They say vanity is the food of fools, and as King I am entitled to eat
first.

So come, feast at my table upon the many dishes gathered from both near and
far for your, and most importantly my, convenience.

Relish their varied flavors and delight in their subtle textures. For
flattery shall get you everywhere, and who more ambitious than I?

- Trillian Triffle, the King of Fools

Is your hunger unsated? Do you still thirst? Despair not. Read The
Proceedings of the Mystics of Arcana, Vol 1. Read the Serin Mystique! And,
of course, frequent your local taverns!

Don't forget to tip!

- Trillian Triffle, Subject of the King

Scratch, rip.
Despair.

No click.
's not there.

Half life.
Ensnared.

Fully fit.
But with fear.

Tight knit.
Do I dare?

Hope lit.
Assumptions bared.

Twined minds.
We'll be a pair.



Scratch rip

The realm fell silent
A giant chewed
The power structures
Been renewed

Munch munch

From the shadows
Legion stirred
The Dragon's dead
They're undeterred

Crunch crunch

Justice braces
For the storm
Keepers wake
To a new norm

Munch crunch

The status quo
Is torn asunder
Find this giant
Take his plunder

Crunch munch

Wait a moment
He's right there
He beckons you
With a stare

Come, come
Skeggi want lunch

Witch's Snap

Snap.
Crack.
What was that?
Someone just break a pact?

An unknown bond
Cut with ancient hack.
No one concerned
This might be a trap?

But looky here,
More room in the hat!
Perhaps for good?
I doubt that.

- Trillian Triffle, the Obstinate Observer

Pixie's Tact

She is the witch
in the goblin skin
Now it fits a little looser
maybe I can slip in?

Catalyst of Calamity
Black clad centrifuge of Tragedy
Inviting new chaos
Slinging magic so haphazardly

Included in the plans but never the planning
Nobody trusts a Pixie's heart
Lots of ideas but none worth understanding
Nobody questions why I depart
Expressing concerns but none are compelling
I just slink away, never stalwart

We are all my subjects
Even I take part

- Trillian Triffle, the Obstinate Observer

Trillian Triflle rollin' by her side
A merry young fellow is diminutive size

Wait stop
Slow
Presence grows
His soul aglow
Next thing you know

His voice ensnares
His tales prepare
The inevitable to take root
Through crust and soot

Piercing veils
Following trails
Ignoring wails

Til there's just one door more
To your core
Let me in

What's this?
A battle you say?
I seriously suggest
You consider softer prey

You see my weapons may be tiny
But my verse is sharp
Ya think you're fighting ably
My flow's taking you apart

Concern yourself with dodging
But you never realize
Deliver scratches to your body
But ***DEMOLISH*** to your mind.

Now your head is in a tizzle
Got you seeing triple Triffles
And your thinking's getting feeble
That's right it isn't im-poss-e-ble!

It's over.
I'm in.
I've looked around.
I know your sins.

Trillian grins devilishly
And I like 'em.

LiveAtMockers

Trillian says 'I give you, The Dragon's Stash - working title.'

Dwiggans closes his eyes momentarily.
A string of sausages suddenly appears.

Trillian says 'Well I once heard a tale about Sz-re-van.'
Trillian stomps his foot 3 times in rhythm.
Someone makes a man in back say 'Sz-re-van!'

Dwiggans gets a string of sausages.
Dwiggans gets a string of sausages.

Trillian says 'The realms most fearsome dra-con-i-an.'
Trillian stomps his foot 3 times in rhythm.
Someone makes a barmaid say 'Con-i-an!'

Trillian says 'Back in the day he was a lizard man.'
Someone makes a drunk in the corner stands and say 'Li-zard man!''

Trillian says 'Crawling on the ground he could hardly stand.'
Someone makes the crowd say 'Hard-ly stand!'

Trillian says 'Well he got real mad looking at halfling feet.'
Someone makes the crowd say 'Half-ling feet!'

Trillian says 'But gaining height was the opponent that he could not beat.'
The crowd says 'Could not beat!'

Trillian says 'So he prayed to the Gods saying please oh please!'
Someone makes the crowd say 'Please oh please!'

Trillian says 'And they transformed his body to fulfill his need.'
Someone makes the crowd say 'Fill his need!'
Someone makes patrons from other rooms run in and say 'Fill his needs!'

Trillian pauses to take a sip of his drink.

Trillian says 'Well I heard another tale about Sz-re-van.'
Trillian says 'The realms most powerful dra-con-i-an.'
Someone makes the crowd say 'Con-i-an'

Trillian says 'Now he fights everybody just to prove he's tall.'
Someone makes the crowd say 'Prove he's tall!'

Valindra taps one foot along to the rhythm.

Trillian says 'And sure as poop smells he can whip them all!'
Someone makes the crowd say 'Whip them all!'

Trillian says 'But if you look real close his upper lip's still bare.'
Someone makes the crowd say 'Lip's still bare!'

Vikka the serving girl walks in.

Trillian says 'Scales show your reflection if you care to stare.'
Someone makes the crowd say 'Care to stare!'

Draelar is OBVIOUSLY intoxicated... he burps loudly and passes out!

Trillian says 'Well he got real mad with no facial hair.'
Someone makes the crowd say 'No facial hair!'

Trillian says 'Gazing in the mirror and brooding in his lair.'
Someone makes the crowd say 'In his lair!'

Trillian says 'He ran back to Gods with a hairy new ask.'
Someone makes the crowd say 'Hairy new ask!'

Trillian says 'They said to find the halfling who is the Master of Stashe.'
Someone makes the crowd say 'Master of Stashe!'

Trillian says 'Now he spends all his days chasing after Bonfo.'
Someone makes the crowd say 'After Bon-fo!'

Trillian says 'Trying to steal the moustache that he cannot grow!'
Someone makes the crowd explodes laughing and say 'Can not grow!'

Trillian covers the room with golden dust.
Trillian rises off the ground.
Trillian bows deeply.

Valindra stands up.

Szrevan whistles appreciatively.

Valindra leaps to stubby emerald feet and applauds rather vigorously.

Dwiggans blinks innocently.

Draelar looks at himself.

Trillian says 'Did you like it?'

Szrevan says to Trillian 'Quite an effort there, young pixie.'

Draelar says 'whhat ahhMmM ii cjoOovERehD inNn?'
Draelar claps at Trillian's performance.

Valindra says to Trillian 'Triffle, you have a gift.'

Trillian says 'I confess it's a fair bit of extrapolation...'

Draelar says 'tHhaT WAhsSz ghReat!'

Szrevan roars 'I am flattered that you deemed me worthy enough for a song.'

Draelar says 'hHOow diD YOou LEArnNn tao ZSsiInNngh?'

Trillian says 'Why you are the center of events my friend!'
Draelar says 'ii ahlwaysSz waNTEhd tO sSsiInNng!'

Valindra says to Szrevan 'I shall include it in the Mystique, with your
permission.'

Vikka the serving girl walks south.

Trillian says 'I'm sure a proper ballad will be written some day.'

Szrevan yells out his warcry.
Szrevan yells 'Scorch the plains, burn the skies, revel in Fire of my
desire!'

Trillian says 'But a tavern song is more starting stalk.'

Szrevan bows before Trillian.
Szrevan roars 'I am impressed.'

Trillian beams broadly!

Szrevan roars 'Our kind is not so blessed with the wit of the words.'
Szrevan roars 'But I can appreciate those who are.'

Trillian says 'We all have our gifts.'

Trillian says 'Tonight's performance is inspired by my dear friends
Valindra and Dwiggans. '

Trillian says 'And for so special an occasion one pixie simply will not do.
So joining me will be my favorite band mates in all of Serin. Together we
are:'

Trillian utters the words, 'wuffaf uwaoz'. A mirror image of Trillian
appears beside him! A mirror image of Trillian appears beside him! A
mirror image of Trillian appears beside him!

Trillian flourishes grandly while declaring 'The Tripillians! '

Trillian says softly to Trillian 'Sorry, mate, you're not in this one. '

An image of Trillian nods twice.

Trillian is released by Trillian! Trillian slowly fades away.

Two images of Trillian take their place on either side of Trillian.

Trillian wraps an elaborate belly dancing belt dangling a multitude of
shining coins around his waist.

Trillian holds a kashaka in each hand.

An image of Trillian dwarfs everything around it as it grows larger.

An image of Trillian quaffs a vial of anti-toxin.

An image of Trillian turns green.

Trillian nods at Big Trillian.

Big Trillian nods at Green Trillian.

Green Trillian nods at Trillian.

Trillian half opens both hands palms up and one gourd drops from each
dangling by the ropes connecting them to the gourds still in his hands.

'Klik' go the kashakas as Trillian flicks his wrists sending the gourds on
an arc around his hand where they collide with the other that he holds.

'Klak' go the kashakas as Trillian rotates his wrists the other direction
flipping the opposite gourds.

Trillian wheezes.

'Klik' go the kashakas as Trillian flips the gourds.

Big Trillian says 'Blade of Light is I'.

'Klak' go the kashakas as Trillian flips the gourds.

Big Trillian says 'Oath of Vengeance is me'.

'Wheeeeeeze' goes Trillian.

Big Trillian says 'Yet still so empty'.

'Klik-aa, klak-a, wheeeeeze' goes Trillian.

Trillian sings 'The bright light shines so brilliantly'.

Trillian sings 'A sign of purity'.

Trillian sings 'But put it through a prism'.

Trillian sings 'And there's so much more to see'.

Trillian sings 'The light splits into to colors'.

Trillian sings 'Each with possibilities'.

Trillian sings 'Every time that you look nearer'.

Trillian sings 'You'll see more complexity'.

Trillian croaks, as a frog might.

'Tsss' chime the belt coins as Trillian thrusts his hips to the left.

'Croak' goes Trillian.

'Tsss' chime the belt coins as Trillian thrusts his hips to the right.

'Croak' goes Trillian.

'Croak' goes Trillian.

'Tsss' chime the belt coins on Trillian's hips.

'Croak' goes Trillian.

'Tsss' chime the belt coins on Trillian's hips.

'Croak' goes Trillian.

'Croak' goes Trillian.

'Tsss' chime the belt coins on Trillian's hips.

Green Trillian raps 'I am the witch'.

Green Trillian raps 'That you can't forget'.

Green Trillian raps 'Come knockin' at my door'.

Green Trillian raps 'But ya haven't caught me yet'.

'Croak. Tsss. Croak, Croak, Tsss. ' goes Trillian.

Green Trillian raps 'I'm the Queen of Calamity'.

Green Trillian raps 'See visions of ya tragedy'.

Green Trillian raps 'I wrap myself in grief'.

Green Trillian raps 'And ya still just sit there judgin' me'.

'Croak. Tsss. Croak, Croak, Tsss. ' goes Trillian.

Green Trillian raps 'But that's okay, dear'.

Green Trillian raps 'I don't mind'.

Green Trillian raps 'I can steal another body'.

Green Trillian raps 'When this one's heart is dried'.

'Tsss, Tsss, Tsss' chimes Trillian, hips undulating.

'Croak' goes Trillian.

Trillian sings 'Black so complete it covers'.

Trillian sings 'Anything that you might see'.

Trillian sings 'But add a little water'.

Trillian sings 'And you'll find versatility'.

Trillian sings 'A world of grays awaits there'.

Trillian sings 'Beneath opacity'.

Trillian sings 'Any landscape can be rendered'.

Trillian sings 'Using Darkness' true beauty'.

'Klik-aa, klak-a, wheeeeeze' goes Trillian.

Big Trillian chants 'The titles proclaim hero or perhaps a holy man'.

Big Trillian chants 'But I don't feel so righteous sending prayers to
Phostan'.

Big Trillian chants 'My spells are always granted holy might is my offense'.

Big Trillian chants 'But when I beg for guidance I'm always met with pure
silence'.

'Klik-aa, klak-a, wheeeeeze' goes Trillian.

Big Trillian chants 'I wonder if it's penance for the sins deep in my past'.

Big Trillian chants 'Even my God led victories brought no changes that would
last'.

Big Trillian chants 'All my true successes come alongside best friends of
the heart'.

Big Trillian chants 'Its enough to make me wonder if I've already done my
part'.

'Croak. Tsss. Croak, Croak, Tsss. ' goes Trillian.

Green Trillian chants 'Curses are such tricky things - they follow and
cling'.

Green Trillian chants 'I can spit the worst of em and I always get the
blame'.

Green Trillian chants 'People never realize that these things are quite
alive'.

Green Trillian chants 'If it wasn't for me tending them they'd be here all
the same'.

'Croak. Tsss. Croak, Croak, Tsss. ' goes Trillian.

Green Trillian chants 'And yes, I've danced with Dark Gods'.

Green Trillian chants 'I've done all of that and more'.

Green Trillian chants 'But my devices are past knowing'.

Green Trillian chants 'You can't know what I work towards'.

Trillian's belly undulates and his hands are a blur as he works all his
instruments.

Trillians braid's sway as he rocks his head. He's really feeling it!

Trillian says 'Klik-a klak-a croak klak tsss tsss wheeze' emanates from
Trillian at center stage. '

Trillian says 'Klik-a klak-a tsss croak klak tsss wheeze' emanates from
Trillian at center stage. '

Draelar drinks champagne from a bottle of champagne.

Big Trillian sings, 'I cannot be the all things that others want of me'.

Draelar drinks champagne from a bottle of champagne.

Green Trillian sings, 'I can't see as clearly now, that we're no longer
three'.

Big Trillian sings, 'And I see a good soul in my emerald lady! '

Green Trillian sings, 'I trusted fate to restore me through the poetry'.

Draelar sloshes alcohol everywhere as he fails to find his face.

Big Trillian sings, 'I see more than her aura, want her veggies in my cart'.

Green Trillian sings, 'And Dwiggans can't replace her, but perhaps he can
fill my heart'.

Draelar sloshes alcohol everywhere as he fails to find his face.

Big Trillian sings, 'I pray the Gods won't judge us but I can only just be
me'.

Green Trillian sings, 'Defying definitions is the first step of our we'.

'Klik klik klak, klik klak, klik klik klik, wheeze' emanates from Trillian
at center stage.

'Tss tss tss, klak, croak, tss tss tss, wheeze' emanates from Trillian at
center stage.

Draelar sloshes alcohol everywhere as he fails to find his face.

Trillian's belt fans out as he leaps in the air spinning in to full circles.

'Tssssssssssssssssssssssssss' goes the Trillian's belt.

Both of Trillian's arms whip outward.

'KLAK' go the kashakas as Trillian lands powerfully on one knee with both
arms extended.

'Croak' goes Big Trillian.

'Wheeze' goes Green Trillian.

Valindra seems unsure of how to respond before rushing to an ovation.

All three Trillian's bow extravagantly.

Valindra claps uproariously for a long moment.

Ilromie shows her approval by clapping her hands together.

Wylsin says 'That was quite the performance. '

Bonfo claps his hands in thunderous applause.

Draelar says 'tHhat waasSs ahmmAZSziinng! '

Trillian giggles.

The room drums with thunderous applause. Valindra sits once more.

Draelar sloshes alcohol everywhere as he fails to find his face.

Valindra says to Trillian 'Few have captured my essence better. '

Dwiggans stands up clapping hard enough to bruise his palms.

Draelar picks up Trillian in a bear hug!

Valindra says to Trillian 'Maybe you and the god of blood. His likeness is
astounding. '

Draelar says 'whhoo kNnew YOouh WehrEh soo talenNntED! '

Avenar says 'Now we know exactly what it would be like if there were three
Trillians. '

Dwiggans says 'That was magnificent! The Tripillians are me new favorite
band, no doubt! '

Trillian says to Valindra 'You are too kind! '

Bonfo says 'You should grow a moustache Trillian. '

ToLosla

Lah dee dah de-da dee dah de-da deet deet dee doo
Ah lah dee dah de-da dee dah de-da deet deet dee doo

When I was a young man visit Jim down on the farm
In the surrounding forest practiced all my fledgling charms
Then one day took a wrong turn darkness spread amongst the boughs
The huntsman set upon me to send me into my death throes
His devil horns they glistened like the black tip of his spear
I curled up tight into a ball could hardly move for fear

Now when I'm feeling frightened I just pull back from the world
I closed my eyes, drifted away into those crimson walls
And I saaaaaw you
Los-la my first siiight of you

The monsters they don't fade away cause Lolsa loves them too
They still growl and rend with mighty claws, their razor teeth still chew
But they don't seem so scary now her love is all around
I fight them off with fervor I can take them pound for pound
When I'm wiiiiith you
Los-la Iiiiiii need you

I may just be a mortal and I am so very small
But my love is endless it can fill those empty halls
If I could only find her know we'd reconcile our size
So I will keep on searching til the day of my demise
I close mmmmyyyy eyes
Los-la Iiiii'll find you

I searched the arcane towers but I never heard her name
All these old wise scholars met me with ridicule and shame
Their words cut worse than scimitars their laughter hurt my bones
I internalized derision be-fore waves of mocking tones
I close mmmmyyy eyes
Los-la Iiiii see you

I drift away to hallowed halls familiar and the same
Their words still drip with acid but now everything is changed
I walk myself straight out the door, this place holds no val-ue
I close mmmmyyy eyes
Los-la wheeeere are you?

They say she's an illusion but I know that isn't true
I'll search the whole Serin just to find a single clue
I close mmmmyyy eyes
Los-la Iiiii love you
Close yoooouur eyes
Los-la loves youuuu too

"With Believer's Like These"

There once was a talented monk.
With a predilection for winding up drunk.
He'd drink with his lunch.
He'd drink when he punched.
And let me tell you he does punch a bunch!

Then there was this wandering priest.
Inclined to mysticism born of the east.
Balancing all things is Olyn's way
Except the number of words you both say.
I tell you he'll ramble for days!

Well these two very different creatures did meet.
The monk the priest did entreat.
I converted a delinquent!
I was fooled my a miscreant!
The lesson is read the fine print

Citizens of Serin! Let us all join together in celebration of Davairus
Day! A tribute to the lifeblood that runs through us all. It reminds me of
a tale I heard in a tavern one time...

A group of Immortals gather in a bar. They have a few drinks, one thing
leads to another, and a question is asked,

"How would you prove you're truly master of your domain?"

"Easy," says Olyn, "watch this,"

He leads them outside and with a slash of his hand fells a great oak.
Another slash and he divides it perfectly in half. Another and he's made a
plank. He divides a branch into perfectly round logs, each slightly smaller
than the last. He tosses the logs and the plank in the air then jumps up
himself.

They all land in a stack. Log, log, log, plank, Olyn. A slight wobble back
and forth then,

"Ta-Da!" Olyn proclaims. "I am the master of Balance!"

Kedaleam muses, "I don't know... '

And with a snap of his fingers he summons a massive tome containing every
law from every age in the history of Serin. He places it on Olyn's head.

"Ta... Da?"

"I'm still not convinced," says Dogran.

He pulls from a sheath strapped to his back the largest, sharpest, heaviest
sword in all of Serin. He places it, point down, upon the tome upon Olyn's
head. Sweat beads on Olyn's forehead as the entire pillar wobbles a moment.


"TA-DA!" He proclaims, victorious.

Davairus arrives in a puff a smoke.

"Hey guys, I figured out what Serin needs. No more wood. Should take
effect any moment. Just letting you know."

Greetings, one and all! At this festive time of year I thought I'd take
the time to share with you all a tale of my youth in Acadia. Yes, yes, I
know. There is not Strythmas in Acadia as Stryth was a God of Serin.
However, there are seasons. And as in most lands, the seasons are marked
with festivities! Here it may be Strythmas. In my home, the celebrations
took place upon the Winter Solstice. This particular tradition is quite
interesting! Indeed, indeed. As it is both tradition and rite of passage.
It is the coming of age moment for every young pixie.

Now, the very well read amongst you may recall my mention of a particular
difference in the nature of reality between Acadia and Serin. I wrote of it
in "The Proceedings of the Mystics of Arcana, Vol 1, Issue 1". That
difference is object impermanence. To refresh us, recall that reality is
far more malleable in Acadia. Things can be changed with relative ease.
Objects can be altered, appearances shifted. But the altered item remains
the very same thing despite these alterations. So how does one know what is
what? You simply know. This "knowing" is ability that comes to all pixies
eventually.

So, to the Winter Solstice tradition! In the weeks leading up to the
Solstice all of the older pixie lads and lasses steal the favored toys of
their juniors. Now the occasional nicking of goods is quite common indeed.
But at this time of year, it has purpose. The borrowed toy isn't simply
passed about or left forgotten. The adolescent pixie changes the size and
shape of the toy to make it into a sparkly ornament or some such. They then
leave the altered item in the eves of their house for trickster Fae
Astorway, the spirit guide of all wayward things, to collect. Legend has it
that Astorway gathers them all and on the Solstice attaches each item to
adorning ribbons that dangle from a large pole in the central green. In the
morning, the young adults ribbon dance about the pole whilst the children
fly about trying to identify and reclaim their transmuted toys. Each who
can successfully identify what is theirs is acknowledged as a young adult.
The newly acknowledged form a new pocket of pixies, forever bonded together,
and are now generally free to run amok about town without the supervision of
any adult from that moment forward.

I do hope you found this tale enchanted. I certainly enjoyed telling it.
Tell me, tell me, what are traditions from your place of origin?

- Trillian Triffle, Exile of Acadia

How does one publish
The works of the dead?
And which shall we archive
Of all things that were said?

If I ate the muffin
Yet still wear the hat
Do I recall ballads
Of this over that?

And what of Acadia
That place that I'm from?
I think I'm living
Yet you go when you're done?

Perhaps I'm an Illusion?
But in your mind or mine?
Read with your heart
Tell me which you divine

- Trillian Triffle, High Herald of Tragedy (Acting)

Dwiggan's Duality
- By Trillian Triffle the Casual Consumer

The sausage and the sword
Ruled over his days
Confusing desires
Of how dwarves might slay

This truest of champions
Faced proposition most lewd
Chose his sausage when clearly
It was the sword that would do

Yet still true he was
He grieved his poor wife
Estranged not forgotten
He took his own life

And how came his end?
Did he fall on his blade?
Again with the sausage!
Engorged on goods that he made!

Curation
- By Trillian Triffle the Misshapen Doll

Skip over that stone, I can never go home
All barrels have bottoms, perfect for the downtrodden
Tossed into the ether, just for pleasing my teacher
And portals go places, not give extra faces!

Burnt feathers, lost letters, a broken tambourine
The greediest collector that I've ever seen
Essence in rafters, metal tongue lashes
Half written op-eds on latest Serin fashions

What are these things?
Another secret you see
That secret? It's obvious
The secret is me

But what of the toys
when the island is sunk?
Too late, secret's out
We believe we're not junk

And all Mamas leave, but do they depart?
Can a concept so pure truly fall apart?
That shimmering sheen that hangs in the air
Heat wafts o'er the oven, I see her there

So follow your nose
Do pick up those crumbs
They lead to each other
So search with aplomb

Hate grows
Blood flows
Foes fall
Story untold

A blood stained fist
Hard impressed
No difference
Parchment or chest

Demon, Knight
Fae, fool
Warlord, God
All tools

Ally to my future
Forgotten to my past
Each must be hard
To make a wrung to last

We climb

One day it came
Out of the blue
It simply was
The Spire

With craggled pits
And blackened stone
It beckoned
Climb the Spire

And so they came
And so they fell
They fell off of
The Spire

Look down! We warned
The young and new
Or be called by
The Spire

We learned to live
In its shadow
Cowering beneath
The Spire

Demons came
And built their nest
'pon the side of
The Spire

One day it's gone
The sky is blue
Look up and see
No Spire

Yet still we walk
With downcast eyes
In minds, it looms
The Spire

Witch's Rap VI
- By Trillian Triffle, Child of the Coven

I am the pixie
in the witch's hat
Don't yet know the Magics
but I'll get the knack

Staring in the fires
Don't yet see your demise
And no I'm not crying
Bright light just hurts my eyes

So step up sirs, ladies, and sons
I'll roll these bones
And come what come
(Please consult Wylsin for the reading when I'm done)

The age of illusion has begun
Time for y'all to learn about pixie fun
Confirmed deletes, a fiat complete
I didn't do this, I've got receipts!

Pick up your jaw
No disbelief
No time for History
Myth runs these streets!

Weaponizing fiction
Transcendental transcription
Hyperbolic half truths
Canonized into scripture

Cause me and mine?
We don't sit on our hands
These quills be scribblin'
So best meet my demands

Now run to the taverns
Do be my friend
Feed me my desires
Or meet literary end

But what's with this hat?
It's heavy as a lead sack
I best be careful
Or I might hurt my back

"In Fact"

In fact, I was best by your side
Slaying evil, turning tides

In fact, I hate all you represent
Justice of no consequence

In fact, I need you, no more lies
Together opening my third eye

I won't miss you. Truth, you see?
In fact, you'll be missing me

"Focus"

For Lamneve. Taken too soon, undedicated in end, she left us one final
lesson on that most neglected of pillars.


Weep for this seedling
That never should have been
A horticultural hybrid
Who never fit in

Cry not for the seed, and innocence lost
Mourn not for the flower, its beauty unseen
Yearn not for the scents, of blossoms to be
Remember the seedling, for that was she

Reflect on potential, its nascent spark
Consider the roots, straining their bin
Ponder your feelings, and who nurtured whom
As you saw that seedling, rooted in sin

Fret not for the steward, or his outraged heart
Fret not for the gardener, his guilt over his part
Fret not for the farmer, and his poisoned soil
For the living, continue on in their toils

See the seedling
As it was

And grieve

Drip, drip
Blood falls upon the sand
Don't trip
Or you'll die by my hand

Quick, quick
We run to see who lasts
I slipped!
And smile with final gasp

My blood seeps deep into the floor
Arena stains how I endure
Earth recalls what men forget
The Blood God's grin in each sunset

- Trillian Triffle, the Upper Leftmost Stain

A man stands for something
He doesn't owe you
No mercy
No quarter
No discourse with skew

A man stands in Iron
His weapons laid bare
Come at him
Bring friends
A man does not care

A man stands in silence
His code is his own
God's guidance
On compliance?
He'll never atone

A man stands

Announcing Trillian's Transcriptions!

Have you ever wanted to capture a moment but couldn't find the words?
Trillian's Transcriptions is here for you!

Whether it is a recounting of an epic duel, a ballad of an ancient evil
slain, or a confession of love that needs just a touch more polish
Trillian's Transcriptions has you covered.

They say a picture is worth a million words so commission your very own
million word* masterpiece today and hang it in your lair with pride!

Ballads! Poems! Tales! Yarns and Songs! Trillian's Transcriptions has
them all! Satisfaction guaranteed**.

See you in the Taverns,

- Trillian Triffle

*Price may vary by word conunt. Trillian's Transcriptions requires proof of
funds prior to acceptance of any eork of epic or greater length
**Assessment based upon the eye of the original beholder

I sit at my window at the top of the Rest
Watching trivial sins from the self proclaimed best
Lackadaisical Gods can't even finish a quest
I seriously wish that I wrote this in jest

Y'all so devoid of mysteries
Heralds scribing lost histories
While current events
Achieve pinnacle banalites

But that's alright. It's fine
You don't need the divine
Just come down to the tavern
and have a good time

Stay awhile
Hear a rhyme
Have a drink
Maybe nine

Then when your courage is mustered
And you're feeling full of drunken bluster
Find the pixie in the back
Tell him secrets, trust his tact

For the power that's mine
I wield for you
I can weave a tale
That others take as true

A hero, a fool, a martyr, a shrew
Whatever your desire I can transform you
Or if not yourself perhaps a friend?
Or maybe a rival needs a shameful end?

So now do you see?
Be all you can be
You don't need practice
You just need me

Use Trillian's Transcriptions for all your agrandizing and defamatory
needs!

The dust settled. The beast was dead. Bonfo jumped nimbly down from the
creature's back and gazed towards Szrevan. The exertion of the day should
have made him disheveled. And yet, somehow, the sheen of sweat and blood
seemed to only enhance the rugged appeal of the master explorer.

"We've carried the day. And you did more than your share. Just as I
expected," Bonfo said smoothly. "Come, you may collect your chosen reward".


Szrevan hesitated for a moment before dropping to all fours so as to
approach the halfling at even height. He reached out a tentative claw.

"No, no, " Bonfo softly cooed. "So few get the chance to touch my
moustache". Two fluid steps carried him well within Szrevan's reach to the
tip of his powerful maw. "Make it count".

And then, as if the wind itself was complicit, a gust unfurled the tip of a
curled lock and it brushed lushly against the sensitive tissue between the
Serpent King's nostrils. The halfling leaned in even closer until both
bushy, luxurious ends touched Szrevan's nose. He closed his eyes and
breathed deeply of the mustache. It smelled of wax and leather with a
faint, floral trace no doubt from a rare flower of some faroff, forgotten
land. He felt two warm palms press against the sides of his face. His eyes
shot open.

"What are you..." He began but the words died on his lips as he stared into
those bold, confident eyes. The hands pressed back on his face and
unconsciously, reflexively, he began to shed his skin. It split from the
center and slowly pushed backwards exposing soft, pink flesh yet to see the
light of day.

"Wait," Szrevan grunted softly. "I... I've never... I mean, in combat,
sure... But not this".

Bonfo's push slowed to a near stop but his steel gaze never wavered.

"I've heard that the fluid a slith secretes to shed its skin is the slickest
lubricant in the entire realm. Is this true"?

Szrevan was acutely aware that with Bonfo's hands paused as they were upon
his neck that the halfling could feel every beat of his quickening pulse.

"It's true, " he groaned, his flush deepening from pink to crimson as the
steady push resumed and slowly peeled the skin back from his shoulders.

Announcing Serials!

This section is shall house longer form stories that deal directly with the
inhabitants of Serin. They are intended to augment and expand on the lore.
They won't necessarily be complete but can be thought of as dramatic
treatments on pertinent moments in time and place.

Some will even be true!

Longer stories may continue across multiple issues of the Mystique. We do
so hope you enjoy!

And if you would like to scribe a serial yourself just contact your friendly
curator, the esteemed Trillian Triffle!

"At First Sight"

Tiamat stretched her considerable greatness out across her dragon hoard.
She breathed leisurely in cyclic fashion as she lounged. Out one set of
nostrils, in through another, rolling the pattern in a wave through her five
heads. Ten eyelids drooped even though she was not tired. She rarely left
her lair these days. She wasn't bored per se. Just... Unstimulated. She
reached out through her connection to all chromatic dragons to scan the
realm. This was her main, and arguably only, interface with the world in
recent years. As usual, she started with the ancients and as usual they
were just as dormant as she. Next she skimmed from lair to lair, sky to
sky, searching for any source of potential amusement. She rode a blizzard
with a white for a time. Bathed with a blue. She intended to stay with a
fledgling green just long enough to taste the deer it had caught when a
rustle of movement in the forest caught the youngling's attention. The
drama was short lived. A scant moment later a skeleton emerged from the
undergrowth. Small. Weak. Disappointing. Tiamat began shifting her focus
to the next dragon when the green and the skeleton locked eyes. The
skeleton's eye sockets were empty. Perfectly ordinary. Yet they pulled in
Tiamat's gaze. Not the green's. Hers. Twin blue fires burned within them
and the world exploded in a fractal of ocular perception. A thousand pairs
of eyes between a thousand pairs of mirrors reflecting at each other into
near infinity. Tiamat stared into the eyes of legion. An undead horde. It
was as disorienting as it was familiar. She was used to staring out. Not
in. And through it all, behind it all, those eyes of blue fire. Also
staring in. A dragon horde. For the first time in days, perhaps weeks,
Tiamat lifted all five heads. "What is this?" Red hissed softly, craning
about to Black. But then, before she thought to sieze control, the young
green spun gracefully and shattered the skeleton with an easy flick of its
tail. And just like that, it was over. Gone.
Blue licked her lips subtlety. "Amusssing..." She purred while resettling
onto her gold.

Tiamat was restless. Her massive chest heaved as Red huffed her
displeasure while shifting the bulk of them on the pile of gold and jewels
that they claim as their bed. One celestial. A full celestial since the
most interesting event in ages and nothing! No escalation. No visit. Not
even a repeat encounter. It was all the more frustrating because Red knew
these feelings were not truly her own. The Five have distinctly different
thoughts, personalities, and preferences. But emotions are... Trickier.
Things tend to blur. And the other four range from intrigued to stimulated
which left Red beholden despite her current dominance of the collective. It
was infuriating.

Her vision started to haze as the others reached out. Red settled her neck
and head deep into a bank of gold as they began yet another undoubtedly
fruitless search. She closed her eyes and let it wash over her trying not
to focus on the experience too keenly. Dragon to dragon to dragon to
dragon. They jumped about near frantically barely even taking the time to
taste the scent on the winds. As soon as the air was fresh, absent the
sickly scent of death, they moved on. For weeks. It was tiresome. It
would seem Red was not alone in the feeling. They landed on a middle aged
Blue atop a hill and paused for a time. The Blue was striking. Powerful.
In his prime. Young enough to control a significant territory but not so
ancient as to have largely retired to a lair unless stirred. The object of
their interest and the cause of the momentary respite was cresting a nearby
hilltop. An armor clad knight strode a direct path towards the highest hill
where the Blue maintained its nest. The Blue in turn rose into an
elongated, sitting position that stretched its neck and caused its head to
tower above the surrounding landscape. Red's lip curled in a sneer. The
mirrored overconfidence of the two was nearly comical. A knight so bold as
to stroll openly to his death. And a young dragon so infatuated with his
own strength as to nest in the open. Tiamat opened herself to the emotions
and memories of the blue to get the feel of the slaughter she was about to
witness. It washed over her. Amusement for the paltry challenge
approaching. Bloodlust for the kill to come. Anticipation for the
slaughter he would enact upon the villages in his territory after. The
knight continued his direct march and began his ascent to the nest. All
five heads exhaled a simultaneous sigh. Another bore in an endless line of
little disappointments. The man was as green as he was arrogant. Shield
slung upon his back, he didn't even know he had just entered the range of
dragonfire. He just stoically lumbered on while dragging a long and heavy
object behind him. As if on cue, the Blue inhaled sharply, stoking the
flames in his belly. The fire broiled and churned and built until it
screamed for release. His neck snapped forward, jaws springing wide as he
funneled the flames into a jet that coursed through his throat. Then Tiamat
slammed the door closed. Wrenching all bodily control from the dragon, she
locked his jaws and convulsed his neck muscles, swallowing the fire and
forcing it back deep into his belly to smolder unrequited.

She focused intently on the inhaled air. And it was there. Feint. Fresh.
But there. The scent of death.

Tiamat pulled the dragon back into an upright, crouching position. She
declined his head ever so slightly. Not a bowed head. Just enough to shift
the blue's gaze downward to ensure that there would be no eye contact with
the approaching knight. This time the encounter would unfold on her terms.
She would not reveal herself until she was ready. The knight summited the
hilltop and continued forward. There was no hesitation, no fear, in his
gait. He made no move to defend himself, striding confidently until he was
within easy reach of the dragon's jaws. There he stopped and dropped his
burden. The bundle of heavy chains and metal stirred the dust as they
clattered to the ground. At this distance, to a dragon's nose, there was no
mistaking it. This man was dead. Or rather, undead. A zombie. Freshly
killed, freshly raised, with no traces of decay. Still averting her gaze,
Tiamat snaked her borrowed head forward, jaws wide, snapping them closed a
scant inch from the creature's face. Green snorted in disdain as the zombie
gave no reaction, not even the slightest flinch. How she loathed feeling
outmaneuvered. The fire still roiled in the blue's belly, yearning for
release, for satisfaction. Oh, how the blue wanted to consume this
creature. She could nearly taste his frustration. His desire. She
smothered his will beneath her own. She began to explore the creature,
first taking in his scent more fully. She started at the waist and worked
her way upwards. Just as she passed his sternum a hand pressed upward from
beneath her maw. The touch on her chin was light, yet persistent.
Powerful. Commanding. It compelled her, lifted her, until they locked
eyes. Breathe caught in five throats as again the world exploded in a
fractal of sensory perception. But this time, she was ready. She quickly
pushed through the multitude of vision, ignoring the localized sight of
thousands of interconnected dragons and undead. She pushed through, and
beneath, to the twin, blue fires that burned within. To the master. In
eons of existence, there had been only a scant few times when Tiamat had
completely focused all five of her minds so intently upon a single creature.
Fewer still that the one before her had not instantly been bowed by the
intensity of her full presence. For some time, neither moved. They simply
stared, eyes locked, two beings separated by untold leagues yet lost in
consideration of each other all the same.

"What are you?" Tiamat thought to herself.

As if the thought were a cue, the zombie knight began to move once more.
His palm caressed her nose with the softest touch, barely maintaining
contact, as it traced a gliding path from below her chin atop the bridge.
Then the guiding, persistent pressure resumed, this time pressing her head
downward rather than up. Slowly, Tiamat abated, descending until her head
was pressed fully to the ground. To the dirt. Dust flurried about them she
huffed. But she allowed it. If the knight took notice of her displeasure
he gave no outward sign as he turned to his fallen chains. They rattled and
clanged as he searched before shaking an item free. He returned to her
carrying a massive hinged collar. Her nostrils flared in warning as he
approached, but he quieted her with a hand to the cheek. Again, he traced
her curves, his touch trailing down her sinuous neck before coming to rest.
She heard the metallic grind of the hinge being worked. Felt the weight of
the collar settling upon her. And she did nothing. Nothing outward.
Internally, her emotions were aflame as the knight continued his work,
shackling limbs and binding wings. The blue mentally writhed in fury but
that was paltry compared to the storm within the Five. They had not
suffered a degradation like this in ages. Perhaps ever. And never
willingly. By rights, they should incinerate this knight until the ash
itself fires and is no more. They should hunt this creature and his eyes of
flame and unmake his very being. And yet... Twined with this indignation
was something more. She was in no true peril. Yet her heart raced. Her
breath quickened. White burrowed her muzzle in a pile of fine silks.

To feel so... Stirred. Tiamat squirmed upon her gold.

The Ones That Sting

----------------------

Amadai leaned against the sill of the large arched window in his office.
Arms stretched to either side, he looked equal parts relaxed and weary as he
tilted his head back and closed his eyes. He felt the sun on his brow, the
breeze ruffling his hair. He listened. So much of his job was listening.
Inside, he heard the small feet pacing on his large wooden desk nearby.
Heard the voice of the small, serious creature that went with the feet. A
voice he trusted. Outside, he heard the trees sway. Beyond that, church
bells rang. Below that, crowds cheered. And underneath it all, the clangs
and thumps of an armored procession. To the laypeople, a great parade. A
victorious, homecoming parade. But to the veteran soldier the jumble of
noises from the column was unmistakable. Absent was the sharp, coordinated
clang of the parade march. There were the scuffs of dragging boots. The
thumps of polearms used as walking sticks. The sounds of fatigue. Truly,
so much of his job was listening.

"Are you even listening?" Snapped the small voice.

Amadai raised his head. "To you? Always. I listened when you first
arrived, didn't I? I listen still."

The creature considered him, her eyes flaring violet as she held his gaze.
Studying him.

"Damn. Too nostalgic," he thought, taking two quick strides to the desk.

He stopped for a moment as if contemplating before tapping his forefinger
twice on the large map covering the desk.

"This," he expounded, "this is risky. You know how I feel about supply."

"Not risky. Possible. That's all you can ask for here. And I keep telling
you. The ethereal plane is different. It's about access not lines. Ins
and outs. Once in I can move the scouts out freely. They'll still be
anchored in this world. We can run supply. Not wagons but enough. You
just need to shift your thinking. Yes, the logistics are atypical. But
they will work. This thing we're doing, everything about this is a
nontraditional campaign."

Amadai grunted, walking about the desk and map to put the pixie between
himself and the window. He took a slow draw from his dram to cover
examining the light passing through her body. Almost time now. She
narrowed her eyes at him.

"Why do I get the impression you already know this."

"Because you know me."

"But then what are we doing here? What are we talking about... Gods.
You're going to say no, aren't you? Amadai, you can't! This is our chance!
You must see that!"

Amadai sighed heavily. A weary sigh. Now the hard part.

"I see my people relieved. My armies exhausted. My enemies destroyed. The
demon kings are dead, the portals closed. It's over, Sam. Let it be over."


"Princes Am! Demon Princes. Not Kings! Nothing is over. They'll simply
regroup, raise new lords. Then on to the next world! The cycle will
repeat. And we can stop it! They're broken. Disorganized without their
leaders. We need to press the advantage."

"You don't know that. You've told me yourself you've never penetrated their
borders."

"Of course I haven't!" Sam exclaimed throwing up her hands.

"And I never will if nobody will invade! I can't save anyone by myself.
Please Am. Just give me the chance! We can win. I know we can! We just
have to try."

"You had to know it might come to this. If it'd been easier, the enemy
weaker... It took everything we had just to repel them. The losses... Too
many losses. My duty is to my people. Not the people of realms I've never
seen and never will. You have to understand. It's too much."

Sam turned and paced away from him to gather herself. A common habit for
her. She shook the cords of her hair and the shake reverberated all down
her body. Amadai kept a keen eye on her as she did. No sparkle. No dust.
Good.

Samatessa turned to face him again with a determined look in her eyes.

"The outriders will follow me. And you'll follow them. You won't let them
die for nothing," she stated forcefully.

"True. They will. And I won't."

"Then stop fighting and embrace this. We can do it, Am. Together. We can
end all this!" The pixie exclaimed, extending a clenched fist for emphasis.


Then she saw herself clearly for the first time in some while. It was
unmistakable when right in front of you. She saw the light passing through
her fist. Saw the desk visible on the other side of it. Her body was quite
nearly transparent. She immediately recoiled into a crouching position with
both hands touching the desk between her feet. Her eyes flared as she
scanned the room. A low noise came from her, half hiss, half growl.

"There it is, " Amadai thought with a sigh. "No sense hiding it now."

With one hand he made a gesture to release the concealing spells he
maintained. The glow of magic sigils bathed the room, radiating from their
positions on the floor and ceiling. The other hand he folded behind his
back, depositing his drink on the sill, and grasping at the hilt of a dagger
hidden in his waistband.

He considered the pixie as she scanned the scene. In this light, in this
pose, his outrider general from moments before was fully absent. She looked
every bit the cornered beast. He wondered if she would attack. He wondered
if he deserved it. He released his grip on the dagger and placed both hands
on the desk. She met his gaze with narrowed eyes. Her muscles tensed.
Amadai simply returned her look. And waited. The moment stretched
impossibly long. And then Sam slumped backwards with a soft thump. All
tension left her muscles. She looked truly tiny sitting there, her head
hung, the cords of her hair dangling about her small frame. It somehow felt
far worse than seeing her on the edge of attack. She looked up with wide
eyes.

"You would do this? You would cast me from your world?"

"We both know you'd leave, Sam. I'm just saving us the long goodbye."

She nodded slowly then reclined back onto her arms with her legs
outstretched and let her head fall freely back.

"We had ourselves a time, didn't we?" She said, not expecting an answer.

She was fading quickly now. She sprawled out completely on the desk.

"Thank you, Am. Thank you for believing me. In the beginning."

"Always. We were lucky to have you, Sam. The next world will be too."

She was speaking again. Amadai tried to listen but could no longer hear the
words. They were lost to his world. So instead he watched her fade.
Softer and clearer, moment by moment. Disappearing back into the ethereal
plane. He stared, not blinking, as if it there were some meaning in seeing
the end. And then it was over. His desk bare. Samatessa, gone.

Extra! Extra! The Consortium seeks magic users for an exciting research
opportunity! Are you magically inclined? Divinely powered? Necroticly
burdened? Were you birthed into this world with goblin staff clutched
tightly to baby breast? Congratulations! You are a prime candidate to
contribute to this exciting research endeavor!

Head Researcher Trillian Triffle is attempting to gain insight into the very
act of learning magic itself by charting the rates at which magical
practitioners such as yourself advance in their craft.

Everybody's favorite and oft neglecting cantrip, continual light, was
selected for this study precisely because it is frequently ignored. Simply
document and submit your progress on your way to mastery of this spell.
Include any pertinent details to your advancement. Please restrict any
learning aids to a singular state such as banner, boost, or unaided. The
lights themselves will help you count your progress!

As many references points as possible are desired but the most common are
your starting point, achievement of being learned in the spell, the edge of
mastery, and mastery itself.

For an example, here is Trillian's very own report:

Race: Pixie
Learning aids: None
Additional Circumstances: Wearing a Robe of the Archmagi and two lucky
trinkets
Results:
From 1 session with Ertyrien to learned: 630 lights summoned From learned to
the edge of mastery: 2791 lights summoned
From the edge of mastery to mastery: 106 lights summoned

If you are truly want to go above and beyond the call include how many times
you lose concentration and/or record your progress against how lucky you
feel at the moment.

The Consortium appreciates your input to this thrilling line of research!

Your aggregator-in-chief,

Trillian Triffle

First, mentally segment the space before you into 6 rectangles, 4 equals
and 2 of half height. Allocate two segments centrally one above the other.
Another segment each to the left and right aligning their midpoint to the
intersection of the two central segments. The half segments reside one each
above the sides.

The central segments are of utmost import. The closer is where the work
shall occur. The further holds a stand for your primary reference. The
stand must be of an angle between sixty and seventy degrees from level.
This permits reading without placing strain upon the neck while also
permitting annotations at need. A slight rise is permissible if desired but
no more than a single hand's span.

Find the center point of the foremost segment. Extend a mental line
five-and-forty degrees to the center of each half segment. These are the
locations of two identical light sources of preference. The angle of
illumination preserves straight line focus while avoiding the pitfall of
pulling attention to the periphery. Similarly, the use of twin sources is
of paramount import to reduce the dancing of shadows that can distract the
mind.

Place an example sheet of the parchment to be used in the foremost segment
in central position. Two pins with a crossing jig should be affixed about
each corner with a horizontal slope not to exceed one part vertical to three
horizontal. The lower jigs shall be fully secured whereas the upper jigs
use a hole-and-hook design to allow latching and unlatching. This design
allows for the proper securing of the object parchment against unintentioned
disturbances. Blank parchment is placed in the segment to the side of the
non-dominant hand. The most recently completed page is laid upon the
segment to the side of the dominant hand. The completed stack, binding
mechanism optional, resides laterally to the outside of the freshest work.
This creates an optimal flow of parchment transfer through the process of
procurement, transcription, drying, and storage. Ample space is provided
for the placement of stack weight stones below the side segments during
parchment transfer.

Only once the desk is thusly arranged is one prepared to set about the
serious business of recording History.

Now, on to the merits and complications of various viscosities of ink.

- Avenar, Chronicler of History Probably.

The new Kaleidoscope spell represents the current pinnacle of the new
illusory arts produced by the Illusionists Guild. It is a culmination of
centuries of research into light, illusion, automation, and combination.

As detailed in the scroll published by the Guild in its filing of a new
magic, Kaleidoscope uses magical shards as a focal point to produce enduring
orbs that float about the user. The devil, as always, is in the details!

The greater the shard used, the more orbs that are produced. Each orb can
dazzle the eyes of an attacker providing a passive defense similar to the
fine piece of light armor. Furthermore, the orbs are each a self contained
replication of the protections offered by other guild spells such as weapon
ward, protective shield, and spic and span. The true achievement, however,
is in the automation! The orbs react to threats independent of any active
control of the user. They will dart about and interject themselves between
user and detrimental abilities. They are fragile things and burst upon
taking contact but the protection they offer is worth their destruction.

How does one use such a thing effectively? There are multiple tricks for
maximizing efficacy. An adversary of an Illusionist might think it best to
smash the orbs. This is folly. The orbs are light and permanent. They may
be removed and stashed within your pack! This gives a prepared Illusionist
access to a near infinite number of floating orbs. As many as they took the
time to pre-prepare.

And what might a clever Illusionist do with such capability? The
protections conveyed by the orbs make it far less risky to face opponents
while unaffected by the protections of a weapon ward. This allows them far
greater freedom to cycle between the more protective staff vs a one handed
weapon and various held objects. This opens up greater possibilities for
the use of wands and staves under combat conditions.

But back to the most notable aspect! The automation! This magnificent
spell is yet another step forwards in the great journey of the Guild towards
becoming the friendliest magical organization in Serin. Truly, they may
have finally succeeded in supplanting the Healers Guild for this notable
honorific. For these orbs may be shared freely with friends! It takes the
talent of an Illusionist only to produce them. From there, the orbs are
self-sufficient. This allows a friend of a powerful Illusionist to be
gifted these significant protections and the orbs to be deployed at their
discretion rather than the Illusionists. Indeed, indeed, the Illusionist
need not even be present! Truly, Illusionists are the greatest friend to
all!

- Trillian Triffle, Adversary of Secret Knowledge

The realm is a scary place. There are all manner of foul beasts and
wicked creatures lurking around every corner just waiting to tear even the
most charming of pixies limb from limb. Some of them do not even live in
Seringale! What ever is an Illusionist to do?

The Guild has you covered! There are two new innovations in
anti-aggression. Void Veil and Pandemonium. Their exact function of each
is detailed in the official magical filings. Void Veil, invented by yours
truly as a follow-on to my famously successful (and mostly without dire
consequence) experiments on reality, banishes your foe into the very Void
itself for a short time. Pandemonium uses your illusory friends to scare
foes away.

Both are quite suitable to help an Illusionist control a room with an
unfortunate number of adversaries in it. There is a key difference however!
Aggressive monsters who are scared away will remain quite prickly and
re-engage in combat. Those sent to the Void, however, find themselves quite
pacified by the experience. One can freely bypass them from the first
sending onward.

There are other details to be aware of when using these magics properly! A
banishment to the Void, however brief, will buy an Illusionist ample time to
recall or gate to safety. And do be careful with pandemonium! Creatures do
not enjoy being scared so. Only those engaged in combat with you will flee
when the hysteria strikes. Those standing by will be enraged and attack
you. And you can scare a creature away with this magic but once! Any
further attempts after the first success have no impact.

Stay safe out there and do manage those crowded rooms!

- Trillian Triffle, Adversary of Secret Knowledge

The Storm - As documented by Trillian Triffle, the Liberal Librarian

Sailors say there is always a calm before a storm. A time of even seas. I
never thought I'd describe the reign of the Serpent King thus. It was a
time of blood. Of domination. Of uncertain codes other than that the
Serpent did as he pleased and justified it later. But in hindsight that's
what it was. Predictable. Steady. A time with few surprises. A boat with
an even keel.

It all changed with a munch and a crunch. A presumptive routine slaughter
of a fledgling giant fresh to the pinnacle became anything but. Skeggi
feasted on lizard flesh that day and it was all over but for the clanking.
The calm was shattered. The storm broke.

Legion rose in this chaos (for real this time not just by dogmatic decree).
The age of invokers was shepherded in. Powerful relics of war rapidly
changed hands. Heralds equipped Warlords. A band of Lightwalkers were
slaughtered en mass. Even the Consortium was not spared as a one sided feud
between Skeggi and the Polymath kept the giant well fed. Werig prowled
about attacking indiscriminately with an agenda known only to he and his.
The Szkrech, an independent, rose, slaughtered according to his whimsy, and
vanished again. Szrevan got his clank back.

But none held sway for long.

The Mighty - As documented by Trillian Triffle, the Liberal Librarian

The Age of Invokers was marked by elemental magics flying about as
frequently as a spring rain. Everywhere you looked it was as if there were
a new invoker fresh to the pinnacle looking to make their mark. But the
most feared names in the land remained the notables of Warlords and Legion:

Szrevan, Skeggi, Werig.

All three took their turns bearing the title of Dragon. But in this era
they all shared something else: A common fate. Death without renewal. The
final sleep. You may have heard that Skeggi simply went home. It is true
he was tired. Awash in mages, beset by ice storms from all directions, and
with no one to share his favored meals. He was lonely. It is true. But he
did not simply go home. And Werig? What of Werig? A demon so dedicated to
his nefarious craft simply vanishes? No, like many things Legion the truth
is far more complex and veiled behind lairs of secrecy. The truth is that
both fell to Dogran's own hand. Such power is not without consequences.
And all pacts have two parties. The demons were not happy that Legion stood
by as their invasion stalled. As their prince, Baron Zero, fell at the
hands of scholars and bards. They demanded recompense. And what better
than two lieutenants? Let it be a lesson. Idle hands had best do the
devil's work if they wish to stay attached to arms.

And Serpent King himself? How did one so mighty fall? The Age of Invokers
did not treat him kindly I am afraid. Not his body. He was equal to the
task as ever. But his mind! Oh how his mind shattered. Gone were the days
of clashing confrontations with Shaghroth. The days of spirited bouts with
Tearea. As spellcasters flooded the martial scene Szrevan met them with
iron. And blow-by-blow, recall-by-recall, he grew increasingly unstable.
Bonfo, explorer extraordinaire, gave a chilling firsthand account of his
descent into madness. He claims to have been staking out Szrevan's lair. A
hobby he apparently was quite fond of. He waited hours for the Serpent King
and the opportunity he craved. When the draconian finally returned home
Bonfo was shocked to find him not alone. He raved to his companion about
the cowardice of mages and the unnatural and detrimental workings of their
magics. It seemed his Warlord vow had devolved into full-blown hatred. And
when Bonfo snuck a peek to see the partner in this discourse what did he
discover? Szrevan, lounging in his foyer, directed these comments at none
other than his own shed skin propped up in a chair! With each battle did
this sad state of affairs worsen. And with each battle the Serpent King's
precision diminished. Mistakes accumulated. Judgement clouded. Perhaps it
is the fate of all dragons to grow complacent, to become bound to their
lair, and to eventually fall to their lessers. In the end, Szrevan died. A
battle he could have won, an escape he could have made. Not taken. An
altar waiting for him to renew. Not taken. They say Lord Davarius raged at
the fall of his favored champion. That the heavens boomed with his
displeasure as the Serpent King was not given the post-mortem respect the
God of Blood thought his warrior was due by the common folk he terrorized.
For a time, the people quaked in fear that God himself would follow his
warrior into madness.

But like these mighty three, this too passed and is now but a note on the
page.

The Meek - As documented by Trillian Triffle, the Liberal Librarian

And the meek shall inherit the realm. What other option is there after the
mighty fall? A new breed is left in charge of the cabals.

New warlords of diminutive stature emerge and vie for the status of top
combatant. But none have proven worthy of the crown as of yet.

Legion leaves Iliandra as the lone declared member. She fights frequently,
flees quickly, and speaks eloquently. She describes Legion and their
mysterious ties to demons not as a burden but an opportunity. She invites
all who feel downtrodden to explore this unique boon and the benefits it
offers. On what specifically those benefits might be she has significantly
less to say. As she grows in skill and connections it is fair to wonder if
she intends to pursue the Dread title herself or just operate as the chief
recruiter for the next wave.

A flurry of new Knights roam the lands of late. Many were squired to
Ceridwel himself and the title of meek has largely suited them well. They
have certainly taken their collective lumps. None have been more prolific
than Savanti. This earnest elf has engaged all comers time and again. He
dreams of defending the white city and if dreams can be achieved through
effort alone then he is certain to achieve it. He may not be a natural but
few can match his determination. Slowly, the tide turns for him. His blood
may soak the forest floor but recently it is an increasingly mixed brew.
The Knights may have a contender in their midst.

Atop the heap sit the Keepers. And nobody would dare call them meek.
Indeed, Tiram and Peemo clashed with the mighty before their fall and held
their own. But after? They found themselves in a precarious position. The
Keepers fancy themselves the gears that turn the clock and keep the
pendulum
swaying in its perpetual motion. But what happens when they become the
mighty? Sitting on high, holding the title of Dragon, they had none but
themselves to fell. The pendulum stilled. They looked to their leadership
for guidance and found it wanting. In its absence they set adrift into the
unknown. They had honorable bouts with Knights with nothing on the line.
They destroyed the belongings of the casual bystander. They tried their
hand at poetry (and did quite well!) . In the end, the loss of purpose was
too much for these warrior-poets and they receeded into the background as
well.

And to where from here? Absent dragons, absent leaders, absent members, the
cabals are near a blank slate. What shall the next era hold? Only time
will tell.

There is this odd fact about Shadows and Light. There can be no shadows
without light. And all light has a source. No source is fixed. They can
and do move or extinguish. So what do we deduce, dear readers? Only this:
Nothing can remain in the shadows forever.

So true with the Legion! For long years, they laid in the shadows. They
closed their doors. They moved their home. They made vague offers with
undefined benefits. And then, in this very era, the most exciting
development in absolute ages! The Legion stepped boldly into the light.
With flashing red eyes and malicious intent, a reborn Kryton engaged the
mortals of Serin. Merged. Enhanced. Greater than. His demonic powers and
influence were laid bare for all to see. It was a declaration. This is
what it means to be a Vessel.

And yet, room remained for misinterpretation. For a lack of understanding.
But fret not, dear readers! This is where the Mystique works for you, the
lay folk. Where mysteries lie, we seek truth. I, Trillian Triffle, at the
time not yet the High Herald of Serin, was granted an interview with Kryton
himself. And he did not disappoint. He peeled back the veil. He allowed
me to converse with not just himself, but with his former self. I spoke
with Kryton, Hand of the Dark Lord. I spoke with Kryton, the former fire
giant. His intonations, accents, and mannerisms seamlessly flipped between
the two. He could be either. However, through questioning I learned the
depth of the merger. They were the same. Distinct yet unified. The old
present, yet more than before. The demon and the giant. Together.
Preserved intact yet still combined

Kryton the giant's personal goals were much aligned with the demon who
inhabited him. Blood and supremacy. So we also spoke of Kikikale. We
spoke of the Fae spirit he pursues, both before as a corrupted tree and now
as a demon reborn. The goal remains. There is more, not less. It is
addition, not replacement.

Becoming a Vessel, it would seem, is far less sacrifice and far more
opportunity than it might at first seem. A revelation indeed.

The latest era of Knights is best encapsulated by the career of another
fallen, favored son. The cabal itself stands at this time as a reflection
of Savanti, Guardian of Valour. History shall remember him as Savanti the
Builder in accordance with his persistent, diligent nature. He started as a
young elf emerging from the woods with naught but hope and inexperience in
equal measure. Throughout his life he would return to those woods. On
occasion, he seemed to prefer the solitude of the ruins of Gregisham to the
bustle of Valour and the companionship of his beasts to that of his
fellows.

In truth, he poured his time into building in two places. He dreamed of
restoration of both the glory of Gregisham and the ideals of the Knights.
Each of these lofty aspirations escaped him in his life. He railed against
the Rise of Legion. He stood before the storm and he faltered. Again and
again he paid for his values with his own blood. As did his Knightly
fellows. Yet between each death he returned to the Ruins of Gregisham.
With his two hands, he carried stones. With his mind, he carried lessons.
And as he laid those stones he reflected on battles lost. And stone by
stone, death by death, he built. Little by little, ruins turned to
foundations. Slaughters gave way to pitched battles. It is true that
victories were infrequent. A skirmish here. A triumph there. But he
persevered, as did those who strode the path with him. At a key moment, Sir
Vok felled the Kryton, Hand of the Dark Lord. A momentary victory to be
certain as Kryton returned to the peak of his prowess with ease and menaces
the land to this day. But it served as a call. A beacon of hope to rally
the next generation. "Hope yet burns," it proclaimed. Young warriors began
to look once more at the Knights and rallied to their Halls. Savanti
assumed leadership and taught all he had learned. Many came, many fell.
Savanti himself succumbed forevermore to the ravages of his many wounds.
Greginsham stood again, but in fragments only. A tower here, a garden
there. Hardly the White City Savanti had imagined. But a start. So too
the Knights of Valour. Legion looms more threatening than ever, yet so too
stands the next generation. Three strong warriors stood as candidates to be
raised as the first Executor since Rhoa. Aerysen was chosen and soon proved
himself able to the task. With flashing blade and diamond skin, he felled
Kryton once more. The Knights are ably kept, and it would seem it is not a
moment too soon. Legion has stepped from the shadows and movies with
demonic intent. Which of these bold leaders will claim the next era? That
has yet to be seen. The field is prepared. Only time will tell.