Interview with Felix Sundown (Part 2)

Edited by Cassey Toi

Hello again!

Finally, we  have time to sit down and discuss Loaerth & Feywyrd again. What a pleasure! I’m glad to see you again, and this time around lets chat some more about the Fey. Some of you had some questions, and hopefully we’ll get them answered.

Who are the Fey you ask? Well, for one, feytrolls aren’t all of them. There is fey blood running through the veins of creatures other than my own kind. Our brothers and sisters in magic, whose very flesh is made or tainted with the stuff of the Feywyrd, include elves, hodolu faerys, giants, myrmidons and many others which I have not even had the chance to meet.

Some, like the elves, were in the World since the dawning of history, they are not true natives of the World. Looking back eons, myth speaks of the elves fleeing from another world into our own. They fled, as an entire race, from things so dark and unspeakable that the names were eventually either lost or stricken from their history. They stayed and made a home here. It’s also thought that the elves brought my people, the feytrolls, with them as servants, watchers, and scholars. And, they brought with them Magic.

The humans at the time were probably living as tribal nomads, or in rudimentary villages when Magic was first taught to them. The World’s primitive dwarf and troll peoples are believed to have been unable to learn its secrets or refused it at the outset. Nonetheless, the humans learned about magic from these elven newcomers and, within a few generations, boasted formidable sorcerers and ritualists in their own right. Eventually, the dwarves and trollkind also fostered traditions of Magic that were unique to each of their racial heritages.

In time, the elves prospered and eventually became the dominant race of the world. They eventually built vast civilizations on the backs of trolls and dwarves. Humans, for the most part, escaped this fate and were able to live in relative peace with their elven counterparts. But only the men and women of Loaerth managed to carve out an independent existence. These people, and perhaps a few more in other pockets of the World, escaped subjugation at the hands of the elves through careful negotiation and strong military might.

What is Loaerth? Just look out the window! Loaerth is a coastal city state that sits on the edge of the Degra Sea. Loaerth has a long, and deep rooted, history of independence. It’s a city of merchants and scholars, soldiers and sailors, artists and thieves. Loaerth is a flickering light, struggling to stay lit even as the winds of change try to blow it out. It is and has been the center of the world for five centuries, ever since the Helfay left the world a vacant place. All the non-Fey, the races of Man, have grown to call Loaerth home. They have also ventured far out into the wild to explore the empty frontier – empty because there are whole cities that were suddenly devoid of anyone living there after the Helfay.

What are the people of Loaerth like? Considering you are no doubt new here, I’ll take a bit more care in answering that. Well, for one, the humans of Loaerth for the most part keep to traditional, plain dress. All too often you will see a man or woman dressed decidedly boorishly, only to be sporting the latest clockwork or coal-work gizmo, bauble, or trinket. “The more it whirls, the more it twirls.” they say. I’m still not sure what in the gods name that means, but you’ll hear them say it all the time

The dwarves of Loaerth are staunchy folk. Quick to anger, but dependable. Clever too. Most of the new gizmos and “wonders of the world” that have been made in the last century or so were invented by dwarven machinists. As you would expect, most dwarves love to drink ale and eat hearty meals that would send many a grown man to a physician. The interesting thing about dwarves is the way they live. Their homes are dense, I mean 10 to 20 families to a house. They prefer these deep basements where they all lay about in tight quarters. I’ve heard them say it makes them feel “safe” while they sleep. Baths? Forget about it. They do take dust baths in the summer, but I have yet to see a dwarf with a bar of soap. Not that they are averse to water, but soap for some reason is taboo.

The trolls of Loaerth are few and far between. Most trollkind moved out of the city a century or so ago after a great fire burned the Troll Ghetto to the ground. They have a few scattered communities , so I’ve heard, hidden away in valleys rarely traveled by city folk. They are more commonly seen along the frontier. Trolls are a quiet, thoughtful folk. Slow to anger and gentle with their hands, even for their great size. You will often see trolls in the employ of merchants looking to travel, or in the company of explorers venturing out to the frontier in the hopes of finding lost riches. Trolls, unlike dwarves, have a unique language that has never gone out of use. It is said that they do not write down their own history, but that it is part of their language so by using trollspeak, “Gua’Fig Na”, they are keeping their history alive as well.

There’s so much more to tell. I’m just at a lost on where to start or to continue from. What else would you like to know? Please ask me anything! Leave a comment after this interview is done, or send me question via tweeting birds.

Until next time, I’ll leave you with a common nighttime blessing for children:

“May the gods wrap me in copper and coal.
Protect me from harm, and heat my soul.
May my dreams spark the light keeps hodolu away,
and may I wake with my heart free from the Fey”
– Blessing For a Child’s Night

Changing Directives

Written by Matt Cicci

Sentinel Five hunkered low, remaining hidden from the view of the men surrounding the campsite. This act of stealth was an impressive feat considering the figure’s tall, metal frame. Unmoving and unbreathing, Sentinel Five had sat still behind a thick bush of gooseberries for approximately three hours. The only evidence of the steel warrior’s presence was a faint whirring noise, the sound of the crimson-tinted lenses that served as eyes readjusting to the dimming light of evening. Through the ever-focusing gaze, he, the sentinel had only recently adopted the pronoun, had spent silent hours studying a quintet of dwarves carouse around a roaring flame.

Seeing the sturdy folk, axes and hammers at their sides and a bottle of whiskey being passed around, reminded Sentinel Five of his father, Rendersson Forgegrinder. Though Rendersson rarely drank in the fashion these dwarves were, the mere physical qualities, the stoutness, the beards, the deep voices all reeked of his creator. For a scant moment, Sentinel Five envisioned Rendersson, wrench clutched in hand, oil smearing his stone-hued skin. He knew his father had fled his own kind, but was also aware of the fleshed races capacity for emotion and sympathy . . . would Rendersson be capable of killing members of his own race?

The question quickly left Sentinel Five’s mind. It was a thought of purely inconsequential matter. Even if his father could not, he had constructed his children with the capability to do so. He watched one of the dwarves fall backwards clutching his sides in laughter, and realized now was the time to put that capability into action.

Sentinel Five strode through the sparse woods, his heavy frame carefully snaking through branch and brush. His objective became clearer with each measured footstep; these dwarves had mentioned the Hidden Vale, therefore they must be eliminated. A blade sprung from his right arm, ushered in by the sound of grating metal.

He was five paces from entering the ring of campfire light, four paces, three paces . . .

A quick blur of motion sent Sentinel Five ducking forward and down; he heard the thrown hammer thud solidly against a nearby tree. He was not surprised by the suddenness of the dwarves’ perception and action, he knew from previous encounters, and from the military history books he had read, that the stout race valued combat prowess. Still, Sentinel Five allowed himself a split-second of hollow disappointment before sprinting towards the dwarven encampment.

Sentinel Five broke into the orange light of the campfire only to see dwarves with brandished weapons and eyes already clear of the night’s drunken glaze. They shouted tactical commands in their thick, consonant-heavy tongue. Sentinel Five spoke the language fluently; however, he refused to register the dwarves’ baritone chatter, his thoughts instead focusing on his own strategy.

He sprinted towards his most visible foe — a young dwarf with a wild blond beard — with his sword arm held high and leading the way. His blade came down in a heavy cleave, but rang hard off the hilt of the dwarf’s battle axe. Sentinel Five was prepared for this, his automated reflexes were already responding as his brain whirred through myriad maneuvers and strategies. His foot was kicking out before the dwarven warrior even had a chance to smile at his defensive success. Sentinel’s steel heel landed solidly in the chest of the axe-bearer causing him to roll backwards with a pained exhalation of breath.

“By the forge! He’s made of metal,” one of the other dwarves remarked.

Sentinel Five did not offer a verbal reply, but did spin towards the speaker.

The dwarf, a pot-bellied old warrior, was flanked by two of his brethren, one who spat out a thick wad of tobacco through gold-plated teeth. “I guess that just means, we’ll get to melt down your bones when were done, eh?” He nodded slightly to his compatriots , who began to fan out in a tactical approach Sentinel Five realized was designed to cut off any angle of retreat.

Sentinel Five realized their tactics were in error immediately; retreat was not an option for him.

The metal soldier charged towards the fat dwarf, an action that forced the flanking dwarves hands and pulled them towards him with the hopes of collapsing his flank. Seeing their thick hammers rising for a synchronized strike, Sentinel Five swept his sword-arm low and horizontally across his path. The sword swipe was so sudden, yet so strong and fluid, the dwarven warriors immediately dropped the heads of their hammers to block the vicious cut. The moment the dwarf to Sentinel’s left lowered his hammer, the steel soldier raised his free hand level with his foe’s face. A spring-loaded dagger jumped from his wrist and sank into the dwarf’s skull.

A gout of blood sprayed upwards and out, barely preceding an inhuman and high-pitched wail of pain. The dwarf fell backwards clutching at the dagger buried hilt-deep in his eye socket; his movements, spasmodic and weak, were quickly recognized by the arrayed combatants as death throes.

To their credit, and as Sentinel Five had predicted, the dying dwarf’s companions pressed on, their faces etched with a clearer hatred and a battle-hardened determination. The pot-bellied dwarf raised his shield and barreled forward; despite his girth, he moved quickly and efficiently, leaving the metal warrior no hopes of avoiding the rush.

With a resounding crack and the splintering of wood, Sentinel Five was driven backwards by the heavy dwarf’s pumping legs and great weight. It was all he could do to maintain his balance as the dwarf continued to press. Still from the corner of his eye, he noticed the blond dwarf he’d kicked earlier standing up and preparing to rejoin the battle.

The remaining dwarf, the older, craggly faced man with gold plated teeth, followed in after the shieldbearer. He brought his hammer downwards with an overhand swing. The crushing chop came up short as a series of swift jabbing parries from the harried steel warrior kept the blow at bay; the gold-toothed dwarf cursed loudly and spat a dark stain of juice on the sentinel’s metal exterior.

Sentinel Five was acutely aware of the battle’s rising threat. While it was true one dwarf lay dying, another was returning to the fray, one was pinning him backwards with heavy wooden shield, and the other was taking advantage of that distraction. Assessing the threats and running impossibly quick strategies through his mind, Sentinel Five formulated the most efficient plan to ending the menace.

He bent his knees and leaned forward in an impressive display of strength that stopped the pushing dwarf stone cold. Following through on his sudden use of applied force, Sentinel Five drove his free hand forward in a fist. The steel gauntlet crashed through the shield and connected with bone-breaking force into the dwarf’s jaw. Accepting inevitable retaliation from the gold-toothed dwarf, he swung his sword-arm from its defensive riposte into a cutting arc that cleanly severed the now shieldless dwarf’s head from its shoulders.

Before his latest victim’s head had even touched the earth, Sentinel Five was driven to his knees by a wicked hammer swing that rang into his back with enough force to break stone. Unable to twist himself into a guard, Sentinel Five braced for another impact, one that came as the gold-toothed dwarf dropped the hilt of his hammer into the sentinel’s metal face.

Sentinel Five’s vision splintered into plethora of fractured images; one of his lenses had been cracked from the heavy handed smash that had also sent him spinning to the ground. Above him, Sentinel Five saw a number of gold-toothed images standing with a thunder cloud of hammers waiting to rain downwards.

“Gods-be-damned machine. If ye have a soul, may it burn in hell!” The dwarf brought his hammer down in an arc on course to crush the sentinel’s face.

With clockwork precision and speed, Sentinel Five shut off the damaged eye, bringing his hammer-swinging enemy into sudden, crystalline view. He shot his sword-arm up and inside the arc of the dwarf’s swing; the blade cut tendon and muscle. The vicious wound stole the strength of the hammer swing and the head of the weapon bounced off Sentinel Five’s skin with only a faint force and a dull, weak thud.

He kicked out, sending the dwarf backwards and down. Instead of rising to his feet, Sentinel Five rotated his head around and backwards. The sentinel’s awkward, inhuman motion gave the blond dwarf who’d been sneaking in from that angle pause. Sentinel Five took advantage by raising his free arm and letting fly the remaining four daggers loaded there. Sentinel Five had risen and turned back towards the campfire before the dwarf even fell.

“By all the fires that light the forges of the Great Hall, that was impressive.”

Sentinel Five realized the voice belonged to the fifth dwarf, the one who’d remained out of the fight. He turned towards the figure who stood on the other side of the fire from him. The dwarf was skinnier than most, with a long single-braided, red beard that swept the earth with its length. He was also unarmored and unarmed, wearing little more than a brown cloak and travel-worn breeches. Sentinel Five began formulating plans to deal with spellcasters.

“You must be the one sent out from the Hidden Vale.” The skinny dwarf ran a hand backwards through his scraggly red hair. “How long have you been . . .”

Sentinel Five jumped forward, clearing the fifteen feet and the fire in a single bound. His great weight came crashing down on the dwarf, his sword-arm twisting free to deliver a killing blow. Instead, surprisingly as he landed a sudden jolt of electricity welled up from his felled foe and blasted him upwards and back. He landed hard, his arms and legs twitching.

Sentinel Five lay motionless for what he realized to be a dangerously long few seconds. Only the whimpering of the gold-toothed dwarf with the wounded arm, and the heavy, pained breathing of the spellcaster alleviated his concerns. The dwarves seemed to be in equally bad shape and unable to capitalize on his sudden lack of mobility.

Sentinel Five’s one functioning eye focused on the swirl of stars lighting the sky above the forest’s sparse canopy, and wondered if, as fleshed races sometimes believed, his father was looking down on him from above. If he failed to gain his feet first and was killed, would his father be disappointed in his failings? When his father died, would he join Sentinel Five in some form of afterlife? Was afterlife even an option? Did it even exist?

Sentinel Five realized that these were inconsequential thoughts; he felt his legs regain movement while the sounds of incapacitation still emanated from his foes. He stood and raised his blade; the spellcaster was the main threat. He strode forward with steps still uneven from the electrical blast and poised his sword for a quick kill.

The dwarf lay there watching the sentinel approach with a slight smile on his face. He lifted his arm. Where flesh should have been, a thin steel skeleton, full of the same bolts and connectors as the sentinel’s arm, existed. “Sentinel Five, I presume? I’m Vanfried Forgegrinder, son of Rendersson.”

Sentinel Five paused, sword still held high and deadly. The firelight danced and flickered along its edge impatiently, as if unable to stand still with blood so close at hand. “You are my father’s son?”

Vanfried chuckled. “Your father? I suppose so; it seems as if we are brothers.” Vanfried propped himself up on his automated arm. “Regardless of relations, Five, we need to get back to the vale.”

Changing Directives by Nevermet Press is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License. Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://www.nevermetpress.com/contact.

Azania Toysmith, Dwarven Clockworker

Written by: Sean Holland
Edited by: Cassey Toi

Don’t wind it too tight, you’ll break the spring.

Background

The Toysmith family has been associated with clockworking, gearsmithing and golem making for generations, but they primarily stick to working in the Dwarven freeholds. Azania, a talented student, quickly moved from apprentice to journeyman. Her talents lay in creating more delicate toys and flights of fancy, things not usually found among dwarves, but immensely popular with other races. After much discussion, it was decided to send Azania to work outside the freeholds where her talents could bloom.

Working at a market Azania found a book referencing Forgegrinder’s works. Curious, she wrote to her family for more information, they passed on little information other than a family connection; Forgegrinder was her grand-uncle. This only made her more curious as his early work on toy soldiers and clockwork dragons excited her. Wherever she travels, she looks for early examples of his works and design notes for them. She has not missed the fact that information on his later work has been removed from the public eye, but she assumes it is the usual actions of those who wish to use the designs for war, some thing she has no interest in.

Description

Azania is slender a dwarf, which distress her, she would like to be a bit more solid. She wears her waist length black hair pinned up, usually in a bun. Her eyes are a pure sapphire blue. Her hands bear testament to her work, there are a multitude of small scars on them. She prefers practical clothing with lots of pockets, but will dress according to the local fashion when required to attend a social function.

Azania is not your typical dwarf, as well as being a skilled craftswoman she is an excellent salesperson. Open and cheerful, she loves to demonstrate the toys she builds and enjoys the challenge of building new ones to the specifications of buyers.

She is an innovative inventor and very curious about anything to do with clockwork, gears and other complex mechanisms -magical and mundane. This often leads to her talking about and debating the best ways to build things for hours.

What Can She Do?

If you want a toy or fancy made of clockwork, there is no finer craftswoman. She prefers working with metals and semiprecious stones, but she can make a gem-encrusted gold songbird – that sings when struck by the first ray of the sun – with the best of them. When not working on commissioned work, Azania likes to build simple toys like soldiers and horses from tin and scrap metal. She has a small amount of magical talent which she uses to enhance her craft work.

Azania’s mastery of clockwork, gears and toy design has, inadvertently, created an expertise in locks and traps. Others may realize this, but she will not, until she is put into a situation that requires the use of those skills.

Who Might Know Her and Why

Azania usually sells to the upper levels of society, those who can afford her most exotic and beautiful toys. Anyone of that group may have seen her work , received or bought something of hers as a gift.

Members of a clockworking or toymaking guild would certainly know of her and her work. Just as any dwarf in the area is likely to know of her by reputation at the very least. Dwarven culture dictates that the local dwarves keep an eye on her and protect her if needed.

Azania is constantly on the lookout for interesting toys and trinkets to incorporate into her creations. Merchants who sell those items are likely to know and at times do business with her.

Plot Hooks

• Azania’s existence and line of questioning has put Sentinel 5 in a position it does not know how to resolve. Her inquiries into what became of Forgegrinder may, potentially, lead her to find and try to and locate the Hidden Vale. It senses that Azania embodies the purity of what its maker wanted from life, to make things that made people’s lives better. Sentinel 5 seeks to deny Azania access to information that could lead her to the Vale, but it has managed -so far- to avoid acting directly against her, a situation it wants to avoid.Azania hires the characters to track down some of her grand-uncle’s early notebooks, putting them on the fast track to conflict with Sentinel 5. Which, while it trusts Azania’s motives it does not trust what others may learn and can act again them with impunity. Sentinel 5 does not wish to reveal itself, so it will lay traps for the party, such as herding wild animals into attacking them and so forth. It feels compelled to avoid showing itself to anyone who might report on its existence back to Azania.
• Worried that Azania may decide to try and locate her grand-uncle’s resting place at some point, Sentinel 5 decides to drive her far away from the Vale. It does this by economic warfare. It starts killing her patrons and customers. Azania notices the pattern before anyone else does and hires the characters to protect her patrons, though she does not know from what or why.
• A damaged Sentinel 5 approaches Azania, one of the few people who could repair it. She would take pity on such a being and repair it. Upon learning of the true nature of Sentinel 5, her guilt that her action in helping it led to further bloodshed, compels her to hunt it down. To do so she would need help.

Azania Toysmith by Nevermet Press is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License. Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://www.nevermetpress.com/contact.