William Brasky: High-bard of Kin-Dalmur

Did you know pixies were people? Well not human people, but people like... elves... or something. I didn't now I feel bad about pulling off their wings and watching them squirm during my formative years at the university. Oh the days of youth! Recently during my research into the blight I managed to come into possession of a roster of a group of  blight warriors outside the Amini continent. Which is odd, before today I thought that the blight was a incident exclusive to Amini, now it appears our entire world is being attacked at the same time, from an unknown foe. This is worrying, and if there is hope to be put in anyone, it is not on the heroes I have been scrying on if anything that fool party of oxheaded Goliath, stinky Druid, Stupid Theif, Incompetent dragonborne and dumb dumb elf may end up destroying us all. I hope that we may find some aid in the other countries of Tarnzania...

Brasky was a court bard for the fairy kingdom of Kin-Dalmur,a glorious hidden capital deep in the fey, nestled beneath a great waterfall and at peace with it's surroundings, he spent his days adventuring through the fey with his troupe affectionally nicknamed Brasky's Bold, and his nights recounting his adventures to the court in a highly exaggerated epic ballads spanning hours at a time. While the some members of the Fey revel in their aloofness from the mundane world the Pixies and fairies of Kin-Dalmur were fascinated by it. The simplest mundane objects flabbergasted the Kin-dians and they would often display the grandeur of their glass and crystal cities to humans and dwarves, in exchange for simple things such as wagon wheels and beef jerky. By natural the pixies were incredibly generous and would often encourage their new mundane friends to stay and make their homes in the glorious city, and ultimately this would be their undoing.

Brasky returned to Kin-Dalmur on the cusp of evening, his high pitched laughter echoing through out the streets of his home. He and his weary group had spent the day galavanting through the Hidmark Glen, putting many kobolds to the sword in defense of the the grainlands. It had been an exhausting day, but Brasky was excited to preform, he had received word during his hunt that the queengaurd had found a small band of humans and dwarves wandering around one of the the fey portals, they were broken and bleeding, near starving, rambling with mad tales of the blight.. It would be a genuine pleasure to bring smiles to faces of people so in need of it.

“Auques” Brasky squeaked, “ Take my mount to the stables, I need to make myself presentable before I meet our guests.” And with that Brasky opened his gossamer wings and fluttered to his rooms.

Brasky splashed the cold water that flowed magically clean and fresh from a basin onto his face, exhuming the dirt and kobold blood of a hard day from his delicate features. As he gently dabbed his face dry with a towel he hummed a few bars of tonights epic under his breath as he stood in front of his mirror, concentrating on his chain armor, transforming it from blood soaked boiled leather and chain mail to silken cloth embroidered with the sigils of the kingdom, and the medal of office that showed his place as court bard. Staring into his mirror Brasky stopped to appreciate the splendor that was Brasky, standing a full nine inches tall, his blond hair laid disheveled on top of his head, his face and arms marked with the bright blue tattoos of a high bard. His lean frame was well strung with muscles, but he still retained his pixie sensibilities, thin and wiry, and humming with power. His wings stretched out behind him, thin translucent butterfly wings that shimmered like moonbeams. As he put on his feathered cap, Brasky noticed the unnatural stillness that permeated his rooms, usually the entire city was alive with sound, the constant buzz of city life and exotic fey animals kept a constant tempo, a heart beat that Brasky had grown so accustomed to that he had forgotten it existed at all. Rushing to the balcony that over looked the palace gardens, and part of the sprawling outdoor market, Brasky was greeted with a still market, fruits were left in their stands, and meat burned on open unattended pits.

Cautiously Brasky backed away from the balcony, and set his gilt inlayed lute in its stand, fluttering just above the floor to eliminate any noise, he reached for his sword strewn across his bed, His echoing longsword, usually used to magnify his voice across concert halls it still had a keen blade and when used properly it carried with it the force of thunder and the cries of the hundred thousand bards before him. He gripped the handle of the blade tentatively holding it with both hands in front of him, his small fingers flexing nervously, Truth be told he had never swung this blade before, revering it's antique status over its potential deadly nature, opting instead to cast his thundering voice through the sword, using the ancient blade as a powerful implement, and whatever fey beasts he couldn't fell through that method, his trusty wand, summoned from the ether at his whim took care of. Blasting foes left and right.

“Fey-fire!” whispered Brasky, his wand appeared, floating at hand level. Reaching out with one hand caused the weight of the sword to dip and wave as he pocketed his wand. “I may be no queen guard, but you may square a fight my friend” Cautiously floating down the abandoned halls, Brasky's mind began to wander to what had befallen his city, never in all his years had he ever seen the market abandoned mid day like that, and never had the halls rung so heavily with the silence of the tomb.

Suddenly a sound, a soft sliding moist sound reached Brasky's ears, a slithering across the glass and ivory floors. Ducking and weaving between the pillars leading into the main audience chamber Brasky attempted to find the source of the disturbance, but without leaving the vaulted shadows. Closer and closer he ventured to the barely open door to the Queen's audience chamber.

Peeking inside the door, Brasky betrayed his hidden position by retching and dropping his longsword onto the floor with an echoing boom. Inside the door was a sight that no one in the fey had ever seen before. Sitting cross legged in a circle on the floor, was a handful of mundane world denizens, or what had originally been these fey world interlopers. What remained now was a display of blackened flesh molding into disgusting array. The interlopers sat with their mouths wide open to the sky, and out of their mouths pulsed thick tendrils of black gore, melding together into a tree of decay centered around the throne of Kin-Dalmur, the tree itself was a mass of ensnared flesh, and brasky could see the faces of his kingdom. His queen, his Brasky's Bold companions, all ensnared in a pose of perpetual agony. Every few seconds one of the faces would open their blank eyes in a sudden rush of pain, their mouth opening in a silent scream, as their lips parted a dark embryo would slide out, sprouting wings and flying away before it hit the ground, flying out the high windows to spread it's sickness through out the fey.

Pulling his wand out of his pocket Brasky levitated his sword back to his hand and began a mad dash to the portal to the mundane world. He had to escape whatever had befell his countrymen. He had to warn the mundies, or maybe they had some weapon that could undo the damage that had been done in his kingdom. As he flew away he was quickly trailed by the flapping embryonic monstrosities. Spitting bile at them that scored the stone work and dissolved the glass. As he flew full force through portal to the mundane world a lucky beast managed a shot, tagging his wing, and slamming Brasky in the ground. His unconscious body skidded through the portal, outside their grasping mandibles and dark magics.

Waking up was a work of degrees for Brasky, small glimpses and fever dreams plagued him at every turn. Blurry faces stared down at him, and fed him foul tasting broth that he was far too weak to refuse. It was a long time before Brasky was able to sit up and fully take in his enviroment. He was in the back of a horse drawn cart, a smiling monk sitting next to him with a jug of water and a damp wash clothe.

“where... where am I human?” Brasky muttered, holding his head in one hand.

“Well my tiny winged friend, you are on the way to Aguirre, under the magnificent protection of our Lord King Westiel Martin the eleventh in line to bear his sacred name. We found you outside one of the portals to the fey, we had been hunting down a group of blight horde. Their trail ended at the portal, we assume they made it into the fey, but it we couldn't go farther, your condition was already critical, and the portal was choked with blight tendrils. We could've hacked our way through, given enough time, but it seemed that they already had gotten their sickness into your realm, and there was nothing we could do. It was more prudent to help you how we could, and move on to where we could do more good.”

“Thank you for your kindness mi'lord, but where is the rest of my kingdom? We were easy 40,000 strong last I heard. Surely I was not the only one you have found?”

The monk preformed admirably at keeping his smile from faltering, but there was a saddness to his eyes that he could not mask. “Alas friend, we found only you. If there were any survivors they left no tracks, and if they had left the same way you had, would they have left one of their own in such a manner?” The monk placed his hand on Brasky's shoulder steadying him. “ Rest now friend, there will be time for grief, and time to check for other portals, but the time now is for rest and dreams. It is completely possible your countrymen escaped through some other means, if they did, we have the finest trackers in the land. They will be found.”

Brasky laid down and closed his eyes, determined not to let his frustration and fears show to his new acquaintance.

As the weeks passed by Brasky regained his the majority of his former strength, only the hole in his wing where the blight monstrosity had boiled the thin transparent membrane with it's acidic projectile. While Brasky could fly for short bursts we definitely wouldn't be breaking any sound barriers any time soon. Udric, the smiling monk had provided him with salves and balms he swore helped his people come back from mild blight sickness, but he was no expert in Fey anatomy. The balms stung Brasky's nostrils, and left an odor of berries, that he found oddly effeminate at times.

Brasky soon endeared himself with the other members of the troupe, there were few things that a soldier loved more than a rousing tale, and Brasky had many of those. It wasn't long before the news of his “exploits” made their way to other caravans and when they made camp there was always a huge audience around the fires waiting to hear the next nights tales. Unfortunately the only fly in the ointment (not the berry balm, the metaphorical ointment) was that the delicate way that the Fairies would pronounce his name, like soft lilting breezes brushing through high grass, was completely lost on the thick tongued humans. Their mouths more accustomed to sounds like the barking of a gnoll. Udric suggested that he take on a more easily pronounced name, William the name of one of the knight kings of Eula's bygone age was the most popular by consensus of the troops. Adopting that as his mundie name, Brasky conscripted himself into the army, and was sworn to uphold his duty to this land as he would the Fey. Granted Brasky knows that should he find a way to return to the Fey, he may have to abandon his new vows for his old.

The Black Council and their enforcers. The Rerisen

As a curator of the our age and times, I feel that I would be failing at my duties if I forgot to mention the Black Council. The simple version, the one you could easily wrap your brain that is used to thinking in three puny dimensions around, is that the black council is a simple aping of the Eula College's Crystal Council. They didn't even bother changing the name that much, honestly I feel that since it's inception Kragrock has just gotten lazier and lazier, honestly with those people unless you sundered a screaming demon onto the shoulders of a twelve armed corpse golem they just don't give a damn. That is the most simple of definitions, and it actually serves a great injustice against the level of atrocity that is the sin of the Black Council. 

To fully understand this, I feel that I must explain a basic tenant of magics, This universe exists on a comparable exchange system, for every change no matter how small there must be an equal exchange at some level, when you wildly fling your sword around like the great simpletons that you are you expend energy, which in turn makes you tired. I'm sure even the "Greatest fighter academy graduate" could understand that concept if you took enough time and broke down some of the bigger words. Easy concept. Anyway, Magic in this universe works on the same equal exchange, when you see a wizard cast a spell, he is simply moving energy from one source to another. Fireballs? Power from a star. Telekinesis? Small amount of energy taken from the rotaion of the planet. All magic has this at the very core, It isn't the fault of any wizard that this looks so complex to the untrained and idiotic minds of this era. Kragspire is in every way shape and form the equal exchange of Eula's college. It is like the rediculous goliath Hardum-sau, that stupid circle thats half black and half white. whenever there is any rise of a glorious beacon like Eula, there will be the dregs of a spire like Kragrock.  

This being said, it becomes terrifying when you take the practices that differed in the creation of the two councils. The Eula school is a democratic system, in which after a life time of meditation, and working towards the betterment of wizarding kind, a wizard, or mage, will willingly give up his immortality and create a crystalline statue of himself, imbuing his essence into this crystal, and joining the ranks of great wizards so that they may continue to shape the future of wizardry in consensus for eons to come.  Whereas Kragrock is a completely different structure, at any given point in a Spire wizard's career he will make some incredibly dangerous enemies, and his rise to power will attract even more, the most nefarious of enemies generally strike without their victim even knowing their true face. If a wizard in kragrock is killed within the city, and his personal level of magic power and influence is above a class seven mage (which is frankly a moderate to low level in my opinion, myself Being a double purple alpha class mage) his essence is sucked forcibly into the black rock energy crystals that are everywhere in the city. These energy crystals all feed into the bowels of Kragrock, where the majority of the Black Council is housed. While the essence of the spire wizards have more ability to move around the city complex, and the council has crystal audience chambers set up in key places, the arena, the interrogation rooms, receiving rooms of state, than the Eula wizards who are in the Crystal chambers on the top of the Eula school, the process to suck in an unwilling spire wizard merges them imperfectly with the other essence. This warps them, turning them darker than they ever were in life, trying to communicate with the Black council on a good day is like having a psychic screaming match with a psychotic schizophrenic who's multiple personalities are all psychotic schizophrenics and all of their multiple personalities are psychotic schizophrenic and so on and so on. Whereas the Crystal Council keeps their essence, and personalities separate in impenetrable layers of un-scratchable crystal. 

It makes sense that the warped minds of the Black Council would create the warped version of the Sing-sword defenders. I warn you of these defenders, because short of any earth shattering event, and i mean earth shattering literally, the earth must literally be turned into universal dust to kill them off, you will have to deal with them future people. The are called the Rerisen. Another ridiculous and stupid name, that makes complete sense in the context that everyone in Kragrock spire is one hundred percent crazy pants. Only a true and evil crazy pants would think of the rerisen. I had nightmares for centuries after seeing the "science" behind one. Kragrock has no shortage of fanatics willing to die in the name of the city, of these people some are chosen to be a secret society of skilled assassins, trained in psionics, magics, and plain old stabbing. This society has a 100% death rate, and yet people still dive right into it, throwing their lives away for a dark and broken city. These idiots who manage to get themselves killed doing something particurally impressive or helpful for the black council are brought back to life as undead (hence the risen part) warriors, Black Council drones. They are resurrected with a particular black stone gem called a Reshanticra, it is basically thrust through the recently deceased heart, causing the energy to restart the heart for a time.

The intention of the Reshanticra is twofold, first it supplies the city with a completely expendable black ops task  force, and second the stone itself is absorbing the personality and mind of the host body it is driven into. Given enough time, and successful missions, the stone will create a magical back up of the host mind, and when the risen body collapses or blows apart or whatever the stone and essence is still intact, and it will return to the Black Council's holding rooms through inscribed transportation runes. This stone can then be thrust into any new corpse or victim, and the original host takes over, rising once again, Re-rising. This supplies the Black Council with an unstoppable and basically immortal army of deadly freaks with no fear of death or love of life. 

This is why they are so terrifying, and unstoppable. I have only ever had to face them once, and let me tell you, those stones can get through any barrier. Its how I lost my beloved Amberlyne, and I have dedicated decades trying to find ways to get her back, or how to destroy a stone, with no results. I may as well call myself Kevice the ever failing. 

Pray to whatever gods you believe in you never face one of these abominations... If you do face one, your prayers have failed, I recomend immediately making deals with whatever devils happen to be listening, it may help. I doubt it, but you never know.

The Nature of the Dhu-At Spire.

There are few places in the world where magic is prevalent, over ruling the "consistent laws of the universe" that you regular monkeys seem so enamored with. These are sections where the nature of causality have been worn thin. One such section is the Dhu-at Spire. These sections are held in the highest regard amongst wizards, because it is here that the greatest magics can be cast. They are also places to be feared, because while we might poke and prod in an attempt to garner as much magical power as possible, there are ...things, hungry things, on the other side, prodding and poking, exploring the membrane of dimensional magic for the slightest tear which they can venture through. That is why each of these spires are protected with one of the world's top wizards, and armed with booby traps attuned to the very life essence of the tower warden. So in case a terrible monstrosity composed primarily of tentacles, teeth, and terrifying genitals were to burst in my study right now, and not only manage to best me in battle (HA, unlikely) destroy my material body (which isn't really a big deal since after usurping Gawnthez's powers my essence will just create a new one given enough time) and then manage to destroy my life essence (or soul for those tome thumping idiot holy men) before it is able to escape, this putrid monster's victory would be cut drastically short as magical cylindium magnate charges would go off all over the tower, over loading the over abundant magical field and causing a decimating explosion that would eradicate everything within a 70 mile radius. Thousands will die of course, but thats just acceptable losses, really if you build a house, or a city, within explosion radius of a wizard you probably have death coming to you anyways. Regardless, this explosion will also happen on the other side of the "membrane" theoretically destroying any back up terrors that are trying to escape, or making them ungodly powerful beasts, this has never really been tested. It will also sear the membrane shut, and create a protective nega-bubble approximately 5 miles in diameter over the rift as it heals, this will give our dimensions wizards time to rebuild the spire, arm it, and attune it to the life force of my successor. Like anyone could replace KEVICE DUSKSTRIDER, Master of the deep ones, Collector of the 7 relics of Nashilnoa, Inventor of the self cleaning inter dimensional commode.

The history of Dhu-At is exactly as blood stained as you would expect it to be, however there are significantly less explosions than you would think, like all towers of this power magnitude it is constantly under siege, be it from demons, gnolls, shamans, or even one time a great elder green dragon by the name of Barzhou, whose bones are now the center piece of my mystical collection. These are all rather "traditional" attacks tho, and in the unlikely event of a wizards defeat the tower would not explode since there was no rift damage. Before the creation of the crystal council and the foundation of the Eula School of Magic the most common way of a wizard becoming warden of a spire is by plain ol' non magic non fancy murder, it is surprising how many of my colleagues forget to ward themselves against a dagger in the ribs. But not me! Not Kevice! My fancy anklet of Unstabs will protect me from any bladed weapon... Just you try it!

A History of Shamanism in Tarnzania

So today I repelled another attack of half men beasts, I assume sent from Kragrock Spire to retrieve certain books and... Illicit photosophorus crystals that I may have stolen from one of the high priestess' of She'lar the Goddess of the orgy pile. The books of course were in the library, the crystals however are in my bed side table... Regardless, in the aftermath of the battle I was repairing some of my damaged books when I came along McTwiddleshinns' book of "Forbidden Texts" While McTwiddleshinns has largely been discredited as a drunk and a fool his time among the shamans is of definite note, and he is one of the few who spent any time with the southern goblin pygmy tribes, Well, one of the few to ever  spend any time with them and not be eaten. Unfortunately when I happened across the same goblin tribes, I had to wipe them out... They were trying to eat my guides face... You just can't have that in a civilized culture. So now there really isn't anyone to check his references. Oh you bleeding hearts from the future, I can see you, Kevice how could you? Don't they have feelings? Booohooohooo, They were goblins! stack 5 of them on top of each other and they barely make one person! You know what else has feelings? Erdrich god minds from the dimensions beyond! And not a damn one of you complained when I defended us by murdering Guuurachhhh-Ifkkklyupupup and consuming his essence! Anyway, heres an excerpt from Mc Twiddleshinn's book. I hope you enjoy it you damn bleeding heart drum circle beating druid hippies.

A History of Shamanism in Tarnzania

“An excerpt from “Forbidden Texts: A Beginner’s Guide to Sorcery vol. 5” by Svarson McTwiddleshinns”,

Shamanism is type of magic that has been looked down upon by the “learned” mages of the various universities of our realm, and rather ironically so. The forces of nature are usually the first powers a fledgling mage learns to bend to his/her will, usually through basic fire conjury or illusion. But it only through understanding nature magic that a mage can become truly adept at his art, and to remain ignorant of its importance is perhaps the greatest sin a wizard can perform, with the exception of anything coming out of Kragrock these days.

It is the opinion of the author, and as such not entirely acknowledged by the colleges of Eula or Vesper, that shamanism originated in elven history, rather than among the goblins of the south. Surely the elves, with their deep connection to the elements and their oral traditions, fit the niche shamans reside in.

Based on written accounts on early tribes of elves, the shaman figure differed from the “leader” of the tribe, and could be seen as perhaps a religious person. The shaman was usually female, in keeping with the regularity of female deities. Often the keeper of stories, the shaman would be in charge of educating her people, and advising the tribal leader in matters regarding arcane, environmental, and in some cases, for war. In base elven, the word shaman means ‘one who knows the way’, in reference to the shaman often guiding the actions of the group.

With regards to matters arcane and healing, the shaman consulted the spirits of the elements to understand sickness and magic. In doing so, elves became the first pharmacologists, feeling through plants and trees the cures to dispel the ‘evil spirits’ from the infected body. Mysteries of nature, such as sudden storms or long droughts were investigated by the shamans, and revealed to be elementals. These natural guardians served the ‘Great Mother’ Chantea, and through her will set the cycle of the seasons. Through Chantea, the elves learned the ways of the seasons, which each terrible winter only heralded a soothing spring, and these early teachings shaped the way they viewed their world.

Then, a rift occurred between the elves and the descendents of the primal shamans. Naturally gifted with shamanistic abilities, these new offshoot of elves became known as shifters. Shifters have little status in elven society, in spite of their ancestry. Most elves maintain that shamans exist only to remind them of their primitive past, and many shifters have been forced into exile. These shifters have the ability to transform their bodies into various forms similar to animals, which is seen as an affront to elven sensibilities, who regard the wonders of nature as sacrosanct. Nonetheless, some elven communities still honor the old ways, and house wayward shifters in their homes. More often than not, shifters become druids or shamans, in order to understand and communicate via their supernatural connection to the natural world.

Meanwhile, below the surface of the Tarnzania, a slightly different variation of shamanism emerged. The hardy dwarves, who despite their rough countenance are actually rather contemplative, sought a way to control the ground that made up their home. The ability to scavenge the subterranean tunnels and defend against predators prompted a form of warrior shamans, who learned to tame beasts through a form of spirit transference. These bonds are also found in early elven myths, wherein shamans bound spirits of the dead to fetishes to control them. Several monasteries still stand where dwarves learn the mysteries of stone, and some say, still learn the ancient arts of stone-walking, in which a master can pass through solid stone as you and I walk to the kitchens. Stone-walking, as well as the ability to shape stone with the mind alone, are all feats discovered through the dwarf-clans’ shamans, and through their belief in Morradin, the lord of the earth.

The war-like goliaths of the mountains also learned the art of communing with the land, mostly through dwarven interference. The dwarves, in addition to teaching a common language, helped instruct the barbarians on religion as well, although it is interesting to note that the goliaths turned their eyes skyward for their respective deity in Selune, the goddess of the moon. The goliaths, already adept at finding game and water in the mountains, channeled the powers of nature into themselves, and in so doing became part-rock. The goliaths learned at great cost their mistake in tampering with forces they didn’t quite understand. However, the resilient goliath tribe came out of the cataclysm relatively unharmed, with the exception of rocky lithoderms dotting their skin, becoming living armor.

Even in the early civilizations of men, shamans were prevalent to unravel the primal mysteries of the world, usually incorrectly. Occupying the lands west of the great forests of the elves, human settlers learned the arts of medicine from the shamans of the Wispwoods. With a surprising ability to turn whatever power given into warfare, the humans were able to summon elemental creatures to combat other tribes. These battles between summoned creatures occur occasionally today, often to settle disputes among the more unruly villages on the plains. Thankfully, as the being who is reading this passage is obviously more intelligent than a common farmhand playing at magic, then he/she/it (?) would be wise enough to consult my book on the subject of summoning eldritch creatures, “Essential Elementals for the Undermage in Training: How to Bend the World Itself to Your Will”.

Swizzle Spitzwater: Origin of the Goblin Thief King

One of the most prolific newcomers on the Tarnzania political scene has been the Spitzwater Clan, a clan of shrewd Goblins that ignored that call to Kragrock Spire that many of their brethren followed. While the Kragrock Spire goblins were all merged into the Kragrock cheap labor pool, quickly becoming slaves for the more powerful human over lords of the city. The Spitzwater clan took advantage of the lack of goblins outside the city and quickly took over their territories, all under the watchful eye of their Thief King. The Spitzwater clan has become a staunch ally of the wizards of Eula in their war against Kragrock Spire, hoping to be able to liberate and then absorb the goblins that are in the city into the fold of clan adding back into their power.


What I have below is the notes and histories that I have on Swizzle Spitzwater and parts of his inner circle.  As well as the rise of the Spitzwater Clan in general.
Swizzle Spitzwater was a proud member of the Spitzwater goblin clan, until the day that a roving band of adventurers slaughtered his people in an effort to raid the temple that Swizzle’s people had guarded for eons or something, Swizzle had never payed much attention to the whole history of his people, instead he would show up to temple guard duty hold his pointy stick and look menacing until his shift supervisor left and then he would ditch his station at the alarm horn and  spend the rest of his guard shift sneaking through the various traps and dangers  that the temple held. Some might argue that because of Swizzle abandoning his post, that was the reason that his people were murdered so ruthlessly, and throuhly, ever the optimist, Swizzle left town remember that there had been 4 similar raids in the last 2 years, only half of them could be construed as his fault, and the goblins had always bounced back. While it was best that people thought he was dead he decided that it was time to travel the world, it quickly became apparent that even despite a Goblin’s good intentions ( or proclaimed good intentions) that he would not be welcomed in the world of people, thankfully skulking around the temple and dodging the attention of authority  figures had blessed Swizzle’s already sneaky and graceful nature with the experience necessary to steal enough food and money to survive, and eventually the joy of theft and the adrenaline of subterfuge outweighed the necessity of food and Swizzle began to take greater and greater risks, it was after a particularly successful night, in which swizzle had managed to break into a Halfling home and steal everything that wasn’t nailed down, some things that were nailed down, and the nails, without waking a single occupant, that he set down camp in the woods near a clearing, planning on burying his stash the next day. Upon waking Swizzle could barely open his eyes and his head felt foggy, trying to stand up, he realized that he was in a cage made for a much smaller animal ( a bird perhaps). He had been captured by the famed circus and traveling freak show of Don Pannuci, a merciless Halfling businessman who had scouts combing the country side looking for fresh talent and new oddities for his Halfling crowd.  Pannuci’s goblin juggler had come down with a sudden case of outspokenness and suffered a long fire related death, So Pannuci was in the market for a new one. Ever the showman Swizzle agreed with out thinking and blacked out with pain as Pannuci thrust a branding iron into his arm, marking him forever as circus property. As years passed Swizzle gained an excellent reputation for his slight of hand tricks, acrobatic amazements and flourishing personality among Pannuci’s patrons, unbeknownst to them, Swizzle was also instructed to slit and purses and grab any wallets to finance the circus’s growing coffers. As the years passed Swizzle plotted and waited, determined to bring down Pannuci’s fantasy circus land around his ears all while robbing him blind. When a large dark confused minotaur was brought in for feats of strength Swizzle immediately felt an inexplicable companionship with him, perhaps it was that opposites attract so  thoroughly, but it was at this time that swizzles plans finally began to be set into motion.
               

Late one night after an incredibly packed show swizzle picked his way into the freak tent and let loose the more unsavory beasts , and began hurling light lanterns at the several tents, causing Pannuci  and his men to panic, running about, trying to save their precious investment. Breaking into Pannuci’s wagon, Swizzle grabbed as much gold and affects as he could and hurried to release his brother in captivity, the minotaur. After escape, Swizzle was followed closely by Pannuci always staying one step in front of the diabolical halfling. It wasn't until years later that Swizzle was able to trick Pannuci into stepping foot inside what was an obvious goblin encampment where he was attacked and killed. Using his gifts of persuasion Swizzle began to lead these goblins on raids against human settlements and caravans, eventually becoming their war chief, even though he still prefered the title of Thief King. Eventually goblins began to flock to Swizzle's amazing clan, changing their way of life from a roving band, to a more settled group, and construction began on Twistee, the first free goblin capital. 

Swizzle is small for a goblin, maxing out height wise at 3 ft even, at the tips of his ears. His small stature and years of sneaking have made him the optimal theif and cutpurse, and sometimes unwilling assassian.  Despite his rough hard smoking and hard drinking exterior, Swizzle considers himself  a charming fellow with a heart of gold, despite what everyone else might say. Being of many words, few of substance, Swizzle will try to talk his way out of any fight before resorting to violence, and will run from almost any fight, especially with odds that are slightly not in his favor. Willing to bet anything except his life on any bet, from horse races to back alley dice games, Swizzle is a chronic gambler and desperate lady’s man. Though he is a social beacon, he only has one true confidant, in his minotaur companion, a friend ship that defies all the rules that Swizzle lives by, and the only person he’d ever stake his life on, no matter the odds. Incredibly racist against all elves, no real reason why, just really cannot stand the tall gorgeous bastards, probably due to his small size and grizzly looks.  Other companions are considered ruebs and suckers, and fair game for pranks, pick pocketing and general berating. He is the self proclaimed leader of any group, and is generally never ever ever in any real position of responsibility

The Crystaline World Experience: NOT FOR EULA COLLEGE EYES

One of the things that a wizard learns to cope with is regret, we all live long lives, far too long, and make many many bad decisions. What if I hadn't mixed those ingredients? What if I had gone to a different school of magic? What if I could have saved her? … ANYWAY. Where was I? Long lives, consequences... Oh yes, this leaves you with a lot of what if questions that keep you up at night. One night, after a particularly dangerous day in the nether roads, and a even more dangerous run in with a bottle of eon aged Elder Fire Wine I started development on a new experiment. One which I could never tell the guild about. I created my first crystalis with the help of a Helaq the fracture smith (a brilliant shardmind that I had met on one of my travels, and brought in to work on my more secretive projects). This first crystalis was the first of its kind, so let me explain what It is, a crystalis is a pocket universe that is housed within a crystal containment chamber, Thats right, I, KEVICE DUSKSTRIDER, tower warden of the Dhu-at Spire, created a universe and recreated life. I'm not saying that I am on par with the gods, but there are like 40 of them that gathered together and made reality and only one of me who has made (at current count) 6892 different universes. No big. This is not something that the College of Magics would smile on, either in Kragrock Spire or Eula, they think no man should have the power over an infinite universe. Wusses. No wizard tells Kevice what to do, just like how no neanderthal with a sword, or some slimy snake with a crossbow has any right to tell any wizard what to do. Its like a mouse telling a cat how to act, only the cat exists in every dimension, can summon fire, and could unravel the very fibers of the mouse, erasing it from existence with its UNHOLY KITTY MIND. I may have hit the Elder Wine again... I wish Helaq was still here, there was a crystaline intelligence bound to flawless carbon enforced rubyglass who knew how to drink!... I really wish that he hadn't been shattered by that wretched demon in the armory... Maybe I should make another crystalis...

I've digressed, each of these crystalis-es-es have a minature recreation of our universe, with only one or two minor changes made, it is a comfort to me to know that somewhere there is a Kevice who made all the right decisions. I have studied these worlds, and have taken copious notes on them. Just in case I ever get the ultimate powers and just decide to recreate all reality in my image... You know, Just 'cuz.

I just hope that nothing ever happens to me, without perfect conditions that I maintain these worlds would be destroyed, and infinite lives would be snuffed out in a flash. I ALSO hope that I am in fact not in a crystalis of ANOTHER Kevice who had the same idea that I had... Thats far too cerebral for even my MAGNIFICENT WIZARD BRAIN to comprehend, I'm sure that it just melted your poor mind, my apologies to whomever has to clean that up. 

The Darker side of the Nature of Magic

Another report from my journals abroad. Now, I would never ever admit to going to Kragrock spire, which is a hive of scum and villainy, because no self respecting Mage would ever make the journey to its rocky hell to revel in its decadent pleasures of science and the flesh, and flesh science, and flesh science magic, and then theres THE WHORES, I mean you want to talk about whores and gold, wait until you see the Kragrock pleasure pits, once you get past the suture marks, the four arms that some of the Madams have are... I mean... I've heard that they are... I mean... Here is my report on my findings. All gathered through second and third hand sources... I MEAN... through informants... Who are definitely not soldered together four armed geishas of intense evil and pleasure. They were like... goblins or something... Sure... Goblins. Goblins in the know, in the know about Kragrock Sprire. Who I met on the other side of the continent. 

A Brief Study of the free city of Kragrock Spire

Firstly, it should be noted that while Kragrock Spire remains a free city to the auspices of the enlightened peoples, and therefore isn’t recognized by the Monarchy for the reasons of representation and taxation, that nothing is really free there. Power over the lives of your fellow man, power over nature, power over life and undeath, usually come with a overtly ironic price tag, and only slightly shop-soiled.

Kick started by blightmages and necromancers ousted from Eula around the time of the human colonization, Kragrock was built as a refuge to fledgling practitioners of the darker arts. Fleeing into the wilds, the mages discovered a massive verdant jungle teeming with life, and by concentrating their awful will on the world, created the Kragrock Spire tower in an instant.

Bending the local flora and fauna to their ends, the blightmages began tampering with the natural order. Empowered by their dark machines, the mages made short work of the surrounding territory. It should be noted here, that if perhaps mages themselves weren’t such jealous and treacherous lot, then perhaps the story would have ended here. Unfortunately for the majority of the blightmages in attendance, this was not the case. After a single night of bloodshed and curses, one lone mage survived a servant of Vecna with a healthy aptitude for domination, the Dark Lady Mab Veinlash. In her first official act of office, she raised her former mutinous comrades back to life and fused them into a giant, cancerous abomination. In constant suffering, it is said that the monster still lurks in the various dungeons of Kragrock Spire.

Using the goblins native to the surrounding jungle, Mab created a network of trade routes to the outside world. A small town flourished, as the Dark Lady traded dark secrets and scientific marvels to the caravans for supplies and materials. Soon like-minded vagrants and necromancers ousted from their homelands began streaming into Kragrock Spire. Using the slave trade to supplement their experiments, many successful half-men and undead species emerged from the tepid jungle.

Then something unexpected occurred. While there had always been a following of religious fanatics trying to bring Mab and her cabal of necromancers to heel, never had they actually succeeded in bringing their gods personally to their side. Emboldened by a dimensional rift the rebels thought belonged to their god, the swarmed en masse. Rallying cries rang from the liberators of Kragrock Spire, until they realized that opening a dimensional gate is tricky business, and rather than summoning their war god, that they had actually summoned Shar herself. The goddess of the primordial void, it was sufficient to simply look at the assembled warriors before they began killing themselves in horribly graphic and imaginative ways. Then she simply winked out of existence, leaving the portal hanging wide open.

News reached Lady Veinlash, and soon dimensional tampering became a ready source of income to the budding city-state of Kragrock Spire. The slave trades and assassin’s guilds took vested interest, as the rise to power promised non-stop profitable opportunities. The wealthier mages built their estates closer to the tower, as symbols of affluence and position. Mab closed herself off in the tower, protected by fell magicks and powerful hexes. The gangs of half-men and goblins closed on each other, jockeying for positions as bodyguards and hedgemages. The remains of such clashes were often used in more medical experiments, and the morticians and torturers banded together to bring the dead to life to seek the mysteries of the dead and damned.

Interestingly enough, the quest for arcane knowledge often went back to the gods and goddesses of yore. Churches and mausoleums were built, most literally out of thin air and the prayers of their faithful. Spiteful deities descended on Kragrock Spire; Lovietor, the patroness of sadists and torturers; The King That Crawls, god of slavers; Vecna, the lord of undeath; Zehir, the patron of assassins and snakes; The Shadow, god of corruption, and even a small sect belong to Shar. The native goblins built shrines honoring their god-king Maglubiyet, ever waiting for the day they take back their homeland and expel the mages.

And so to this day, Kragrock Spire stands, with an ever-increasing desert surrounding the jungle center where the city was built, as the necromantic nature of the tower culls the life energies of the vegetation. Mages fight each other in the streets, assassins and slavers fight in the shadows, and the gods themselves are content to watch as their minions propagate whatever dark whims only they know. Mab Veinlash herself works alone in the tower, watching as the elements of the city come together, very much like explosive chemicals reacting to a catalyst. Her city, and her promises of freedom, became her personal experiment.  

Guardiain 4: The ancient technologies of the Heartstone

 When I was doing temple archeology in some of the old Dwarf ruins on the coast during my internship at Joh Nuhz and Son Archeology I found a small glowing crystal that I of course pocketed. I'm a wizard, they are archeologists, I beleive the pecking order of the universe is quite clear on this front. After working at it for centuries in my spare I was able to figure out what in the many leveled and interesting hells  this thing was; a detailed data drive of some mystical nature. For some reason it began screaming and exploded when I radiated it with about 47 Magithaums of bane magic. A shame. I could have erased whatever data was on it and used it as a spell book back up. A crying shame. For the sake of prosperity I had one of my own interns (Gar Dun? Jarzun? I have no idea. Honestly he probably wont survive the summer) record it down. I'll get around to reading it eventually.

Guardian 4 was born almost ten thousand years ago, what his heritage was before he entered the temple has been lost in the annuals of time, Guardian 4 was raised in traditional monk fashion in a far off temple where he was trained in the ways of peace, meditation, and punching people so hard that their faces came out the back of their heads. The guardian's peaceful monk commune surrounded a temple of a forgotten god, that was built over a natural rift to the shadowfell, the temple was initially designed to keep adventurers out and keep whatever dark energies that came from the shadowfell from getting out to the world, over time the rumors of the temple became more and more exaggerated and adventurers became more and more of a nuisance looking for powerful weapons or treasures that they believed to be hidden in the halls of the temple.

Generally the monks were enough of a deterrent to keep most would be pillagers out of the harmful dark energies that inhabited the temple, but every now and then a few would get through, generally these people were killed in the process of trying to escape from whatever just happened to be lurking through the sealed doors. One day a gnomish artificer Martaf managed to stagger broken and bleeding out of the dark temple doors after seeing his party decimated by what he called a moving wall of eyes and teeth. After his wounds were taken care of Martaf joined the order and lent his incredible intellect to making sure that no one suffered through what his friends had. One of Martaf's ideas was an incredibly risky but effective soul transference into a mechanization of his own design. This soul transfer would take the spirit of a trained monk and infuse it into a crystal known as a heart stone, this heartstone would be set in the breast of a man made of enchanted steel and mechanical parts, these new mechanical men would have increased strength and stamina and would never need to eat or sleep, and for all objective purposes they would become immortal guards inside the temple to stand against the darkness. The only problem with this procedure was that the monk's body was completely destroyed in the process, so the transfer was permanent.

The sect leader Hoganda asked for any volunteers to come forward, knowing full well they could never go back to what they were before. Guardian 4 was one of several men who stepped forward to be part of the process. Over time he and the other guardians fought back the darkness in the temple and managed to keep it at bay, but the years that passed the guardians by took their toll on the temple life, and eventually Martaf grew old and passed away, as all people do, but Martaf left no apprentice or notes, so the process to repair and make new guardians died with him. Over time the link between this world and the shadowfell grew weaker and weaker and the monsters that used to craw out were less and less frequency, until they one day stopped altogether, and the temple fell from legend and into history, but guardian 4 and his mechanical brothers and sisters stayed.

Years passed by and the temple fell into greater and greater disarray and the village outside began to slowly crumble apart as the last of the order passed away, centuries passed and the guardians fell slowly into a sleep mode never to restart, while others just stopped moving as the light faded from their chest and eyes. Guardian 4 preserved, guarding his duty day after day as the silence enveloped him completely. Guardian 4 has no idea how much time passed before he was awakened from his sleep mode by a rumbling deep in the mountain. Calling for the others to join him he rushed out to see the village of his childhood destroyed by the ravages of time. Turning around he saw the empty husks of the other guardians covered in dirt and cobwebs, and that is when the temple began to collapse, the rumbling under his feet opening up fissures and he fell into the abyss.

All Guardian 4 new was black, time had already lost all meaning for the mechanical man as he wandered through the subterranean maze of rock that used to be his mountain, his village, his temple and his duty. Eventually he hit a dead end and in frustration he lashed out and left a crater size hole, which started a smaller landslide that let light shine through. Pushing through the rumble Guardian 4 found himself in an unknown area surrounded by snow, his mountain paradise was gone, and even if it wasn't Guardian 4 couldn't pick his mountain out of the sky ridge that was off in the distance. So he sat down and began to wait, knowing the monk Teaching that the universe would show him the way. And he waited and waited and waited as winter left and spring came and still he sat, as flowers and weeds took hold in his joints, and the rain and the winds weathered his ancient metals, and the travelers on the roads began to think of him as a statue that had been placed there as some wayward shrine. Guardian 4 began to feel the dimness set in as he unmoving watched the world pass him by and he was sure that soon his crystal would stop its slow glow and hum and let him join the rest of his sect in whatever lay beyond, until one day while he kept his vigil a small human dressed in robes  stopped to rest his feet. The human set up camp next to Guardian 4 and began his ritual of prayer to his new god. While the cleric was deep in concentration a group of bandits began sneaking up on his location, knives drawn and clubs raised. As the guardian observed all this his crystal sprang back into life, its sing song hum of life bouncing around the valley, creaking and snapping Guardian 4 moved into action catching the first bandits club as it came mere inches from the clerics head, ripping it out of the shocked bandits hands. All the first bandit could do was open his mouth as Guardian 4's hand moved in a swift movement, with all the power and unstoppable force of a glacier. The burly highwayman didn't even have time to scream before the militaristic chop and ancient rusty steel took of his head spraying Guardian 4 with warm blood. Guardian 4's eyes glowed bright in the dark as he turned on the other untrained theives. When the cleric brought himself out of his meditation he was greeted with the site of a mechanical man covered in blood and eviscerate, and bodies surrounding his resting spot. Hurrying to gather his things he raced off, and Guardian 4 followed, not knowing what about this man had awaken him, but determined to follow the universe's signs. 

Grun "The Skytoucher" Ironband and a brief Eulian History

I have to admit, however reluctantly, that the visions of the fall of the majestic city of Eula took me completely by surprised, as a wizard you live for an exhausting long time, and you get used to certain things just being there. Eula was one of these such things. Built near the end of the second era it has been a consistent beacon of culture and magic for thousands of years, and was also the premiere military and economic power of Amini for centuries. The glory of Eula was two fold, first the area is a glorious area for trade and defense, It is placed directly in the middle of the only natural appendage between the twin continents of the Amini kingdom. That means that any trade that goes between north and south, has to pass through the city and a lot of that money would stay in the trade quarter of the city, and due to the canal that was cut through the center of the city any trade ships that want to cut their voyage time must travel through the city as well, this quickly made Eula a central hub. Second reason that Eula worked so well was because of the defensive capabilities of the city, not only is the city open on 4 sides, making it almost impossible for any single army to surround lay siege, any land based siege is going to starve as long as Eula has the seas available, and the logistics of having a coordinated fleet attack both sides of Eula from the sea is almost impossible, and even if the city was laid to siege by mortal weapons, and the wizard tower ,which is the last defense of any city, fell Eula was built by dwarves, originally, for dwarves, so there are miles and miles of tunnels underneath Eula many of them emptying out in satellite farms and villages designed to take in refugees if the city ever was to fall.

Enough of the simple logistics of a city, this isn't an architectural journal. No. This is a BOOK OF MAGICAL HISTORIES AND LEGENDS! So... the legend of Grun Ironband, Grun was the son of an semi influential, but very rich merchant, and like all golden trust fund dwarves he was unhappy with his lot in life. So Grun started making regular expeditions to the north, and had many wonderful and sexy adventures that I am not going to bother repeating here. Go read the “Big Grun Book of Grun” if you want those “adventures” (assuming that all copies haven't been destroyed in what I can only assume is a TERRIBLE DYSTOPIAN WASTELAND of Tarzania's future.) So after Grun was beset by a particularly violent tribe of bug bears pirates (I swear to the 73 ¼ divines of this plane and the others this is what is written) He and his crew washed up on the shore of the current Eula city site and managed to hold them off for 3 weeks (I suspect this has been ridiculously exaggerated, dwarves are notorious liars, debt mongers, and they cheat at cards.) Noticing that this was almost an impenetrable place to hold a fort, and because of his merchant background he saw the potential in becoming a trade route. When he got back to his home he instantly became enamored with building a trade capital, and was constantly laughed out of the dwarven builder council. It wasn't until his father died under mysterious dwarf drinking circumstances that he finally had the necessary start up capital to begin construction. Originally the city was just a dwarven city, which is basically a mole warden with a bunch of interlacing tunnels that all fed into a central underground market place, unfortunately because of Eula's lack of proximity to magical ore and over proximity to ocean water, the great forge that is usually seen in the center of ever dwarven city was impossible to construct, this put a major kink in the dwarven community and Grun quickly began to notice that the movement of dwarves into his new city began to slow into a trickle. Grun began to send out expeditions to neighboring cities offering a place to work and grow to all the races of the natural world. Once again he was laughed at, no self respecting human or elf would live in a hole in the ground on purpose. So Grun went back to his city, and now began to build up, and build high, and build majestic. He had the foresight to realize that dwarven stone work would not be enough to make this city the beauty that would attract the population he needed, so he brought in mythical Shardminds from the City of crystals (these shardminds would be brought back at least once more to aid the wizards in the creation of the crystal council chambers) the novelty of the shardminds brought the wizards, and the wizards decided to stay. The reasoning for that is another chapter all together, another chapter and another day. Needless to say Eula grew tall, and grew in beauty and influence. The height of the cities towers, especially the beauties in the Highblood Terrace section for the rich and affluent members of Eula nobility, earned Grun the nickname of Skytoucher, a name that was meant in jest, but he bore proudly. Grun was a funny kind of dwarf in a lot of ways.

Eula spread and became more and more sprawling, and the dwarves eventually became a minority in the city, and as they began to depart for more traditional dwarven venues the thieves guild began to take advantage of the sprawling tunnels as a way to bring in smuggled goods and people, and after the thieves got their hold in the assassins guild began to set up an arrangement working in tandem with the thieves. It was after Grun, in his old age and infirmity, protested the lax law enforcement that had grown to become accepted in Eula that he was found dead in his rooms, drowned in a cask of smuggled dwarven ale. This was a rather pointed warning, and in the power vacuum that Grun's death left in the ruling class of the city the Council of the seven came into existence, this council is composed of the top field leaders in Magic, Merchantile, Guards, Rural outreach (dirt farmers with delusions of grandeur in my opinion), Dwarf ambassadors, Nobility (almost always part of the assassins guild) and the Dock master (smugglers to be sure). I will include some of the genealogies of the current ruling class in a later chapter of course.

Little known fact; Eula actually means “vindication” in the deep tongue.

Goliaths: Wasting in the Wastes.

• My previous journal mentioned the  Goliaths of Tarnzania, and the origin of their species, i was going through my old nots from my traveling and adventuring days, before I became a Tower Warden and bound to these stones. The notes are sadly incomplete and sparse, I appeared to have misplaced some... In a fire. So here is what I have at the moment, as I find more notes I will of course supply them. Forgive me if these notes seem alien to you, not only am I not 100% sure if the goliaths will survive the oncoming blight, but I am also no expert in their strange language of grunts so, there may be some translation errors. Completely not my fault of course, if the goliath language was meant to be understood by intelligent creatures it wouldn't be the goliath language.
  I believe these are part of my notes concerning goliath culture and a bit of their history in the Goliath Wastes in the frozen north.
  
  
  Selune- The goddess of the moon and the heavens. Once every year in the North, the sun disappears and is replaced by the moon, at which time there is a great festival to honor the moon goddess. In keeping with goliath traditions, the religion propagates nomadic lifestyles, in which the goliaths constantly search for better hunting grounds and new sources of water. Secret tributaries and pools of water high in the mountains are often attributed to Selune’s blessings. Common goliath beliefs say that somewhere in the mountains is a bridge of stone that connects the world to the heavens, which further motivates their inquisitive nature.
  
  
  The Festival of the Moon- A celebration in honor of Selune, during which the Northern Mountains are without sunlight for 7-10 weeks at a time. During this time, the goliaths hold great hunts, and celebrate the mysteries of the moon goddess. During this time, elk are sacred, as Selune is said to take the form of a great silver doe to live among her people.
  
  
  Cultural hatred of duergar, the clan of dark dwarves living in the Underdark. Refer to duergar as the Defilers.
  The Great Civil War- There once was many clans of goliaths, all fighting for control of the Northern Mountains. Some fought over old grievances, some for religious reasons, most for resources, but all fought because their fathers and mothers fought and that was all they knew. Seeking to profit from the mineral rich lands that goliaths inhabited, the duergar employed subterfuge to keep the goliath tribes separated. Constantly pitting one clan against another, or by supplying both sides in secret, the duergar were able to mine in relative peace. Ultimately the duergar hit their prize when they discovered ancestral goliath burial caverns. Using the remains of dead goliaths, the duergar began utilizing dark magics to power their machines of war. When the goliath clans heard of this atrocity, they united under the banner of Skystone and fought against the duergar. The machines and superior arms of the duergar were outmatched by the goliaths’ numbers and fury, and all of their strongholds were reduced to rubble. This is how the tribes united and vowed to their honored dead to never be divided. The nine remaining chieftains who brought the tribes together were interred into the chamber of the dead, and sleep there to this day.
  
  
  When a goliath ages, their lithoderms turn slowly harder, until they become similar to diamond. The last act of these goliaths involves activating their Stoneskin, and becoming their own grave marker. This is the greatest honor of a goliath, and only those who have become cultural heroes can perform this act. It is said that you can look into their crystallized forms and see their heroic deeds reflected in the facets of the diamond.
  
  
  Although nomads in nature, goliaths set up temporary settlements following better hunting grounds and trade routes. These settlements are more numerous in the south, where goliaths habitually trade with the dwarven and human villages. Most of these interactions use bartering, as gold and silver have little real value in the wilderness.
  
  
  In the tundra regions, there exist villages carved from the icebergs on the Great Frozen Sea. These hardy goliaths are largely self-sufficient, hunting the giant beasts lurking below the ice. The homes themselves are comfortable, despite their appearance.

On the Dwarves of Tarnzania

On the races of Tarnzania

The different races that Tarnzania plays host to are as varied as the environments that play host to them, so for the sake of fair play I will try to give them all as much as time as I deem necessary. Today I will be talking about the Dwarfish varieties. An industrious and ancient race with an undeniable claim on the title of eldest race. The dwarves also have one of the most intriguing and distressing religious origin stories.

In the beginning there was Gar'uld (untranslatable into common I believe it refers either the planet, or perhaps some kind of life force?) and all was well. Gar'uld was content and sat in the inky black of space and basked in the light of stars. It is unknown how long Gar'uld floated through space, but it is believed that it either collided with another planet or another type of interstellar refuse ,But Gar'uld was deeply wounded by the accident, and went into a type of shock, releasing something similar to what we would consider antibodies to deal with the damages. These first antibodies were the titans, and they moved stone and stitched the continents together as best they could but after eons their work was done and finished, everything on the surface was as it should be, and they laid down, stopped being titans, and became the mountains instead ( it is interesting to note that this ties DIRECTLY into the goliath origin stories of being breed of mountains and titans) but the damage to Gar'uld went much much deeper than the titans could reach, so Gar'uld release a secondary set of antibodies, the first dwarves.

The first dwarves (as implied from all accounts and archealogical digs) where vaguely humanoid piles of stone and flesh that set about repairing the veins of the world, and in doing so created great subterranean cities to house them, over time the first dwarves began to change and evolve into the dwarves that we are all more familiar with, and with these physical changes there came a change to their mission, instead of fixing what was wrong with the planet, they begin to harvest and work with the materials that surrounded them, This is furthered by the major advances that the dwarves have in metallurgy, alchemy and the deep magics. There are rumors that there are still pockets of pure First dwarves the closer that you get to the core of Tarnzania (or Gar'uld, if you prefer) and many of the more noble dwarven clans can be said to trace their heritage back to the first of the first dwarves, this is unrealistic and incredibly unlikely since all evidence points to the first record or any dwarves happens around the 2^nd age, eons after the suspected birth of the first dwarves.

Dwarves are stocky creatures, generally being considered abnormally tall for their species at above four and a half feet in height. They are gifted stone smith and jewelers, and many a kingdom has paid richly for a dwarf on staff, as their nobility and amazing practical skill set makes them invaluable. The cliché of dwarves being beer swilling beard laden fools comes from two very different pieces of information, that I feel I am delegated to record so when IF those idiots from Eula fail, and our world is destroyed, one of our most noble races will not be seen as a caricature of what they are. First, the drinking, Dwarves are NOTORIOUS for their love of alcohol, and they are notorious for getting uproariously drunk when they visit topside. This is actually a simple scientific explanation, Dwarves brew beer that puts hair on the chest of every man, woman and child, simply because as deep down as their cities are the alcohol takes more and longer to affect then it would up on the surface, I am unclear on whether this is a natural, biological, or magical effect of the caves and dwarf anatomy, so dwarves spend their entire life drinking hard brew in an environment that, frankly, is not conducive to getting drunk at all, and then they come top side, and keep drinking what they brought with them (frankly who can blame them? Even the strongest Amini firewines taste like ogre piss if you have been drinking dwarven ale for any amount of time. Hells, once I sent a fortnight in a dwarven settlement drinking like the best of them, I spent the next three weeks after my return to the surface hunting for that sweet nectar, and once I could not find it, attempting to end my own immortal life, but I digress.) Where was I? So dwarves come to the surface and keep drinking their glorious brew, and it without the fortifying effects of their deep caves it goes straight to their heads, even the littlest bit can send a full grown warrior dwarf around the bend. Now, onto those hideous beards, Once again, one of the biggest dwarven cliches is a simple explanation based in logic and history, just like any dwarven problem really. Dwarves live deep underground, but are constantly surrounded by magma that pumps into their forges, and even the smallest dwarven settlements are positioned around volcanic vents that supply their smiths with the heat necessary for making their magic items. There are depressingly few volcanic vents on the surface, to a dwarf even the caustic Sunderlands have an undeniable chill to the air. So they grew beards to defend against the cold, and over time the dwarves who went topside went back below, with riches and tales of honor, and their beards, and they became a fashion item of the rich and famous and took off.

Another important piece of information, the dwarves are also the only race that have a steady and available supply of darkstone, which is the magical base for all items and weapons. This makes them an economic super power, but this supply had been running low previous to the introduction of the Godtrees, though there had been talk of the Deep King opening up other mines that would dig even lower in hopes of finding new veins. That of course was before the attacks, and the communications of the world all seemed to fall apart... 

There be dragons here

Sometimes, during my travels, I come across a tome of some remark. One of such tomes is Orgund Mesart's "Treatise on Dragons and their descendants: A companion for the races of the world." Here is a quote from one of the first chapters. 

"Despite being similar in their genetic makeup, dragons actually pity dragonborn for not being able to fly. Dragonborn look upon dragons as a relic from an era they evolved from.

Dragonborn have a drive that pushes them towards whatever goal they decide is worth the time. If a dragonborn decides to master the bastard sword they will use the same weapon until it falls apart from age. From a wizard’s viewpoint, it’s almost admirable. They will usually join an army or some form of clan due to their need to distance themselves from the solitary nature of their dragon ancestors.

Dragons enjoy a very different lifestyle. They test warriors by hoarding piles of gold and waiting for parties of adventurers to come find them only to be cooked in the blast of dragon fire. Dragons also conquer their foes with their powerful claws.

Now here is an interesting tidbit: dragon eggs are delicious. Because they are delicious, dragons will defend their eggs to the death, meaning most dragon eggs are rarely tasted. But giants have been able to halt a dragon long enough to snatch some eggs and eat them at their leisure.

Since giants tend to run the gamut of “stupid” to “ very stupid” they don’t realize that dragonborn eggs aren’t as large as dragon eggs, so they go for any eggs and destroy everything in the area, including the dragonborn villages. Because of that in combination with giants bragging about the taste of dragon eggs and dragonborn holding grudges like a pro, dragonborn tend to regard giants with anger and mistrust."

And there you go! A walking companion for the races that were of our world! I included a piece from another book solely because although my genius is mighty, I would not pretend to be the only compiler of knowledge of our age... Just the only one of note.

The Recognized Levels of Wizardry

First and foremost I feel that to fully understand Tarnzania, and the fate that will overtake it I must first detail thw driving force behind the world, Magic. To put it modestly as a MASTER OF ALL THE MAGICAL ENERGIES, magic is the very foundry that everything is built on, Look down at this book.  Here by magic.  Your hands? Magic. Even the lights that allow you to read this tome. MAGIC. This is all very basic, and assuming that you were able to bypass my sorcerous entrapments to get your hands on this information I can probably venture that you don't need a mystical learners guide. This shouldn't be your first magical introduction, if it is you should probably read another tome, May I recommend the "Buffoon's Guide to Crossbowery"? If you have full use of at least one finger it should be more your speed.

And that brings me to the Sanctioned Eula School of Magic classes of magics.

At the height of the Eula School there were seven officially recognized levels of wizardry

The Crystal Council
Auxiliary Pundits
Professors
Swordsingers
Undermages
Hedgewizards
BaneMagi

The Crystal Council is the goal of all wizards, After a wizard has worked long and hard for ages upon ages, and has completed many great tasks and he is fortunate enough he is allowed into the wizarding sanctum, where his consciousness is preserved for all eternity in a shell of living crystal. This council has been the ruling authority on the path that magic has taken for eons ever since Marthsege The Unsullied had hewn the first crystal and laid the first brick for the Eula School. It is almost impossible to get into the crystal council now, especially since it was destroyed during the fall of Eula.

Auxilliary Pundits are professors who after their tenure in the Eula School of Magic are granted a specific task by the Crystal Council, this task can be anything from discovering a new spell, researching any recently discovered artifacts, or even helping guide nations in the best interests of the Academy. I personally have been a Auxillary pundit for several centuries, working on everything from the creation of the far reach portals to my new project, the cultivation of the under dark's god seed into a harvestable  fruiting tree for the sake of potions.

Wizards are the traditional magic weilders of Amini, picked up at birth and spirited away to the academy where they spend the first part of their life under severe training, Wizards tend to be secretive and lone wolves, usually binding themselves with singswords they meet during their studies instead of other wizards. It is because of this natural mistrust that the wizard academy exsists at all, originally there were near constant magical wars between the wizarding schools, and individual wizards themselves. The school was designed as a tenative truce, built in a highly populated military center the wizards put themselves in a place where they could potentially be governed by non magical people, and at the same time set up a governing body of the 9 highest accomplished wizards of the time, at any time there are 3 of the 9 wizards at the academy, where they teach for 6 months to a year before cycling out and heading back to their own towers to continue their own research. This gives the students the ability to learn from the masters personally and then serves to get the masters away from their research and under scrutiny of the other masters. After a wizard proves himself he is granted his staff or wand, and then he generally leaves to adventure up and down the world, or use magic to create their own towers and start up their own research, that is why there are many wizard towers spotting the country, most are hidden and shielded so regular people don't just walk into them. Each wizard tower is connected to the main school by a teleportation/scrying orb called the far reach portals,  in case of emergencies that require all the wizards to be at the main school quickly. There are wizards that concentrate on all mediums and elements, and even necromatic magic isn't nessecarily frowned apon, since in amini it generally is the other side of life magic. But necrotic magic will be called blight magic in this campaign, which is a dangerous and unstable magic that can rip open the fey and bring it into Amini.

Sword Singers are the official wizard body guards, they are wizards in the loosest sense of the word, while they have the raw energy of the arcane in their blood Usually Singswords have an enchanted item on them that they need to use as a catalyst otherwise they cannot use magic at all. Often time Swordsingers are descendants of wizards far along their family tree or they are born around magical battle sites where the magic has seeped into the ground.  Regardless of how they got the magical residue in their blood Swordsingers have no control over the magic, and often times cannot even trigger it without years of practice.Taken from their families as soon as they are discovered to have any mystic aptitude they are brought to the Academy and trained to be a fighting force for the protection of real wizards. After their graduation they are bound to a specific wizard or pundit and sent off with them into the world, prepared to defend them at all costs. You can often tell the level of a wizard's importance by the number of Swordsinger at his disposal.

Undermages are students of the arcane, and have not yet been fully inducted into either a teaching capacity, defense or research roll, and as such have not been granted the secrets of agelessness that comes with a full wizard title.

 Hedgewizards: this includes shamans and medicine men, and holistic healers, basically anyone who has magical talent in a great enough extent to be able to perform magical spells, sometimes on an incredibly destructive or talented scale, but somehow managed to sneak under the Academy's attentions, either by hiding, since a lot of people fear the wizard guild for being too much power in too few hands or by being so far out of the way that the Wizards literally cannot scry to see them.

Banemagi are wizards who for some reason or another could not handle the rules and applications of the Academy and were either asked to leave or left to start their own non sanctioned towers, since these wizards are not supported by the Academy they are named rogue and if not killed on sight, generally hunted, which is perhaps why many of them have fled to the safety Kragrock Spire, the antithesis of the Eula school. 

Kevice Journal #1

Greetings scholar,

My name is Kevice Duskstrider, son of Sevrix Dawnsrider, tower warden of the Dhu-at Spire, usurper of Gawnthez the Immortal's power, and last known survivor of the Wizarding College of Eula. As our way of life, and the very planet of Tarnzania is at risk of utter destruction through conflict with the Underdark dimensions I feel that it is my responsibility as quite possibly the only surviving great mind of our or any time, to record the histories and cultures of Tarzania so that any future generations (Assuming there ARE any future generations) can have a record of our world and (i use this term grudgingly) our heroes. Enclosed in the following pages is all I could gather, by magical or traditional means. I hope that my words are a benefit in the inevitable dystopian wasteland of our world.

                                                         -Kevice Duskstrider