"The Wheel of Fortune turns and turns, The coin rolls faster, on its edge: Who tips the whirling hot rim burns To ashes; then leaps out renewed By Fortune and with Hope imbued. The Wheel of Fortune hurtles round, The edge ere long will spin too fast, Then must we seek the stable ground Where quiet stillness may be found: The centre of the wheel moves not. The Axis of the Wheel is thus The calm Oasis, misty place. Outside, the Wheel spins, flinging us Towards the rim, then into space. Uncertain paths through twilit caves Will pave new Fortune for the Braves."
(The Seer Akilia)
"Round and round we go. Where we stop nobody knows."
(The Shell to Zenemix)
"Behind this curtain lies the future. Everything we want is there."
(Darion at the Chaos Oracle)
"What are a few men against the countless trees?"
(Lord NORRID, King of the Trees)
Twilight's first gleaming in the hour before dawn; morning mist; a clearing in the Greenwood, underfoot the last of the leaves to fall begin to rot. It is damp, and there is a chill in the air. AUTUMNUS passes through, making one last check before the onset of Winter that the harvest is in, the leaves have fallen, and the squirrels gathered their nuts.
He pauses and looks around with mild curiosity. There has been a battle here. Trees all round have been struck by a freak lightning storm, and there is an earth bank across the clearing where the ground has been ripped apart and thrown back together. Hanging from two of the trees are human skeletons, picked clean of flesh by the crows. He sniffs the ground. Bodies are decomposing beneath His feet. Well, such is the work of people. There is no business for Him here. The leaves are well fallen.
So AUTUMNUS passes on into the mist, as behind him a sleety rain begins to fall. Winter will follow hard on His heels.
Yet again thunder rumbled over the Temple. It was the Time of No Snakes. At this time the gateways between the Three Worlds were closed, and the serpent people kept vigil in the Fanged Temple, and contemplated the Mysteries. But today was different.
For most sacred of all the Mysteries are the Five Amulets, the powers of which are Not Spoken. And since the last Time of No Snakes the Temple had suffered a humiliating series of thefts. Somehow, inexplicably, their most sacred and closely-guarded treasures had been stolen, from right before their never-closing eyes. Amulets disappeared, seemingly at random. Some they recovered, and it appeared the thieves were human. But those they managed to interrogate knew little, and now not all of the Amulets were back here, where they should be.
Somebody had to pay for this outrage, but it was so unthinkable that not even was it written in the Teachings what the penalty should be. Or so the Priest Cult claimed. But the people demanded a sacrifice. The Goddess demanded a sacrifice. Else Her favour would desert them, and much worse things would be visited upon them than the loss of treasures, no matter how sacred. The lesser priestesses therefore took it upon themselves to sacrifice the High Priestess herself. It was not entirely clear at the ceremony how far she had consented to this procedure, since she was drugged by a powerful venom. As the sacrificial knives were plunged into her belly, and tore down into her tail, spilling her steaming entrails out over the altar, the new High Priestess pronounced this a Good Sign (After all, she thought, it had saved her own life: at least to the next Time of No Snakes...).
His Imperial Majesty the Emperor Arril I of Tarm sat at his desk and contemplated the paperwork spilling over its edge. No matter how diligently he applied himself to the important business of the Empire, it still got the better of him. He delegated where he could, but still there were so many items "For the Emperor's Eyes Only." The one before him now was one such, he reflected ruefully: a formal Challenge from Kyarlin Champion of Heaven to a Duel for the Lion Throne; on Empire Day of course. It would be the highlight of the day's entertainment.
The challenge was entirely expected. He had prepared himself for it as best he could, but stuff like this kept him from the combat that was the only real preparation. The challenger was much freer to pursue such experience. Not that Kyarlin really needed it, thought Arril. Indeed the Champion of Heaven had shown surprising restraint in not challenging earlier. But he had also shown himself to be an astute politician. The House of Heaven were new on the scene, and there would have been much resentment had they seized power immediately. No, Kyarlin had used the time wisely, learning the system, building alliances and neutralising enemies. He would make a good Emperor. And he was welcome to this paperwork.
Arril was not giving up, though. He would put up a good fight, and he had a few surprises ready. If it were SARAN's will that he remain Emperor, he was prepared to carry it out. Should he kill Kyarlin if he did triumph? It would be the correct course against a stronger opponent. But the Empire needed men like Kyarlin, and he, Arril, needed friends like Kyarlin. To spare him would be to gain an ally. He hoped the Champion of Heaven felt the same way...
With a sigh, the Emperor turned to an intelligence report of more atrocities in the Kingdom of the North.
Just his luck! Here came trouble. He pretended to be asleep, or dead or something, but it was no use.
"You, Rumourmonger!" growled the armoured fighter, kicking the pathetic- looking beggar. "What's going on in this shithole of a town?"
Ouch, that hurt! Jak peered up through his carefully-matted hair, and decided the respectful approach was best with these two. The fighter was wearing a full suit of black platemail, with a horned helmet, and brandishing a fearsome-looking military pick. His companion looked like some Northern nobleman, though Jak thought he could recognise most of that crew, and surely they did not favour triple-disembowelling broad axes?
"Much is going on sir," he whined, resorting to cliché in his confusion. "What exactly did sir wish to know?"
"Who's in charge, what are the defenses, and what's the bribe for the gatekeeper?" snapped back the fighter, and the two roared with laughter. Jak decided this was a joke.
"Well, the Temple of Peace on Earth would be your main difficulty with any armed attack, sirs," he offered. "F*** them!" spat the nobleman. "Tell us about this Harrek person."
"The Lord Protector of the North, Harrek Dragonhelm, New Messiah and Father of God..." began Jak. "Forget about his bloody titles," sneered the fighter. "What's the old berserker up to?"
"You have heard the story of Harrek and the Hell-Well?" inquired the beggar.
"Yes, and it's a lie," said the nobleman in a menacing tone. Jak was getting a bad feeling here. What were King Bjørn and the TPE doing, letting men like these roam the streets? It was getting like it wasn't even safe for innocent beggars and pickpockets.
"Um, yes, well, er, after his army returned from that expedition, the Lord Protector turned his attention to the usual concerns of the Kingdom as Winter approaches: goblin raiders, monsters preying on outlying villages, hothead fighters raiding their neighbours' sheep, that sort of thing..."
"We know all about goblin raiders," interrupted the nobleman, in a tone of exaggerated patience, reaching forward, grabbing his filthy shirt, and peering into Jak's eyes. "Now, little man, do you have any real news for your masters? Harrek is our friend, and it is imperative we join him in his travails."
Jak suddenly realised he had misjudged these fine people. This was indeed an important nobleman, travelling incognito, with only his trusty bodyguard. They needed his help, and despite everything, deep down Jak was a true patriot.
"Noble sir, I shouldn't tell you this, but I can tell you are indeed a friend of Harrek's. Word is that some Dark Force has again arisen in the Northern Wilderness, and Harrek and his people have departed urgently to deal with it."
"I knew it!" exclaimed the fighter. "The fool has taken the bait!"
"Shut up Tomec!" hissed the Duke. "Is there anything else, friend?" (This to Jak)
"Er..." Jak racked his brain for some more vital information to help these fine people. Surely something was wrong here? Well, no matter. "Um, well King Bjørn is rumoured to be deep with his Demon Summoners."
"We have paid Them enough, haven't We?" "T... How many times do I have to f***ing tell you? What can these people pay? A few Archbishops' souls? A couple of puny +2 Swords? Don't make me laugh! That's all you know, isn't it little man?"
"Well, I know..."
"Tomec!"
"Take Your Pick Beggar!"
Next second the military pick had buried itself in Jak's head, and he was torn apart by an angry mob of dissatisfied customers, infuriated at the banality of his news. They didn't even leave a tip.
Your plots are requested for Winter 2502 / 2503. See How to submit your Plot for guidance.
Any outstanding experience claims for Autumn 2502 should please now be submitted for approval, following which your updated character spec. should likewise be submitted for approval.
Also available on request by email are copies of many public information Anarea documents and documents specific to your characters. Please specify required format. However the systems are not yet available as complete up to date typed documents. Rules queries will be answered on request, and used to compile a Frequently Asked Questions document, so please submit any previous rulings which you would like confirmed in this manner.
© P.R. Wild, 1 July 1995
Check theHeadlines again
Read the previous News
Read the next News
Back to Temple of DALA