recursal/Fanatic-Fandom huggingface dataset:
The Maker of Dragons

"Oh, the memories!" The Salamander says, its glowing eyes flickering.

"I'm an ancient and elemental creature myself, you know. I was called out of ancient, primordial flame in a time before the Forest existed.

"Back then, the one who called me and my kin had many other names from the rest of the Lords.

"They wore forms a little like yours, sometimes. Two arms, two legs. A head with a flat face.

"But many of them at that time already mantled the powers they would come to wield as parts of their nature.

"Eventually, the Maker of Dragons was the name it settled on.

"And despite all the drakes and beings of fire it designed of massive size, the Maker of Dragons had the greatest size of all.

"I know not if it still lives. I have not seen it in endless eons."

Yara listens to every detail Salamander says in excitement

"I can't even begin to imagine in my head what it would be like. Incredible!"

"If I meet the Maker of my teacher. Should I say something in your name?"

Yara borrows a pen from Tek and draws how he imagines Luminous Body form to be, but without texture and expression.

"Would that resemble any drake of the Maker of Dragons?"

"The Maker made drakes in almost every conceivable size. I'm...reasonably sure there was one in that shape. Perhaps?"

"Ah, if you somehow met, and found the Maker of Dragons?" The Salamander pauses, flicking its tongue as it thinks.

"Ask it whether I have done a good job keeping the vicinity of the Crossroads safe from flame.

"Ask it whether I am doing a good job, by maintaining the bridge between the Forest, and the Garden.

"Have you remembered yet? Have you meditated on how you came to be so certain about your duty lighting the crossroads?"

"I have thought back recently to the ancient Lord who called me. The hallowed name it bore was the Maker of Dragons.

"We maintained the flames of the world. We called fire and danced in its wild passion. Such times are long gone to the world, with so many of the brighter days when the Lords walked among their creation."

"I...I feel I must refuse the application of the Cutting Stone to myself." The Salamander shakes its flame-wreathed head. "It would be wrong to destroy and pervert the will of the Lords in such a manner."

"What? No! No matter how great your your Lord was, it's meaningless to be a puppet, it's not dancing if your just a marionette, there is no real passion if it doesn't come from your heart, unburdened and free. If you don't trust the cutting stone, if you think it will cause some scar, if you think it will forbid you from choosing this duty again I could seek out the Panacea Serum."

She would say to the drake and et. Al. who are here. "And what where you made for Drake? What's your eternal purpose?"

"Heeheehee." The Water-Drake sniggers.

"I am supposed to kill anyone who comes this way."

"But then the lord who asked me to do that kept making exceptions and exceptions, and exceptions, until eventually I got pretty sure everyone was an exception.

"And then people stopped coming this way and I got bored."
Tetradymite

Short with pale skin and short red hair, parents originally from Allardan, but settled in Lapis Secunda. Wears a dark traveler's cloak and carries a normal walking stick. A small skeletal creature walks with him or perches on his shoulders.

He is accompanied by a small drake skeleton, which is his familiar, Meren, and two Skeletal Archers, Mortifer and Somnifer.
The Grand Duke of the Silver Fields

"Grand Duke of the Silver Fields? Oh my, I would love to meet him. What can you tell me about him?"

"The Grand Duke is brave! One of the biggest and fiercest of Foxes! And one of the smartest! And most cunning!" The Herald seems content to sing praises of the other Fox.

"And a lord of Phantasmal Wolves! And as human-rich as can be, with all the silver in the Silver Fields!"
The Golden Carp

*To briefly summarize the notes, they describe a series of instructions received from the "Golden Carp." Part of them are a series of calculations to properly realign the lantern to fix it and open the Crossroads to another place. Part of them are describing the instructions for a ritual designed to merge the caster with another creature, using the lantern as a power source.*

The hand in which the notes are written matches the warnings left by Stanhope in the abandoned camp.
The Elder Daughter

"Oh, I do not know. The Elder Daughter found the whole Lantern thing quite boring and went off somewhere rather than wait.

"And no need to apologize, I turned quite well, if I do say so."

The Younger Daughter giggles.

"your sister, do you know what purpuse she was given?"

"The Elder Daughter's purpose is the same as mine.

"However, since the day we met, I have not seen the Elder Daughter again. I am beginning to fear the worst."

"I searched through the Forest for signs of the Elder Daughter, yes.

"The Elder Daughter watched the violet orchid path for quite a while.

"Perhaps fearing interference.

"Or perhaps suspecting the treachery of humanity, and planning to visit vengeance upon travelers on the violet orchid paths.

"But now with the Elder Daughter nowhere to be found, I suspect they can only have gone into the Garden themselves on a strange errand.

"Or already been somehow destroyed."

"We have searched for the being called the Elder Daughter ourselves, hoping to earn favors from it.

"But so far, no luck. It is nowhere to be found in the Foxwoods or its sundry environs."

"I think there is a reason the Elder Daughter has not returned to see the Younger. I think there is discord between them. One-sided.

"I suspect none of the other children of Markus, nor the Gardener, will ever be the Younger Daughter's ally in any endeavor. But the Younger Daughter may not fully realize this."

The Golden Carp lets out large, gloating bubbles.

Down the path with the violet orchids, the path the trees change from shadowy angular trees occasionally lit by white light, to tall, swaying forests of red and green kelp. Occasionally, through their leafy fronds, one can glimpse something long and luminous swim by, far off in the background.

Not too far down this way, you see a tall archway of woody stems and luminous violet flowers. Through it, you can see the familiar violet orchid path that leads to the crossroads.

The way through the kelp road continues around this arch.

As the party approaches, the flowers mutter with voices of greeting.

"You have found the emergency exit, humans of the Crossroads.

"Left here by the Elder Daughter in case of stray wanderers.

"Walk through and depart safely."
Farok

Born among the desert dwellers from across the sea, Farok lived a relatively ordinary life among his people. Travelling the great dunes has made him hardy, and in time he proved himself worthy of learning the blade-magic he now wields. The arts of war-magic have been honed in many ways by many peoples across the Latter Earth, and his people are no exception. Fairly recently however, he committed some offense that led to his exile. This has led to him wandering for a short time before making the journey across the sea to the Archipelago, where he hopes to make a new life for himself as a sellsword.

Physically he is tall and broad, though this is often obscured by the loose fitting robes he wears. His skin is darkened by the sun, with various small scars scattered about. Faint likes of blue bioluminescence trace patterns like lightning-scars, faintly visible in the dark. He has dark, shoulder length hair and a short beard of the same color. His eyes are a bright golden, almost metallic shade.
The Lord of Stone Glass

*The Party? We have not been invited to the Party.* The six Eyes stare in thought.

Gere can see a large cluster of ten of the tall, spiky mushroom creatures gathered in a circle near the other end of the path, about three hundred feet away.

They stand in the middle of what seems to be a laboratory of tables, boxes, bins, glass cabinets, surrounding a tall metal-and-glass frame, which is empty.

Occasionally, tools seem to fly invisibly out of boxes into the air, tweaking something in the frame, before flying back to their boxes.

They are watched by six floating Eyes, orbs of black glassy stone, that hover in an ever shifting formation by the frame.

The great pheasant of light closes its eyes.

Its reflected wings stir the waters as Gere remembers.

A humanoid being garbed in black raiment, crowned with spikes of stone, plants a seed in the ground. It stares at the sky with six eyes.

*It cannot be easy to labor under the gaze of these tireless Watchers.*

*As we do.*

Gere looks up in confusion. "They watch you?"

He looks back down.

The voices laugh. And laugh.

*A bitter irony isn't it?*

*They were cunningly wrought to contain the Thing You Fight.*

*But they are over-zealous. They suspect us! Imagine that!*

*At the moment they protect us from the contagion.*

*Their will is implacable.*

*Their resolve cannot be shaken.*

*Our work is ever-flawless.*

*But they also do their best to ensure we do not infect ourselves!*

*Hahahaha!*

The voices continue their laughter.
The Arid Watcher

If you follow the Drifting Star through the circular window, you'll see it casually hover with a few massive flaps of its wings (very, very unlike an actual bird) and land on another roost erected on the metal surface of a high-up just encircling the window.

There are steps leading down from this balcony to the floor of the vault, a floor tiled with glass that shows geometrically tiled pyramids of glowing rods supporting the surface underfoot. The walls are generously decorated with glowing flowers of the same kind as those growing outside. There are, oddly enough, bones of a large creature scattered around in the corners of the room.

At the other end of the vault is another surface like the one the Drifting Star landed on. On it perches a Giant Swan slightly larger than the Drifting Star. Its feathers shimmer as it preens itself, softly changing colors from pink, to deep red, to orange, white, light blue...

On its keel, a giant eye watches the party.

"My service in this vessel, I offer to you." Masked Yara turns to the Lord, and to the Drifting Star, and to the Swan, and bows to each.

As the Drifting Owl flies away, leading everyone out (Nipkin cradled in Leuvitte's arms), Malephon can just catch a glimpse of something invisible, detectable only by the large disturbances its spellform makes in the ambient magic fields, scurrying down on many legs from one of the alcoves in the ceiling, moving towards the giant Swan, which looks expectantly in its direction.

"And you have met the Arid Watcher. Just not been introduced. At the audience." The Drifting Star adds.

"We do expect that the Lord is powerful enough to hold off any such King for the foreseeable future at least. "While the Arid Watcher supports us." The Drifting Star tries to hide its anxiety and sound reassuring.

"Perhaps? We aren't sure." The Drifting Star replies uncertainly. "We have quelled the incursions at the edge of reality for...longer than is possible to explain. "We have had many great victories which only proved to be hollow, fruitless, temporary. "Most of the denizens of this city are callow youths. They remember naught of the greatest extent of our power, when our bastions formed a ring of bulwarks... "Now, it is the Lord, the Eldest, and of course the Arid Watcher who are solely left to remember..." The Drifting Star sighs to itself in a series of low hoots.

"Personally I am not entirely sure the dream is stable. Something is winding down somewhere. I...don't know if our contribution to the fight against the darkness makes a difference here. "Maybe it's all fated to end."
Order of the Endless Quest

### **Magi**

* **Nelkie:** Partial Necromancer/Healer, Known Arts: Keeper of the Gate, Known Spells: Apprehending the Arcane Form
* **Black Cat:** Known Spells: Apprehending the Arcane Form, Call Lesser Servitor, Call Myrmidon
* **The Former Retriever:** Follower of the Descendant Flame, Known Arts: fly, elemental blast (fire), Known spells: The Coruscating Coffin, Jade Palanquin of the Faceless God
* **Mahla:** Apprehending the Arcane Form, Extirpate Arcana

### **Mounts**

* **Love** 3HD warhorse, 13 hp
* **Will** 3HD warhorse, 15 hp
* **Mord** 3HD warhorse, 7 hp

### **Reliquary**

* **Hour Hand** +0 Devoted Short-Shortsword
* **Second Hand** +0 Devouring Longsword
* **Shield of Acclimation** The bearer defies terrestrial temperature extremes and rejects up to 10 points of damage from transfers of heat such as incalescence or frigid damage per scene.
* **The Last Blue Feather:** 2d10+5 electric damage, range of a crossbow, AOE as wrathful blast.
* **The Shadowed Spear:** +1 , no need to roll morale, curse: bound to the Shadow Lighthouse.
* **Harp of Echoes**
* **The Sack's string**
* **The Erratic Mace**
* **Masterwork Longbow**
* **Masterwork Crossbow**
* **Several Instruments**

### **Weapons of War**

* The Fire Birds (4) - Birds of gears and flame.
* Terse shadow (destroyed Myrmidon) - Artillery Unit
* Curt shadow (destroyed Myrmidon) - Artillery Unit

### **Research Facility**

* **The Variegation Augmentator Device.** Can only be used on mounts no smaller than an adolescent Anatolian Shepherd and no larger than an Impressive Shire horse. +1 HD, Minor Energetic to attacks and special abilities.
The Exile

"I suppose that's fine with me, just don't let Gespenst see you slaking. And why does the Exile drink?"

The fur on the Exile is patchy, but not mangy. Its cheeks and whiskers are hoary and overgrown. Lines of white mar its blue fur.

"To forget." It replies.

## History

"There's something I've been wondering, actually. Do you know which Lord made you? The foxes?"

"Nope! Not a clue." The Herald says in blissful ignorance. "It's the kind of thing that's beyond our deepest lore. I know there are other Foxes that cared a lot about it.

"The Pilgrim. **The Exile**. The Grand Duke."

The Salamander furrows its brow in thought. "Descending down into the Abyss might result in your finding neighborhoods and districts lost to the crumbling of eons. It would make sense that the Exile who claims that there are other ruins further down would have stumbled across fragments of the Crossroads.

"The Fox Exile was exiled from the Fox Court, hence why it came to the Crossroads. It used to be..."

The Herald whispers "...the king..."

"I guess if you are looking for the Fox Exile specifically, you would have to talk to the Executioner, who drove it out of the Crossroads on Lord Silvius's order."

Malephon taps his chin. "It is likely that they are just keeping the Exile in hiding, then."

"If they believe our story well enough to think we are at least not in allegiance with the Crossroads, even if they suspect we are trying to cheat them, they would have little reason to hide the Exile from us, at least. Perhaps it will be at the meeting."

Before we go, he tries calling out: "Exile! Are you in here?" There was no answer.
Edvard Ebersfarb

*"I am Edvard, junior son of the main branch of House Ebersfarb."*

"I have two colleagues of mine, both Necromancers, whom I was going to invite to apply for teachers or the Dean. Whom have your brothers proposed?"

"My brother Edvard has personally volunteered as instructor. We Ebersfarbs can help negotiate on the nascent institute's behalf."

## Description

A tall, dark-haired man with a goatee calls as he steps out of the sitting room.

"I am Edvard Ebersfarb. I'm helping Beatrice settle in and providing her with the security she needs to weather this transition."

"If you have any questions, perhaps Beatrice and I can handle them." Edvard continues.

"But we do not have the breadth of knowledge that Prang did regarding his dealings."

Edvard smiles, in an attempt to appear charming that probably isn't the most successful.

## The Abyss

"The last expedition we sent to the depths of the Garden brought back a great many exemplars." Edvard says. "The suspicion goes that the deep Abyss might be as rich in magic. We would likewise offer silver for any exemplars you do not need."

## The Institute of Magic, Elementalism, and Necromancy

The University is completed - Edvard Ebersfarb has been seen in the Crossroads acting first as mentor of necromancy, and later, as temporary headmaster in Prang's...absence.

## Connections

"An address, I shall proffer. Mahala Strange, the Least Cursebreaker. Like other minor magicians, she hides in the twisted back alleys where real estate is cheap."

Edvard calls a guard into the room with a quill and card, and scribbles the address down, passing it to Silvius.

"If she fails, and fails to be forthcoming about her competition, I can direct you to them as well.

"The Forest is barely picked over. Especially the place our friend Balthazar will send you to.

"He is a scruffy man. Wears glasses. Young. Tell him his master Edvard bids him send you forward."

Prang had two students aside from the creature he introduced as his main apprentice - Balthazar Schwarzwald and Karl Rauschenbach. These have been taken on by Edvard in the wake of their mentor's passing.

"I am still Farok, hired by the Lady and Edvard."

## Trust

Silvius noticed that when Edvard Ebersfarb smiled, his voice continued, though his mouth did not move.

His voice did not come from the sitting figure in the chair, but somewhere adjacent to it, during the conversation.

Edvard also gives a second card with his birthday, and a second date. "My brother's annual celebration day. His actual birthday, as heir to the Ebersfarb clan, is kept secret."

"Welcome adventurers!" Edvard says. "Your deeds are achieving some notoriety in the Free City, nowadays!"

He chuckles. He is also an illusion. The real Edvard is not in the room.
The Rogue

The Curious Fox will help point out the Rogue to Silvius. It is the Fox that prefers to spend most of its time gazing acquisitively at the Lantern. Definitely no ill intent in mind.

## Introduction

It notices Silvius approach, and perks up its ears expectantly, but waits quietly for him to introduce himself and make his proposal.

"Silviusss. I have heard much of you, Knight of the Gazebo." replies the Rogue Fox. Its tongue appears to occasionally get caught on its fangs when it speaks.

"I admit more than a passssing interest in the Salamander's light. However, elemental magic is against our Fox nature. If only something could be done about that..."

"Ssso, what is it that I can do for you, Sir Silvius?"

## The Lighthouse

"Rouge, I am in need of some help, thought I get a guide and scout, I'm headed to the lighthouse, do you know your way there?"

The Rogue looks up from its own sneaky observation of the Crossroads Lantern.

"You are going there yourssself, yes? You fight, I guide. Deal?"

"I think so, unless Markus is dying to join, guide would be good."

The Rogue slinks up to Silvius.

"From what we find there, I claim one interesssting bauble I can carry."

The Rogue leads Silvius there, accompanied by Markus and Coraggio.

## Fears

The Rogue Fox looks sick as it whispers to Silvius. "In short, don't crosss the River. Pun intended.

"My Phantasmal Wolf still can fight." The Rogue Fox calls out as it retreats into hiding.

## Changes

On the rooftop of the Sweet Dreams Inn, the lurking Rogue Fox notices the moving Bier, and turns its hungry gaze to the Sarcophagus's light as well.
The Goldfish of the Bowl of Stars

*The goldfish blub blubs, and in its tiny bubbles are thousands of spiraling stars...* *Where the edge of the bowl would be, space inexplicably contorts and is drawn out further, stretching to a distant infinity.* *Are the motes still krill, or are they gradually mutating into something else with many, many more swimmerets than one would expect, jutting from between the edges of shell?*

And the Carp, my sire, is still present in the Lighthouse, as ordained." The goldfish adds. "See? No broken laws." "Except the shell I had to crack to hatch, of course." Its eyes are milky white, all three of them.

The krill flee from the goldfish, which rapidly devours them. As it does, it begins to change, its scales turning more lustrous, blazing with trapped stellar light. It does appear golden now, with constellations etched in its scales. "I know the way to the Reverse Crossroads. It is further below. Shall we travel?" The goldfish asks.

*Space still yawns, but no krill stare back. Only...something still moves in the inky murk. When the goldfish devoured the light-bearing crustaceans...did it leave behind their shadows to ferment unseen in hidden places? To mutate and find new forms free to diverge from the limited material form they formerly reflected?*
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Fanon

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Hidalga Ignacia de Rivera

*"I would hate to have to destroy dutiful servants, but if you prove to be something other than obedient and dutiful, you are no use to the restoration of the domain of the Dancer with Moth wings. Bow down, or you will see my power and despair!"*

Ignacia was born and raised a minor noble (Hidalga). When she was born, her mother María had already lost all her lands gambling, and was living as another courtier in the palace of Baron Laterra. Court life was thus the air Ignacia breathed until her mid teens. Well versed in the social aspects of life, she can talk the unwary into doing her bidding. When her mother fell from the graces of Baron Laterra, Ignacia managed to remain in court, in no small part due to her magical talent for intel gathering. Fed up from living on charity, and subject to the whims of others, she sold almost all her dresses and set out to make her fortune and restore her house.

Her story begins like that of many adventurers. Exploring small ruins, scaring off bandits and pirates, and looting treasure. The proceeds went first to armor, then to clothing beffitting her rank, carriage and servants. In no small part due to the influence of the cruel Countess Amia, Ignacia has become far less subtle in her negotiation tactics. With the growth of her arcane talents, and a penchant for violence, she seems to have developed a taste for terrorizing those she deems below her into submission. If this results in death, it's their fault for not surrendering earlier. She has gone in two expeditions to The Dark Forest. During the first she aided in robbing some spiders, met the Lord of the Vent and captured a Cryosphinx for his spawn. During the second expedition, she met a shadow of The Dancer with Moth Wings, the Glass Drake that guards the life bearing Glass Fruits, and some Glass Gardeners. There she rescued her mount, Flamita the Little Llama (Flamita la Llamita). A new expedition is being prepared to reestablish the production of Glass Fruits.
The Evening Glory

The Former-Usher nods. "It is indeed.

"The script is a lament.

"It describes this location as the resting place of the Evening-Glory.

"Fell in internal strife of unknown cause, as madness swept through paradise."

The figure lying on the slab is clearly skeletal, long deceased, and perfectly reduced to its constituent bones.

Long silver hair is perfectly combed back from its skull.

The slender, elegant bones are like carvings from mother of pearl, tantalizingly valuable in appearance.

In life, the creature was tall, almost ten feet tall, perhaps.

"I felt that." The Pilgrim groans. "But so far, nothing. So far."

"I felt it too. I think that was bad."

"Watcher, do you have any idea what it was?"

"Not a watcher."

"An echo of the Evening Glory protesting disturbance."

"The Lords cling to the world like roots."

"I might have guessed. Dead, but not gone."

"Just like the Rose Sower."

He looks down at what was beneath the mask.

The bare skull below is painfully thin, slightly elongated, large than that of a human.

No a trace of flesh remains.

The bones are opalescent, shining with a soft rainbow sheen. The face would probably have been perfectly symmetrical in life.

The Evening Glory's skull is unblemished, unharmed by whatever killed it.

The Lesser Watcher has been silent for a time.

It whispers.

*"I was appointed to watch over the resting place of the Evening Glory."*

*"I have never thought about why."*

"Can you sense the figurine I have hidden away? Do you know of it?"

*"The stars are scattered. I know little about many of them now."*

*"That figurine represents one of the stellar consorts of the Evening Glory, the most treasured and intimate of them."*

*"When I last parted ways with it, it accompanied the Lord of Stone Glass."*
The Executioner

*"Troublemakers like that are a threat to the peace." growls the Executioner.*

## Designation

Silvius sits down and ponders by the clocktower for a while. He then walks over to the Executioner and Deputy Foxes presumably around the almost finished sheriff's office.

Presently, the new Foxes are specifying the dimensions of their offices. "Underground, with nice flaps in all the doors, yes, good."
One of the Foxes, the more erudite of the two, responds to Silvius.
"Most excellently, Sir. Construction will be complete - once the Orchids do their job properly.

"As for filling the positions, when the Executioner and I saw the open roles, how could we NOT seize this chance to make our stamp on the Crossroads, and ensure justice is upheld."

"The Executioner and I are both deputies of Markus. And of course, through him, we ultimately report to you, Sir Silvius."

## Assignments

"I'll personally keep tabs on the Exile's movements and whereabouts." The Director says.

"I'll deliver the eviction order." says the Executioner. "When it comes due."

Constanze reluctantly departs with the Director, followed also by the Executioner.

"What court do you suppose the Exile would go to next...?"

The Herald wonders. "The Executioner might know which direction it fled in exactly.

"Then I think we are settled." The Retriever stares smugly at the Prime Minister.
Silvius watches the smugness and decides to spice things up. "Perfect, now we should vote on who should get the burden of and risk of the first treatment, if we find it. I propose the Executioner."
Grandmother Spider

"With so many players on the board I might just expedite your probation, the foxes suspect that the spiders stole the elder daughter. What might you know about this?"

"The Grandmother Spider has not the power to. The Elder Daughter is in the Garden."

"Considering the incalcitrant resistance of the Ice Tarantula, I suspect an invisible hand - the Grandmother Spider itself."

"Above your heads if you brave the thorns, you will find the great Grandmother Spider who dwells in a hollow world of silk and the servants who weave it. She deals only to satisfy her greed and her hunger exceeds that of the hangman vampire tree. She is only satisfied by meat."
Mahala Strange, the Least Cursebreaker

Edvard turns his cheek at the slight. "No recommendation fee needed, my good Silvius.

"An address, I shall proffer. Mahala Strange, the Least Cursebreaker. Like other minor magicians, she hides in the twisted back alleys where real estate is cheap."

## Description

"I'm actually already in town." Someone sweeps into the library.

A magician in white robes, with long, curly orange hair that escapes from under a heavy hood.

She walks with a crane-headed cane or staff made of a peach rosewood.

"I have heard many tales of you, Lord Silvius. I am pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Mahala Strange, the Least Cursebreaker, has arrived. At your service."

"Word traveled to me through the grapevine that there was an arcane library here." A raven flutters onto her shoulder from outside.

"But then I learned from this library assistant that you ALSO might need my cursebreaker services?" She laughs slowly, in a proud, dignified, and pretentious manner.

"Mahala Strange, so your not from the Ebersfarb family? Welcome to the Crossroads."

"Not everyone is an Ebersfarb yet, in Sturmport." Mahala Strange replies.

"They don't have enough eligible bachelors yet. Not for lack of trying, by both sides."

She smiles innocently.

"I just take their money and they recommend me. For some reason, graverobbing incurs a lot of curses. Can't imagine why."

"I can offer you a discount." Mahala counteroffers.

"Let me use the library to learn the spell therein. The Funeral Bier of the Descended Flame, I think it was called?
Shatch

A grey-furred rat-like beast woman, with squinty red eyes and a perpetual frown on her features. She seems lanky but well-fed. Her clothing tends to be minimalistic, with cloth wrappings for modesty and a pair of tattered cloth shorts. Her hands are calloused, but slender and agile.

The Unbroken Shadow: An order of ratfolk that believe in freedom from oppression, particularly by alien beings. They hunt undead, aliens, and other monsters and slay them in silence, usually leaving little evidence of their passage. Their members come from all walks of life, and their only truly enforced rule is that they may never take a position in society that grants them command of another living creature. Failure to uphold this tenet is a death sentence, which some believe happens when an ancient ghost hunts them down.

Free City of Sturmport Outpost: Shatch oversees the holding of an Unbroken Shadow operation on the isle, acting as a liason for the local authorities so they don't see the organization as a threat. She lives in the training outpost in her personal quarters. The outpost accepts recruits from any walk of life, provided they can follow the tenets.
The Blademaster of the Frozen Lake

A grey, vaguely humanoid creature of black snow, almost frozen mud, is digging up a few of the spheres and placing them in a sack on its back.

The person thing turns to stare at Coraggio with a blank face, save for two wide, staring grey eyes without pupils. They are also remarkably salamander-like other than those qualities.

"Do not interfere. The Lords of the Forest have mandated this. There is New Management. Their mandates must be followed."
The voice comes from the humanoid's frozen mud and black snow torso.

The creature sizes up the foes in melee with it. It takes a deep breath...and breathes!
Black clouds of frost billow out against Coraggio and Loviarna!

United, Coraggio and Loviarna strike it down! It collapses onto the snowy bank...and its body begins to melt into oozing slush.
Only a single amphibian skull remains, hideously deformed, under the round, featureless head.
Blue Fox

In one of the bushes to the right, something whispers "'Specially sausages, we like sausages."

"If you like, I can call up a Phantasmal Wolf to fight beside us." replies the Pilgrim. "Once a day only, sadly."

"There are other Foxes that can use other spells, but we can all at least use that one.

"We can also call up globes of Foxfire once a day."

Give up a piece of your humanity. Give up a piece of yourself forever to the Forest. If you are willing to do so, you can see...

Humanity is just a tiny slice of its former existence. In more sophisticated times, humanity was once made obsolete by beings who shaved off tiny slices of reality to make playrooms for themselves, or dispose of worthless garbage.

Imagine the perspective of these beings, and you begin to see - the Song is another dream, like the dream that the Vampire Vine talked about but being dreamt by something indescribable even by metaphor.

The Song underfoot and overhead is tuned to a land of tiny, silly creatures that hold great ambition - and have no ability to make their dreams come true. It is a dream of creatures too blind to what they are to realize they are the butt of a cosmic joke, even as they try to pull pranks on others.
The Chef

Delicious Jelly Rats

"The Inn does have this 'Fox chef.'" Wiflin adds. "While I hesitate to try anything made by a non-human..." "Come on, where's your sense of adventure?" Mordovrai interjects. "Let's go see what's on the menu!"

"We Foxes take on professions and roles as the circumstances call. Perhaps I'll change mine to Guide. "Although personally, I prefer to cook." The Fox licks its chops. "There are other Foxes - pilgrims, rogues, or exiles - who will have the wanderlust to take on such a task."

## Appearance

The Emissary and two other Foxes (one wearing a customized chef's apron) greet everyone as they return.

Malephon will find the Herald talking with another Fox in the Sweet Dreams Inn. This other Fox is wearing a heavily retailored, miniature chef's apron, and appears to be discoursing about the merits of cooking meat in a pit.

They are sitting on a kitchen counter as they do so, with one of the human kitchen attendants looking on silently.

## Cuisine

"What appears to be the consensus on pit roast?"

"Oh, it's an adventure every time. Each preparation is its own unique work of art." The Chef Fox appears to be saying.

"You can't just throw anything in there. You must prepare and align the coals with the utmost care. You must select the right ingredients to impart their flavor. I'm fortunate to have humans to act as my muscle."

"Don't underestimate the size of the roast." The Chef replies. "We get whole porkers from your Sturmport! "Nothing quite like them on our side. An entire banquet in a single animal."

## The Jelly Rat Incident

"Very, very well indeed!" The Herald's eyes dart to Malephon's tail. "You've made some improvements, I daresay!"

He is beaming with pride. "Yes! Look at this." He shows his full control over the tail.

Both the Herald and the Chef stare with their jaws open, their own tails moving in excitement.

"The only tails around were rats! And not real rats. Jelly rats!"
"It's very warm to have when sleeping," he adds.

"Like, potted jelly? Fruit jam rats?" The Chef asks, clearly motivated by some plan or intent.

"No, the jelly part just describes their blobby, mutable nature. Some were just bone or skin, too."
"Though we did bring some jelly-like bits back..."

"For cooking, right?" The Chef asks, undeterred. "No bones, no skin...saves trouble! Though, lacking delicious marrow is a downside."

Malephon will show them the iron flask of jelly rat jelly. He twists it open, in whatever way it opens. It smells...like nothing.

Malephon can see the air begin to shiver as something boils away inside the jar. Unreality rising from the remains of the rats.

The Herald suddenly looks uneasy. The Chef only looks curious and thoughtful.

"Appears to be a bit of an...acquired taste?"

Malephon looks inside. He screws the lid back on.
"You can have it if you want, I guess. We weren't really using it for anything."

"Yessss!" The Chef eagerly stretches out its tiny paws and hugs the jar close to itself. It twists its head to get a better angle of vision on the contents of the jar.
Richard Gespenst

"The Crossroads isn't home to many constructs yet." The Bearded Cat replies.

"However, I do know another of your Sturmport humans named Richard Gespenst. He comes by occasionally to manage the human workers.

"I have heard that he knows of a place of constructs that he has long dreamed to tame."

## Description

"If it's a base with rooms you need this one could assist with the fabrication and design. Herr Gespenst such things are your specialization, no - stone and construction, if I recall a recent conversation from before our departure.

"Indeed, Keryth." Gespenst affirms.

"This, this place is replete with material to repurpose. It is the manpower that is lacking. For now."

Gespenst accompanies Ylkwa.

"I think I will need to rethink the plan to harness the resources of the Molten Vent with Prang."

"The Glass Arcology might be a superior focus of our efforts for now.

"Maybe we can build up a foothold there, as you suggested."

"I will have an audience with the Lord of the Vent after we rest." Gespenst says in reply to Ylkwa.

"If you're willing, after I handle that, we can start exploring the Arcology.

"We need to better understand the whys of the patrolling constructs.

"We might need to pacify some of them such as the Candlemaker."

The Labor Company agrees, proposing to send a small labor team under their senior architect, Richard Gespenst. Their company president expresses she "also wishes to foster cooperation between humans and magical beasts."

The builder Gespenst is eager to learn the capabilities of the walking orchids - "in the interests of learning how best to build in synergy with their talents, of course."

The architect Gespenst does notice: digging deep into the earth begins to produce odd spatial anomalies, so he recommends shallow basements for storage and jails.

Gespenst (a bespectacled, goateed man with a square head like a stone block) agrees, and goes to seek the guidance of the Younger Daughter in planning the foundations. "If the local flora is in accord, surely no harm will be done. Right?"

Gespenst, the Company architect, is waiting at the Door with his personal team, including a secretary. "We can enter at your discretion, Sir Silvius."
Keryth

A craftsperson through countless almost-remembered lives, Keryth takes their immortality in stride, using it to hone their craft and anchor a stronger personality through the cycles. This, of course, leads to a few decades of delving into, deconstructing, understanding, and assimilating memories, albeit only strong ones at first, plus a little magic in each life. Done collecting their thoughts, Keryth is ready to once again journey forth with other adventurers using their own arms and armour.
Star

"I have heard that the stars that we see in the night sky are lies.

"They are mere figments of light created to resemble something that once was.

"I have seen a theory that in some Itera, the things we call stars are themselves birds of a great and powerful kind.

"It is those birds I hope to someday see.

Far away ghostly lights float in unfamiliar patterns. They fly, sometimes on two wings, sometimes on many. Some are nothing but wings. Some are covered in eyes. Others are barely more than wisps suggesting a form cloaked in light.

There is no moon. The stars are scarce and unhelpful. Vast swathes of sky are oddly dark.

"Before this land grew hostile, we scouted a tower guarded by winged stone defenders, which had a telescopic array and a grand perch for winged beings of great size. It might have been a resting point for beings of the night sky."

"I think...I think in the past there would have been other stars here." One of the Encampment Ferrets says as it enters and looks about at the unbroken darkness. "Countless stars."

"I wonder how many are left." The other says.

The Salamander seems to nod and smile knowingly.

"You met Stars! Not just one, it seems, but two! They wear the forms of birds, but underneath they are something greater, more magical.

"They do not dwell natively in the Forest - they used to fill the skies of the other place below, the Garden."
Gere

A well-built Vargardian man of average height. He wears the simple dress of a woodsman and has silver-flecked hair despite his age.

He lived and hunted with a band of shapeshifters who drew power from ascetic living and nature rituals. When they began incorporating human sacrifice into their rites, he parted ways with them.

Gere. The Greedy One.

The most loyal of the hounds by the hunter's side.
Faber Reynsfeldt

Rosella nods.

"We have brought in a consultant who is residing at the manor, who theorizes there might be such a thing.

"When you get to the manor, ask Richter to see the Surveyor Consultant. His name is Faber Reynsfeldt."

"As you may have heard, there is some precedence for expertise in unusual architecture in the city. Reynsfeldt is one of the freelancer specialists."

## Description

A young man with long black hair sits at a desk with a worried frown on his face in a study. He is thin and bony under his thick robes.

He is working with a ledger, accompanied by two of the Company's guards, who are helping to read the titles of books to him.

"H... Hi! Hello." Yara awkwardly greets the man.

"H-hmm? Oh." The man waves at the guards, who stop their work. "Yes, hello, flaming-haired person. I assume you are looking for Faber? That is me."

"...what happened to your hand?"

"Experiment with unreality, while working on Yara's equipment." Faber replies.

Faber raises his left hand, which only has three fingers and a thumb - but it is somehow impossible to tell which finger he has lost. "Experiment went wrong. Still not sure how. Faber still feels the missing finger. But doesn't see it."

## Profession

"In general yes. Faber studies the structure of the phenomenon. Architecture is not just the walls. It is the memory of the walls. It is what people think they mean and what people remember happened between them.

"And it is especially where the walls are not."

"That is why I seek the vacuums at this time. Among the books. The ones that are missing."

Faber is sitting at his desk. "Reisu! What delight Faber is feeling. Come in, take a seat. We may chat, as a pleasant diversion from my current project."

“At the bottom of the stairway we found a room lined with racks of quills. One of them seemed to call out to me. I believe it belonged to a large, flightless bird. A predatory bird that I may have hunted before, either in this life or a past one.” He extends the quill to Faber.

## Connections

The Rabbit Thief shares its story with Faber thus far, including the necklace trap in the gallery of taxidermies.

Yara sees there is still one fox at the party, despite the Malephons' departure.

The Herald is drunkenly swaying on the table next to Leuvitte, its muzzle covered in sauce from the roast.

Leuvitte is holding the tiny creature steady while Faber tries to clean it off.
The Jelly Rats

"Not even the crawling rats that leak from the Abyss, I hope." The crocodile thing says.

"If you fancy yourself brave, you can also try going through the basement of the Rat's Castle. There's probably a way down from there."
"If your friend there eats those rats, it's braver than it looks." The crocodile thing adds, with a disgusted tone.

"Some of them are all skin, others are all bone. Some are just bags of jellied organs and flesh."

"All black, rotten, and they burn as they touch, hoping to make you into one like them." The crocodile thing continues.

"Go around that way and you'll find their old castle." The crocodile thing indicates the left side of the encampment.

It smells...like nothing.

Malephon can see the air begin to shiver as something boils away inside the jar. Unreality rising from the remains of the rats.

Even without a smell, something fills the air.

A sense of unease. Rotting. Defiled existence.

It's enough to cause nausea to fill one's stomach, and bile to rise in one's throat.
The Herald suddenly looks uneasy. The Chef only looks curious and thoughtful.

"Appears to be a bit of an...acquired taste?"

However, the dripping behaves oddly on this level.
It seems to land on unseen paths around the landing going off through the curdling lightless matter.
Perhaps the seeds of rats landed on these paths and slowly congealed that way.

They are slowly settling their chaotic forms into the bodies of giant Rats. The halfmade rats turn to stare at Malephon and hiss.

An orange flower blooms. KABOOM! The jellied bodies shudder and jerk as the force of the explosion ripples through them. But they cling relentlessly to the walls with unnatural tenacity. The halfmade rats squeal with anger and hatred, incensed now.

Three plated crab-like shadows overlook the throng.

Mounted on the back of one of them is an armored Rat-Thing. It wields a long wand of bone.

The rider seems to wave its wand at the nearest jelly rats as it approaches, initiating some kind of magical ritual with unknown purpose.
Yara

### Allies

Malephon, Salamander, Tekates, The Librarian, Lord Luminous, Myalephon, Jacob Leuvitte

### Enemies

Beatrice Prang, Marble Court, The Incubating Prince

*Yara Komur was a slave from the Siid mines. His days as a slave were dreadful, to say the least. Constant whippings, endless hours of tough work and malnourishment made him what he is today, a determined young man with scars and deformities that will tell anyone of his past. His new life in Good Landing won't be easy, but now he can make his own destiny. Yara will do his best to earn his coin and it doesn't really matter the means. Also, he will go a long way to free slaves and pass his blade through their masters. His tough life made every bond be a special one, and he won't easily leave a companion behind.*
The Sturmlord

Sometimes called the Stormlord.

"I can do it myself if you want. 'Confidence is the hallmark of great magicians', as the Sturmlord says."

"No one has met the Sturmlord. That I know of." Belle replies, sounding worried.

"He works through intermediaries."
"There are at least three city officials he delegates to manage things. And then there are his golden-armored security forces."

"Former pirates." Edvard says, shrugging. "The Sturmlord approved their disposal in this manner - eternal service to those of the city with the power to compel them."

That night, someone was wandering the streets, knowing exactly that he sought lone travelers for opportunities like this, that the Stormlord's guards were easy to bribe to look the other way.

The Patriarchs and Matriarchs of the Free City turn to the Stormlord with concern.

"You said we would be free of cults to false gods!

"And yet some manner of strange priest now brings the word of the 'Luminous Lord' to our fair city!

"What will you do about it?"

"The Free City grants incredible latitude to us members of the nobility in personal matters like this one." Edvard explains.

"I am sure the Stormlord's cronies would be willing to get involved if you wish to make a dispute of things. At a price of their choice of course. With the ends of increasing their personal wealth in mind, rather than the pursuit of so-called justice or truth.

"My father has passed away, unfortunately." A veiled woman will answer in response to queries regarding Prang's status. "The Stormlord has confirmed that his property has passed to me, Beatrice Prang."

The news of a new fleshcrafting master in town, as observed by the Stormlord's guards, has led to it being summoned to an audience with the Stormlord - whatever that means.

One day, an armored guard wearing the Stormlord's livery passes Malephon's cart of cats and dogs.

"Oh, got some horrible flesh-crafting experiments to take care of then?" The guard asks.

"Good work, clearing the street of strays. Carry on then!"

"The Stormlord's men might have a place for us after." Wiflin says. "If we survive."

Ethelinda is barely visible now in the onrushing snow - but she seems to be shaking with excitement and adrenaline. "Making big gambles with magical creatures is how the Free City was founded, you know.
The Calico Cat

"The ritual contained within this tome is usable by one who congresses with shadows." The Calico Cat tells Myalephon. "It requires the presence of a patron. Something Lordly, or Celestial, or like them. "Luckily, I possess such a patron of power." It smiles. "Together, we may weave - no - stitch magic into your shadow. I will have to customize it a little for the little birds to help me."

The Calico Cat's greedy, roguish eyes take in the sight of the silver-winged key. "I see much that may come of the recovery of this key!"

"I would suggest you bring honor to the ancients who passed this knowledge onto us...but who cares about them? We are the rightful heirs. The powers are ours to use as we see fit!" It exhorts, smiling fiendishly. "Bring the world to its knees. Wreak mischief upon the unwary. Never stop climbing."

The Calico Cat also accepts the key in payment, of course, as agreed.