carriers of songs, but now they have become the captains of their huge, mute fellows.
The army was originally forged by the conclave of Iron Scribes at the fortress of Dhurakarh, in central Kelkora. They were not the only eidolon army made in this place, by these methods. In 1041, the Master of the conclave, a Scribe called Bana-Sarantuya of the Khoka Clan, lent this particular set to the peshwa of the town of Nilapul, to repel an adventurous Zzargovi count.
Across what became not just a battle, but a disastrous war between many Zzargovi counts and Kelkoran khans, the peshwa of Nilapul lost track of his iron army, and did not recover them before his death. As the fighting wound down, they slipped into local legend, vanishing into the deep forests. Two centuries of angry letters travelled from the Masters of the conclave to the peshwas of Nilapul. When Dhurakarh was abandoned in 1249, the last letter went unsent from the desk of Master Alkh-Zaya - she was busy leading the Blacksmith’s Revolt, and later busy being publicly executed.
In the centuries since they slipped their carefully formulated written orders, the eidolons have developed an undeniable spirit, personality and humanity, though some thus-far unforeseen process. After all, eidolons are not often left to no purpose for centuries at a time. Those who are familiar with eidolons would deny this independence, at least from afar, but it is undeniable. Some have even begun to have bizarre, paradoxical “dreams”, in moments of inactivity, which seem to obey no known oneiric laws - dreams of the great spirit History, blazing with ice, bright eyes alighting on scrolls of truth. Whoever heard of dreaming of Stellar things? Perhaps they are more like prophetic visions.
Across the period of their accidental Exile, they have occasionally appeared from the woods like iron ghosts to seize some needful thing, or to strike down nebulously-defined invaders of Kelkora. Their maintenance has faltered, somewhat, through that time - they have done their best, but many have reached a breaking point. They were well made, but centuries will collapse any image, even one made of Dhurakarh iron, resistant to weather and decay. They have made a series of quite logical conclusions:
They truly need Iron Scribes, blacksmiths, tinsmiths, polishers, engravers, instrument-makers, and the like, to keep themselves repaired.
With the exception of Iron Scribes, the above do not work without economic incentive.
The basic economic unit of Kelkoran society is the clan.
A clan consists of related persons with a shared leader, territory and structure of mutual defense.
The most basic element of a clan’s ability to control territory and effect mutual defense is a fortified position.
As such, they are marching to seize the town of Nilapul, and pitch the peshwa out of his fort. They reason the people of the town will adapt to their new neighbours. They will have a fort, and either join the Dhola Banner, or raise their own. Then, they will need a tutelary spirit: if you know any good options, they’re open to negotiations. History, of course, if you find a way to contact them, would accede to being their tutelary spirit - after all, a clan like this would be a historical first.
The peshwa is beside himself, of course. It's going to be disastrous, especially since the eidolons are so fierce and resilient. His brother, on the other hand, believes in the power of cannon and deep pits, and believes they can be defeated. He would sally out to meet them, if not for the risk of attack from the Zzargovi regiment camped at the heights at the valley’s end.
The Count of Laidir’s Regiment has invaded Kelkora, an action in the War of Defiance. The Count of Laidir is safe at home, of course, but his regiment of six hundred is here, armed with guns, living off grain seized from local farmers, carving a parallel path towards Nilapul. Both the regiment and the town’s defenders have hesitated in attacking the other’s fortified position, and await aid - but it won't arrive before the eidolons do, and all hell breaks loose. After all, the metal army have no wish to share their town with the Zzargovi.
Another Doomed Romance, and a Spirit
(The City of Surek, in Southern Kelkora)
The Cast
All Pervading Love, or Lady Love: Extremely dangerous and powerful Lunar spirit. She is a roving nomad spirit who resides in no one particular place on the Moon or in the World, but is considered the most influential member of the “Unadorned” clique of Lunar spirits, who consist of oddballs, Exiles and the unwanted. Winged, painfully beautiful, like the sunset or a monsoon as her mood guides her. Sympathetic and merciless in turns, inconstant and constant, enigmatic and knowing. Desires for everyone to find true love.
Melisende-Ashisa: One of our innamorati. Mid-length reddish hair, tanned skin, partial mens’ tattoo on her cheek and forehead, so some people call her Marked Ashisa. Gullible, honest, courageous. A worshipper of the Serpent of the Moon. From humble origins, her mother an Arumite cobbler travelling to Surek, but by hard work, bravery, and a significant amount of raiding in Saral Sar, she has risen to a position of surprising prestige, with a band of brave youths that follow her. Desires to be with Gita-Dorji most of all, but also desires to see the Duke of Saral Sar toppled.
Gita-Dorji: One of our innamorati. Long black hair, golden jewellery, soft amber silks. Occasionally wears a metal mesh mask. Patient, kind, but struggles to stand up for herself. A worshipper of the Sun, especially Excellence, the mighty warrior-Prince. From a very wealthy noble clan, who claim relation to the last true Khagan of the empire, Rashmi-Ganzorig. Due to her wealth and prestige, if certain people had certain accidents, Gita-Dorji could well become the noyan of her clan, or the very Satrap of Surek. Desires to be with Melisende-Ashisa most of all, but also desires to visit the Heavens.
Züüdkhan (or Dzudkhan) Erdem-Arezu: An ancient ruler who is now only a waking dream. Diaphanous, luminous, visibly inhuman. Witty, philosophical, mad, cannot enter sunlight. The earthly agent of Lady Love in this matter, she is aiding Melisende-Ashisa, and will conscript anyone she deems necessary, by curses if needs be. She also has her own ambitions. When she is angry, she may become a waking nightmare, a strange monstrous form with reality-defying powers, the “Dzudkhan”. Once, she was the Satrap of Tuphan, the region which neighboured Surek, and to this day she desires to rule the city - directly, or, if necessary, indirectly.
Vipina-Shila: The Satrap of the Surek Banner, and Peshwa of the city of Surek. Passionate, paranoid, likes to anticipate problems well in advance. Knee-length black hair, rich silks, blood red kohl. Wants our innamorati kept apart, acts to do so. Believes that she can appease Lady Love, or at least pay some disposable “adventurers” to slay the Züüdkhan, and seek other heavenly powers to dispel her curses. Desires to secure her own comfort and her own power. Secretly, her deepest desire is to find a true and honest love, but she is foiled by her inability to trust.
Nazanin-Afu: Khan of the Omno Banner. Comfortably weary, short blue-black hair and soft, untroubling eyes. Trusting, earnest, honest, just. Leader of successful raids on Saral Sar his entire life. Very popular with the people of his banner, clueless that he has wandered into the path of trouble and become cast as a villain in another’s story. Desires, naturally, to be happily married!
On the rolling gentle hills between the vineyards and the fig-tangled copses, inside the embrace of Kelkora, beyond the wall of mountains by the River Akta, and far from any battles. Two lovers have been kept apart, again. In fact, for this particular pair of women, this is the third time.
First, Melisende-Ashisa was too humble and poor to marry Gita-Dorji, so she worked for it, raiding and making her name. Winning glory, her parents were on the verge of accepting, then they discovered her to be a worshipper of the Serpent, and rejected her in a shock.
Two years later, Melisende-Ashisa tried again. It was agreed that if Melisende-Ashisa were to cut her hair, tattoo her face, become a man, and begin to make regular offerings to Prince Excellence, the union would be reluctantly agreed by Dorji’s father. However, her father suddenly died, and among the mourning, her mother Sacnicte-Gita, began to put it off, and put it off, citing her mourning well past the traditional period of such.
Two years later, the mourning could not be extended any longer, and Dorji and Ashisa attempted to gently suggest it once again. By apparent unpleasant coincidence, however, now there was signs of interest in marrying Dorji from Nazanin-Afu, the very wealthy and prestigious Khan of the Omno Banner, and once again, it has not come to be.
They’ve considered eloping before, of course, and discussed it at length in secret moments they have shared, but where to go, with who? Ashisa would be branded a kidnapper, and the Satrap’s soldiers would surely pursue them.
From the second time onwards, the hand keeping them apart is that of Satrap Vipina-Shila. She convinced Sacnicte-Gita, and she even deniably recommended Dorji to Nazanin-Afu. She has no desire to see anyone who could claim her throne marry a charismatic young warrior with a band of loyal braves - everyone knows how that goes, she thinks. She was quite satisfied with her cunning, until a strange thing happened.
Not every doomed romance draws the attention of Lady Love, of course, but then, not every city in the world has one of her temples. In the low town of Surek, in its own walled complex, by the river, there stands her temple with its blue walls and embroidered drapes of indigo silk. Those drapes are themselves treasures, decorated with scenes of famous romances. Melisende-Ashisa crossed the garden of violets, roses and quince trees, and kneeling at the high old pearwood altar, offered incense, gold, silk and blood for the aid of the Lady.
The strange thing was - Lady Love answered. Before the sun had even set that day, a pearly mist had descended on Surek (much confusing everyone preparing to invade Saral Sar in the War of Defiance, of course). In the streets, people going to one place were suddenly finding themselves at the houses of old flames or their unspoken beloved, and every chance and coincidence conspires to bring people together. This is obviously terrible for both war and business. The interference of powerful spirits in everyday life and everyday weather, say the city’s secret Royalists to each other, is why the King has to throw anyone that consorts with them off the side of the world.
A servant of Lady Love has even arrived on a horse of air, to aid Ashisa and her lot, at the head a parade of dancing shadows winding through the fog-shrouded main-market. This is even worse - the Züüdkhan’s coveting of Surek is a matter of mythology, at this point. Well, Satrap Vipina-Shila’s primary tactic has always been to double down, and at this point, she’s considering tripling down. Surely Lady Love won’t bring some kind of terror down on the city if she keeps them apart any longer? Her guards will not let Ashisa approach the centre of town, no matter how many times she requests to politely. Eventually, the Züüdkhan, circling like a poisonous jellyfish, may counsel that it is time to force the matter.
If you can get Dorji and Ashisa their happy ending against the wishes of a Satrap and a Khan, Lady Love will exercise her immense influence over the spiritual courts, and give any Astrologers among you +1MD (so long as you aren’t a Star Astrologer).
That Forbidden Place, and a Demon
(The City of Alkham, in Northern Kelkora)
The Cast
Shekara-Yalyane: The peshwa of Alkham. She is known as a mighty warrior, an excellent archer, a great hunter, and a very successful raider of Zzargovi gentry. Dark skin, pale vitiligo, black hair in a heavy braid. Serious, refined, with a morbid sense of humour. Desires to return peace to her city, or failing that, to die gloriously.
Karkhul-Jargal: An adventurer and a Defiant ‘til death. Bald as an egg, covered in scars, very muscular. Suicidally brave, well-educated in forbidden matters, accidentally aligned in matters of spiritual politics. His band includes astrologers and assassins alike. Famous for a palm strike that’ll knock you out cold. Desires to depose the Sun King above literally everything else.
Vitislav-Isha: Alkham’s mightiest warrior, who happens to be a Knight of Flames. An orphan, his patronym is that of the knight who trained him in the ways of Amphiteir. Wild long black hair, shining armour, tower shield, jangling gold earrings. Deadly sword-arm. Charming, just, moral, generous, secretly a coward. Desires to never die.
Swati-Kshtija: An Iron Scribe of some training. She was trained by the sages of Chithra, a little village lying near the abandoned fortress of Dhurakarh, where the very history of Iron Scripture was made. Albino, with neatly-braided snow-white hair and burnt fingers. Curious, thoughtful, impatient. Desires to find an ancient text on the assassination of spirits supposedly concealed beneath Alkham.
Guru Khadne-Osuitok: A famous poet, teacher and sage, old and nearly blind. Extremely educated in many matters, but pointlessly cryptic to amuse himself, except when Alkham is in danger. Luckily(?), Alkham is in danger, so he’s going to be straight with you. Desires to unveil the mystery of God, which is kind of beyond the scope of this adventure.
The Soft Demon: A huge fucking monster. Older than the written word, only just a little younger than the spoken word. Intelligent, capable of language, but rarely deigns to speak. Gigantic round body, once fluffy, now matted and stinking. Heavy head, with blunt horns, a freaky face and tiny gleaming red eyes. Also, long floppy ears. Huge flat soft pawlike hands, combined with immense strength. Functionally immune to mundane weaponry. Desires for things to go back to the way they were a long time ago.
Among the high, snow-capped mountains, in the dry terraced valleys, there lies the high-walled city of Alkham, which is laid out like a maze and has no wide-open spaces. Down beneath the city are miles of catacombs, laid out in deeper and deeper layers. Everybody knows it, but none would dare descend below. Not even the peshwa of the city, despite her prowess, would willingly enter the depths - she’s brave, but she’s no fool.
Well, nobody until Karkhul-Jargal, notorious leader of bravos, poet-warriors, raiders, radicals and revolutionaries. A Defiant by nature, he opened up the deeper depths with lanterns and picks, seeking powers to turn against the Sun King. Did he find any?
Well, they found him dead at the last full moon. Like he’d been squeezed in the grasp of some gigantic python, neck turned the wrong way, and his legs smashed to jelly. His associates are missing or had recently fled the city, and they buried him hastily in the necropolis on Mt. Madhmasi, in a tomb filled with a life’s ill-gotten gains. Whatever trouble that Jargal brought, however, has outlived him.
Now, something is killing people that walk alone down the old tunnel-alleys at night, or pass through the peshwa’s great thorny garden in the middle of the city on a night when the moon is not full, or those who descend alone to the deep wells. The victims are squeezed like he was, squashed and strangled, blue with hypoxia, all their bones broken, their flesh mashed.
The long narrow markets are oddly quiet, the gates are shut, the roads are untravelled. The peshwa of the city, brave Shekara-Yalyane, is organising a hunt, to seek out the doer of these evils and destroy it. She has already equipped herself with her soldiers, her household guard, what remains of Jargal’s band, and the “heroes” Vitislav-Isha and Swati-Kshtija. Will you join her, too?
Even the street-corner poets and storytellers of Alkham have all been driven into hiding, and the high walls topped with flowering vines and thorny bunches resound with no ancient stories. Except those of their great master, leader and teacher, Guru Khadne-Osuitok, who, never fearing death, sits in his usual place by the front door of the peshwa’s palace, and tells anyone who asks him the tale of what bedevils the city.
The Soft Demon, the poet calls it, a somewhat mocking title. In a long lost age, the Kelkorans captured it Below and brought it Above. How did it come to be? When Grandmother was cold and alone, as a young woman, she went out and made many useful friends - by hand. One friend she made was this demon, who she made of soft tallow, grass, wool, fresh fat, clay, and a number of things. It was to cuddle her on cold nights in Exile, to be a great soft sweet-smelling living bed. A stuffed animal, in essence.
Back then, it did this, and it was happy. Now, it’s all raggedy and reeky, uncared for and filthy. It has turned sour, angry, and malicious, and hates that it has. When it tries to do what it was made for, and to softly embrace someone - a dark hatred and anger takes it over. Then it squeezes and squeezes them, crushes them, til their spine breaks and their eyes pop out and their arms bend the wrong way and their organs burst and their legs snap like dry twigs. Then it drops their body where it caught them, and flees, and hides, to cry.
