Harriet Once Was Harri

In the dark her diminutive hand reached to open the barracks door, sounds of coughing and a faint smell of disease drifted from the stable-hands quarters. She smiled sweetly as she mounted a laden pony.

The countryside sun burned his neck as they trekked towards the city after their hunt. "Life and death there Harri, that’s what it’s all about right?", the young king smiled, game in hand, he geed his pony forward at a gallop.

The rain soaked map was made barely legible by a flickering electrical glow and occasional flashes of lightning, she knew the shack was close by. Her contact would be inside.

Crowds cheered as the king and his small escort rode towards the square. Harri, by his side, smiled up at him. The imposing mechanical sentinels stood to their full height, slightly taller than a three story town house. As they passed their brass hands clinked to salute their master.

"No!" She snarled, dashing the goblets from the table, " You lie!". Her hair stood on end and sparks arcked from her clenched fists Across the table the slug-like creature smirked back at her. "He’s dead miss. Fer sure. The Antimags got i'm, kennin thel keepin ‘em all in the city of course. Would go there miself. Whatit they say" he slurped on his drink, bulbous eyes blinking in the lamplight as he paused for dramatic effect, "arh yes, The city of magic’s death."

"But, .., Why?" Electrical static fizzed around the agitated courtier. Since his pronouncement, the king was quiet as death. "Wyvern!” Forgetting formality Harri raised his voice, the glow increased ”Answer me, father! Our people love us, life has given them my powers, your love! Why would they kill us?.."

The burning shack stood ruined around her, a halo of power pulsed around her tiny form. From the rubble in-front a gasping, slurping noise came. “Never lie to me again Sluget, you will now join me in this quest. Help me in your new form, my brother, I absolutely must find my king”

A low moan came from the rubble, something stirred.

The trumpets of the Talthorians blared over the ruined city. A tiny figure flitted between the broken walls and ruined spires of his former home. Above the palace, the flag of the Technocratic Union, or the Antimages as they had become known, fluttered in the spring breeze. He did not stop to weep, simply trying to survive and escape from the doom his life was facing. Most of the loyal gnome guard had fled, but rumour had it that they were being tracked. “Its over” he said quietly, curling up to hide inside his cloak.

“Ah ha! Got im!” the hands of a Talthorian guard grabbed him, attaching a magical deadening cuff to clamp his wrists. As depressed as he was he hardly resisted, it was over, after all.

“To bad for your side” The guard looked at his captive somewhat sadly, ”Look right, I know as well as you do that us being here is all a bloody sham. The trouble at Storm point was a load of pissin ponk if you ask me, bloody misdirection by these revolutionaries here. If you stick with me Ill make sure you get a good place to sleep, and who knows what the future will bring, eh? What do you say?” Harri looked up at the soldier, his black hair and gruff manner seemed genuine, for all that he hated what his uniform stood for.

“It’s the gear right? I borrowed this for this campaign, but I am a blue-fang forever if you asked. Look-right, come with me, join our guys. Were independent for the most part, and I can use someone with your talents. I’ve heard about you lightning-gnome. Harri isn’t it?” He held out a hand.

For the first time in weeks Harri felt hope. He grabbed the hand.

Arthur Is Erivan Mithrandir

His eyes were so old, and she knew.

The Tower of the Magi comes only to those who are invited, so the legends speak. The shimmering

forests appear one day to a traveller, but even with invitation many perish in the enchanted blackness of its spectral forests. Unreal but present, deadly but distant the tower and its forest are as removed from the Eladrin as they are from their Elvin brethren. They are a connected with their society as the enchantments they weave. The source of their power of which it is forbidden for any to speak.

Those marked from birth are visited soon by shadowed figures in the deep purple robes of the Eladrin Magi. It is known they were to be taken to the tower, and so their mothers accept the fate of their child; partly through awe, partly through superstitious dread. Like a curse, the robes of amethyst would appear, only to vanish. No word or mention of the child would be heard of again, and none would dare mention them.  His mother never did.

In Eladrin eyes they did not die, they had never been. He had never been.

Studious and determined, the boy was marked from birth. Of the twelve riddles of entry, he had guessed all in less time than any of his peers. The arcane tests which beat novices down to their masters will, came to him like breath. His tutors reported his learning as unnatural, less like study and more akin to remembering. Scholarship, Wand Craft, Intonation, Unseen, Rebirth ; the Six Masters were mighty in their art, yet all found this pupils knowledge and skill uncanny. In his eyes the sparkle of some great untold power rested, waiting.

Hearing disquiet, and reading the fleeting signs sent through the cosmos to his second sight, the Great Master summoned this boy to his chamber. His own chamber,  in the very top of the great tower. The hour approached, the grand and ancient mage looked up.

A knock came at the door, and the door dissolved to nothing. Where some would have been

surprised, the diminutive figure hooded in novices robes folded his hand away and smiled.

“Great Master”, he smiled, the title sounding like a mockery on his tongue.  “I expected you to call me here. I suspect you knew I would come?”

The Great Master held his gaze for a second, then turned away. “I saw your coming, yes.” The voice came to the boy through his mind, the lights in the chambers pulsed and brightened as he spoke. The simple chamber flickered for a moment, then held.

“I have seen much more than you might guess. I will show you in due course,… but you still have much to learn, young master”, as he spoke, a glow began about the Masters hands, spreading until the frail seeming man was enveloped in blinding light. The surrounding room, door and stair all vanished, replaced by a crystalline hall many magnitudes greater than could exist inside the tower.

Visibly shaken, the Boy shrank back, his hands covering his eyes to stop the blinding light. A huge voice intoned these last words to him as light and silence deafen his senses, sending him to the void:

The brilliant light and defining silence fade away.

His spirit, overwhelmed.

His body, nothing.

His memories. All was a blinding light. Was there a light? A… nothing…

A Butterfly flying through a pleasant grove lands briefly on a colourful parchment, held by a man with a wobbly face.

Stillness.

A distant horn sounds out. He opens his eyes, fear clouds them at the sounds. A voice in his head speaks:

“Run Arthur Shattermast,  Run, if you want to live”

Hatch's Back Story

Supplying the school had always been a tricky task for the Grounds-keeper at Rekorths Arcane Academy. Hagwin Herlee was a rough kind of elf to find at such a place, taciturn and moody he kept his distance from the privileged children and focused on his duties - tending the fine gardens, training the trees, taming the local wildlife, and supplying the Arcane Stores. He had been long forbidden from studying at the school, partly due to his rough wood elf blood, but also because he was tremendously clumsy.

One day, one of the "Fossilized Dragon Eggs" he had traded a pouch of ruby dust and a pickled octopus tentacle for, vanished from its ebony case. After some searching he found the broken shell, and after a while more he found what he assumed was a hatchling silver dragon, hiding in the corner of his newly cleaned stable. Needless to say, he told no-one (and was quietly relieved when he realised this was a Dragonborn).

"Little Silver Dragon" or Hatch was raised by the clumsy hands of the grounds-keeper, and like Hagwin had no time for small-talk. Lacking Hagwins butter fingers, Hatch was granted a place at the Academy, and with characteristic diligence studied hard. Huge and intimidatingly taciturn, Hatch did not really make friends, but at least he was the most original, fantastic being at the school.

Disaster struck when a Turquoise giant arrived, with fantastic tales of a Litch King who had destroyed his village. Turquoise! A Litch King!? Hatch did not believe a word.

Hagwin was still trading in illicit magical supplies. He received a delivery of black iron, and placed it in the store house along with many oddments; a human bone, some gems, and the special case that Hatch had arrived in. After an evening spent supping some of his special supply, he stumbled into his shed to hid it as usual. It happened to be at midnight, and he had configured the room in a circular formation with the items around the edge. hitting his toe on the dark iron he gave such a peal of profanity the circle of items burst into flame, and a demon was summoned from the hells. The hut was engulfed in flames.

An epic battle ensued, as young magic users from the school came to see what was happening. Two huge figures saved the day; one silver, one turquoise. The demon, covered in magically created suffocating moss, and lacerated with cuts from Hatches Fine Silver Blade, was defeated at last.The pair were celebrated as heroes, and from that point on were firm friends.

When school was over the decided to find their fortune together. Hatch halfway liked this humanoid, I mean sure he was no Dragon born, but Firblog was OK.

Well he would be fine company for now, and he could assist Hatch retrieving the Eye of Bahamut! The true Dragonborns would then accept Hatch as one worthy of their company. Fantastic. Onwards to Adventure!

Ai Celeb Sgiathatch (Skey-Ach) or Hatch

Ai Celeb Sigurhaith, known as Hatch to all who knew, was never in a talkative mood. Sitting on the raised wooden back of the cart, the Severn-and-a-bit-foot-tall being made it look like some kind of miniature. In the quiet warm afternoon sun as the cart followed its usual route, peasants in the fields gawped and shrank back from the vehicle and its giant silver occupant.

Because Hatch was silver. Most Dragonborn had skin of a reddish or brownish hue. Hatch though this common, every day, perhaps an effect of so many years lived with the lesser races. The sun gleamed on scales so mirrored it was as if a stature of solid silver was being delivered to some kings palace, but statues didn't practice sword craft.

Hatch was practicing sword craft. Fortunately the rather pale looking passengers at the inn had decided they didn't need to travel today. Hatch did not mind, company was not required in order to complete this quest. Back ramrod straight, Hatch thought while practicing, thrusting and parrying invisible opponents. The practice was automatic, subconscious even, and served to clear the mind after so long awake. Hatch thought not of the pleasant day, the terrified driver of the cart, the fearful locals or even the elegant Elven longs word as it flashed too and throw.

Hatch though of the quest.

Raised away from the Dragonborn, Hatch was always an outsider. The Elven school had trained the hatchling almost from birth, and so great skill and knowledge were part of the toolkit which Hatch would use in this endeavour. Through learning and great study, in candlelight and the heat of the day, Hatch never ceased in training and searching. Stories of the Dragonborn were like precious gems found in some deep mine. All of these Hatch treasured and embroidered. Now knowledge of Dragonborn was  to play a crucial part.

"They won't be impressed with just anyone, of course you would have to have achieved something", the old man had said. And of course that made total sense. Hatch could see that - Dragonborn are the best, they are legendary. It wouldn't matter to them if this you going was to simply turn up, no! Their must be tales to tell, great deeds to sing of! The Dragons Eye...

Hatch had almost laughed having never heard of it, but the old man had persisted "Oh yes! The Eye is yours for the taking. A legendary artefact, whoever can find such a thing could rule over all Dragons themselves. You use first make your way to Baldur's Gate where the order were last known to operate. One of your learning might be able to make sense of the ancient riddle, and with your, we, scales, they may even tell you some secrets.

"The Eye" Hatch muttered quietly, shedding the gleaming blade with a sigh. If only I can retrieve it then I will have earned my right to be amongst my people once more"