Rustfoot

The Grinding, part 3

2012-01-27T13:11:00.000+01:00

Professor Hagberg stood by the shore and watched the world in front of him turn to dust. Trees, plants, rocks and even animals dissolved into a black, coarse powder as an invisible hand combed the horizon. Not even the water stood a chance.

A normalised world, he thought.

He pulled up his left sleeve and inspected the scar tissue on his pale arm. Crude cuts that while healed now still formed a paradox in the symbolic language of grammar magic. He ran his fingers over the markings; like visible veins empty on blood, or hollow sculptures that lost their meaning.

The grinding crept closer, and left a silent landscape of black powder behind. The grass in front of him transformed as the inevitable came closer. The grinding was all about its by-product; if it wasn't for the terrible fact that it turned you into a powder, you wouldn't ever notice it.

It swept past a rock (turning it into dust) and continued onto his foot.

Nothing happened. Not even a tickling feeling.

I must admit, he thought as the grinding went over him and turned everything but him to dust, I'm a bit disappointed. It could've least tickled.

As the grinding continued on behind him, he burrowed his feet into the ground. Like a shovel, he lifted a patch of black dust into the air and let the wind catch it.

Fascinating. Tiny particles. Little entities. Just like she said.

He gazed over the black landscape that once was both water and hills. Though dust, it had kept its elevation so the silhouette of the area remained.

Let's see if these little entities remember anything, he thought and raised his arms. As he vocalized the strange symbolic language behind grammar magic, the millions and millions of dust particles in front of him slowly regained their previous colours. They started to lump together into bigger and bigger shapes.

Fascinating, he thought as the landscape returned to its former shape. It worked. It even rebuilt that poor fisherman over there, eye-patch and all.

(To be continued.)

Lost papers

2012-01-22T17:55:00.000+01:00

The Grinding, part 2

2012-01-17T15:02:00.001+01:00

Billobi stood by his bedroom window, trying hard not to stare into his own reflection. It was in the middle of the night and thus dark outside. He could hear the slow breathing of Ana sleeping on the bed behind him. Their daughter - Anabel - slept in another room and dreamt about soft things. Or, he could only hope she did. Anything was better than the dreams he'd been having since he left Horsehead two days ago.

They all revolved around the same sequence: talking to Mr Hagberg (or whoever he was; a ghost with a monocle), the fear that grew as the ghost kept talking and the eager to flee to a place that didn't exist. The urge to run back to Badgerbrough, to leave Horsehead behind and pretend the talk never happened.

His breath painted foggy paws on the cold window. He took another deep breath, held it for a second and then released it upon the glass. Grey fog. As he prepared to repeat the procedure, a similar pattern appeared next to his.

That's strange, he thought, I'm not even...

A face materialised on the other side of window before he had a chance to complete his thought. His heart gasped for blood and he was forced to take a step back, for that face was all too familiar to him. It was the face of a little girl.

I'm dreaming! his brain cried. Ana will wake me up any second now!

No, you're not, the face spoke to him although no sound was to be heard. It's all very real, Billobi Rustfoot. Do you recall my face?

He nodded slowly, and added: Don't kill me.

No, not now, the face answered. The Grinding has begun. Too soon, we're afraid.

We? Billobi asked.

The face ignored him, and continued: It was the Trickster's fault. He came to me, pretending to have questions for his book. But it was all a scheme. I told him to never return, but yet he did. The Trickster. The Turner of Squares. The Fixator of Changes. When I was to grind him for his returning, he played out his plan and became permanent. Reverser of Dust. Taker of No Giving. A scale that tips too much on both sides. We call him many things since that day, but I guess you best know him as the Grammarian.

I...know no one of that name, Billobi whispered.

I see that your dull senses haven't left you, Mr. Rustfoot. The Grammarian is tainting the balance that is the dust of this world. It builds, only to grind. And it grinds, only to build. But he took too much. He's unnatural. He's living on borrowed dust. Because of this, things that would have been need to step back, or take from future beings' dust. The dust in his body doesn't belong to him. We realised this too soon, and now the Grinding has begun to reclaim the portion that was stolen. But he has shielded himself, and is thus protected. The Grinding can't reclaim him, but it won't stop until it has.

It sounds a bit like...like it won't ever work, Billobi mumbled.

It won't, the face said grimly. When eternity ends, all that will exist is the Grammarian and the invisible force that is the Grinding, in a void that will never be rebuilt. You must stop this, Billobi Rustfoot.

At the sound of his name, a coldness struck his heart, and he shook his head as hard as he could. No, he whispered. No. No! Why me? I don't even know who this person is!

You do, the face answered. The Grammarian's mortal name is Carl August Hagberg. He needs to be destroyed before the Grinding reclaims us all and enters its infinite loop.

But... I can't... I don't even... I write! I can't possibly do what you ask of me, that's beyond my knowledge and sanity! You snapped your fingers and...took a piece of my fingernail. I snap my fingers and nothing happens. Why can't you do it? You're more powerful than I am!

Because the Grinding has already reclaimed my dust, the face said and disappeared.

(To be continued.)

The Grinding, part 1

2011-12-05T12:42:00.001+01:00

It was a slow day at the antiques shop. Billobi walked over to the window, smiled at the sun, and returned to the counter. He picked up a stone, turned it over and put it down again. He then returned to the window and repeated the procedure a couple of times.

"Stop it", Thomas mumbled from the counter. "Please."

"I'm bored", Billobi said and picked up the stone again.

"Get a job then."

"I already have one."

"Then write something."

"About what? Nothing exciting ever happens."

"Make something up."

"No, that goes against my work ethics."

"Yes, I forgot you work for the Inquisitive. Very high standard there, how could I ever forget..."

Thomas dodged Billobi's swing and walked over to one of the many bookshelves. He pulled out a thick, brown book and carried it back to the counter. He placed it in front of Billobi with a large thump.

"Oh, please. Why do you even keep this? It wasn't even useful in school. I mean, it's large as a house and still the title barely fits on the front: 'The Complete Syntax of the Proper Spoken Word of Grammar Magic and How To Pronounce, Use and Apply It in the Everyday'. I've had enough experience with grammar magic to last for two life times."

"It's not mine", Thomas said and opened the large book at random. A page with the header The Inconvenience of Fractions turned up. "A gentleman sold it to me yesterday."

"Well, if you bought it, it's yours."

"I mean it's not the one I had in school. But it doesn't matter. What's more interesting is this: the gentleman who sold it to me was none other than Mr Hagberg himself."

"Who?"

"The author! C. A. Hagberg!"

"So? Did he sign it?"

"He's been dead for the last fifteen years!"

"Someone's playing a trick on you, my dear Thomas", Billobi said and closed the book. "I've seen a lot of things, but dry academics that return from their final crawl and walk the earth again isn't one of them."

"You know that awful picture in the beginning of the book? Of the author?"

"The one with the long hair and monocle? I remember Tristan drawing a moustache on his."

"The gentleman who sold me the book looked exactly like that."

"That doesn't prove anything. If I grow long hair and start wearing a monocle, does that make me the author of this awful book?"

Thomas picked up the book and returned it to the bookshelf again. He returned to the counter and said with a low voice: "My dear Bill, I'm not saying this to give you something to write about. I'm telling you this because I had this...chill running through my spine after he left. Something isn't right. Find him, and see for yourself. He had the latest issue of Horsehead Hoary under his arm, so I guess he's staying at the inn."

Billobi sighed, and said: "I'll do it just to prove you wrong. See you in a bit."

The inn was only a short walk away from Thomas' shop, much as everything else in Horsehead. As he entered the establishment, his eyes were immediately drawn to a pale figure at the counter. Whoever it was, he had long hair and was reading a book. Billobi felt pretty certain that he too was in on the joke now, and cursed his brother-in-law as he walked up to the counter.

Always the reporter, Billobi pulled up his notebook and a pen, turned to the man and said: "Dear Sir, I'm a reporter for the Badgerbrough Inquisitive. We're currently doing a Horsehead special and I was wondering if I may ask you some questions?"

The man put down his book and looked Billobi right in the eyes. This is obviously a joke, Billobi thought as he watched the man in front of him take out his monocle. He resembled the author in every possible way.

"My dear reporter", the man said with a low voice, "you shouldn't be talking to me."

"Really, now?" Billobi said and pretended to take notes. "And why is that?"

The man returned to his book again, and took his time to adjusting the monocle. Without looking up, he said: "Have you travelled the world, reporter? Been to many places?"

"Some, yes. Never crossed the eastern sea though."

"Ever been to Skiff-in-Loch? The treeless island to the far west? Ever travelled there, reporter? Ever been to the furthest and most desolated place on the western shore?"

Billobi felt his heart skip a beat, and he felt his grip around his notebook loosen. "Maybe."

"I have. I met a little girl there. Can't say I enjoyed the talk, even if it was certainly fascinating. Ever met her, reporter?"

Billobi shook his head.

"That's strange, because she had a message to you. Do you want to hear it? It goes: 'Start running, Billobi Rustfoot. The Grinding has begun.'"

(To be continued.)

The Sacrifice of Herogrios Minor (people)

2011-10-23T15:54:00.001+02:00

It was in the western parts of the great Ogrebelly forest, just where the river Broad splits and turns into the Ten Snakes, that Billobi first met Herogrios Minor. Or rather what turned out to be one of many people with that name, as he found out during a rather confusing interview for the Inquisitive.

But these people had more than a strange name in common, Billobi learned, even if that was a remarkable thing in itself. When he asked around, they all answered the same: it was a name given to them not by their parents, but some higher cause. All of them had run away from home at the age of eleven, regardless of social class or background; some came from nobility, others from poverty. They hailed from all over the world, even from across the great waters. Billobi couldn't help but wonder if Tristan had met any Minors on the Acorn Afloat.

Besides sharing a name that no one could explain to him, they also had a firm belief that therianthropy was a disease that the world needed to be rid of (after asking around a couple of times, Billobi made a short note in his papers that said "theriansomething = human to animal to human to animal & so on"). As a Herogrios Minor, they made pilgrimages all over the world in search of these "sick" people. Through prayers, they explained, they transferred the disease from the victim to their own body so that they'd become a prison of flesh and blood to bind the illness. The transferred animal would live inside the Minor's body, and as more and more diseases were transferred these animals would become either a hunter or the hunted; nature would continue its way inside the Minor.

When Billobi asked about the consequences of these transfers, he was taken to a glade outside the camp. It looked like a slaughter had taken place, maybe a great bear finally catching up on its prey, but who lacked the hunger to eat it all. When he bumped into a fleshy piece that without doubt was a human arm, he wasn't so sure anymore.

"This is the last battle of Herogrios Minor", one of the Minors told him. "As our vessels fill up, the internal struggle between the animals therein builds up to enormous strength, until the day when our bodies no longer can bear the tension. This is what we strive for. This is the sign of approval we need. This shows us that we have completed our mission."

The Badgerbrough Inquisitive, issue 9:6 (lore)

2011-09-26T13:58:00.000+02:00

Billobi sat in front of the fireplace, swearing quietly to himself. Nothing seemed to get the fire started. As he was about to develop a new curse word by combining all the previous ones he had used, he heard a familiar creaking sound behind him. Without turning around, he said: "Anabel, go to sleep."

"Papa, what you doing?" a tiny voice answered him.

"I'm trying to start a fire so we don't have to freeze. Now go to sleep."

The creaking continued for another couple of steps, and suddenly he felt a tiny hand stroking his back.

"Why?" she said.

"Why what?"

She pointed at the splintered wood in his hands, and repeated the word.

"It's easier to burn them when they're small. And when they catch on, they will -"

"Why?"

"Because the sparks doesn't have to...you see, they fly around and hit the -"

"Why?"

Billobi took a deep breath and threw the sticks on the pile in the fireplace. He picked up a piece of paper from the table behind him and started shredding it.

"Papa what's that?" Anabel asked.

"This? Oh this is just some paper we can use to -"

"What paper?"

"It's just a dumb newspaper."

"Why?"

"Because they just are."

"Why?"

"What's that? A book?" Billobi quickly said and nodded at her.

"Coppasteam", Anabel answered.

"Oh, the Copperstream-book. Shall we read it again? About the hedgehogs and the king? Come, let's read it in bed. Papas dumb newspaper won't even burn..."

Get your copy of the Badgerbrough Inquisitive, issue 9:6 here! (on Google Docs).

It's licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

If you want to read Anabel's book you can do so here.

The hole at North Street, part 2 (lore)

2011-07-17T19:26:00.021+02:00

I am but a fish fast asleep, dreaming away, Billobi thought. How else could I describe this?

He felt happy, warm, glad, yet he knew that he should be terrified. The emotions that played in his chest seemed to have won over the reasoning in his head; there were trails left of logic that he could follow, that told him that he should scream and panic, but whoever left those there were now long gone. The logic in him had given up, and he could only embrace the joy of being fully immersed in this golden liquid. Even his lungs didn't seem to care any more.

His eyes followed the arm that dragged him. It was a beautiful arm - or was it really? He had this nagging feeling back in his head that it should frighten him; the way the muscles were exposed, the bone beneath and sometimes above... Yes, it was a beautiful arm. A bit long, maybe. It seemed to stretch forever in front of him. If it hadn't been for that face he wouldn't...

Yes, the face. A beautiful face. Warm, gentle, likeable. It had rescued him, he was sure of it. It had just turned up when that other fellow tried to drown him - good man, good man. I liked him too, Billobi thought and smiled. A bit on the fierce side, but that's what winter will do to you. Oh how I love winter!

But the face, how kind and charming. Again, the lack of skin and the deep sockets where one would usually find eyeballs were signs that he suspected pointed to other feelings - fear, perhaps? - but he really couldn't feel them. After all, it had pulled him away from that other fellow, no matter how likeable he was.

The lovely golden sand around him - oh, how he loved it! - suddenly changed in colour. At first he thought it went darker, but it actually shifted towards orange. As the bright golden view disappeared, a string of cold started to tangle in his chest. He felt abandoned, and as the colour continued towards red, he couldn't help but feel betrayed. Why did they do this to him? Why did they have to remove this warm feeling, and replace it with this yarn of bitterness? It was his, and his alone! Give it back!

The liquid continued to change, but suddenly stopped. All was bright red now, and Billobi screamed at the top of his lungs. He was furious, his chest filled with hatred. He punched and kicked at nothing and everything, he screamed, he bit. He had never felt this disappointed before.

He suddenly became aware of the fact that nothing dragged him any longer. The arm - that bloody arm! - had released him without him noticing, and he was now floating in this bright red liquid all alone. He could feel the pounding desire for air in his chest, but he'd rather spend it on screaming and shouting. With closed eyes and clenched fists he fought the void in front of him - and felt the soft mattress of an open ribcage. There was the face again, at nose length from his own. He stared directly into its hollow sockets, and could only feel one thing: hatred. He loathed the monster in front of him, even as it extended its jaw and slowly adjusting it to Billobi's head size.

Then, things happened very fast.

A force got hold of his shoulders, and pulled him upwards. Bubbles fell off his body, and as the surroundings started to change rapidly again, he felt the hatred leave his body and be replaced by something more wonderful. Oh, beautiful golden sand, how I have missed you! he said and felt the liquid spilling into his mouth. Oh, beautiful arm, how nice of you t...

He didn't remember the last bit; it was all black. All he could remember was the choking feeling of liquid pouring out of both mouth and nose, and cold air filling his lungs yet again. The texture of a wooden floor, every fibre and every line. Reason quickly filled the vacant space in his head, and without opening his eyes he realised he was now laying on the floor next to the hole in the living room.

Slowly opening his eyes, a scene of violence played in front of him. The hideous being that had dragged him down into the golden liquid, stood at the opposite side of the room, throwing punches and biting at what Billobi hoped to be a regular human being. The sight of the monstrous figure plucked on his instinct to run for his life, but every muscle in his body felt asleep. He could only lay there, tired, unhelpful, grateful.

But like a fish stuck on the beach, the creature too started to gasp for air. It knocked the small person over, and before plunging into the hole again it stared deep into Billobi's eyes. It tells me something, he thought, but what?

Quick on the feet, the person who fought the creature started to cover the hole with whatever debris it could find in the room. Next thing Billobi knew, it held him in its arms. He didn't have to open his eyes, he knew this smell like the back of his hand.

"Ana?" he said hoarsely. The letters burned his throat as they left his mouth.

"Yes, Bill", Ana answered. "I'm here, it's over now. I'll get you home, dear."

"Did...you..."

"Hush, dear. Save your strength. Can you stand? Here, take my arm."

As he rose up from the floor, Billobi noticed a lifeless body in the back of the room. It belonged to the crazed man who tried to drown Billobi.

"Is...he...?" Billobi whispered and pointed.

"Drowned, probably", Ana answered without looking. "When I came here, he was flat on his chest next to that hole, head first. I pulled him up but he..." She stopped. "Drowned."

She led Billobi into the hallway, but as they passed the kitchen he forced her to stop. In there, he saw the body of Mr. Businessman, torn in two halves.

"The creature got him first", Ana answered, again without looking. "Please, dear, let's be on our way now!"

But a furious, high-pitched sound caught them off guard, and Ana lost her grip on Billobi. He fell on his left arm, on the wooden floor he just moments before had blessed. Turning around, they stared into the hollow sockets of the creature once again; it had merely returned to the hole to get some air. It leaned into the hallway, twisting and contracting its muscles around the bones.

Ana pointed at the creature, mumbled a single word and - nothing happened. Billobi felt fear crawling out of his chest, decorating his body like a spider web alive. The hideous creature stood there, leaning, motionless... It didn't move?

"I.. I fixated him", Ana whispered. Her breathing was heavy. "It still lives, but it can't...move. I never thought... It worked."

Although rendered stationary, both Ana and Billobi picked up sounds of breathing and small twitches in the unnatural wide jaw. It just stood there, alive but still. The breathing picked up in speed; short bursts, increasing until it suddenly stopped. The twitching ended as well. The hollow sockets stared at her.

"I..." Ana whispered. "I... I killed... I drowned it..." Her hands began to shake. "I...drowned it..."

Billobi got on his feet using his right arm, limped over to Ana and took her hand.

"Ana", he whispered. "Let's go."

She nodded slowly, hands still shaking. They limped over to the front door - eyes on the creature - opened it, and got out in the cold. Silence embraced them on the walk home.

* * *

Two weeks later, Billobi got a letter from his editor at the Inquisitive. An article from another newspaper was attached to the back. He read them both carefully, before shredding them to pieces and tossing it all into the fireplace.

"What was that?" Ana asked from the kitchen.

"Nothing, dear."

"Oh no you, I heard paper shredding. I don't want secret notes in this house, Billobi, not after..."

"It was from my editor", he interrupted her.

"Your editor? For the Inquisitive? But I thought you didn't want to work there any more?"

"I don't! I gave him my notice last week. He just wanted to write and tell me that I won't be getting any pay for that thing at North Street."

"But he published the article, didn't he?"

"Yes, but apparently a day too late according to him. There have been reports all over the country about these kind of holes recently. They call them 'Fairy holes'."

"That was no fairy we saw, Bill."

Billobi didn't answer immediately, as if he was sucked into a memory.

"They're like natural springs, apparently", he said. "Pops up here and there, a 'buried flask of golden liquid'. That's what the article said. And deep inside, a seed. A fairy."

"Like that thing? On North Street?"

"Like that thing on North Street. Filled with joy at first. But when people bathe in that golden sand... They suck up the joy, but leave their misery. Turns the yellow into red hatred."

"Dear?"

"And then, the seed grows. Hatred is heavier than joy, red at the bottom, yellow at the top. Hatred feeds the fairy, until... Until the entire flask is tainted."

He had turned his gaze towards the fireplace without noticing it, clenching his fist as he spoke.

"At least, that's what the article said. I don't care."

Ana walked up to him and pushed his head against her chest. As she stroke the hair on his head, Billobi mumbled a question: "How did you do that?"

"Do what, dear?"

"Pull me up... And stopping that...creature... How did you do that?"

"Well, some of us went to school to learn things. Unlike you and my brother, I actually passed my grammar magic class."

"Grammar magic... You don't say."

"Absolutely."

He sighed in her chest, and mumbled: "Let us never throw that book away."

The hole at North Street, part 1 (lore)

2011-06-15T11:01:00.034+02:00

The howling sound washed over town like waves trying to break further into land. A dry coldness followed, sticky like ethereal honey, and covered every object with icy paint. The Badgerbrough winters were always though, and you didn't venture outside if you didn't have to. That's why Billobi frowned when he got a message one day from an anonymous sender:

Working for the Inquisitive meant a lot of freedom, since most of it were made up (or rewritten against his will beyond recognition to make it more "sell-able", according to his editor). It also meant having to deal with that slice of the population that believed every single word published. Most were friendly, but there were always a slight risk of running into one of those who blamed the Inquisitive for bringing out the demons of the world (something Billobi didn't argue against; he was practically working for one).

While he was putting on his warmest piece of clothing, Ana read the note. She wasn't pleased.

"Are you sure about this, Bill?"

"It's a job", he said. "And that means money."

"What if something happens? You don't know who this is, dear. Does your editor know about this?"

"He's the one who handed me the note - after charging me for stamps, of course! Hand me that scarf, will you, dear?"

Ana hesitated for a brief second, but finally gave him the scarf. She kissed him and went back to the living room without a word. Billobi took one last breath of warm air before heading out into the embracing cold outside.

It almost felt like a ghost town, walking through Badgerbrough during these harshest days of winter. He didn't recognize the few he passed by, because of all the layers of clothing the weather required.

As he passed Angela Burdett's Candy, he began wondering about his anonymous writer. What if Ana was right? Maybe it was someone who was out to get him? To kidnap him, or worse! He couldn't recall any upsetting stories he had written. Not recently, anyway. Maybe he should have had brought somebody with him, but who? Ana? No. Thomas? Travel all the way to Horsehead to get his brother-in-law, just in case? No, and besides, he had seen worse during his travels! Walking mountains, tiny boxes that torture souls, dowsing rods that brings forth a nemesis from your nightmares, little girls that...

He stopped in the middle of the road, but it felt like his heart continued walking straight through his chest. What if it was that little girl from Skiff-in-Loch? He automatically grabbed his left hand, as to shield it against any more finger snapping. Why would she do something like that? Shouldn't she be at the western shore, watching all that...dust or flour or what it was? Had the article upset her?

A cold wind swept through the street and forced his legs to start walking again. North Street was just around the corner. Horsehead isn't that far away, he thought. There's still time. I should have brought someone with me, I shouldn't have gone by myself! She may look innocent, but she's not a little girl! She snaps her fingers and nails disappear! But why? Why now? The thoughts swirled around a centre of anxiety and fear, as he turned the corner and met...

A queue?

He looked around to see if he was on the right street, or even at the right house, but he was. North Street 11, second house. There was a row of people, lined up in front of the building, waiting for something. As he came closer, he noticed they were smiling, despite the cold - at least, until he tried to go inside.

"Gettin' line!" they shouted while pushing him back.

"But I'm expected!" Billobi explained.

"Really now? By whom?"

"By he...or she...who lives here!"

"Yeah, yeah, in that case we're ALL expected! Nice try lad, gettin' line!"

Almost an hour later, the turn had finally come to Billobi. He had witnessed frozen people going inside, only to come out minutes later with rosy cheeks. He grabbed the door handle and turned it; although he didn't know what to expect, at least he knew it couldn't be a certain little girl from a treeless island that would make his nails disappear.

"Ah, Mr Reaptorter! Coume im, coume im", a happy voice greeted him. It belonged to a thin man, dressed in colourful clothes that Billobi hadn't seen before. "Not freeze enough, yes? Cold, yes, good? Ah, Mr Reaporter, beautiful you coume. Hug!"

The man embraced Billobi and gave him a long, friendly hug. With one arm around Billobi's shoulders, he lead him into what only could be the kitchen. The host flew around the tiny room, a trail of colour that seemed to paint the world in joy. He seemed to mutter fragments of words in a language unknown to Billobi, who suddenly found himself holding a small glass.

"Now, we cheers! Cheers!" the thin man said and emptied his glass. Billobi did the same without any afterthought, as if his mind hadn't caught up with his body. The clear liquid tasted strongly of alcohol, with a lingering aftertaste of spruce.

"Let me just... You... My name..." Billobi began, but the words didn't come out as he wanted to.

"Yes, you Mr Reaporter! I write note, you get, good! The Inkustive, newspaper with strange story. You write good! Good Reaporter."

"Who are you?"

"Oh, sorry. Me are bissness man, no names. Just bissness. Yes, Mr Reaporter? You write sand howle, in my living roum. Write good story, in newspaper, many coume and pay! Is warm."

"I'm sorry, but I don't really follow, Mr...Businessman. What is it that you want to show me?"

"Coume!" the colourful man said and pushed Billobi in front of him. "Me show living roum!"

As they left the kitchen and passed the hall, Billobi noticed that the house - or at least, what he'd seen of it - didn't feel inhabited. There were no candles, no furnitures, no curtains, no nothing. It felt grey and dead for such a colourful host, he thought.

"This living room, and this howle of sand!" the thin man said as they entered the living room.

They only thing noticeable in this room was the round, crude hole in the floor. Everything else were dusty or broken. The walls had markings after paintings, and a shattered table was piled up in the corner. But the hole in the middle of the floor seemed to glow in the dim light. It was filled with yellow sand, and looked almost like liquid gold.

"You try, clothes off!"

"Excuse me?"

"Clothes off! No clothes in howle!"

"You want me to stand naked on the sand?"

"No stand", the man said and bent his knees. "Sit."

Billobi took off his shoes and warm socks and walked over to the hole. He dipped his toe as if he was about to take his first swim for the summer. He couldn't feel the grain of the sand, no matter how much he stirred his toe. It really felt like water, flowing around, doing its best to avoid his foot. And the warmth! He had never felt anything like this before.

"What wait, Mr Reaporter? Sit in howle, but clothes off!"

"I'm not taking my clothes off", he said. "What kind of sand is this?"

"Me? Bissnessman. Sand me not know. I found house, this, and found howle, that. Nice and warm, people freeze. Coume here and be warm, pay me little. But not enough, Mr Reaporter. You write in newspaper, many people coume here and be warm, make much pay. Me pay you, if you wants."

"But is it safe?" Billobi said and pulled up his foot. The toe was completely dry. "Do people bathe in this? Is it deep?"

"Deep, maybe. People sit, but no chair. Sit like... You know, swim?"

"They need to swim to keep floating?"

"Yes, yes, flotting! Be warm, flotting."

A knock on the front door called on the thin man's attention, and he excused himself. Billobi took out his pen and paper and started taking notes. He could hear muffled sounds from the front door, and finally how the door closed. The colourful host came back and said: "Was customer, wants sit in sand howle. But no money so I turn down. Me, Mr Bissnessman!"

He followed up the last sentence with a short laughter, and patted Billobi on the shoulder.

"So, Mr Reaporter, what you say? Big write in newspaper? Many rich come sit in howle?"

"First of all, even if we publish this in the Inquisitive, I'm pretty sure many of the readers don't have any riches to talk about..." Billobi said and drew a sketch of the hole.

"Is ok, many people with little pay, still money."

"And second... Are you really sure you want people to bathe in this, without knowing the consequences? How long have you've been doing this?"

"I find house four days ago, no problems with people. Except few, but no problem now I think."

The sound of the front door opening echoed through the hallway, accompanied by heavy footsteps. A sturdy, bearded man came into the living room. His hands were shaking.

"Please, I need the warmth. Just ONE more time! My hands are freezing, heck, my heart is freezing! Please!" He walked further into the living room as he talked.

"No! You, out! I tell you, no money, no sit! Is no acceptions. You go out now! See, Mr Reaporter, this why I need rich people."

"Excuse me", Billobi interrupted, "but have you bathed in this before?"

"Why do you care?" the bearded man said with a hostile voice, as if he'd just noticed Billobi's presence. "Have you paid?"

"No, I have not, but..."

"Then don't take up the sand's time!" he yelled. "And why does he get to bathe for free? I'm freezing! Look at me!"

"Out!" the colourful host shouted. "Out! Sand howle closed, no more guests! Mr Reaporter, help me out with this person!" He tried to wrap his thin arms around the sturdy man, only to bounce off like a ball. He flew across the room and landed next to the broken table.

The bearded man turned to Billobi, eyes lit like torches.

"So, let's just take it easy, shall we?" Billobi said and backed. "I'm not going to stop you from bathing."

"You've violated the warmth!" he screamed. "It's mine! Give it back!"

"There! Take it! I don't want the sand! I'll go now!"

But as he tried to put his socks on, the bearded man rushed up to him and knocked Billobi over. The strength felt almost unnatural, as if something was fuelling the crazed man from within.

"You shall put it back, nothing must leave the hole!" he shouted and dragged Billobi over to the glowing sand.

"I only dipped m-"

He was cut short as his head was pushed beneath the surface. The warmth immediately spread across his scalp, and he could sense every single hair on his head; they felt like tiny stalks, swaying in a light breeze, tickling. But it didn't stop there, no. It continued past his ears - two red seashells - over his ears and nose, past his mouth and stopping at his neck. It felt anything but uncomfortable. He almost forgot to drown.

The next moment, he could feel the cold air breaking through his lips and making its way down to his lungs. He tried to focus, but could only see the blurred outline of what he assumed was the bearded man, who cried: "Did you give it back? Did you?"

"Giv-" - Billobi had to cough before he could continue. "Give...what...back?"

"The warmth! You must... Your ears are red! You haven't given it back, have you? Have you? Give it back! I need to -"

Billobi didn't hear the last word. The warmth spread across his head once again, but this time it continued further down his body, passed his knees and feet, until it completely surrounded him. He loved it. It was a warm blanket in the middle of the night, his mother's hug and kiss before bedtime, bathing next to Hamphred after a hard day's work, the blue eyes of his Ana.

The thought of Ana forced his eyes wide open, and whatever it was that stared back at him, it grabbed him by the neck and pulled him further down.

(To be continued.)

The March of the Talltops (lore)

2011-05-18T10:55:00.020+02:00

If you continue past Ogrenose and follow the mountain range known as the Talltops for a while, you'll eventually end up in a hilly piece of land that isn't claimed by anyone. It doesn't even have a name, and no one lives there. The Talltops forms a great wall around it in a half-circle; further north, there's nothing but mountains and rocks all the way till the great dark ocean, where no sane being would ever try to sail.

It was a cold but sunny day. Billobi sat on a stump, located on a green hill some mile away, and watched the mountain range up ahead. He had his pen and notebook ready, just in case. He hadn't travelled all this way from Badgerbrough just to miss the marvellous event everybody in Ogrenose were talking about. Besides, he wouldn't get any money from the Inquisitive if he didn't have anything to write about.

For once, he had hired a guide to lead him to the good spot. It was one of the locals, a quiet old fellow with a great moustache that hid his mouth. He didn't say much - or anything, for that matter. Billobi thought he heard the guide mention his name once, but he wasn't sure because of his archaic dialect. Mostly, he did his talking through his fingers.

"So", Billobi said and tapped his pen against his notebook. "This is the spot?"

The guide nodded.

"The best place to be", Billobi continued. "To witness...the event... Have you seen it? I mean, has it happened before?"

The guide nodded.

"Really?" Billobi wrote a small note in his book. "Or what do you mean? That you've seen it before, or that it's happened before? That you've seen it?"

The guide nodded.

"Right. I'll just write... Right."

The scenery was breath-taking; the hill sloped before them, like a green waterfall that plunged into the sparse forest of tall trees below their feet. And after that, the great mountains. Hamphred would have been thrilled to see that, Billobi thought. Too bad he didn't like travelling.

"So... Where are all the people? For the event, I mean."

The guide shrugged.

"Is the event recurring? Does it happen a lot? I mean, people tend to get bored at watching the same thing over and over."

The guide did a combination of shrugging and nodding, until he suddenly sneezed. The great moustache fluttered uncontrollable, and Billobi couldn't resist doing a quick drawing of it in his notes.

Suddenly, a low, rumbling sound nearly knocked him off the stump. The vibrations rose from the ground, and hundreds of birds took flight from the trees below. It stopped as sudden as it had started.

"What... Was that... Was that the event?" Billobi whispered while picking up his writing gear.

The guide shook his head.

"But it's part of...the thing?"

The guide nodded. He didn't seem affected by it, as if he had predicted the exact moment it would happen.

"Just yawn", the guide added in his strange tongue, and Billobi had to ask him to repeat it.

"A yawn?"

"Just yawn. Of Talltops."

"The mountains yawned?"

The guide nodded and smiled.

"Are they...tired? Why would they even yawn?"

"Sleep long, then yawn. Not really yawn, but almost. Sleep long, now waking. It -"

The sound that pushed them both to the ground came out of nowhere. It didn't last long, but felt like a concentrated crack, like the ice on the rivers when the cold really sets in, or the breaking of a dried stick in the dead silent forest.

Billobi sat up and opened his eyes. Although he could see, it felt like he wore a padded bag on his head; every sound were muffled, and he had a terrible headache.

The guide helped him on his feet, and directed his view with a pointing finger. There, in the distance, below the hill and past the forest, rose a part of the mountain above the ground, and stretched itself towards the sky. It almost looked like an animal, but at the same time it didn't resemble anything living at all.

He believe he formed his lips to say something, but his ears didn't record anything. The sight of a part of the mountain standing on its own, slowly turning around and starting its long journey towards the sea, didn't call for small-talk.

When the rumbling sound from before came back, the guide forced Billobi to sit on the ground with his hands tightly pressed against his ears. When the rumbling stopped, it didn't take many seconds for the second great crack to hit them, and although they sat down this time, it too knocked them over. Another piece of the Talltops had risen, and begun its journey towards the sea.

Billobi stayed on the same spot the entire day, witnessing fifteen pieces of the Talltops breaking off and heading towards the great sea in the north, leaving only a shredded plateau of sharp rocks behind.

When he finally headed back to Ogrenose, he had to rest for a week before his hearing came back. The event was well documented in the town's library, and was called "The March of the Talltops". He learned that the mountain range originally came from the bottom of the ocean, and needed to return there to not dry out (which had happened with the rest of the Talltops). This part of the Talltops were the last living part of the entire mountain range.

Not forgetting about his task, he wrote an extensive article for the Inquisitive and posted it the following week. A month later, back in Badgerbrough, he received the payment and a letter from his editor, that read:

Just south of the Copperstream (story)

2011-05-11T20:38:00.007+02:00

Young Billobi didn't care much for sleeping. It was a waste of time, probably invented by parents, to keep children like himself from doing all kinds of interesting stuff.

"Mom!" he shouted from his bed. "I'm bored!"

"Go to sleep, Bill", a male, monotonous voice answered him.

"I said 'mom', not 'dad'!"

"Read a book, Bill", his father replied.

Billobi answered with a long repetition of the word 'a', and then rolled around in bed until he grew tired of that too. With both hands tucked in under his bed, he searched for a while before pulling out a book.

"Mom!" he shouted. "Read!"

"You know how to read, Bill", his father answered with a tired voice.

"I'm too tired."

"Then why don't you go to sleep?"

Billobi didn't know what to answer to that, so he rolled over in bed a couple of times - book in hand - before finding the perfect position to read. He opened the book and started to read aloud: "A LONG TIME AGO, IN A COUNTRY NOT TOO FAR AWAY, THERE LIVED A KING BY THE NAME -"

"Read with your mouth closed, Bill."

He frowned in the direction of the voice, and then turned to the last page. It was the best page in the whole book, because it had a map.

"Just south of the Copperstream" is a short story based on a little world I dragged my friend through almost a year ago. My initial idea was to make it into a setting, or something similar, but after a night of trying I figured that's a path better suited for others to pursue.

So I turned it into a short story instead. I wrote it with young readers in mind, so if you are a parent (or you have kids in your vicinity) it would be cool if you could read it for them (or have them read it), and report back here and tell me whether they liked it or not. Or if YOU liked it or not!

It's licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

View/download it here (on Google Docs).

UPDATE: I've made two versions for eBook-readers as well, with the same license. EPUB and PRC.

And yes, there's a map on the last page!

The Auction (lore)

2011-05-02T09:28:00.008+02:00

It was a warm summer's day, as it tended to be every time Billobi headed down south. He stood all dressed up in the middle of a large gathering of people, in the middle of a field, and gazed up into the sun. The warmth washed over his face, but the feeling didn't resonate with the rest of his body: sorrow had rooted itself within, and tangled his gut.

"People! People!" a voice cried out. "Gather around, it is auction time."

The voice belonged to an old, bearded man. He stood on a crude podium made of wooden crates, and held two black, small stones in each hand. Billobi recognised him as one of the locals, but couldn't remember his name.

"There, there! As we all know, the community lost one of its biggest souls last week. Somehow the Soil wanted him back, and can we blame it? Can we, really? Hamphred treated the ground as a beloved offspring, not as a unwanted bastard like them burghers do! When he ate, he chose the best meat, and when he drank, he swallowed with care. Let this not be forgotten; Hamphred took only nature's best, so that he could return the same!"

There was a strong sense of agreement in the crowd, although not a word was spoken. Billobi felt the roots of sorrow burrowing deeper within him, entangling organ after organ. He took a deep breath, and searched for his mother's hand.

"The community have selected this spot to receive the great gift of our missed Hamphred's body. His earthly body will nourish the ground, as the Soil takes back what it once gave. You all knew Hamphred, you know what his body is capable of. Remember this! This place has been given the honour of receiving this great body, an end that will lead to many great start! Let the auction begin!"

The turmoil that followed was one of the more morbid things about these southern funerals. The field was auctioned away to the highest bidder, knowing that Hamphred Dungbeetle was buried deep in the ground to moulder away and nourish the start of new crops. The old man on the podium spoke as fast as he could, trying to keep up with the bidders in the crowd. It felt like an eternity, but lasted only a couple of minutes.

"There, there!" said the man and knocked the two black stones together. "The memory of our beloved friend will not only linger in our memories, but will continue to grow here, to make it better for the rest of us."

After the auction followed the reading of Hamphred's will; since he had no children of his own, his belongings ended up with his cousins and cousins' cousins. Billobi were given, among other things, a large comfortable furniture that Hamphred knew he adored.

"The last thing on the list was given to one in our community that wishes to be anonymous. She decided to give it back to the community as a reminder of Hamphred's views on life, and it has therefore been placed on this field as a statue and inspiration. With these words, I hereby end this auction and funeral. Thank you."

The man bowed slightly and got off the podium. The crowd dissipated; some got on their wagons and began the long road home, and some met up for funeral dinner.

Out on the field stood the statue alone, a peaceful and welcoming piece, whose silhouette made it stand out as the sun set. The bathtub was as dirty now as it had ever been.

Cartographer's disease (people)

2011-04-11T10:35:00.030+02:00

Badgerbrough housed a lot of different people. The streets were long and winding, tangled up in each other, much like people's minds.

"Thoughts get lost", Billobi's father used to say. "It's as if they start their journey fully aware of where they're going, but forget it halfway there. Thoughts get lost, and seldom are found. Just like the people here. They start out hungry, and decide to walk over to my shop to buy something, but get lost halfway here and instead they end up at that bloody Clarke's Candy! I hate that man!"

Billobi sat on a bench in his father's bakery with pen and paper in hand. He had just received a short message from the editor at the Inquisitive that said:

"Bill! Funds are low, so can't send you anywhere. Please find juicy story here in town. Exercise good for you."

But mysteries didn't just show up whenever someone wanted them to, and despite all the strange things Billobi had seen up till now, none of it had happened inside his father's bakery.

"How about a funny story?" Billobi's father asked. "I know quite a few! There's the one about the horse in a hat..."

"No, thank you, please. Not even mother finds those funny."

"Alright, Mr. Critic, I guess you'd know. How about writing about your father's lovely bakery?"

"There's nothing exotic about bread, father."

"There's dried fruit in some of them."

"Not exotic enough, father."

"Alright. But can't you write something about all the rats in Clarke's basement, that licks on all the candy that he sells?"

"There are not rats in his basement and you know it."

"Really? Then why is his candy so sticky, hmm? Stupid Clarke and his stupid, cheap candy..."

A loud voice from outside cut through the open door, and Billobi walked outside to see what the fuss was all about. Across the street from his father's bakery, a bald, thin man in rags were shouting about secret maps, although no one seemed to care. Billobi walked over to him and said hello.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAH!" the man said with a toothless smile. "A CUSSCHDRMER! CAN I IMTRESTE YOO WITH A SCHEECREK MAB?"

"Absolutely", Billobi answered and started talking notes. "I just need your name first, kind Sir."

"NAME? NAME? YOO MAE CAA ME DE CATAGRAFEE!"

"The Cartographer? Is that because you make maps?"

The old man nodded with his eyes closed, and held up a bunch of papers.

"ONE FER HALF, FIVE FER TEN!"

"Excuse me?"

"ONE FER HALF, FIVE FER TEN! BAJ FIVE TO SCHAVE MONEY!"

"And what kind of maps are these? I heard you mentioning something about secret maps?"

"YESCH! THE MOST SCHERECECS MABS THER ISCH! GOLD! TESSURSCHS! DJAGONS! EH...WIMMEN! BAE-SCHESDED WIMMEN! PENTY OF WIMMEN!"

"So...it's maps to fortune?"

"YESCH! YESCH! ONE FER HALF!"

"LIES!" a voice cried out. "ALL LIES!" It came from an old woman, that approached them from behind. Besides having a full set of teeth and being female, they resembled each other quite a bit.

"SCHUT YOOR MOUSCH!" the old man responded. "TISCH MY CUSCHDERMER!"

"DO NOT LISTEN TO THIS MAN!" the woman continued. "HE IS NOTHING MORE THAN A DISGRACE TO THE REST OF US!"

"Us?" Billobi asked.

The woman grabbed Billobi with her right hand while slowly raising her left, revealing a bunch of papers.

"CARTOGRAPHERS!" she bellowed solemnly. "WE WHO CRAFT SECRET MAPS! WE WHO GUIDE PEOPLE THROUGH LOSTHOOD TO RICHNESS AND FOUNDHOOD."

"YOOR DE FRAAD! MY MABS AA AAWAYS RAJT! ONE FER FIVE!"

"I'm sorry, 'losthood'?" Billobi asked while writing frenetically. "Do you also draw maps that leads to treasures?"

"NOT ALSO - I AM THE ONLY ONE! HE IS THE FRAUD! A DISGRACE!"

"FRAAD!"

"So you also sell secret maps?" Billobi asked the old woman.

"YES, I DO. BUT MY MAPS ARE NOT FALSE, LIKE THE ONES THIS FRAUD CRAFTS!"

"HUSCH YOOR FRAAD! MINES SCHEEPER!""

"Why don't we compare your maps?"

The suggestion was met with blank stares and complete silence. A feeling struck him, not unlike the one that used to creep up on him when he was young and was caught doing something he shouldn't.

"I...eh...I mean, since I work for the Inquisitive...free advertisement, and so on..."

"DISCHCOUNT FER WEPORTERSH! ONE FER A QUARTER!"

"I URGE YOU TO BUY MY MAPS, DEAR REPORTER, LEST YOU NOT FOREVER WALK IN LOSTHOOD! AND THIS MAN IS A FRAUD, AFTER ALL."

"CWAZY HAG! HEE, I MAKE MAB FER YOO FER FEE!"

The old man pulled out a blank sheet of paper and drew something quickly on it. He then handed it to Billobi.

"SCHECREC MAB FER YOO WEPORTER! GOLD! WIMMEN! FEMAI DJAGONS!"

Billobi inspected the so called map - or rather, the lack of it. The paper he was given didn't contain much information for treasure hunting.

"It's just a line", Billobi said. "Two dots connected by a straight line. And this leads to great treasure?"

"ABSCHULOTLY! SCHTARK HEE" - the old man pointed at the first dot, and ran his finger along the line to the second - "END HEE."

Billobi turned around with map in front of him, while examining the surroundings. He turned around and gave the map back.

"Your map leads me to that bakery across the street."

"YESCH! YESCH! GEAT TESSCHORES! WIMMEN!"

"I doubt that. That's my father's bakery."

"HERE, DEAR REPORTER", the old woman said and handed Billobi a more detailed map. "FOUNDHOOD GUARANTEED."

"Great, let's follow it."

They left the old man under heavy, teethless cursing, and walked further down the street. The map contained a lot of swirls, and while it lacked any street names it was fairly accurate in terms of conjunctions and intersections.

After walking for a while, they finally arrived at their destination: Clarke's Candy.

"Great treasures, eh?" Billobi said with a sceptic voice.

"AS A TRUE CARTOGRAPHER I AM ALWAYS RIGHT."

The door to the boutique opened up, and a round man with a colourful apron peeked out.

"Yes?" he said with a smile. "We're closing early today, but do come back tomorrow! Oh, is it you, Bill?"

"Hello Mr. Clarke. I was just following this so called treasure map, and it lead me here."

"IT IS INDEED A TREASURE MAP!" the old woman bellowed.

"Well, yes... Sorry for bothering you, I'll leave now."

"No worry, Bill. Tell your father about our sale next week!" he said and laughed.

"I will! Come on now."

"BUT THERE IS GREAT TREASURE IN THERE! GOLD IN THE BASEMENT, PER MY SECRET MAP'S DIRECTIONS!"

"Yes, yes..." Billobi said and started the long walk back, with the old woman close behind,

Mr. Clarke waited until they had disappeared completely, and then locked up the front door. He flipped the "OPEN"-sign to "CLOSE", pulled the curtains and headed quickly downstairs, where the small, golden statuette pulsated in the darkness. A slow whisper, almost like breathing, dragged him to his knees, where he promised it his soul in exchange for fame and fortune. He could've sworn it smiled at him.

People who sell maps that allegedly leads to great treasure, are said to have caught cartographer's disease. They will manufacture maps of all kind of sizes, if the price is right.

They loathe others who do the same.

Persistence may pay off in the end, as 1% of the maps produced by those that are truly affected by this disease will lead to a great treasure.

It is not contagious, only slightly annoying.

The Society of Me (people)

2011-04-04T13:03:00.009+02:00

Far up in the north lies Ogrenose, one of the three Ogreprovinces, famous for having the Talltops running through it. It was often said that Ogrenose got its name from the mountain range, that supposedly formed the silhouette of a nose. But other sources told stories of a proud people living up there, strutting about with their noses high up in the air - hence the name.

Being the experienced traveller that he were, Billobi didn't really pay much attention to these rumours since they most often were told in the two other Ogreprovinces; it was like asking your enemy to say some nice words about you.

One particular evening, after hours on a horseback, Billobi finally got to sit down at one of the many local pubs in Ogresole. It was fairly crowded, but a group of people in the middle of the room seemed to be the centre of attention. Billobi asked the women sitting next to him what it was all about.

"Them me-ers", she told him and shook her head.

"Excuse me?"

"Me-ers! Them, all of them! Tiring to listen to. More wisdom from a cat, you get. Pfft!"

"What does that mean? 'Me-ers'?"

"Me!" she shouted. "Me-ers. Them. Interested in one thing, those. Therefore: me-ers. Me, me, me. Pfft! Should just roll in them laughing stones here instead!"

Billobi turned his attention to the group in the middle instead. It was hard to tell them apart; neither clothes nor physical features revealed anything about them. Everyone moved and talked in the same manner, with their arms waving and eyes rolling.

"...and obviously, YOU have never been there - by the look on your so called face!" one in the group responded, but it was unclear to whom.

"Clearly, after counting your poor followers on my ONE hand, you're not in ANY condition to..." another voice bellowed.

"What ECHO from the bottom of the well reaches my delicate ear? Why, isn't that the petty squabbling from lesser beings who actually COUNT supporters? I stand above that, thank you."

"Surely, if you stood above that you wouldn't even need to acknowledge the faint BREEZE that is..."

"Most definitely, that's you farting, my wee servant!"

"How refreshingly for you, to stand in both my shadow AND my history! But you're used to that, aren't you, mmm? Let me refresh that for you!"

After listening to the meaningless dispute for a couple of minutes, Billobi finished his Horsehead's Stout quickly and sat off in the night to find another inn.

The Funeral (lore)

2011-03-11T13:45:00.017+01:00

It was a warm day, even this far into autumn. The sun stood high and looked down upon the earth with its lonely, yellow eye. But lacking a pupil, what could it possible see? Or was it all pupil, and thus taking notice of everything?

"Anabel!" a voice hissed. "Anabel! Stop starting at the sun, you'll go blind, you will!"

Anabel lowered her gaze and turned it to the commanding voice, answering it with a low: "Yes, Madame."

"It's not a day for gazing up, but down!" the voice continued. It belonged to the funeral officiant, an old lady (Anabel couldn't decide her age, nor could anyone else) that had had this job for as long as anyone could remember. She was tall and slender as a pine tree, with arms in constant motion, as if the wind mistook them for branches. If she'd ever had a name, it was now long lost; people in Badgerbrough just referred to her as "Madame".

"Madame?" Anabel asked.

"Yes?"

"If the sun is an eye, then whom do it belong to?"

"What kind of question is that, Anabel? That's hardly appropriate for a lady such as yourself, nor is it the right time."

"I'm not a lady of anything particular", Anabel said and gazed into the hole in the ground with a warm smile.

"That's because you're not married, which I find strange and a bit shocking, especially at your age. But now is not the time."

"No, Madame, it's not."

They stood silent for a while, looking down on the wooden coffin. It lacked a bottom, due to the old traditions of Badgerbrough; it was believed that the dead body would start to crawl to its afterlife after a couple of days, a place found much deeper in the ground. There it could finally let go of its soul and return the remains of the body to the earth. To guide it right, the bottomless coffin would force it to traverse downwards. But if no coffin is used (or it is turned the wrong way) the deceased will craw up to the surface instead, believing it to be the afterlife, and start wandering aimlessly.

"Do you have anything you wish to say to your father, Anabel?"

"No, Madame. Nothing that comes to mind."

"Really? Nothing at all? You wish to send your father on his crawl without some last words from his only daughter?"

"I can talk to him at any time, Madame, just as I have done with my dear mother my entire life. No need to rush words now", Anabel said with a smile.

"Very well. But since there's only the two of us here attending this funeral, I find it necessary as the town's funeral officiant to say at least some words about your father."

"Please, madame, it isn't." Anabel grabbed Madame's hands, and pressed them gently. "If you speak, it's a farewell. Can't we just let father continue on to his next journey?"

Madame didn't know where to start; the act of sending the deceased on his last crawl without a word of comfort was unthinkable! As the funeral officiant of Badgerbrough she felt a great responsibility, not only towards the living and the dead, but to the old procedures that always had been.

But as she was about to tell the young woman about how upsetting this lack of formalities were, she met Anabel's eyes; they soothed her, like a hush that could break through any violence.

"You're as rebellious and peculiar as your father was", Madame said, "but you share more than your name with your mother."

"Thank you, madame."

They took one last look at the coffin before heading back to town. As they started walking, Anabel suddenly said with a curious voice: "Maybe it's father's eye? The sun, I mean."

"Don't talk nonsense, Anabel", Madame said. "The sun is the sun, and that's that."

But she couldn't stop thinking about what Anabel had said. It made sense, after all. As curious as he may have been, there was one thing old Billobi never would be able to witness: his own funeral.

The Badgerbrough Inquisitive, issue 4:2 (lore)

2011-03-01T09:35:00.006+01:00

"It's a joke", Billobi said and threw the paper on the table. Thomas Althorp picked it up and started to read.

"I kind of like it", he said. "It's obviously not true, but it's entertaining."

"I'm a joke", Billobi continued.

"No, you're not. You're a good writer, even though I don't understand everything. And besides, it's just a job."

"Yeah..."

They sat in the kitchen of Billobi's newly acquired house in Badgerbrough. It was a small place with an attic, not long from his parents, decorated sparsely: a bed, a table with crude chairs, and a really comfortable chair sent all the way from his cousin Hamphred.

"Don't think about it, Bill", Thomas said while skimming the leaflet. "You still got all your stories tucked away in the attic, someday you'll find a use for it. Hey!"

"What?"

"Angela Burdett! She's still breathing?"

"You mean the candy store owner? Yes, last time I checked she was still alive."

"Oh, man... She's having a sale, we should go. Like when we're young, remember? Skipping grammar magic-class just to nag her for free candy? You, me and Tristan. As soon as I moved to Horsehead I threw that stupid grammar book as far as I could. I bet you still have it somewhere though, mister All-Writings-Should-Be-Saved."

"Absolutely not", Billobi said and shook his head.

Get your copy of The Badgerbrough Inquisitive, issue 4:2 here! (PDF, 345 KB).

It's licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

The World's Dust (lore)

2011-02-25T11:02:00.024+01:00

The first time Billobi sat his foot on the treeless island of Skiff-in-Loch, he was immediately struck by an uneasy feeling that would keep coming back every time he visited the island. The scenery didn't really help, with its sharp cliffs and cold, naked surface, but he'd seen worse. The constant babbling of old Badsey and the monsters that (according to him) inhabited the area was another source of discomfort, but as a reporter for the Inquisitive, Billobi had definitely heard far grimmer tales.

The editor of the Badgerbrough Inquisitive wanted Billobi to find and interview a "strange" woman that supposedly lived on the naked island. After checking with the talkative ferryman, his first clue to finding her was to visit the island's only pub owned by a lady Darnton. But, after first forgetting about the fuel fee and then upsetting the old lady by asking if she was any strange, Billobi nearly got thrown out of the establishment.

His next clue was to head out to the lighthouse on the south tip. But after two hours of banging on the front door without any results, Billobi gave up and headed back to the pub. He spent nearly all of his travelling funds to make up for his previous escapade, and managed to pick up rumours about lone people travelling to the west side of the island now and then. Lady Darnton called it "wasted pilgrimages", since they came back just as crazy as when they left.

Early the next morning he set out for the other side, using a two-seated cart pulled by a monstrous being called a "legger"; it resembled two human legs (only meatier), ending in a round stomach, to which the cart was fastened. The bright green skin of the legger made it easy to spot in the otherwise colourless environment. Apparently, to steer one would shout the desired direction and hope for the best.

After a couple of hours of travelling, Billobi came to a conclusion: it would be impossible to live this far away from the pub and the bridge with not a single tree, plant or animal in sight, or water. The ground was dried up and pale grey, just as everywhere else. It was a depressing landscape, to say the least. After a quick lunch he set off again as quickly as possible.

The west side of the island didn't offer any variation; still treeless, still grey, still lifeless - with the exception of a little girl, who stood all alone on the shore, gazing into the horizon.

"Bloody hell", she said with her tiny voice as Billobi's legger came closer.

"Excuse me?" he answered her.

She turned around and faced him; she looked like any ordinary girl, with brown skin and dark hair. Her clothes were dirty but not torn. She could've been anyone's little sister.

"You are Billobi."

"Yes, but how -"

"You see, that's why I cursed." She turned around and faced the water again with a sigh.

Billobi stepped down from the cart, and patted the legger absent-minded.

"Where are your parents?"

She shook her head, clearly annoyed, and said: "No, that's not the question."

"I don't... What are you doing out here all by yourself? Are your -"

"You've travelled all the way from Badgerbrough to ask me that? From the east side of the mainland to the west, over the strait by boat, from the east side of this dead island on...that, all this way - only to ask where my parents are? I could ask you the same! Ah, bloody hell."

"How... Why are you..."

"Look. Over there."

She raised her hand and pointed into the distance. There, far away over the water, Billobi spotted dark clouds as wide as the horizon.

"A storm?" he asked, while taking notes. "I don't understand, are you a weather-watcher?"

"Sweet sourdough, you're thicker than old Badsey's nose hair! That's not a storm, that's the dust of the world! Good lords, you're slower than honey."

"I'm sorry I... Who are you, and how did you know my name? And what is this dust you talking about?"

He kept fumbling with his notes, trying not to forget to ask anything.

"And...and are you any strange?" he added while reading from a small note. "I mean, I'm supposed to find this strange woman..."

"The dust of the world is what makes things possible", the girl said. "It's not matter, even though it builds things. It's not magic, even though it feeds it. And it's certainly not life, even though it's part of it."

"So what is it? You're talking about that thing, the storm, right?" He wrote 'dust not magic but nearly, is a storm ??'.

"The dust is the flour of which other things are baked. If many weak entities thinks one strong thought, it may become true. They take from the dust and makes a new thing; a being, matter, or means of magic."

Billobi nodded, and added to his notebook: 'or flour ??'

"What's..." - Billobi flipped through his notes - "what's an entity? Is that you?"

"Yes", the girl said. "And you, and even old Badsey. Or that", she said and pointed at the legger. Apparently it was tired, since it sat down on the ground.

"And who are you exactly?"

"Well, since you don't seem to be able to deduct simple things for yourself..." the little girl said and sighed. "There have always been rumours of a strange woman living on this island, and while lady Darnton may have had her ideas from time to time, she's as extraordinary as a pebble on the bottom of the sea."

"So, you are that strange woman? Or girl..."

"I came to be, yes."

"But you haven't always been that?"

"Only since I was created."

"You mean born?"

"No, created."

"Is that another way of saying 'born'?"

"Sometimes, yes, but not now."

"Why not now, then?"

"I'm sorry, did you fell off the cart and hit your head on your way here? Should I have this conversation with the legger instead? I wasn't born, I was created! Many weak entities thought one thought: 'there's a strange woman living on the island of Skiff-in-Loch'. Rumours linger on and grow in the soil inside peoples' heads, until one day enough of them believed in it at the same time. Dust was taken, and here I am."

Billobi wrote as fast as he could, and didn't stop even as he asked: "And who do you know this?"

"Good! The first nearly intelligent question you've asked! Well, I don't know how familiar you are with the breeding habits of human beings, but..."

"We can't publish that", Billobi said and stopped writing.

The girl cried out a loud pitched laugh, and continued: "Since I'm made entirely out of the dust - unlike any other being - I share its knowledge."

"So the dust can think?"

"The dust consists of small particles - many small entities. How do you think the world was created in the first place?"

"I... I haven't thought of it, actually."

"I'm not surprised! At first, there's only dust, and it consists of many small entities."

"Particles?"

"Exactly. And when they start thinking, they sometimes share the same thought, and poof - things gets created. But then the amount of dust is decreased, and thus there aren't as many entities to think as when they started. Do you follow?"

"...yes..." Billobi mumbled, uncertain on how to formulate this in his notebook. He drew a cloud instead.

"So. More and more things are created, drawn from the dust, and less and less similar thoughts are coincided, and when they are, it's not enough entities thinking about it. As the world increases and is populated, the dust decreases. One day it'll all be gone."

"The dust?"

"Yes."

"And then what?"

"Well, no more magic, for sure. Regardless of what manifestation you've chosen, they all take from the dust. Even the little toddlers in school that tries to turn apples into pears are using up the dust. But that's just one of many things the dust is used for."

"So all magic will stop working? Then what?"

"Well, then the Grinding begins! The crushing of all things, turning it into dust again. And then the circle is complete. From dust to things, from things to dust, forever more."

Billobi went back to the legger and sat down next to it. He closed his notebook and tucked it away in his pocket along with the pen. He sighed.

"It's sounds so...pointless."

"Trust me, it's not", the girl said and kicked a rock. "It's its purpose. Do you cry every time you have lunch?"

"No?"

"No, you don't, because it's its purpose. It's meant to be eaten."

"That's a pretty bad comparison", he said.

"But it made you smile, and that's more important."

She turned around and faced the water, and said: "But now, it's time for you to leave, or else I'll have the Grinding start with you, here and now."

"But I have more q-"

The girl snapped with her fingers, and a trail of dust left Billobi's left index finger - the top of his nail had disappeared! He got on his feet, commanded the legger to do the same, and got on the cart.

"Don't return, Billobi", the girl said. "I'm not your friend."

He nodded, and instructed the legger to head back to lady Darnton's pub. It immediately turned around and started running, as if it too had a desire to leave the shore.

A week later, Billobi was back home in Badgerbrough. He had completed the article and posted it to the Inquisitive while staying at the pub in Skiff-in-Loch. Once home, he found a letter from his editor. It said:

"Hi Bill. I skimmed your story. Rather long and boring, but I saw the word 'magic' in there and something about legs, so I rewrote it. 'GIRL ATTACKED BY LEGMONSTER - NOW BEST FRIENDS'. Nice right? People loves that stuff. Good work otherwise."

Trail of Agnes (magic item)

2011-02-06T15:00:00.020+01:00

It was winter once again. Every stone and tree were covered in a thick layer of creamy snow, and icicles crawled slowly through the air, aiming for the ground. Mother Nature cared for her guests, lulling them into hibernation with a white down. Occasionally, she would blew a kiss towards the town of Horsehead, but other than that it was all quiet.

The door to Thomas Althorp's antiques shop flew open with a bang, and a stream of cold air swept through the room, tickling the very bones of the store owner.

"Shut the door!" Thomas yelled from behind the counter. "Shut it! Or I'll make you buy something!"

Billobi fought through the white mist and finally got inside the shop. He closed the door with what little strength he had left in his frozen arms, and sat down on the floor.

"Oh, is it you Bill?" Thomas said and smiled. "Bloody weather, eh?"

Billobi nodded with his mouth open, and crawled over to the hot stove.

"You'd thought that..." he said while slowly thawing, "you'd thought that with all these...all these...more or less magi...magical things...you'd thought that at least one...at least one of these...could keep a cons...a cons...a constant heating in here..."

"Well, that's the irony; being magical doesn't mean it's useful!"

"You really shouldn't...shouldn't tell you...your customers that, Thomas..."

"No, I know. Speaking of useless items", Thomas said and disappeared behind the counter, only to return with a large, white foot. "It's made of marble, I think. It's heavy as my grandma, at least."

"A...foot?"

"That's why you're a reporter, Bill!" Thomas said and laughed. "Quite right, it's a foot. I got it from a sturdy gentleman the other day. Oh, look!"

Billobi stood up and looked around, but didn't notice anything remarkable.

"What, where?"

"There!" Thomas said and pointed. "You don't see it? The footsteps?"

"Well... Don't you mean over here?" Billobi said.

"Over there? My dear friend, the cold has made you delirious. The trail is going from my counter, through the shop and out the door."

"No, it's going from the stove, through the room, and into the room over there."

They stood in silence for a second, wondering if they both gone mad at the same time. After a moment, Thomas said: "Ah, well, never mind. It's gone now."

"So, what does it do? Besides footsteps?"

"Well, the sturdy man said that the previous owner promised him that the foot would give him opportunities to change his life. So, when the footsteps appeared for the first time, he followed them."

"And...?"

"And he walked right in here! He was furious, since he thought that he would find a pot of gold, or so. I traded him the foot for a dowsing rod."

"Well, one could say that it changed his life. There it is again!"

"I don't see it", Thomas said while searching the floor. "Where does it go?"

Billobi followed the vague footsteps on the floor. They started at his feet, but turned around immediately and disappeared through the door. He walked over and looked outside, but could only see the first couple of steps before they disappeared in the white snow mist.

"Well?" Thomas repeated curiously.

"I don't know", Billobi said and opened the door, "but I'll come back and tell you later!"

"Shut...!"

Billobi followed the vague footsteps through the streets of Horsehead. He had to keep a steady pace, as they faded quite fast. The snow clouded his view, and from time to time he felt completely lost, even though he knew Horsehead by heart. He had to rely on the footsteps on the icy ground.

Eventually, his journey came to a halt. The footsteps passed through a gate he recognized all too well, and continued through the small garden where he had spent many warm summer days. He didn't need the trail any more; he knew exactly where he was: the childhood home of Thomas Althorp.

He walked up to the front door, and noticed the footsteps disappearing through it. But why here? Thomas moved out a long time ago, and his parents left soon after that. He knocked on the door, not knowing what to expect or say. He heard footsteps approaching, and when the door opened he suddenly understood.

"Why, good day to you, Bill!" the girl who opened said. "I didn't expect you, although I'm pleased to see you, of course. Come in! I was actually just thinking about you."

"It's nice to see you too, Ana", Billobi said and smiled.

Small but heavy marble statues carved to look like feet may very well contain a Trail of Agnes, a magical fate compass. Whenever there's an opportunity for anyone in its vicinity to change their life drastically, it will show a trail of vague footsteps. These trails are personal and will only be visible to whom it concerns.

Neither the statue nor the trail will force its viewer to follow them. They are only there to give a sense of direction, and will fade as soon as the moment (opportunity) has passed.

Bangfish (monster)

2011-01-27T08:58:00.009+01:00

It was a quiet and somewhat cold night. There wasn't much of a moon to talk about, and the stars that perforated the dark veil above didn't bring much light to their lonely boat. Billobi inspected the night sky with great awe and tried several times to count the stars - only to be interrupted every time he reached fourteen.

"Did I tell you about the stars, young lad?" said the voice. It belonged to the owner of the boat, an old man named Badsey. He was the ferryman, and made sure people got safely across the waters from Ketch-in-Loch to the small, treeless island of Skiff-in-Loch.

Or, he would have, had he not dropped the oars.

They sat stationary, all alone in the small boat in the middle of night. Billobi was on a mission for the Inquisitive, to do an interview with a strange (according to his editor) woman that lived on Skiff-in-Loch. It was his first time this far west, and it was his first meeting with this ferryman.

"No, you didn't tell me about the stars, Mr. Badsey", said Billobi polite.

"Ah, it's candles, yes, yes! You see, people live up there!"

"But, how could one survive up there? I reckon you'd fall down at once?"

"But you see, it's them mirrorpeople, yes. It's our reflection that lives up there, the mirrorpeople. They look up at us sometimes and wonder why we don't fall down on them, yes. Mirrorpeople!"

"Mirrorpeople?"

Billobi pulled out pen and paper from his backpack. Maybe he didn't have to travel all the way to Skiff-in-Loch for his story?

"And, and! And sometimes, when they sneeze, it starts to rain! Yes, yes."

Or maybe, Billobi thought while taking notes, maybe he'd die of thirst in this boat with this crazy old man, and these notes of sneezing people in the sky will be his last words.

"Oh, and did I, did I", old Badsey said excited when he noticed that Billobi took notes. "Did I tell you about the time I lost me eye to an OGREFISH?" he said and pointed at his eye-patch.

"Please do", Billobi said.

"Yes, it was a cold night, much like this one..."

A deep sound interrupted old Badsey all of a sudden. It was so loud that Billobi almost lost his writing gear to the dark water. The echo that followed didn't make it any less frightful.

"What...was that?" Billobi whispered.

"No need to worry, lad. It's probably just a bangfish, yes. The dumbest animal you'll ever know."

"A...bangfish?"

Billobi searched the surroundings for any stupid looking fish, but it was hard to see in the dark.

"Why's...why is it called that?"

"It bangs its head against rocks, yes, yes. Sometimes boats too, yes."

"Why would it do that?" asked Billobi, taking notes eagerly.

"'Cause it's stupid! Ah, look what the waves brought in, yes! Good thing that bangfish was around, ey? Don't you drop them this time!"

A bangfish is a rather large fish that lacks a mouth. They are born with a life-long supply of nutrition, kept in a elastic cavity in their forehead.

The only way for them to eat is to bang their forehead against something hard. That way, the cavity will leak a small amount of nutrition that's instantly assimilated by their organs.

They communicate by making a deep, strong sound, where their whole body serves as a resonating box.

Bangfish have been known to bash their heads against boats if they haven't been able to feed for a while.

They either die of old age or by depleting their nutrition cavity.

The Badgerbrough Inquisitive (lore)

2011-01-17T18:04:00.012+01:00

Graduating from the School of Badgerbrough was both a delightful and eagerly awaited day for Billobi, but it raised a question he never had given much thought before: what would he do with this new kind of freedom?

His dearest friend Tristan "Hum" Beadle had already signed on to the Acorn Afloat, the large sailing vessel that travelled the eastern sea, and Thomas Althorp had bought an old antiques shop in the town of Horsehead (much to his parents distress).

Should he pursue a deeper understanding for all the different types and manifestations of magic? Not according to his headmaster, who told both him and Thomas Althorp on the day of graduation to "never, ever, ever, try to practice what our poor teachers have tried to teach you! Not you two! Never, ever!"

Talking to his father didn't really satisfy his restless and curious soul: "You'll never be a baker, Bill, but anyone can carry a sack of flour! That's the job I can offer you. If you don't want to travel south and work on the farm with your cousin Hamphred..."

It was at this point in his life, when his hands yearned for pen and paper and his feet couldn't feel more restless, that the perfect job opportunity found him - literally. It was the current edition of The Badgerbrough Inquisitive that his father dropped on his face.

"Read it, Bill. They're hiring."

The Badgerbrough Inquisitive was one of the local gazettes, known for their quirky and not always so accurate news from around the country. Working for the paper was frowned upon, but for Billobi it was the opportunity of his lifetime.

Three days later he could entitle himself as an official writer for the Inquisitive. Not that it did impress anyone (except for Thomas Althorp), but it didn't matter. He would travel and he would write, and his first assignment ever was to seek out and interview a man with really large ears just outside of town. He couldn't be more excited.

Get your copy of the Badgerbrough Inquisitive here! (PDF, 0.5 MB).

It's licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

Grammar Magic (lore)

2010-12-19T17:54:00.014+01:00

Billobi sat alone in the attic, with a flickering candle as his only source of light. He reached down into the large, open trunk in front of him, and pulled out a small sheet of paper. Upon further inspection, he realised it was a fragment of youth, a reminder from a more naïve period of his life: it was from his school-days.

He dug deeper in the trunk and found the rest of the book from which the sheet came: a book of selected exercises to the course Grammar Magic. Skimming through it, vague memories of boring calculations and Hagberg models surfaced, but nothing more.

"Bill?" a warm voice from downstairs sounded. "Dear?"

"Up here", Billobi answered. "Attic."

"Just don't hit your head, dear. Again."

"I won't, Ana."

"My brother will be here any minute, just so you know."

"Yes, dear."

He returned to the small booklet, and read until he heard the front door open and close.

"Bill, dear? Thomas is here now."

"I'm coming, I'm coming."

He closed the book and returned it to the trunk, and managed to bump his head into the low ceiling before climbing down.

This little booklet is a piece of lore from the world of Rustfoot. If you ever went to the school of Badgerbrough to study magic - you have probably already read it!

It's licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

Download it here (PDF, 110 Kb).

Mystery Egg (magic item)

2010-11-12T10:08:00.013+01:00

The people living in the southern parts of the country were known for being self-sufficient and hard working. There was a steady flow of merchant caravans between nearly every larger settlement and these parts; crops and meat and what not, things that had grown in or fed off the rich and nutritious ground.

Hamphred Dungbeetle used to tell his younger cousin that what they didn't grow, they didn't need.

"Except for one thing", he added with a smile. "You know what that is, Bill?"

They all sat around the dinner table and ate a strange stew, a mixture of edible things not usually combinable. It was food experiment signed Billobi's father, who had spent the entire day shopping in the nearest town. As guests, he wanted to show his appreciation for the hospitality. It was unclear whether it worked.

Billobi shook his head, and said: "No, what?"

"A bathtub!" Hamphred started to laugh so hard the table moved a bit. "Did you know, Bill, I once dreamt I was farming bathtubs? It's true! They just grew right out of that soil, like gull flowers ready to be picked. Filled with water and everything..."

They finished their plates, and while Billobi's helped his parents cleared the table, a loud knock on the door called for Hamphred's attention. He walked over to the front door and opened it.

"Hello, dearest Sir", said a tiny voice, "I hope I am not interrupting anything." It came from a thin and small man, wearing rugged clothes and a small brown hat. He held onto a small cart with one hand. It was filled with all sorts of things.

"Only my digestion! What do you want? You're not selling anything are you?"

"Well, no..." the man said nervously and took off his hat with his free hand. "Not if you're not buying..."

Hamphred snorted, and said: "All right, show me your goods then. I don't have all season!"

"Very well, dearest Sir!"

The tiny man put on his hat and turned the cart around. When Hamphred took a step closer to look inside it, something growled at him.

"I'm sorry, dearest Sir", the tiny man said and patted the cart. "It's one of them faithful carts. Never mind it."

"Never heard of them", Hamphred said and took two steps back.

The tiny man started to browse through the debris on the cart.

"Maybe I can interest you in some...long, rusty pipes...? No? How about...some...bent nails? Also rusty? No? Well then, how about...this brown little...thing...that opens, and plays a melody? Listen! Isn't that the most beautiful... No? All right...how about..."

"Not interested in junk", Hamphred declared with a monotonous voice. "Have you tried selling it to them out-of-towners? They buy anything."

"Look at this beautiful egg!" the tiny man suddenly said and held up an enormous, spotted egg. "Food for days to come!"

"More like one breakfast", Hamphred said and inspected the egg. "Can't say I recognize it. What animal is this?"

"It's...a...bird! A big bird!"

"Really?"

The tiny man nodded, and said: "Absolutely, dearest Sir. Tastes wonderful. And for you...only two and sixty."

"Drop the two and you got yourself a deal, peddler."

"But that's...! It's huge! Two flat, no less."

"One flat, and I won't throw it after you."

The tiny man scratched his neck with his free hand, and said with a low voice: "Deal."

Coins and egg changed owner, and the tiny man disappeared into the clear night. The next morning, Hamphred relieved Billobi's father of all chores that involved cooking, and announced an all omelette breakfast outside. They gathered wood and made a fire just outside the house. The second largest frying pan was fetched from one of the barns and placed on the fire.

"And now", Hamphred declared solemnly with the large egg in his arms, "the big crack!"

He walked over to the fire and the sizzling frying pan, and while holding it firmly with his left arm over the pan, he punched it as hard he could with the other. It cracked into two halves immediately, but instead of the expected yolk and white, a tiny humanoid creature fell out and into the hot pan. Its skin were pale green and covered in warts. A long, crooked nose grew from its small face in a bent shape, and nearly punctuated its chest. It had a narrow tail instead of legs, much like a tadpole.

It screamed horribly as the hot oil burned away on its body. Unable to move away from the heat, it melted slowly. The screaming lasted only for a couple of seconds, and a minute later there wasn't more than a grey goo left in the pan.

"It's probably still better than that stew of yours", Hamphred told Billobi's father.

Mystery eggs are small, magical organs that feed on their surroundings. Much like mushrooms, they can be found everywhere. They start out as tiny, round balls, and grow as they "feed" on the immediate environment; it collects emotions, parts of magic, thoughts, shapes, languages, and everything else that is specific for the location, and stores this in its soft tissue. This is the first phase.

In the second phase, after being fed enough, they develop a hard shell that surrounds and protects the soft interior. The egg will not grow any more now, and goes into its third phase, in which it summarises the things stored in its tissue and converts it into something materially.

After the third phase is completed, the egg goes into a sort of hibernation. This is the final phase.

Mystery eggs are so called because of their gambling nature; you never know what to get since they have been known to materialise living things as well.

Music box (magic item)

2010-10-29T13:43:00.017+02:00

The day that no one thought would ever come finally arrived on a hot summers day: the day when Billobi's good friend Thomas Althorp got married.

Graduation day was still fresh in their minds, a memory only a year old. All dressed up, a day as hot as this, their heads and hearts filled with plans and motivation, eager to get going. Thomas had bought an old shop in Horsehead, Billobi needed to travel the countryside, and Tristan had signed on to the Acorn Afloat to take him overseas. Naturally, all ceremonies follow the same universal speed, written in stone at the beginning of time, to make all formalities as tenacious as possible: the pace of a snail.

Billobi wiped the sweat from his forehead, and wondered why all ceremonies had to take place outdoors. He sat on a hard, white chair, and waited for the groom, much like everyone else. Long rows of white chairs were placed in front of a crudely built stage, which was decorated with flowers and hay. It swayed even at the slightest breeze. The priest, stationed in the middle of the stage, looked nervous.

"I just hope my boy remembered to buy her a gift!" whispered the women next to Billobi. It was Thomas Althorp's mother.

"Well, he's managed to keep his antique shop for a whole year now, so I wouldn't worry", Billobi whispered back with a smile.

"You've ever been to his shop, Bill?"

"Yes, but w...? Point taken, Mrs. Althorp."

Suddenly out of nowhere, Thomas came running, half-dressed. He jumped up on the stage and took place next to priest, finishing up on his tie and shirt. The stage waggled a bit, much to the enjoyment of the younger ones in the audience.

"Sorry!" Thomas said and waved to the rows of people. He tried to avoid his mother's gaze.

"Are we ready?" said the priest with a snooty, high pitched voice. When Thomas answered with a nod, three young girls from the front row got up on the stage, each carrying a small trumpet. As soon as the stage had stopped moving, they began to play.

"Let me present to you", said the priest and raised his arm slowly, "the bride!"

Everyone stood up, and to the horrible sound of untrained trumpeters battering their instruments, a women dressed in a beautiful green wedding gown walked up to the stage and took place next to Thomas. To everyone's delight, the three young girls stopped playing and returned to their seats.

"We have gathered here today, on this hot Horsehead day, to witness the completion of the union of the circle of the once broken lines of love and honesty that is the ritual that needs to be and wants to be fulfilled with the two formerly lost but now to be connected in the short infinity that we speak of and think of as life. Of love. In the circle. Of the union. And so on."

Billobi yawned. He could've sworn that his old headmaster said something similar a year ago.

"Shut that mouth of yours, Bill, or I'll put my fist in it", whispered Thomas mother to Billobi, who shut it promptly.

"But the circle in the union", the priest continued, "of the lines that was broken and shattered and lost but found and reunited and forged back together, cannot be all that if the two souls that are about to meet in the perimeter of the circle that is the union of honestly love don't participate in the lovely exchange that fulfils the contract. Of the union. Of love. In the circle. And so on."

The priest smiled and looked at Thomas, who smiled back.

"Great speech", said Thomas.

"As I said, the union of love that makes the circle complete needs its worldly exchange to take place."

"So?"

"So..." said the priest, clearly annoyed. "Do you have your part of the exchange?"

"Oh! You mean the gift!"

The priest smiled and nodded.

"Yes, I have it right here..."

As Thomas began to search his pockets for the gift, Billobi heard the words "He'd better!" leave Thomas mother's mouth.

"Here it is!"

Thomas pulled out a tiny box of metal and handed it over to his bride. The box was dark brown in colour but didn't have any other significant features, except for a small hinge on one side.

"How lovely", said the priest. "The groom have completed his part of the lovely exchange in the circle of the union..."

"Open it!" Thomas interrupted.

With great care his bride slowly opened up the tiny box into two equally sized parts, connected only by the hinge. The two parts looked identical, with a perforated lid covering their contents. A lovely melody immediately began to play.

"It's a music box", Thomas explained with great joy. "I knew from the day I first got it at the shop that it would make a perfect wedding gift!"

"It's wonderful", his bride responded. "I didn't know they made instruments that small."

"Oh, there's not a single instrument in there", Thomas said. "It's one of them old, genuine magical music boxes."

"Let me see that", the priest said and started to inspect the small box. After only a glimpse he immediately closed it, and bellowed: "You fool! Do you know what this is?"

"Yes, it's a magical music box", Thomas said. "A gift for my..."

"It's not a gift, it's a torture chamber! It's not a suitable gift for something as lovely as the union of the circle in which you two are about to enter! No, young man, your gift to this lovely bride will be the release of that poor soul - or, souls! - that are contained within this cursed and wretched piece of torment! Destroy it!"

"But..."

"Now! Pry the lid open and redeem your idiotic actions!"

The priest handed over the box to Thomas, who slowly opened it up as if he was expecting something to pop up. As soon as he did that the wonderful melody that played before spread yet again. It was a soothing and beautiful sound.

The thin, perforated lids broke under the pressure of Thomas thumb. In an instance, the music stopped. Peeking inside, the space under the lid was empty.

"You've cleared your mistake", the priest said and then turned to the bride. "And you?"

"Y-yes?", she answered, slightly shaken by the events.

"Do you still want to merry this idiot?"

Music boxes can be found all over the known world. They're small, brown and made out of thin metal. Once opened, they play a melody that depends on the soul captured within it.

These devices originates from a vicious group of people that experimented a great deal with music. Somehow, they found a way to extract the very life essence of beings and store it as music in various contraptions, such as the music box.

When opened, it begins torturing the captured soul to make it sound. By breaking or otherwise destroying the device the soul is released. Dealing with these kind of devices are generally considered unethical.

The melody depends entirely on the soul, and is said to be a summary of memories and emotions.

The Gardener (map)

2010-10-13T12:19:00.010+02:00

Billobi's cousin Hamphred Dungbeetle sat as usual in the large bathtub stationed outside on his front lawn, with Billobi next to him in an old, water filled wagon. The day had been long and sweaty, but they always were in these southern parts of the country.

"Ev'ery problem has a solution", Hamphred said with a slow voice. "Hellish weather, heavenly bathing!"

Billobi nodded in agreement; helping out on the farm was everything but vacation, but it was better than school. He gently filled his cupped hand with the cool water and poured it over his face, pretending he was a living waterfall. Far away the sun was setting, as red as his cousin's nose during the annual eel feast. At least that's always what his father used to say; Billobi had never gotten a red nose after eating eel, so he assumed it had to do with a particular type of eel that only Hamphred ate.

"See that old man over there, shaped like a horseshoe?" asked Hamphred and pointed to the distance. "We call him the Gardener."

"Is he called that because he works as a gardener?" asked Billobi and squinted.

"Sort of! He got tricked by them burghers, sold him one of them aar-chi-teqs. Don't ask me how it's spelled! Some fancy word for a little worm that eats dirt."

"Why did he need to buy worms? I see plenty every day, and they all seem to eat dirt."

"As I said, Bill, them burghers fooled him with their fancy words. The gardener thought he'd came up with a brilliant plan: he would use them worms for digging himself a set of underground tunnels."

"What would he need tunnels for, Hamphred?"

"Well, for crops, obviously. Haven't you ever tasted pearl potatoes, those white, small things?"

Billobi couldn't remembered he'd ever did.

"Never? I need to talk to your parents, 'cause pearl potatoes are nothing but pure candy for your soul! Anyway, those potatoes loves dark places, and growing them in a underground tunnel is heaven for them - only upside down. Well, look here!"

The Gardener walked up to their bathtubs and waved lazily. He had a long, white beard and old clothes covered in dirt. His eyes were no bigger than two dots in his pale face.

"Good day, Hamphred. Another bath, yes?"

"Keeps me alive!" answered Hamphred and laughed. "Any news on those worms of yours?"

"No, no", said the Gardener, shaking his head as if he was answering himself as well, "no news. Well, maybe one: I found one of them dead, yes. So, yes, one news perhaps. One."

"That's good to hear, only one more to find then!"

"No, no, found him I did. Not the dead one, no, although I found him too. No the other one, he's the fattest I've seen. Lives in the furthest room. He spoke to me, yes."

"The worm...spoke to you?" asked Billobi.

"Yes, yes, spoke to me he did. No, not the dead one, he got to the size of dog, then he died. But the fattest, he's bigger than your outhouse, Hamphred. Two, perhaps. Grown tired of dirt, he said. He wants to eat real food now, yes. I fed him once, but now I've locked the three doors, yes."

"That's the spirit, let the monster starve", said Hamphred and washed his face.

"Yes, starve the fat architect. Shouldn't ever have gotten them, nope. Well, I need to get going now, got them cows on pasture so I'll better keep an eye out for them. Farewell."

The Gardener turned around and walked away with his bent body.

"Do you think the worm really spoke to him, Hamphred?" Billobi whispered excited.

"You never know, Bill. One time at the harvest feast I thought I heard an eel say something to me."

"Really? What did he say?"

"I never found out, 'cause I ate him before he'd talk himself out of it!" Hamphred said with a laughter.

Billobi turned his gaze toward the pink horizon; maybe it was the talkative eels that gave you a red nose?

Lady Prunella's Lovely Locks (magic item)

2010-09-15T08:59:00.020+02:00

The town of Badgerbrough, like any larger town, housed a numerous amount of small shops, each with their own kind of goods and services. In school, Billobi was taught that there existed some kind of balance between what the people wanted to buy, and what was actually in stock; if a rare item was highly sought after, it generally costed a whole lot more, and vice versa.

It was the opposite that got both him and best friend Tristan curious and slightly confused; if a certain item wasn't in demand, it would become cheaper. So if this continued, they reasoned, then the item would eventually cost nothing!

"I hope everybody stops buying candy", said Tristan and kicked a small rock.

"Why?" asked Billobi.

"Because, if no one buys candy, that means no one demands it, and therefore it will drop in price, and if it continues long enough, all candy will eventually be free! Free, for me to eat!"

Relieved that school was finally out for the day, they crossed the school yard with their backpacks dragging in the gravel.

"I don't think it's that easy", said Billobi. "Mrs. Alcott said a lot of other things about that too."

"Like what? I don't remember any of it."

"Me neither."

They walked on for a bit and arrived shortly at a street famous for its small shops, packed and stacked like items on a shelf.

"Do you think Angela Burdett's Candy is open?" said Tristan with dreamy eyes. "That nice lady always lets me taste for free..."

A scream interrupted their cravings; it came from a small store behind them. Curious, they rushed to see what was going on.

Inside, they found a young woman with arms crossed over her chest. Her clothes were bulky and colourful, and looked like a mixture of pants and dress in one. Her hair was pitch black and all over the place.

"Are you all right, madame?" asked Billobi.

She looked at them with wide open eyes.

"I just... That lady scared me, that's all", she said and pointed towards the wall.

The boys followed her arm but couldn't see anyone there; the wall looked ordinary, cluttered with shelves and strange cloth, and it was only the three of them.

"There's no one there, madame", said Tristan.

The woman dropped her arm slowly with a surprised look on her face. She walked up to the wall and inspected it carefully.

"Ah!" she suddenly said with a relief in her voice. "It was only my reflection! Damn those mirrors, ey?"

She walked over to a narrow counter at the back of the room, also cluttered with various things.

"Care for a sweetstick, boys? That fine woman Angela gave me these the other day. Taste a bit like bark, but good. I had five, but I think I lost one in me dress. So, so, don't be afraid."

Billobi and Tristan walked over to the counter and received the sweetsticks; they did actually taste like bark.

"Thank you, madame."

"No need for that, say Prunella, that's me name. Well, not really, but you may call me that anyway. So, what are two small boys as yourselves doing in my little shop? Fancy a lock for those backpacks, do you?"

Billobi and Tristan shook their heads.

"We hea'd you sc'eamin'", said Tristan, mouth filled with sweet candy.

"Ah, and you came to me rescue, didn't you?"

Billobi shrugged, and took another bite on his sweetstick.

"We'e adventu'e's", said Tristan.

"You are what?"

"Ad-ven-tu-es", Tristan repeated. A small piece of half-chewed, sticky candy fell out of his mouth and landed on the counter.

"Ah, adventurers! Yes, I saw that immediately the moment you walked in! And by what names do these brave adventurers go by?"

"T'istan."

"Bi'obi."

"Tristan and Billobi, my brave rescuers, who helped me defeat that awful lady in the mirror!"

A knock on the window interrupted them. A tall man walked in and started talking.

"It's 'bout them locks."

"Yes, what about them?" said Prunella and smiled.

"They're great..."

"I'm pleased to hear, not many of me customers comes back and complements my items!"

"Yes, they're great, but me wife and I decided that we need ordinary locks, like we said. Not the disposable ones you recommended."

"Absolutely, come this way."

Billobi and Tristan chewed away on their sweetsticks while witnessing the purchase of three new locks by the man.

"Another happy customer", said Prunella and smiled when he had left.

"Wha' wos w'ong wi'h hes locks?" asked Billobi.

"Ah, nothing. Some people just don't know what they want!"

Billobi and Tristan finished their sweetsticks, said good bye and left Prunella's shop. When they started thinking about what she'd said about people not knowing what they want, they realised that at least they knew what they'd want - and went straight to Angela Burdett's Candy.

Lady Prunella's Lovely Locks has a rather large assortment of devices for locking things up, and not only doors. Her sales philosophy is that every customer should come back and buy more, which they often do for obvious reasons.

Besides the ordinary type of locks found in every other store, she also has a selection of locking devices not necessarily useful. Unless noted, they all look and feel the same as ordinary ones. Naturally, combinations of these exists.
Here follows some.

Disposable locks
Works a fixed number of times, before they either crumble to dust or just stops working.

Irreflexive locks
Only appears on one side (e.g. on only one side of a door; there have been reports of people locking themselves out while installing these).

Mood locks
Need to be pleased to be operational (the unforgiving ones may take weeks to work as expected again).

Sweet locks
Needs to be eaten to unlock (the name is misleading since its taste will vary greatly).

Invisible locks
Discontinued (impossible to handle in stock).

Twin locks
Twin locks are two ordinary locks with a relation; if they like each other, they share the same state (e.g. either they're both locked, or both unlocked), but if they don't, they will strive to be the opposite of the other (e.g. if one is locked, the other will unlock, and vice versa).
Although rare, there have been twin locks that all of a sudden have started to dislike each other, and therefore changed their ways of working. Some twin locks also forgive one and other.

None locks
Not considered as real locks by many, since they only lock things when someone tries to unlock them (e.g. with some key or by picking). Only way to open anything with these types of locks is to treat it like it's unlocked.

The almost secret tower of Leasspell, part 2 (map)

2010-09-02T09:45:00.013+02:00

It was a chilly morning. Billobi stood by the window of his room on the second floor, and looked out over the treeless scenery; the ground was covered in white mist as if the clouds had become too heavy and sunk from the sky. The flat, ghastly view and the silence made his mind wandering; he imagined abominations lurking in the mist, white spiders ten feet wide but no taller than an inch, like living traps unnoticeable in the early morning, just waiting for someone to step on them...

The sound of a bell struck three times indicated that lady Darnton was serving breakfast downstairs. Billobi quickly awoke from his daydream, put on his jacket and headed for the stairs.

"Good morning, lad", said old Badsey, already on his second plate. "For a minute there I was worried that a WALLEATER had taken you. Nasty things, eats people's walls, leaving only floor and roof, and then - BANG! - everything collapses on ye. Nasty critters, yes, yes."

Billobi sat down on an empty chair next to Badsey and started filling his plate with various forms of meat, bread and something that resembled stew.

Lady Darnton swept by their table, filling their cups with a warm, black substance. Old Badsey gave her a big, warm smile, unfortunately covered in half-chewed breakfast.

"I dreamt about that tower last night", Billobi said and took a sip of the warm liquid.

"What tower?"

"That tower you told me about, remember? The one the people couldn't see."

"Ah, yes, yes, the tower of Leasspell, nasty tower, yes, yes. Could use a good walleater that one!" Old Badsey chuckled so much a piece of meat got caught in his throat. He coughed a couple of times, and finally spat it out on his plate, only to put it back in. "In it goes again!"

"I dreamt I was stuck inside it", Billobi continued, "traversing its floors, but it was ever changing. I felt completely lost."

"Sounds just like the time when I accidentally put the eye-patch on me healthy eye", Badsey said and pointed at his eye with the fork. "Walked right into a tree, I did."

"Finally, I found the exit, and found myself surrounded by people - I was in Leasspell. Somehow, I just knew it was Leasspell. A woman approached, and said: 'Stuck in place but not in time'."

"And...?"

"And then I woke up."

Old Badsey chewed intensively while observing Billobi.

"You know, lad", he said after a while, "I've heard something like that before, yes, yes, long time ago. Back then I though she was crazy - crazy with a nice backside, I might add - but now... She told me that exact line, yes."

"Are you making this up?" Billobi said sceptical.

Badsey raised one arm and held the other one on his heart, and said: "Swear on me mother's hair! That woman said the same thing!"

"Did she say anything else?"

"Well, something about the tower and the people only sharing the same space, but not time. I don't remember too well, I was already ogling her sister by that time."

"I don't understand", said Billobi.

"Me neither", said old Badsey and bit off the end of a large, grey sausage.

Lady Darnton swept by their table a second time to refill their cups.

"Thank you, fair lady!" said Badsey and smiled big.

"You have stew on your eye-patch", said lady Darnton and left.

The zipped archive contains a one paged PDF with the seven floors of the tower, with a small map key. Also included are the seven individual floors as separate files (in PNG-format).

This map is intended to be stocked and populated by you; there's no monsters or any hooks. Just seven floors, accessible by the central winding staircase. The floors are numbered but not necessarily in order.

If you want to simulate the feeling of being lost (just like Billobi felt), you could roll a 1d10 every time the adventurers are using the staircase. A result of 1-7 means they enter the floor with that number, 8-9 means they enter the same floor again, and 10 means they enter the same floor again only to meet themselves (they've travelled one minute back in time).

Everything in the archive is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

Download it here.

(Read the first part of the story here: The almost secret tower of Leasspell)

Deck of Hand, Head and Heart (non-magic item)

2010-08-15T19:18:00.043+02:00

It was the last week of school before the summer break, and for Billobi and best friend Tristan "Hum" Beadle it also felt like the longest. All the tests and projects for this term were completed, so these last days served no other purpose than to torment the poor pupils with "fun facts" and "interesting people" - at least, that's what Billobi thought. He failed to see the fun in listening to old people talking about how things were when they were young in Badgerbrough (mostly how much more expensive everything had become), or cleaning your desk for the tenth time.

On the last day an old man visited the class. The teacher presented him as Mr. Pimbleman, brother to the famous brewer.

"Good day, young students!" he said and took off his hat. "A fine day for indoor activities, isn't it?"

Outside the sun drenched the schoolyard in warmth, making the horizon ripple nervously. Tristan buried his head in his hands with a sigh and longed for the ocean.

"Just kidding! I was once in your seat, believe it or not. I'll make it short, I promise. Have any of you ever seen one of these?"

Mr. Pimbleman pulled out a thin deck of cards, and held them up high. No one answered.

"Apparently not! It's called a deck of hand, head and heart, and it is used for fortune-telling. Does anyone know what that means?"

At this point, the teacher stepped forward and whispered something in Mr. Pimbleman's ear with a troubled look on her face.

"No, it's all right, Mrs. Alcott", he said to her with a smile, "I'm sure they can handle it. They won't be cursed or anything...or WILL THEY?"

He paused and glanced over the class room to see if he'd caught anyone's interest - he hadn't.

"Anyway... A deck of hand, head and heart tells something about someone, by the use of special symbols on the cards."

The teacher stepped forward again and whispered something into his ear, still with a troubled face.

"No, the symbols aren't magical, Mrs. Alcott, I assure you no one will come to harm."

He went silent as he shuffled the deck with great care.

"But what use is a deck of fortune-telling cards without anyone to tell the fortune to? I need a volunteer. Anyone?"

Remembering what the old man said about not taking too long, Billobi raised his hand to end it quicker.

"Lovely! What is your name, young man?"

"Billobi Rustfoot."

"Billobi, let us see what the cards have in store for you. We'll draw three cards from the deck: one for the heart, one for the head, and one for the hands. The heart card tells about your feelings or inner beliefs. Okay?"

Billobi nodded.

"Okay. So, the heart card is a...aha, look at this, a Lady of Love!"

Mr. Pimbleman held up the card for the class to see. It had a rather obscure drawing of a women with strange, oversized proportions, especially the bosom.

"This, young pupils, is the Lady of Love. She most often stands for love and affection. Tell me Billobi, is there a special girl in your life at the moment?"

At the sounding of those words, Billobi felt how his heart began to beat harder. He stared Mr. Pimbleman in the eyes and shook his head intensively.

"Really? Not a single one? Maybe someone in your class? Someone slightly more cuter than the rest?"

As his heart kept racing, Billobi could feel the sneering looks from the other students, pointing at him and giggling. A warmth started to spread in his face, and he wished he could blame the sun for it. He shook his head again, harder than the first time.

"Okay, we'll leave it there", said Mr. Pimbleman with a smile. "So, you have the Lady of Love in your heart, let's see what your head says!"

He pulled another card from the deck and showed it; it was a grotesque picture of a whale with the sun and the moon in its mouth.

"Of course, the World Whale! This ugly creature stands for surroundings, or the day and night cycle. While the heart card reveals your true feelings, the head card tells what you're thinking about, or how you reason with your heart. The World Whale in your head tells us that the love in your heart is someone you're thinking about all the time, day and night!"

The giggling had now turned into laughter. Billobi sat there in silence, face red as sunset, wishing he had never raised his hand. Tristan would surely remind him of this day for the rest of his life.

"And now, the hand card, which tells us how you deal with these feelings and thoughts. Let's ask the deck once more..."

Mr. Pimbleman pulled the last card from the deck, and showed it to the class. The card had a square, bearded head pictured on it, with its mouth closed.

"Obviously, it is the mute, or the shutter; he who closes up and reveals nothing! So, Billobi, according to the cards, your heart desires someone - or something - that you can't stop thinking about, but you handle it by not to telling anyone about it. Does that sound accurate to you, hmm?"

Billobi shook his bright red head in silence.

"Very well! Well, that's all I've got. Thank you all for your time, especially you Billobi, and thank you Mrs. Alcott for having me, it was a pleasure."

Mr. Pimbleman received a round of applause before Mrs. Alcott wished everybody a nice summer, and declared the start of the summer holiday. During the chaos and cheering that followed, Billobi all of a sudden met Ana Althorp's eyes across the class room - and they were bluer than ever.

A deck of hand, head and heart contains cards with various symbols or drawings, and is used for fortune-telling.

The fortune-teller first draws one card for the heart; this is said to tell about inner beliefs, true feelings, and so on.

The second card drawn is for the head; this tells about reasoning and logic about what the heart believes.

The last card to be drawn is for the hands; this reveals how the person deals with all these things through words and actions.

The possible meanings of the symbols are infinite, and the ones presented below are just some of the more common. Some of the symbols found on the cards include:

The Lady of Love

Possible meanings
Love, Affection, Lust, Fertility, Naiveness, Inability to take action

Possible meaning when drawn in heart
Love

Possible meaning when drawn in head
Not thinking clear

Possible meaning when drawn in hand
Fumbling

The Striped Sword

Possible meanings
Battle, Duality, Sharp-sightedness, Toughness, Readiness, Wit

Possible meaning when drawn in heart
Undecided

Possible meaning when drawn in head
On the alert

Possible meaning when drawn in hand
Looking for a fight

The Devourer

Possible meanings
Gullibility, Hunger, Searcher, Keen learner, Yearning, Theft

Possible meaning when drawn in heart
Regret

Possible meaning when drawn in head
Eager student

Possible meaning when drawn in hand
Thieving

The Mute
(or The Shutter)

Possible meanings
Liar, Ignorance, Nonchalantness, Hiding, Dumbfounded, Starvation

Possible meaning when drawn in heart
Ashamed

Possible meaning when drawn in head
Withholding information/lying

Possible meaning when drawn in hand
Hiding

The Reversal

Possible meanings
Opposite, Inversion, Negation, Conflict

Possible meaning when drawn in heart/head/hands
Depends on the other two cards, often negating a feeling/reasoning/action (or stating a conflict)

The Tainted Tree

Possible meanings
Escape, Growth, Escalation, Filthy, Deceitfulness

Possible meaning when drawn in heart
Bad intentions

Possible meaning when drawn in head
Plotting

Possible meaning when drawn in hand
Spreading rumours/mongering

The World Whale

Possible meanings
Surroundings, The entire world/everything, Transitions, Day/Night, Cycles, Enclosure, Imprisonment

Possible meaning when drawn in heart
In control

Possible meaning when drawn in head
Megalomaniac

Possible meaning when drawn in hand
Repeating with obsession

The Mask of Mazes

Possible meanings
Delusion, Confusion, Entanglement, Chaos, Craze, Hindrance

Possible meaning when drawn in heart
Despair

Possible meaning when drawn in head
Lost

Possible meaning when drawn in hand
Uncertain about what to do

The Serpent Spot

Possible meanings
Concealment, Traps, Fraud, Unsafe spot, Hidden agenda, Sneaking, Crawling

Possible meaning when drawn in heart
Dominated

Possible meaning when drawn in head
To serve or go by unnoticed

Possible meaning when drawn in hand
Covering one's tracks

Message sticks (magic item)

2010-08-11T09:15:00.031+02:00

It had been yet another night of face licking for Billobi, but at this point he was used to it. Sleeping on the floor in Mr. Bickleigh's brick house was a sure way of getting your face clean by the house cat; Mr. Bigglesworth sure had a rough tongue.

Living all alone in the middle of the Ogrebelly forest meant giving up on some of the convenience of a city or village, but Mr. Bickleigh didn't mind. The forest had everything he needed in terms of food, magical ingredients and - strangely enough - intellectual exchange.

"I talked to some heather last night", Mr. Bickleigh said and put a pot on the stove. "You'd think they'd be quite the conversationalists, Mr. Rustfoot, but sadly they just talk in riddles and twisted wordplays. Bah, it's easier to talk to a stream!"

Billobi got up on his feet and walked over to the kitchen window to adore the scenery for a second.

"How does one talk to heather anyway?" Billobi asked.

"What do you mean? With your mouth of course! But Mr. Bigglesworth, what are you doing! You stupid cat!"

Billobi turned around and saw the cat looking back at them both with a postage stamp attached to his nose, and one sticking out from his mouth half-chewed. It didn't seem to understand what the fuss was about.

"Congratulations, Mr. Bigglesworth! Your indisputable and unmatched hunting abilities have yet again led you to the feast of your lifetime - my box of stamps! I admit my defeat, you fat cat!"

"I don't understand", said Billobi, "he likes stamps?"

"Oh, 'like' is such a weak word", said Mr. Bickleigh and started to fumble with the pile of wood over at the stove. "I would rather say that he crave for them! I guess they shouldn't make the sticky stuff on the back so tasty, am I right Mr. Bigglesworth?"

The cat pulled off the stamp on his nose with the paw, and started to chew on it. Mr. Bickleigh took a bunch of narrow sticks from the wood pile, and headed for the front door.

"Come Mr. Rustfoot", he said and opened up the door. "I presume a man of your curious nature never turns down an opportunity to witness something old and magical?"

Billobi shook his head and smiled.

"Besides, I need to borrow your pen and some paper."

Mr. Bickleigh led Billobi to a small fireplace just outside. It consisted of big chunks of rock formed in a crude circle, with some charcoal in the middle from last night's cooking.

"Since that fat cat of mine decided to feast on my stamps on the very day I needed them, I guess I'll have to resort to more unconventional ways of communication. Put some logs on, will you?"

Billobi went around the house and fetched some logs and piled them up nicely in the middle of the stone circle.

"Stand back, or I'll have your nose hair burned off!" Mr. Bickleigh said, and snapped his fingers upon which the logs started to burn immediately.

"People tend to believe it's the motion, when it's really the sound", he added somewhat proud. "Anyway! Pen and paper, please!"

Billobi handed his pen and a piece of paper, tools which he never left home without. Mr. Bickleigh started to write immediately.

"There! This" - he folded the paper twice - "is my message, and that" - he threw the paper into the fire - "is my way of sending it. And now, we'll peel some sticks."

He handed some of the narrow sticks he brought with him to Billobi, and started to peel off their bark. After doing about fifteen or so, he bundled them together and threw them on the fire.

"Those are my receivers", he said and pointed at the sticks, which began to twist and turn in the heat. "A stick for a letter, so it's best to peel aplenty. Quick! Pull them out! Hurry, before they all turn into c's! Quickly, Mr. Rustfoot, my fingers are to valuable for such labour!"

Billobi performed some sort of hopping dance while trying to get the sticks out of the fire. He lined the burned and twisted sticks up in front of them. Somehow, nine of them had turned into crude, ornate letters, and one single stick remained straight but with a small dot placed on it. Mr. Bickleigh immediately started arranging them in different ways, until they spelled out two words, with the dotted stick in between, separating them.

"Hmm..." he said, clearly annoyed. "That's not very nice."

"May I ask what you wrote on the paper?"

"It was merely a request from one friend to another - or, so I thought! - about deliverance of certain beverages to my home, at his expense. Nothing fancy, maybe just some bottles of Pimbleman's Teeth or Horsehead's Stout. Maybe some ripe cheese. And that tasty sourdough bread... Well, that clearly shows that you can't be friends with innkeepers! Pen and paper, please!"

He wrote a new message, folded the paper and threw it on the fire.

"Come, Mr. Rustfoot", Mr. Bickleigh said and headed towards the house again. "No need to wait for an answer to that!"

Message sticks are a way of communicate over long distances using only fireplaces and narrow sticks. Any type of stick will do, as long as the bark is peeled off.

To send a message, one must write it down on a piece of paper (or some other material), fold it and throw it on the fire. Since it's impossible to know how many letters the response will contain, it's best to throw as many sticks as possible on the fire, since one stick corresponds to one letter.

After some seconds, the sticks will begin to twist and turn into letters, at which point they should be removed (or they'll turn into C's). Straight sticks with a dot on them should be treated as word dividers.

Unfortunately, the sticks need to be arranged properly after turning into letters, since they come out all scrambled. This is why most people prefer writing letters.

Slow exchange (spell)

2010-07-18T13:03:00.019+02:00

Slow exchange
Range: One object (special)
Duration: One week (special)

It had been a boring week of mostly sitting down for old Billobi Rustfoot, when there all of a sudden was a knock on his door. He put on his glasses, grabbed his walking stick and got up from the comfort of his favourite piece of furniture (an old present from his long gone cousin Hamphred). With a little help from his stick he managed to fight gravity long enough to reach the front door. Opening it revealed a young woman dressed in all black - obviously a letter carrier in service of Penny Black.

"G'day Sir", she said with a firm voice, jaws barely open. "Letter for Mr Rustfoot."

"That's me", said Billobi and smiled.

"G'day Mr Rustfoot, that will be one and six, Sir."

"One and six? Well that's just... I remember when it only cost a flat one..."

He continued to mumble while searching through his pockets with his free hand. There, deep down, could he feel the coins waiting for his gnarly fingers.

"Say... You remind me of someone", Billobi said and inspected the young woman's face.

"Is that so?"

"Yes... Why you look... Cursed coins! You will appreciate your former strength when you get this old!"

"Is that so? One and six, Mr Rustfoot", she said, not overly enthusiastic.

"Yeah, yeah... Now I know! You remind me of my...my daughter!"

"I'm flattered, Sir. One and six. Hurry up or Penny Black will make a visit, Mr Rustfoot."

"Yeah, yeah, you'll get your money you..." - his words disappeared when he finally got a hold of the coins. He reached out his hand to the letter carrier, who collected the right amount without a word.

"Thank you. G'day to you, Sir."

Just a sudden as she had appeared, she was gone. Billobi closed the door and defied yet again gravity with his walking stick. With a soft thud he fell into the chair, embraced by the warmth of the stuffing.

He inspected the envelope carefully. It was thick, thicker than average. The writing on the front was too small for him to read. He reached for his letter knife on the table next to him (also an old present from yet another gone friend; old Badsey, the former ferryman of Ketch-in-Loch), ripped up the envelope and pulled out a letter written on a thick piece of paper.

He started to read it: "Dear old friend! As I write this I'm looking out over miles and miles of pure gold; warm, yellow sand that forms the beach right next to my small cottage. The heat, good lords, the heat! Tall, naked trees that carries fruits sweeter than your dear mother's apple pie - gods rest her soul - and tall, naked women... Dear friend, you'd love it here! Our old bones and joints need this paradise. To give you a taste of the good life, I've attached a marker. It looks like a stamp, only larger."

Billobi turned the letter around but couldn't see anything that resembled a stamp. But when he shook the envelope upside down, a square piece of paper fell out. It was thin and had a drawing of a cat on it.

He continued reading: "I've drawn a cat on it - don't laugh, I did my best! Now, what you have there is a very special marker, enchanted by a good friend of mine. What I want you to do now is to lick on its back, and attached it on something the size of a small cat. Think of it like putting a stamp on an envelope! (I didn't have the money to pay for the stamp on this letter, though. Sorry about that, old friend!) "

While muttering about his cheapskate for a friend, he searched his living room for anything as large as a cat. Finally, he settled for the torn wastepaper basket that sat next to his chair. He licked the square piece of paper, and pressed it against the side of the basket. It sat loose, but didn't fall off at least.

He continued: "As soon as you've done this, it will be impossible to remove it."

Billobi reached out his hand and tried to pry it off, unsuccessfully.

The last lines of the letter read: "I have a similar marker here, which will start to glow as soon as you've attached yours. Now, over the next seven days, keep an eye open, and don't through away whatever you've attached the marker to - you'll see, old friend! / Your friend overseas, Tristan".

Over the next seven days, Billobi experienced something truly extraordinary. Every day, one small part of the basket was replaced by something thorny and dark brown. On the seventh day, the basket was completely gone, and replaced by something that looked like a brown little ball, with green, hard leaves on top. After a careful investigation by his friend down by the docks, he was informed that it was a pineapple, and was shown how to eat it. Though sweet, he didn't really care for the taste.

Some weeks later a new letter from Tristan arrived. Yet another one and six shorter, Billobi opened up the envelope and found a short note along with another marker. The note said: "Dear friend! The village enchanter has made a stronger marker! Just look at the drawing and you'll understand. See you soon! / Your friend overseas, Tristan".

After turning it around a couple of times, Billobi finally recognize the drawing on the marker. He immediately licked it, attached it to his forehead and went straight to bed.

A slow exchange-spell is usually cast upon a pair of stamps, which then are attached to the objects that the caster wish to swap out. The stamps must be made out of a fine piece of paper (not necessarily magical).

It takes one week for the exchange to take place. Every day, one seventh of the two pieces are swapped, resulting in quite fascinating (or horrible) mixtures. Living things such as fruits, animals, humans, etc. aren't harmed by this remarkable piece by piece exchange, although it may affect their ability to walk and talk (e.g. exchanging a man and a barrel).

It is custom to draw something the size of the object to exchange on the stamps as a guideline. Exchanging objects that differs too greatly in size may result in death (or worse).

Casting this spell upon an object directly (other than a pair of stamps) will cause it to disappear into a special kind of void, where it will sit and wait (forever, if so). The next time the spell is cast directly upon an object, it will trade places with that object, and so on. Note that this is independently of whoever cast, so that a person who casts this spell twice in a row can't be sure to get the first object back (it may already been replaced).

The markers will come off by themselves on the seventh day.

Dowsing rod (magic item)

2010-07-14T14:54:00.013+02:00

As a traveller and explorer, Billobi had seen more than anyone usually do in one's lifetime; from the brightest shining gemstones, to the darkest slimy creatures, he had seen it all. But even as he grew older, things still seemed to pop up from nowhere and surprise him. If he was lucky, he had his pen ready and could add it to his journal. If he was unlucky, he had to run for his life, pen or no pen.

The only person Billobi knew of that had seen as much strange things as himself was his old friend Thomas Althorp, owner of the only antique shop in the town of Horsehead. Visiting his shop was a sure way of experience new, weird things.

Almost.

"A branch?" asked Billobi and looked at the twig at the table. He and Thomas stood by the counter, opposite sides, observing the dead piece of wood.

"Yep", said Thomas. "Not very exciting, eh?"

"Not the least... What does it do?"

"Well..." - Thomas scratched his chin - "The gentleman who sold it to me said it could be used as a dowsing rod."

"A dowsing rod? Surely you know those never works, dear friend?"

"That's what I told him, but he assured it wasn't meant to be used here, and certainly not for water."

Billobi picked up the y-shaped branch and studied it up close, without noticing any kind of interesting features. "What do you mean 'not here', as in not in Horsehead? Soo...he sold you a dowsing rod that doesn't work in this town, or not at all for that matter? Maybe retailing isn't your cup of tea..."

"Hey! Maybe I'll make you buy it!" They stood quiet for while, inspecting the gnarled thing, when Thomas all of a sudden said: "Oh, I almost forgot! He was in a hurry so he had prepared a pamphlet for the rod. Let me just fetch it."

He disappeared into the backroom, and Billobi could hear him going through - possibly - piles of papers, cursing and mumbling. Some minutes later, he came back with a small grey piece of paper.

"Here it is! Let me read it for you", Thomas said and unfolded it. "'Dear new owner of this dowsing rod, know what you hold in your very possession, because it is the Key in your dreams. Owner, if you have pursued this item as I have, we both know what you are going through. For six days or less, you've been having nightmares, impossible to escape from, in which you're being hunted by the projection of your curse. Owner, you may have been beaten senseless and scared half to death in your dreams, but know that with the Key on your nightstand, it will guide you in your darkest dreams, to the safehaven where the projection may do you no harm. Treat it well, and keep it with you always, as you will never know when you will sleep the next time! But know this, owner, after the sixth day, no Key will help you, as the projection will take..."

Thomas stopped, obviously shaken by the words.

"What does it say, dear friend?" Billobi asked, almost whispering.

Thomas continued: "'...as the projection will take the step into our world, where you have to face it alone. Owner, know this, I too dreaded for the seventh day, but I stood tall and defeated my projection. I am now free, and pass this rod on to guide your through your six nightmares. Owner, I wish you the best of luck.'"

"Well..." Billobi said and wiped his fingers against the counter. "Whatever vile curse it is that cause that kind of nightmares, I sure hope it isn't contagious..."

These kinds of dowsing rods only works in dreams of a cursed person, where it will look and feel as in the real world. It is employed in the same way as ordinary dowsing rods, with the difference that it will find a spot (or "safehaven") in the dream where the projection that haunts the dreamer cannot harm him or her (as long as the dreamer stays put till he wakes).

Nobody knows for sure what the cause of these curses are, but they all seem to progress in the same way. Since the cause is unknown, so is the incubation period, but when the disease breaks out the affected person will have nightmares, six nights in a row. In theses nightmares (which will vary greatly, probably depending on things such as origin of the infection, the person infected, etc.), a terrible projection of evil will hunt the dreamer and hurt him until they wake up. The projection may change from night to night, but will almost always have some personal meaning to the affected person.

On the seventh night, the projection will take on a real life form and approach the person. If defeated, the curse is defeated and the person free. The projection must be killed by the affected person, otherwise the projection will go back into the dream plane where it will hunt for another six nights.

There have been reports of people unaffected by the curse being able to use these rods in ordinary dreams, finding wondrous places and peoples, and strange, magical things - or even themselves.

Itchy tree (monster)

2010-06-22T21:46:00.020+02:00

Hamphred Dungbeetle, Billobi's cousin and the second largest person in the whole county, didn't care much for prudishness. The hot climate in the southern parts of the country were notorious, and demanded "certain solutions", as Hamphred often declared. One of these included a large, stationary bathtub out on the front lawn, next to the big road.

"Them believers always talks 'bout sacrifices and pleasing them gods and what not", Hamphred told young Billobi once while lowering his naked body into the bathtub. "So if - aaaaah! - them fancy gods created this warmer-than-a-cat-on-fire-weather, one would think they'd expect some sacrifices, right? Well, I'm sacrificing the very dirt and sweat on me body, I am! The best there is!"

He also made a bathtub for Billobi by taking the wheels off an old wagon and filling it with water. Every evening, after a full day's work, Hamphred and Billobi undressed and got in their tubs, cooling down while the sun slowly set in the distance - and greeting anyone passing by.

Billobi cherished every memory he had of these moments - especially one. It was after a particular warm day. Both he and Hamphred lay in their tubs, eyes closed and minds adrift.

Suddenly, something shaded them both. Something that said: "Good evening, fellow brothers!"

They opened their eyes and saw a naked man, grinning at them both. Judging from his posture - among other things - he must've been old.

"Yes, good evening to you too, old man. A bit warm, are we!" Hamphred said with a laughter.

"Noo, well yes, it's quite hot today, isn't it, but noo, clothes are the burden of the ones yet to be blessed, the non-ascended, don't you agree?"

"I don't care for words I don't know", Hamphred answered and closed his eyes again.

"Well, yes, it's understandable, although a bit ignorant, I must say. However, why don't the two of you come join us in the merry blessing's of the trees? We're building quite the community, you know."

"Them words leaving your mouth doesn't make any more sense than a bucket on a head, old man."

"Well, to make a long story short... By the Itch, is that your dog?" The old man suddenly shouted.

"If this is about them gull flowers..." Hamphred said and opened his eyes, only to discover his neighbour's dog Ten happily wagging his tail next to the bathtub. Usually hairy as a bear, the dog now had a large hairless area on its left hind leg. In the centre of the otherwise pale skin was a strange symbol in red, almost pulsating as if it was breathing.

"Ah, Ten, you dumb dog", Hamphred said and splashed water at the dog. "Couldn't stay away from them itchy trees, could you?"

"This dog's been blessed!" the old man proclaimed with a solemn voice.

"No, he's... Wait a minute... Old man, don't tell me you're one of them rashers!"

"We prefer to call ourselves Huggers!"

Billobi never forget the sight of Hamphred flying out of the bathtub and chasing the old man off his properties under heavy cursing, dressed in what mother nature tailored for them at birth. The dog licked the rash a couple of times, before running after them in an unnatural high speed.

Itchy trees are called so for their highly toxic bark. Touching the bark will most certainly cause complete hair loss at the affected area. More interesting, in some rare cases will the rash form a strange red symbol, pulsating at a slow pace.

The symbol will affect its wearer by some magical means - beneficial or harmful. There have been no successful reports of how to determine this behaviour.

Consuming the bark is lethal, and have never resulted in any magical effects taken place - only death.

The rash will last for a couple of days, after which both the symbol and any magical effects will disappear.

A multitude of cults have evolved around these trees, of which nearly all revolves around the idea of stripping down and rubbing one's body against the bark, in hope of being "blessed". The most famous of these are called "Rashers", although they prefer to call themselves "Huggers".

The Glassblower (magic item)

2010-06-02T09:01:00.013+02:00

To the very far north of the country lies the Talltops, the mountain range that runs through Ogrenose. It was surrounded by endless tales of mystical and magical creatures, horned and winged and headless and what not, tales of brave men and women forever lost in the rugged landscape, leaving only fragments of themselves for others to find, of glowing swords and bows that sang when wielded...

It was no doubt a popular place to visit. People of all ages and classes travelled from all around the country to see the legend that was the Talltops. Naturally, most of the myth was developed by the town of Ogrenose, that made quite the income on the never ending flow of tourists. But one thing that no one could really explain was the Glassblower.

Billobi first saw the Glassblower when he was on a school trip to the Talltops. As a young boy visiting the Talltops for the first time and expecting to see winged monsters breathing fire down upon them, he was not impressed. In fact, he (along with the rest of his class) was utterly disappointed.

At the base of the mountain stood three men; two well-armed guards, and one cloaked figure. The cloaked figure stretched his arms towards the sky, and said with a loud voice: "Come closer, I dare you! Witness the magic of the GLASSBLOWER! Come, come!"

Young Billobi and his class gathered around the three men, still not impressed.

"Here, children, look! Behold...the GLASSBLOWER!" said the cloaked figure and stepped aside, revealing a strange formation in the mountain side.

It looked like a long, narrow spout, coming out from the very mountain. It was about three feet above ground, and reached almost ten inches.

Needless to say, Billobi was still far from impressed.

The cloaked figure raised his left fist, and said: "Sand...from the coast of Ketch-in-Loch..." He then raised his right fist and said: "Potash...from the woods of Ogrebelly..."

As he started to pour the dry contents in front of the spout, he said: "Behold children, the magic of the GLASSBLOWER!"

A howling sound could be heard as the sand and the potash seemed to melt together in mid-air, forming some sort of colourful pitcher. As the last of the ingredients left his hands, the sound vanished and the pitcher fell to ground.

The cloaked figure picked up the pitcher, bowed to the mountain and said: "We thank you, great glassblower, for this pitcher. We are but your humble fetchers."

Billobi closed his mouth and released Tristan's hand. He was now, in search of better words, convinced.

The Glassblower is a strange spout, coming out of the base of the Talltops. Thrice per day it releases warm air for a short period of time. Pouring the right dry ingredients on this hot stream of air will melt them into various things, all made of glass.

Depending on the ingredients and their origins, the newly crafted thing may be bestowed with magical properties - or even cursed.

Penny Black (deity)

2010-05-31T11:56:00.025+02:00

The postal service around the country varied greatly for a long time, both in structure, costs and reliability. The town of Horsehead for example had their Whispery Men, a group of people that delivered short, spoken messages within the town borders. Unfortunately, the messages always seemed to transform into something else along the way, making the whole thing quite unattractive to use despite low fees and fast runners. As time went on, the Whispery Men became notorious for breaking up marriages and starting fights between friends.

The situation was similar across the country, although in general not as bad as in Horsehead. Suddenly one day, round boxes started to appear. First in the larger settlements, and then even on the countryside. Billobi remembered the day when he first saw one of these tall cylinders in Badgerbrough. He was on his way home from school when he turned a corner and almost knocked his head against the black metal. Billobi had never seen anything like it before; it stood as tall as him, and the metal was pitch black and warm to the touch. There was a thin slot near the top, for reasons he couldn't understand.

As he ran his fingers over its body, he could feel the presence of a relief:

Time passed, and Billobi eventually found out that the round, black boxes served as letter containers, placed by the postal service of Penny Black, a new organisation that was devoted to the delivery of letters and packages (and actually succeeded in this task, much to the people of Horsehead's enjoyment). "Penny Black never misses a letter" became a famous phrase across the country.

The letter carriers were easily recognized by their black dresses, pale skin and, strangely enough, empty stare. It soon became evident that the letter carriers of Penny Black actually were servants of a deity with that very name. This deity, often depicted as a young woman with long, dark hair and finer clothes, thrived on the servants' satisfactions upon fulfilling a successful delivery. Every single parcel and letter held a tiny amount of contained energy, drawn from the sender, and released upon delivery. Penny Black fed on this, and she never missed a letter.

Being a letter carrier in service of Penny Black has certain advantages, although many would argue that they don't make up for the fact that you have to devote the rest of your life to be in her service.

These letter carriers are easily spotted all over the country, although no one seems to know how to enrol willingly into her service.

If the sender doesn't pay for the letter, the receiver must upon delivery. Otherwise, they're both subject to the Distrain-spell (see below).

The letter carriers are known to possess certain spells, most likely bestowed by Black Penny herself, to ease their duties. Some of these are:

Distrain
Range: One person (or home)
Duration: Immediate

If payment upon delivery isn't possible (or the sender/receiver refuses to pay), the letter carrier marks the subject with this spell. The next night, Penny Black will try to find a suitable compensation for the non-payment (depending on the size of the package and the distance travelled). In a worst case scenario, Penny Black will claim the person, turning him or her into a letter carrier.

Seal
Range: One letter/parcel/package
Duration: Until delivered

All items that are picked up by a letter carrier have this spell cast upon them as soon as possible. It will protect the package from being tampered with until the delivery is completed.
Anyone trying to open a sealed package will be marked in the same way as if the Distrain-spell was cast upon them. The only difference is that Penny Black won't accept any less than their soul (thus turning them into a letter carrier in her service).

The Society of Bow and Tea (people)

2010-05-26T12:49:00.027+02:00

The forest of Ogrebelly held many strange things and beings, not necessarily evil or monstrous, but just - not so ordinary. After years and years of travelling through those woods, Billobi concluded that the only thing that was even remotely normal was the mushrooms, and picking them was something he very much enjoyed (at least the ones that didn't bite him).

Getting familiar with both the environment and the people living there helped a lot, especially when travelling long distances (or just picking loads of mushrooms). Mr. Bickleigh lived alone with his fat cat in the middle of the Ogrebelly forest, and was one of those peculiar but friendly faces in the otherwise hostile environment. Billobi often stayed for a night or two, in exchange for some freshly picked mushrooms, of course.

One cool, late summer morning, Billobi awoke to something other than the usual face licking from the cat (one of the drawbacks of sleeping on the floor). It was an intensive rumble, growing in strength for every second. He got up on his feet and looked out the window, but couldn't spot anything.

"Sit down, Mr. Rustfoot, have some tea", said Mr. Bickleigh calmly. He sat by the table, still dressed in his striped pyjamas. "It will be over soon."

"What will?" Billobi asked.

"What do you mean, the rumbling of course! It's nothing to worry about. Do as Mr. Bigglesworth and have some breakfast. Unlike him, it's good for you."

The fat cat sat on his own chair, rebuild and raised by Mr. Bickleigh so that the cat would reach the table. It even had its own plate, from which it ate. Billobi sat down next to the cat and took a slice of bread. The rumbling continued, almost unbearable.

"Won't be long now", said Mr. Bickleigh, and a second later, all was quiet.

"Mr. Bickleigh, will you now please explain to me what that was?"

"Of course!" said the old man and got up. "Follow me. And you, Mr. Bigglesworth, that's your last egg! You hear me? Don't need you any fatter..."

Billobi followed the old man outside, and was completely taken by surprise with what he saw. Outside the small brick house, as far as his eyes could see, riders dressed in red clothes filled up the forest. While some of them carried small flags or golden horns, most of them wielded bows. All of them wore finely crafted clothes, that probably costed more than the old man's house.

Suddenly, one of them spoke: "Mr. Bickleigh, a very good morning to you, old chap! Seen any foxes, have we?"

"Yes, it WAS a good morning..." Mr. Bickleigh answered. "And no, I haven't seen any. Not that I would tell you about it, anyway."

"Ah, shoot!" said the man. "My scouts could've sworn they'd spotted several red hounds in this area. Ah, well, what to do? Why, good day to you, good sir!"

Billobi nodded dumbly, unable to speak from the chock.

"Ah, a mute! You would be perfect as a scout! If you're ever in Ogrebelly..."

"Master!" one of the younger boys in the troop suddenly shouted. "Master! I've spotted a red hound!"

"Men! Nock an arrow and follow me! Mr. Bickleigh, I bid you and your mute a fare well! Men! We ride!"

Several of the riders pulled a strange looking arrow from their quivers; the arrowhead was replaced with a round, stuffed ball of leather. The sound of the hoard riding into the forest was almost deafening. A moment later, they were all gone.

Mr. Bickleigh shook his head twice and went inside. The door didn't even close before his booming voice could be heard: "OH LOOK, MY PLATE IS EMPTY WHEN IT WAS FULL JUST A MOMENT AGO. THAT IS REALLY STRANGE! DON'T YOU THINK, MR. BIGGLESWORTH?"

The Society of Bow and Tea is a gathering of upper-class, riding hunters, formed in Ogrebelly. Their coat of arms consists of a bow, two crossed arrows, and a teapot, all lined up in a single row.

The arrows used by the society have their heads replaced by a leather ball, stuffed with the finest goose down, to guarantee that no one gets hurt.

There hasn't been a single successful hunt in the society's entire history, much due to their choice of arrows but also the unclear objectives of the actual hunt, as stated in the decree written down by the founder: "The purpose is to hunt. In the woods. Sometimes, we will see foxes. In the woods. And we shall drink tea. In the woods. Among foxes."
This has made it unclear if the purpose really is to hunt foxes, or to just have tea in their vicinity.

The society's motto is: "To ride, to hunt, to drink tea".

Gull flower (monster)

2010-05-20T14:54:00.020+02:00

The southern parts of the country are more or less known for their farming communities. Big people harvesting even bigger crops, feeding the out-of-towners so they won't die of hunger - at least according to Billobi's cousin Hamphred Dungbeetle.

Hamphred was not only a self-proclaimed genius and farmer, he was the second largest person in the whole county (his father being number one). After winning the annual arm wrestling contest with ease for the third year in a row, the local newspaper described him as the closest thing you could come to a living barn with arms.

Billobi and his parents often visited his cousin during the summers, to help out with the daily chores and mock the out-of-towners.

"Them burghers come here with the're fancy talk and teeth", Hamphred used to tell Billobi, often followed by spitting. "Can't milk them cows with yer teeth, though!"

Hamphred had great knowledge of the nature of the countryside, about harvesting and farming in general, much of which he gladly passed on to young Billobi. He also liked to talk about things he didn't know anything about, like women, magic and city life. One particular lesson in gardening Billobi remembered was the one about gull flowers.

"Bill!" Hamphred shouted across the fields. "Pick me one of them yellow flowers and come!"

Billobi did as told, and picked one of the flowers. Their stalks were tall and thin, yet sturdy enough to bear its yellow crown.

"This blossom here, we call this a gull flower", Hamphred told him. "Taste like sugar, but deadly as a black cat in a fancy dress! Look here."

Hamphred led him back to the patch of flowers, and dug up one of the flowers with roots and all. A large, round bulb was attached at the bottom. It was dark red, and seemed almost polished.

"These balls, the gull bulb, are cursed. Three times does it give you a nice flower, but the fourth the shell cracks, and out crawls horned creatures, like dogs out of the soil... Horrible, annoying things, chews on everything. Good meat though, taste like sugar!"

Gull flowers grows almost everywhere. Their bulb is dark red in colour, and hard as stone. The flower blossoms thrice before the bulb enters a strange metamorphosis and evolves into a horned creature, the size of a dog.

Gull flowers are usually banned in larger settlements such as towns, although some may allow them if the planter promises to keep count.

The almost secret tower of Leasspell (map)

2010-05-17T09:48:00.019+02:00

It was one of those calm nights at the pub in Skiff-in-Loch, the island's only inn. Old lady Darnton, the owner, sat on a chair next to the open fireplace and tried to stay awake. Since Skiff-in-Loch lacked any sorts of trees, all fuel for the fire needed to be imported from Ketch-in-Loch, the nearest settlement, which at times could be very expensive. This led to the unofficial tradition of "fuel fee"; each and every one that wanted to enjoy the warmth of the pub, must pay a fee of at least one piece of wood at the fireplace.

Billobi sat by a small window, slowly emptying his tall, dark glass of Horsehead's Stout. His eyes and head felt weary, and he longed for the rented room on the second floor. Sipping the cold beverage had a pleasant effect on his nerves, like the voice of his mother singing to him when he was but a young boy in the now lost childhood days of Badgerbrough. He missed those days and he missed them.

Looking out over the pub, he was almost alone. Almost.

"Say lad, have I told you about OAREATERS?" old Badsey said and emptied his glass. "Nasty critters, one would believe they only eat oars, but no, no. They'll eat anything - ANYTHING - I tell you. One time I dropped my bottle of fine Ogrebelly whiskey into the waters, and the bloody thing swallowed it whole! Mistook it for a small oar, I tell you! Nasty critters, yes, yes."

Badsey got up with his empty glass and walked over to the bar. He served himself a new glass of amber whiskey from Ogrebelly, walked over to lady Darnton by the fireplace with some coins, and finally sat down again next to Billobi.

"Slow night, ey?" Badsey said with a grin and raised his glass towards the fireplace. "Cheers, ms Darnton!"

The old lady answered with a snore, much to their enjoyment.

"Say lad, have I ever told you about..."

"How you lost your eye?" Billobi filled in quickly and laughed.

"Oy, no need to make fun of the less fortunate! It's not my fault a sinker caught it!"

"You're sure it wasn't an ogrefish...?"

"I swear on me mother's hair! But since you seem so cheerful, let me tell you about a strange place I once stumbled upon in my youth... Have you ever heard about Leasspell?"

Billobi shook his head.

"No, I didn't think you'd have, no. You're much too young, I was but a wee lad at the time, yes. Stranger place I'd never seen the likes of again, no. They had this tall tower in the middle of everything, a mile long! Yes, at least, one mile, if not two. Anyway, tall is it was and small as I was, I naturally had to ask about this abomination of a construction."

"What did they say?"

"'What tower?' Can you believe that? 'What tower, young boy?' Either that, or they'd just stare right past me, or start talking about something else. One lass even started laughing hysterically!"

Billobi took another sip from his glass, and asked: "Didn't they see the tower? How can one miss a tower that high?"

"I bet they were CURSED, crazed people! I even walked up to the base of the tower and slapped the stone so hard my hand turned red, screaming 'THIS TOWER! LOOK! HERE!'. But they just went on like before, yes."

Old Badsey filled his mouth with whiskey, noticeably upset by the memory. He slammed the glass so hard against the table that lady Darnton woke up.

"Cursed, crazed people, I tell you, lad. And then, the guards took me and kicked me out."

"What? For what?"

"Yep, I guess the curse got 'em too, poor bastards. All I did was push one of them into side of the tower! Not very hard, no. Bloody weaklings, if you ask me. And yet they didn't see it, no, cursed, crazed, blind, bloody people."

They sat silent for the rest of the evening, listening to the hard wind outside and the crackling sound of the fireplace - and the snoring of old lady Darnton.

Ring of Postponement (magic item)

2010-05-08T21:37:00.012+02:00

As kids moving towards adolescence, young Billobi and best friend Tristan often had their former heroes replaced for new, more exciting sources of inspiration - like fifteen year old Donnchadh Maclure.

Donnchadh was the only child of the Maclures, a renowned butcher family specialized in rare meat from overseas. Hard work and superb quality had made them quite famous not only in Badgerbrough, but throughout the country. Their son, on the other hand, had no interest in pursuing his parents business. As a matter of fact, he had no real interests besides sleeping and gambling - school was naturally out of the question. This gave him the nickname of Deadfoot, after his slow, indolent way of walking.

Tristan and Billobi used to follow him around town (as often as they dared to skip classes); at first, sneaking and hiding, peeking around corners, awing at a distance, but after a while they noticed that Donnchadh didn't really bother, so they started walking next to him, talking about life and school. It didn't really matter that their hero didn't respond or participate in their discussions; just walking next to him was good enough.

Donnchadh's gambling habits had gotten him tangled up in an unfriendly circle of "friends", mostly people demanding money from him. Billobi and Tristan witnessed quite a few occasions where people with scars and bad intentions dragged Donnchadh into dark alleys and asked him about overdue debts with their fists - e.g. times when school seemed like a perfect, if not better, alternative.

Time passed, and after a couple of months this monotonous lifestyle started to bore both Billobi and Tristan. They agreed to spend one last day with Donnchadh, before looking for more exciting things to follow.

Said and done, this day played out as all of the other days, almost. Donnchadh went to the park and sat there for two hours, after which he went to the docks and sat there for two hours (falling asleep four times, according to Tristan). At last, he went up and started walking home, much to Tristan and Billobi's disappointment.

Halfway home, crossing a particular notorious street, a nasty looking bully popped up from nowhere and hit Donnchadh right over the nose, knocking him to the ground. The bully started raving about unpaid debts (as usual) and pulled out a thin knife. A second later, it was buried deep inside Donnchadh's chest, probably right through his heart. A muffled sound slipped through his lips, after which he went completely silent.

The bully pulled out the knife, pointed it at the two friends and whispered: "You've seen nothin'!" He then took all valuables he could find on Donnchadh's body, except for a beautiful, golden ring worn on the middle finger. Reaching for it at first, he suddenly pulled back; he grinned badly, as if he felt nauseated just by the looks of it. He went up and ran away.

Billobi and Tristan stood there scared, and had unconsciously reached for the other's hand. Hand in hand they walked up to the body of Donnchadh, uncertain what to do. Just about then, Donnchadh rose up from the ground, gasping for air as if coming up from under water.

He sat there, breathing heavily, and said without looking at the boys: "I think all three of us learned a lesson here today, yes?"

The boys nodded slowly, mute from being scared to death twice in a day. School sure felt tempting now...

"Yes, a very good lesson indeed", Donnchadh continued with a smile. He looked at the boys while holding up his hand: "Thank the gods for magical rings!"

Many, many years later, Billobi happened to stumble upon Donnchadh Maclure's obituary in Badgerbrough's local newspaper. He had died in his bed from a narrow but deep wound in his chest, that apparently had appeared out of nowhere.

A ring of postponement does almost exactly what it says it does; it postpones one physical wound for an unknown period of time. No one can for certain say what kind of wound the ring will postpone, or for how long; that's a decision left for the ring to take. But the more severe the wound, the more likely it is that the ring will postpone it.

After the right amount of time has passed, the postponed wound inside the ring will be brought back to its wearer.

The ring will only postpone a wound if currently worn on a finger. A ring that's been triggered (e.g. carries a postponed wound) can't be taken off, and will plant a uncomfortable feeling in anyone who tries to take it.

Chopping off one's finger will not only make the postponed wound come back immediately - it will probably hurt as well.

Void plateau (map)

2010-04-08T20:26:00.015+02:00

One time in the middle of the warm summer, Billobi received a letter from his dear friend Tristan "Hum" Beadle. At this point, Tristan had been across the sea for a good couple of years, travelling the waters and visiting ports with names to long to remember. This particular letter started with the words: "I left the nest of one odd bird, just to land in the next!"

Apparently, during one extremely dull trip with the Acorn Afloat, Tristan tried to lighten things up by making small talk to the other passengers.

"Many got up and left before I even got to the second half of 'good day'. Naturally, I avoided anyone with an eye-patch - that's something I've learned the hard way... Then, when I was about to give up, one young woman actually answered my greeting."

"She was gorgeous" - Tristan had drawn a line under the word to emphasize it, and even replaced the letter O with a small heart - "although a bit nervous. But, who wouldn't, old friend - just look at me!"

"Then, after I barely had introduced me, her head began to twitch! She lowered her voice - both in tone and loudness - looked me straight in the eyes, and asked me if was heeding the call of the triangular tops, where the road on the tall and narrow wall meets the ever descending staircase to the entrance?"

"I was stunned, to say the least", Tristan wrote. "I didn't know what to answer, so I just shook my head. But she wasn't waiting for my answer, no. For a second, I could've sworn her eyes disappeared! Her nails had even sunken into the wooden table!"

"'The door opens', she continued, and now I was terrified, dear friend. 'Bottomless pits guards every arch, every arch leads to a bottomless pit. Sacrifice a limb in the boiling cauldron, to avoid the hungry eyes in the darkness. Pass through the last arch, and plan your steps. The mirror awaits you, and beyond that - a horned man on a plateau in a black and blue void.'"

"After those words, her twitching ceased and she regained her normal tone of voice. She looked at me with a cute smile, and said: 'Soo, sailor, what's your story? Buy me a drink, will ya?'"

Tristan concluded his letter: "I rarely can resist a fair smile of a fair lady, but this one I just had to decline! And from that day on, I too am one of those silent, sulky-looking travellers on the Acorn Afloat..."

Another Tomb in Horsehead (adventure)

2010-03-29T15:32:00.011+02:00

Another Tomb in Horsehead is a small underground adventure, in the same spirit as its predecessor The Tomb in Horsehead. The zipped archive contains the adventure as a single PDF, along with various maps and the original Word 2003-document if you want to tinker with it and change anything (e.g. fill in the statistics for your system of choice).

It is system neutral.

It's released under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License.

Get the archive here (1.15 MB, ZIP).

Spellbook parasites (monster)

2010-03-22T08:56:00.031+01:00

Thomas Althorp, the owner of Horsehead's only antique shop and one of Billobi's friends, was equally known for selling strange, magical items as dealing with strange, peculiar people that visited him from time to time. One of these was lady Lamport.

Billobi only met lady Lamport once, but he remembered it for the rest of his life. He was passing through Horsehead and decided to pay his friend Mr Althorp a visit, and came into the shop just when she was about to leave.

"Hang on a second, Billobi", Thomas said and went into another room behind the counter.

"Why, hello there", said lady Lamport and waved at Billobi. She wore a pale, oversized gown, that made her look thrice as big as she probably were. Her hair was tied in a firm knot in the back of her head, that seemed to pull her face backwards. She wore a pair of glasses, ornamented with colourful pearls, that lacked actual glass. She held out her bare hand to Billobi.

Billobi, who were no stranger to etiquettes, walked up to her, gently took her hand and touched it with his lips. "Good day, madame", he said and smiled.

Right about then, Thomas came back with a worn book that he handed over to lady Lamport. He wore white gloves, which he immediately pulled off and disposed in the stove next to him.

"There you are, m'lady. I'll see you next week then?"

Lady Lamport nodded, first at Thomas and then at Billobi. She then left without a word.

"Who was that?" asked Billobi.

"That, my friend, was lady Lamport. One of my most valued customers. She helps me cross-pollinate my 'special' spellbooks. There are quite a lot of 'special' wizards out there..."

"Cross-pollinate?"

"Yep."

"How?"

"She grow parasites at home. I borrow them sometimes for cross-pollination."

Billobi felt a cold chill running through his spine. "She grows...parasites?"

"Yep."

"...fetch me a glass of water, please. A clean glass!"

Spellbook parasites are tiny, tiny creatures that lives on the alteration of magic, most often found in spellbooks. They do not consume the magic of the spells in the books, since that would make it harder for them to survive. Instead, when a wizard reads from his book in order to memorize a spell, the parasites nourish on the magical link between the reader and the spell on the page. When fed, the parasites produce a by-product of that original magic that the wizard will memorize along with some of the original spell.

The by-product is an small alteration of the original spell, so the reader will not notice any difference; they will memorize a spell by that same name - only slightly modified.

The by-product or modification differs greatly, and seems to depend on the age and origin of the parasites:

Very old spellbooks, infected by the parasites a long time ago, tend to have spells go much, much slower through the air, as if the ageing of the parasites directly affects the speed
If infected near a swamp or any other damp and wet environment, the spells will almost certain create water splashes on impact - or even cause a extremely local rain
Wizards have been known to shoot flowers when their spellbooks have been infected by meadow parasites

Since this is not a curse per se, any attempts of removing them with dispelling magic will fail. The only known ways of getting rid of these parasites is to either put a new spellbook next to the infected one during the night (there's a 25% chance that half of the parasites climb over to the new book, but only 5% that all of them will), or simply burn it.

The parasites are harmless to humans and animals.

Gemstones of absorption (magic item)

2010-03-20T13:32:00.026+01:00

In the middle of the town of Horsehead lies an old antique shop, one which Billobi frequently visited throughout his lifetime. It was owned by one of his old friends from school, that - just like himself - never paid much attention to what the teachers said. His name was Thomas Althorp, and the only thing he was worse at than casting spells, was selling old things. "It's a wonder", Billobi wrote in one of his many journals, "that my dear friend Thomas hasn't a) blown something up, b) had to sell his shop, or - which is more likely - c) blown his shop up".

Thomas Althorp had a keen eye for strange and magical items, and always seemed to get his hands on the most spectacular things. Unfortunately, he never got a hang on putting the right price tag on these rare objects. One of his more famous quotes is: "I mean, it's just a rod. It's like a fancy stick! You can find them everywhere in the woods. Except, those aren't magical, and can't bring you back to life with just a touch of its tip. But otherwise, they're the same! I mean, who'd pay for that?"

One of the more strange objects in his antique shop was a small, transparent gemstone.

"Look at this strange fellow", Thomas said and threw the gemstone carelessly to Billobi. "Looks ordinary, yes? A clear gemstone, probably worth a lot, judging from what other's had to say about it. Thing is, nobody buys it."

"Overpriced?" Billobi asked ironic.

"Watch it, or I'll make you buy something! No, the thing is, I'm most certain it's magical."

"Magical? How?"

"I have no idea. All I know is that when I bought it, it was blue as the sky on a sunny day. A young fellow sold it to me, out-of-towner I suspect. Said he needed the money to buy a book for his magic studies, or something. Anyway, it was a beautiful piece, and I sold it the next day to one of them fancy ladies up the street."

"So...what is it doing here?"

"Well, she came back the day after, in tears and completely devastated. She told me that she'd awaken in the middle of night to the sound of all her finest porcelain crashing into the floor. According to her, small rays of light - or missiles, as she called them - shot out from the small gemstone, and hit whatever it pleased. She had to take cover behind the kitchen door - what a sight!"

"I guess she returned it then?"

"Not only that, I had to buy it back! She was convinced the stone was cursed, since not only had it wrecked her home - the colour was gone too! Of course, by now everybody in town knows of Thomas Althorp's cursed gemstone, and avoids it like the plague."

Billobi inspected the small gemstone, and threw it back to Thomas. He said: "Do you think you'll be able to sell it?"

"I don't know. I'm still waiting for the colour to come back..."

Gemstones of absorption are small gemstones, in various sizes, that will absorb one spell from the nearest magic-user during sleeping hours. They aren't restricted by spell level, and can contain an infinite number of spells. Since the spell is absorbed, the magic-user will feel as if he or she never prepared it (e.g. it disappears).

It's impossible to determine the number of spells contained in a gemstone, other from when it's empty. A gemstone of absorption that hasn't absorbed any spells are transparent. Brightly coloured gemstones may contain one or a hundred spells.

It's futile to try to extract the contained spells, since it will just release all of them (equivalent to rolling a 1 or a 2 on the table below).

The colour of the stones doesn't seem to reflect the nature of the spells.

During sleeping hours, the gemstone (if close to a magic-user or any other caster of spells) will do one of the following:

Die roll (1d10)	Action
1-2	Release all contained spells at random
3-8	Absorb one spell of any level
9-10	Do nothing

Cult of Leithris (map)

2010-03-09T19:24:00.018+01:00

One time, on a trip to the southernmost parts of the country, Billobi came upon a band of soldiers in the middle of the green Ogrebelly forest. They wore grey outfits and carried short swords, and had a large emblem on their chest that depicted the trunk of a tree - the symbol of the guards of Ogrebelly.

When he came closer it was obvious that the guards had surrounded something, and - judging from the looks of the men - something truly terrifying. Billobi presented himself for the nearest guard, who immediately hushed him.

"'Tis them cultmen!" the guard whispered. His eyes were the size of plates, and his forehead sweaty. "Crazed people, I've heard they eat mud in the moonlight! But we've got them surrounded..."

The guard pointed at something in the distance, and when Billobi looked up he saw a regular but somewhat misplaced outhouse. It looked completely harmless, and way too small to house a cult of any sort.

"So..." Billobi said with a low voice. "This cult..."

"Schh! Stay here and keep quiet, we're bringing down this cult right now!"

The guards nodded at each other, and walked up to the outhouse. One after one disappeared inside - and never came out. Billobi hid completely silent on the same spot for almost an hour before running away. He never saw the guards again.

Anyone spotting a lonely outhouse in the middle of nowhere can be completely certain it's a passage to the underground cult of Leithris. A ladder leads down into the darkness and the monstrous beings contained therein.

All lairs of the cult lies next to the same underground lake, which connects them and provides means of transportation for the cultist.

Statues of their foul deity can be spotted almost everywhere, luring anyone foolish enough to touch them. The consequences of these actions are unknown.

Old nanna's yarn (magic item)

2010-03-05T10:47:00.034+01:00

Young Billobi never understood why anyone would live in Badgerbrough. Despite being one of the larger towns on a large trade route that went straight through the country, nothing exciting seemed to happen. Yes, travellers from far away came to the taverns and told stories of bravery and fighting and underground cities inhabited by squid-like men - but, that was just the point: all things exciting happened far away from Badgerbrough. Although he suspected his head master to be a monster in disguise, that didn't really qualify. He needed to explore the country, not just his father's bakery or the school's detention room.

One particular cold winter, Billobi was sent out to buy some yarn for his mother because by some strange divine intervention, Billobi's mittens always seemed to be "somewhere else"...

"If you lose this new pair I'm about to make you", she told her son, "I'll tell your father to bake you a pair of gloves so you'll never lose them! Now go!"

Halfway to the general store, he met his friend Tristan "Hum" Beadle. Or, Tristan hit him actually - with a snowball. They spent some time declaring war on each other, tossing snow back and forth, until Billobi finally remembered his mother's words. He told Tristan about how his father would make gloves out of bread, with his hands inside. They agreed that it would be much better to head on to the general store instead.

After a couple of minutes they turned a corner and found themselves standing in front of an old building they'd never seen before. A wooden sign above the entrance had a rough drawing of a ball of yarn, with two crossed knitting needles underneath. Since the boys were tired of walking, they decided to enter.

The store felt much smaller on the inside. The walls carried loads of yarn in different colours and thickness, all stapled on primitive shelves that seemed to be an inch from collapsing. Next to the window - the sole light source in the room - an old lady in a rocking chair greeted them with a nod. She knitted intensively.

"Hello boys", she said kindly with a voice that sounded like an old hinge. "Did you walk into the wrong store, 'haps?"

"No madame", Billobi said and took off his hat. "Mum told me to buy some yarn."

"Did she now?"

"For my new mittens. Or else father will make loafs of bread of my hands."

The old lady laughed with a high pitched sound, until she had to cough.

"This is what you need", she said and tossed him a ball of yarn. "Don't want your little hands to become scones, do we now?"

"Thanks madame, how mu-", but Billobi was cut short when a tall man stormed in through the door.

"Cursed hag!" he cried, with his clenched fists up in the air. "Rid me of these cursed gloves, now! I demand you to!"

"Ah, I remember you. The prizefighter! Did you know, a long time ago I had a customer just like you. Dear mister Culver his name was, a promising prizefighter too. Disappeared into the woods, did he, but that was a long time ago... Handsome fellow, he was!"

"I don't care about your stories, witch! Remove these cursed gloves or I'll..."

"Who won the fight, young prizefighter?" she said with a mellow voice, without looking him in the eyes. "Who?"

"Me, of course! But-"

"I did what you asked for, did I not? Young man" - she turned to Billobi and smiled - "tell mum that's a gift from old nanna. Now, off you go! All three of you!"

Billobi thanked the old lady, grabbed Tristan by the arm and got out of the store under wild cursing from the tall man.

When he got home he told his mother all about the store, the free ball of yarn and old nanna. After hearing this, mother Rustfoot took the ball of yarn and threw it in the fire as quickly as possible. She made Billobi promise never to return to that store, and never accept anything from anyone calling themselves "old nanna".

Yarn sold by old spirits that call themselves "old nanna" can be found in any major city. They take over empty buildings, set up a store and sell knitted caps, gloves, and so on, or just simple balls of yarn. After some time, they disappear for a couple of years - or even centuries - only to suddenly reappear and start all over again.

Old nannas are never hostile.

The things they produce are cursed, and the most famous thing of them all is the Prizefighter Mittens. These knitted gloves look and feel just like regular gloves, with the distinct difference that they will grant a vast combat advantage to its wearer (both on to-hit and damage dealt).

The downside is that they will force the wearer to tie his fists, making him unable to pick up or grab anything at all as long as the gloves are on (which they will be until someone dispels the curse). This is how the gloves got their name; anyone seen with these kind of gloves looks like they're ready to pick a fight.

Short rope (magic item)

2010-02-23T17:54:00.014+01:00

The small, treeless island of Skiff-in-Loch was somewhat of a mystery to Billobi. He always got the same feeling, one that slowly crept up on him as old Badsey's ferry got closer to the small bridge. Maybe it had something to do with the scenery? The sharp cliffs, almost glowing in yellow and red; the bane of many ships. Or the twisting and leaning lighthouse at the south tip; a single talon reaching out for preys? Or the fact that it was inhabited by a single person, who also looked after the island's only pub?

Old Badsey's small ferry gently brushed the old bridge by the side. Badsey was always the first one off the boat.

"ALL OVERBOARD! Just kiddin', no need to jump in, lad!"

A young boy, pale like an egg shell, responded with a nervous smile and got out of the boat. Just as Billobi was about to do the same, Badsey stopped him and said: "Hold on, fetch me that rope. I need to secure the old lady to the bridge."

Billobi turned around and found a piece of rope tied to the boat. He grabbed the other end and handed it to Badsey, who immediately threw it around one of the short poles on the bridge.

"Sheesh, come on", Badsey said irritated while fumbling with the rope. "Bloody 'ell! Get around already!"

Billobi offered his help, to no prevail.

"Happens every bloody time", Badsey cried while trying to stretch the rope a little bit longer. "It's like there are some kind of hemp gods that wants me to suffer! Come ON, you no-good fibres!"

Short ropes are known to be found all around the known world. They're regular ropes of hemp, bestowed with a curse that actually makes them somewhat intelligent.

These short ropes works as a regular ropes, until their length is considered important. When a short rope finds out it's needed, it will adjust its length so it will be just a bit too short. There have been many attempts through the years to outwit these ropes, although it's unclear whether anyone actually succeeded.

Any attempts to dispel this curse will make the rope crumble to dust.

Bag of Spending (magic item)

2010-02-20T13:14:00.014+01:00

Billobi often thought of his childhood friend Tristan "Hum" Beadle. After graduation, Billobi set out to see the rest of the country while Tristan signed on to the Acorn Afloat, a large sailing vessel that carried both goods and passengers to numerous ports across the eastern sea. His mother worried sick, begging him not to travel with such a large and unreliable construction. "It's against the will of the gods!" she cried, "Man wasn't made to walk upon waters!". Tales of piracy and monsters lurking in the dark blue depths didn't help either, but Tristan had already made up his mind - one week after graduation he left port for the great unknown.

Billobi never met his friend again, but often got letters from him from various places across the sea. He often came across strange items, of one Billobi clearly remembered. It started with Tristan writing home about his new work as an errand boy for a wealthy and powerful old lady in the town he currently lived in. The old lady, apparently too busy for doing her own purchases, hired Tristan to buy new interesting and exotic things every day. At the start of the day, he was given a certain amount of money to spend on anything he thought would make her life happier.

"This is easy", Tristan wrote, "since the old raisin lives in a large, mostly empty, marble palace, with spaces to fill everywhere!"

But, after only four days of commissions, the old lady declared that it was a nuisance to give him gold on an daily basis. From now on, he'd be given gold for the whole week, starting that day. Tristan agreed, and was given an awful lot of coins he didn't have anywhere to stash. So he went to the market to purchase him a sturdy bag to hold all of this wealth.

"It took a while", Tristan wrote, "but finally I found one that could hold the coins easily. It looked like a regular leather bag, only tougher. I paid the merchant, filled it up with the raisin's money, and went home to rest for the night."

The next morning, Tristan woke up to a room filled with things from the floor and up. Forks, knives, birds, colourful carpets, furnitures, wagons, even an elephant! He got up from his bed faster than ever before, just in time for the old lady to open his door and ask about the commotion. Instead, she stood silent and just stared at the pile of things, her jaw at the floor. Tristan hid behind the elephant, trying to come up with some sort of excuse and explanation that could save his face and job.

"She loved it", Tristan wrote. "She'd never seen so many marvellous things in one room, and never in her own home. I didn't lose the job, but the problem now is that she expects the same thing tomorrow, and the day after that - and there's no money left in the bag!"

A Bag of Spending looks and functions as any regular cloth sack, with the difference that it will spend any items of value that is put inside it. It will do this preferable when it's left alone (not under any supervision); most noticeable during sleeping hours.

All things bought by the bag will somehow end up in the same room as its owner. How this delivery works is still a mystery.

It will spend up till 80 percent of the coins and gems inside it, although rumour has it that there exists bags that will spend all of its coins.

The bag will buy things of its own liking, unaffected by its current owner's taste.

Sinker (monster)

2010-02-16T17:14:00.010+01:00

Billobi always had a feeling that travelling with the small ferry between Ketch-in-Loch and the tiny island of Skiff-in-Loch, could very well be his last one. As long as he could remember the ferry had been operated by old man Badsey, a rugged fellow with an eyepatch. A harmless man, that had a different story each time on how he got the eyepatch.

The ferry was a narrow and old thing, powered by Badsey's slow paddling in the middle. There were a total of four seats spread out evenly: two in front of Badsey, and two behind. This time, Billobi unfortunately got to sit face to face with the old man.

"A fish ate my eye! A FISH!" Badsey said.

"Yes, you told me so last time", Billobi answered bored, although he suspected that Badsey didn't really listen.

"An OGREFISH, yes, that's right, terrible, terrible things...good meat though, yes, yes..."

When Badsey didn't get the awe he wanted, he leaned to the side and faced the man sitting behind Billobi. With one finger pointing at the eyepatch he shouted: "OGREFISH! ATE MY BLOODY EYE! PUPIL AND EVERYTHING!"

Just then the boat hit something, causing Badsey to drop one oar into the water under loud cursing. Luckily, the traveller behind him was able to reach it, handing it over to Badsey again.

"Thank you, lad, yes. Good thing an OAREATER didn't catch it! Nasty critters, eats oars, yes, see this? Caught my eye once, mistook it for an oar he did!"

"Look!" the rough man behind Billobi said with a low voice, reaching into the water. "I bet I can catch that fat fish with my bare hands!"

Looking over the side deck, Billobi spotted the fish just below the surface right next to the boat. It would indeed be possible to reach it.

"Don't touch it!", Badsey cried.

"Let me guess", the man said with a grin, "it will eat my eye... I'm hungry, I'll just take it and cook it later."

Effortless, he managed to get a firm grip around the fat fish. It didn't even seem like it was fighting back. He held it just above the surface, smiling at the rest of the ferry travellers.

"Gotcha! Hmm, it's kind of sticky...hey, its-"

All of a sudden, he fell overboard like if being pulled by his arm, and disappeared.

"He caught himself a sinker", old man Badsey said, and started paddling. "Not much we can do, no, but wait and hope that he can hold his breath!"

The sinker is a surface fish with the ability to excrete a sticky slime through glands hidden beneath its scale. The slime is the first part of the sinker's self-defence mechanism; the second consists of a strange metamorphosis inside its organs, making it a hundred times heavier. This transformation lasts for a couple of minutes, just enough for the slime to dry.

Anyone touching the sinker is guaranteed to get stuck, and potentially dragged down into whatever depths it came from.

Embrace (spell)

2010-02-12T09:00:00.019+01:00

Embrace
Range: Caster's eyesight
Duration: Until dispelled

The town of Ketch-in-Loch is known for many things; it's one of the largest ports on the western coastline, it's built on a slope to prevent over-flooding, it's the only way to travel (safely) across the waters to the tiny island of Skiff-in-Loch, and it was the scene of the Big Hug, a historic dispute between the mayor and one big tree in the middle of town.

Billobi just happened to be in Ketch-in-Loch at the time being, happily taking notes about the dispute. According to the locals, the mayor had decided to get rid of the old tree since it blocked his sea view. When news got out, a small group of people gathered around the town centre and started protesting. But, as the hours passed, the already small group started to diminish even further, until there was but one left; a small yet sturdy woman, with hair as brown as her skin.

When Billobi came to town, the dispute had only lasted a day but were already on the brink of resolution. People were gathered in a big circle around the scene, consisting of the tree, the small woman, and the mayor, both hoarse from shouting at each other.

"'Tis my tree, Chipko!", yelled the mayor, face almost glowing red. "'Tis MY town, MY rules, and therefore MY tree!"

"No one owns this tree, you big piece of ogredumpling!", the small woman responded.

"I own it! 'Tis MINE! And I want it chopped down!"

"Never!"

"I'm warning you, Chipko, step away or I'll have the guards arrest you!"

"I haven't done anything illegal, you...you trollsnot-in-boots!"

To this the mayor didn't respond, as if he hadn't thought of that. It didn't stop his frustration, though. He pointed at the tree with his hand trembling in anger, and shouted: "'TIS MINE! MINE! GUARDS!"

Two men dressed and armoured in typical Ketch-in-Loch equipment, each wielding a kind of weapon that looked like a regular axe stuck on a long pole, walked up to the mayor.

"ARREST THIS WOMAN!"

Without hesitation, the two guards dropped their weapons to the ground and approached the woman by the tree.

"This is illegal, and you know it!"

"No! YOU are the criminal!" the mayor responded.

"ME? I'm protesting, and that's not illegal you charcoal-for-a-brain!"

"You...you called me NAMES!"

Just as the guards were to grab her by the arms and lift her to her feet, something strange happened very fast. The woman pointed her right arm at the guards, the left one at the tree, and mumbled something. In an instance the two guards were up against the tree, with their arms spread out around the trunk. It looked like they were hugging it, much to the crowd's enjoyment.

Without moving her left arm, she then directed the right one towards the mayor and said: "Leave the tree be...or I'll make sure you'll never let it go!"

"You... You're threatening me! GUARDS! Get down from there and arrest her!"

"I don' 'noo", one of the guards mumbled with his lips pressed again the bark, "I 'inda 'ike 'tt."

"Me 'oo", the other guard agreed.

"See...? No harm done", the woman said with a grin without lowering her arms.

Powerless and baffled the mayor left her without a word.

The following day the mayor resigned from his post and moved to a small village just outside of Badgerbrough, far, far away from Ketch-in-Loch. The tree still stands to this day.

This spell requires two free hands to be able to cast. Upon casting, the right arm must be directed at the person who shall embrace (the embracee or hugger), and the left at the person or object who shall be embraced.

It lasts until dispelled.

The embracee will then wrap its arms (or equivalent) around the target, unable to break the magical hug. The person hugging will never feel any discomfort while in this state, nor express any wild feelings of lust; he or she will just feel satisfied, embracing the moment.

Playful door handle (magic item)

2010-02-08T22:49:00.015+01:00

Billobi loved to travel the countryside in his own pace, taking notes about the surroundings and the people living there. He wrote down everything, and was always in pursue for more strange things in the everyday. Whenever he could, he would ask around the local taverns for any adventurers who would be willing to take him along their next venture into the unknown. Most of the time, they said no after giving him a quick glare (Billobi never wore weapons), but sometimes they'd let him tag along.

On one of the expeditions into the dark underground (some old tomb somewhere next to some even older swamp), the adventurers he was following suddenly made a full stop in front of - what he believed to be - an ordinary door. When he asked why, they hushed him.

One of the adventurers, a man with beard and pointy hat, was examining the door thoroughly; his hands up in the air, his nose close to the door, he seemed to be inspecting every fibre in the wooden door. All of a sudden, he stepped back and said: "Step back. I know what this is. This door is locked."

Billobi almost dropped his sharpened piece of charcoal. Did the wizard actually suggesting that a locked door in an old tomb was something to be afraid of? Before he could ask, the wizard continued: "I believe we just need to shake hands, and it'll let us through!"

The man in beard and pointy hat stepped aside and showed the door handle for the rest of the group; it was a hand, slightly larger than the average, attached to a round brass base. The skin resembled leather, both in colour and texture. It writhed slowly.

"Let's say hello!" said the wizard and grabbed the hand firmly, as to introduce himself. A second later, he lay on the stone floor twitching in pain.

"DON'T SHAKE HANDS WITH IT!", he bellowed. "IT'S A HAND-MURDERER-HAND!"

The rest of the adventuring group decided to head back to town and leave the tomb, never to return. Billobi departed from the adventurers miserable, since he thought he'd just witness something strange and magically that he'd never see the likes of again.

Some years later, Billobi was seeking shelter for the night and came across an old farmer that lived all alone on the hillside. During supper, Billobi asked how it was to live all alone this far from the city, especially with only one working hand.

"It's wonderful!" the old farmer replied. "No need for formalities and such nonsense. People say they're afraid of ogres and whatnot, but I say: let 'em come! I'd rather be attacked by an ugly troll than have to endure the constant pain and horrors of handshaking!"

A playful door handle is one strange device to put on a door. It's a magical hand that is used instead of a regular handle or knob. To open the door, one must merely play rock-paper-scissors against it and win best out of three (ties doesn't count). Upon winning, the hand will tie itself and unlock the door. When the door closes, the hand will stretch out its fingers and lock the door, eagerly awaiting its next game.

It's useless to try and dispel the hand.

Any other attempts (such as shaking or touching it) will anger the hand, and it will immediately try to break any fingers it can grab.

Old quarrels never rust (adventure)

2010-02-02T12:26:00.015+01:00

One of the stories that Billobi remembered from his childhood was the one about the three old men who always fought. They all lived next to each other, and were constantly bickering. He didn't quite remember how the story ended, but probably with some sort of moral that you shouldn't live next door to people you don't like - or something like that...

It wasn't until much later in his life, on a journey through unnamed woods to the port town of Ketch-in-Loch on the western coastline, that he realised that the old tale wasn't all fiction. After a long trek through bushes and thicket, he suddenly came to a clearing where the ruins of three houses stood.

Approaching slowly, he could hear three distinctive voices yelling at each other - archaic curse words, or just random nonsense. Faint glowing could be seen from each of the three buildings.

All of a sudden a rat came flying through the air, missing Billobi by a foot. A translucent head peeked out from one of the houses, and shouted: "Whatcha lookin at, you snot! Scram!"

Billobi parried yet another rat before fleeing into the woods. If this really was the origin of the old tale, he didn't want to stay for too long.

"Old quarrels never rust" is a small adventure with ghosts, fist fighting and something that throws rats at you. The zipped archive contains the adventure as a single PDF, along with one larger map (also as a PDF).

I believe it's fairly system neutral, although I had Swords & Wizardry in mind when I wrote it.

It's released under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License.

Get the archive here.

The Great Laughing Stones (magic item)

2010-01-28T20:35:00.017+01:00

In the far northern part of the country lies the three Ogreprovinces in a row, from north to south; Ogrenose, Ogrebelly and Ogresole (locally referred to as The Nose, The Belly, and The Sole). Billobi travelled through these parts many times, and recorded endless amounts of scorn and derision between the three. The Nose had something to say about The Belly, who wasn't too fond of The Sole, who didn't care for any of the three, and so on.

Ogrenose was named so because of the mountain range that runs through these parts of the country (the Talltops). According to well-renowned cartographers, the mountains form a soft triangle, heading south-west, which could be taken for a nose (given the right amount of imagination).

Ogrebelly consists almost entirely of forests and other overgrown green areas, something the first locals apparently associated specifically with the bellies of ogres. Billobi never did find out whether there existed some sort of green ogres native to the region.

And lastly, Ogresole, named for no good reason at all (although The Nose and The Belly often implied that it was named after the sweaty and smelly people that lives there). But despite the lack of an impressive mountain range or even any forests, The Sole has one famous monument that can't be found in any of the other provinces: the great laughing stones.

The great laughing stones of Ogresole resides in the town centre; three large rough pieces of rock, unmoveable due to their sizes. In the town archives Billobi read about some troubles the first town settlers had with an old hermit, who lived in a small hut near the stones. Just like any other hermit she just wanted to be left alone with her "audience" (the archives clearly stated that she was all alone, and that no known towns or villages was to be found in the vicinity).

When asked about this audience of hers, the hermit presented herself as the last of the Lonesome Comedians, a troupe originating from all over the country. Her job and call was to entertain, but always in solitude. She then slowly walked over to the stones, and began performing what the town settlers believed to be her repertoire.

(Much to his disappointment, Billobi didn't find any records in the archives that reproduced this. A good pun never ages, he always said.)

The town settlers waited patiently for the old hermit to tell all of her jokes, until one of them lost his temper and ran up to her to grab her, but stopped immediately when he heard something giggling.

"Wha'cha gigglin' 'bout?", he yelled at the woman, to no response. Instead, she carried on with her performance.

And suddenly, just when he was about to ask her again, a loud and unmistakable choir of laughter almost knocked him over.

"'Tisch them schtonesh", she whispered to him softly. "They can't reschischt a good gag. And can you really blame them?"

According to the archives, this was the starting point for the town of Ogresole. The town settlers decided to build the town around the magical stones (only slightly because no one could move them), and make the old hermit honourable member of the town council.

Billobi visited the great laughing stones every time he passed through The Sole, to listen to promising comedians and regular people trying out their material on the stone. He never got tired of hearing that genuine laughter of the stones - when they heard something funny, at least.

The three boulders known as the great laughing stones of Ogresole are a bit of mystery; are they intelligent creatures, or just rocks that someone long ago placed an enchantment upon? Evil forces have tried to rid them of this said magic numerous times, without success - the stones just keeps laughing at good jokes.

No other form of communication has been found to work; either you tell a good joke and make the stones laugh, or they just remain silent.

Particular good puns may actually cause a blast of air to hit the storyteller (and anyone around him), and knock him prone. This is considered the most valued of laughs among the locals, a proof of superb comedy.

Consume Key (spell)

2010-01-24T11:54:00.010+01:00

Consume Key
Range: One key within reach
Duration: Instantaneous

After a couple of years of travelling, Billobi concluded that the best way to meet new and interesting people was to stroll the countryside without actually looking for anyone. He even came up with a theory of sorts, that said that while searching for anybody always gives you nobody, searching for nobody always gives you somebody. The hard part, he added, was to find anyone interested in this theory...

One time, while picking mushrooms in the old forest of Ogrebelly, he found an old brick house standing there all alone. It had a small chimney from which small puffs of greyish smoke could be spotted against the green scenery. When he came closer he saw that the windows were decorated with potted plants and various herbs, and there was even a fat cat gazing back in one.

He circled the house and found an old man in a pointy hat just outside the front door. He had his eyes closed, and seemed to be mumbling to himself with his fists tightly closed.

Billobi said a gently hello so as not to disturb him.

"Are you the locksmith?" said the old man without looking up.

"No?" answered Billboi. "I was just picking mushrooms. Did you lock yourself out?"

"Most certainly not! How could I, without a proper lock?"

He stepped aside and showed Billobi the lock - or more accurately, the absence of a lock. There was just a door handle, but no keyhole.

"So...there's no key, and no lock, and you haven't locked yourself out, but still you can't come in?"

"No no no!" the old man said annoyed. "There's a key for sure. I just can't remember it."

"Ah, so you've lost it?"

"No, I forgot it."

"Pardon me?"

"I drank it, and now I've forgotten it. And that fat cat is too stupid to open. YOU HEAR THAT, MR. BIGGLESWORTH? YOU CAN FORGET SUPPER TONIGHT! Stupid animal, I should have kept that imp. At least they have proper fingers."

"Well, couldn't you just..."

"Break a window? Kick down the door? And then what? Would you sleep here, in these woods, with an unlocked door, or broken window? Or are you really suggesting that I should put my trust in Mr. Bigglesworth? Can you picture him fending off a pack of ogres? YOU ARE QUITE THE KING OF THESE WOODS, AREN'T YOU MR. BIGGLESWORTH? YOU'D KILL THEM WITH YOUR TIRED EYES, OR WEAR THEM DOWN BY TAKING ONE OF YOUR NOT SO PRODUCTIVE NAPS, WOULDN'T YOU? He's quite the killer, Mr. Rustfoot! Bah!"

Since any further attempts to help the old man was out of the picture, Billobi said farewell and continued on his hunt for mushrooms. He took one last look at the house, and could've sworn that the fat cat in the window waved at him.

The Consume Key-spell turns any key into a spell, which is then bound to that key's particular lock. The lock will close, regardless of material, and thus keep the object in question closed by all means.

To cast this spell, one must place the desired key into a container of some sort such as a glass or mug, and focus upon that while casting. The spell will turn the key into a warm liquid. When consumed, a new spell will be recorded in the magic-user's spell book.

Anyone drinking the liquid without having a spell book, suffers 1d6 points of damage, and the key is lost forever.

The lock will close up either way.

The new spell recorded will be named according to its purpose, and will be of a spell level that corresponds to its (overall) importance. For instance, if the caster decides to consume the key to his personal diary (not of great wordly importance), he places the key in an empty mug and casts Consume Key upon it. When he drinks the warm liquid, a new spell named "Open diary" (or similar) will be written in his spell book. The new spell can only open this particular lock.

On the other hand, if the king does the same thing to the key of the royal treasury, it will most likely be a very high level spell. The decision is up to the referee, as always.

Locks affected by this will have a natural high magic resistance, to fend off any (magical) attempts to unlock it.

The Tomb in Horsehead (adventure)

2010-01-21T15:15:00.010+01:00

After one of his many visits to the town of Horsehead, Billobi one day stumble upon an odd fellow in the surrounding forest. They were in fact two; one sturdy dwarf, and one thin and wiry boy, although the boy didn't say anything.

They were standing next to a worn and presumably very old iron fence, surrounding an even older stone platue. A narrow staircase was carved out of it, and descended steeply into the ground.

"Hail, traveller!" the dwarf growled with a big smile. "And what have we here, hmm? COMPETITION PERHAPS?"

He laughed with a deep voice and gave Billobi a friendly push.

"But seriously", said the dwarf and stopped laughing, "this ain't no place for wee lads like yourself. See this fence? Gives me the creeps! Just think about what horrors that lingers down there..."

He took out his axe and gently brushed the fence.

"'Tis one of them Horse Men-tombs, you know? Strange fellows, nobody's seen them for ages. Everyone's scared of them. Well, except for me and this young fellow! Ain't that right!"

The young boy responded with a strained smile. He looked nervous.

"That's the spirit!", the dwarf shouted. He turned to Billobi again, and said: "I picked him up in Horsehead, quiet little fellow, but someone's gotta help me carry all that gold!"

Billobi asked if they weren't afraid that there would be old spirits protecting the tomb.

"Naah", snorted the dwarf. "I've got my two lifesavers right here: me old axe..." - he kissed the small axe - "...and this ring from me father. It's magical, you see. It lets you part water, so you don't have to get wet. I hate water. You can't even control your body in it! I bet it's worth a fortune, magical an' all, but I ain't selling it. Never. You'd have to chop off my finger, or steal it in my sleep - either way, you'd end up with me axe in your back!"

The Tomb in Horsehead is a small underground adventure. The zipped archive contains the adventure as a single PDF, along with several maps in various sizes and formats. The original Word 2003-document can also be found inside the archive, if you want to tinker with it and change anything (or everything!).

I believe it's fairly system neutral, although I had Swords & Wizardry in mind when I wrote it.

It's released under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported licence.

Get the archive here.

Cloud of Hunger (spell)

2010-01-21T12:34:00.015+01:00

Cloud of Hunger
Range: One normal sized room
Duration: 1 day

The town of Badgerbrough, located on one of the larger trade routes in the country, was constantly hosting tired adventurers from all over the place. The inns were crowded and the pubs even more so. Tales of bravery, horror, and treasures would fill the smoky halls of every tavern within five miles - all of questionable veracity, of course, but a good story is a good story nevertheless.

One night Billobi heard the story of how a party of four adventurers from far north just barely managed to get out alive from an old tomb they were "investigating". The tomb seemed to be completely empty when they suddenly met a pack of - as they described it - "humans with rotten bodies".

These human-like creatures shuffled across the stone floor towards the party, with their arms stretched, but suddenly stopped. One of them slowly opened its mouth, and spoke with a hissing sound: "Nooo...sooo full...noo mooore..."

The party stood dumbfounded. "No more - what?" they asked, but the human-like creature just repeated what it had said, and shook its head slowly.

"Fools!" echoed suddenly an eerie voice from the darkness behind. "When I command, you obey! Now EAT them!"

"Nooo..." repeated the creatures again while shaking their heads. "Sooo full..."

"Why, oh why, did faith punish me with this imbecile army of undead oafs...", sighed the eerie voice. "Very well then! Taste my anger - and then the intruders!"

A thick smoke suddenly filled the room, which caught the party off guard. They tried to hold their breath, but to no use; their lungs were already filled with the ghastly smoke. But to everybody's surprise, nothing seemed to happened.

Unfortunately, when the smoke cleared, the human-like creatures were on their feet again, moving rapidly towards the party. They managed to knock over and kill the first two creatures, but then the creatures swarmed around the party's newest recruit and started eating him alive. The rest of the party decided to run for their lives, and didn't stop until they hit Badgerbrough.

Billobi thanked for the story, and went home for the night. When he came back to the pub the next evening, the four of them were there again, drinking and eating. They recognized Billobi and gestured wildly for him to come sit with them, but prior experience had taught Billobi that certain types of people - adventurer's mostly - likes to tell the same story over and over again. Despite how much Mr. Rustfoot enjoyed a good tale, he only wanted to hear it once. He waved and smiled back, but went straight to the counter instead.

He asked the bartender if he'd heard their story by now.

"Not once, actually", he answered somewhat busy. He suddenly lowered his voice and said with a big smile: "But I gotta tell ya, they're the most lucrative customers I've ever had. They've been eatin' now for almost two days straight!"

Cloud of Hunger fills a normal sized room with a thick, white smoke. Anyone breathing the air is affected by the spell, and immediately starts craving for food. They don't necessarily glut, but their hunger isn't satisfied.

The smoke smells different depending on the person, but will always reflect their most delicate food memory.

Faithful cart (magic item)

2010-01-18T19:15:00.010+01:00

It wasn't until his later travels that Billobi met old Pimbleman, the legendary brewer from his home village of Badgerbrough. And what a sight! You could spot him miles away, pushing his cart over the hills, gathering whatever he found along the way. When he came closer, you could almost read the adventures in his rugged face.

Billobi met old Pimbleman by mere accident while strolling along the road between Horsehead and Woostershire; a strange bird caught his eye for a second, just enough to get hit by Pimbleman's cart.

"Sheesh! Wacha step, young fellow! Thisch cart ain't stoppin' for no one!"

He helped Billobi to his feet without letting go of the cart, and offered him anything from the carriage as compensation. But when Mr. Rustfoot approached the cart, a deep snarl echoed from the very same.

Billobi quickly backed away, and looked at old Pimbleman for an explanation.

"No need to panic, young man", Pimbleman said with a sigh, "'tis cursed you see. Stupid piece of wood, schould never have touched it, I tell you!"

Pimbleman told Billobi about how he found the cart in a ditch, many years ago, on his way home from the brewery. He was overburden with things that he needed to repair at home, and took the finding of the old cart as a sign from whatever deity that could've watched over him. So, he dropped all of his things, got into the ditch and pulled up the cart, only to discover that he couldn't release it.

When he released the grip on his left hand, the right hand wouldn't budge. But if he grabbed the shaft with the left hand, the right hand would come off as expected - but now the other was stuck.

"You schee... I'm tied to this schtupid cart. At least I can pick up things with one hand..."

Billobi asked him if it wasn't possible to remove this curse, and rid him of the cart. To this old Pimbleman answered: "It might very well be scho, but over the years I guess I've just...grown accustom to it. 'Tis my only friend alive, you schee."

With that he said farewell and continued on his journey, with cursed cart and all.

The Faithful cart works like a normal cart and can be loaded as such, but is bestowed with a special curse. The first person touching its shafts gets stuck, and may only use one of his hands at any time. To switch hands, he must first grab the shafts with both hands, and then release the hand he wish to use.

It's safe to touch the cart after it has attached itself to someone, although it is known to snarl at anyone not under the curse.

The curse also works on another, not too obvious, plane: it slows down the ageing of the person currently attached to it. Apparently, the cart wants its new owner (or "friend") to live as long as possible. Exact how much seems to vary from person to person. The curse is lifted upon death.

The Butlerhood of Jeeves (deity)

2010-01-06T20:06:00.012+01:00

During one of his travels along the eastern coast some miles south of Horsehead, Billobi Rustfoot stumbled upon the small town of Woostershire in which he came to learn about the Reginalds, also known as the Butlerhood of Jeeves.

The whole town of Woostershire was built around a big church, that didn't in any way look like any church Billobi had seen before. It was built as a regular, rectangular two-story building, much like his old school. The church was in fact a school, dedicated to teach the words of Jeeves. Billobi had never heard of this deity, although he admitted that he wasn't much of a believer.

The followers of this deity were called Reginalds, and their mantra was "To serve". To become a Reginald, one must fulfil the biddings of his master, to constantly strive to be the best of butlers. This is the way of the Reginalds, written down by the Great Servant Jeeves. The Most Loyal Servant (the highest of titles in this church) even let Billobi see their most sacred artifact, the Linen of Jeeves, a white piece of cloth upon which three spells were written down, along with several commandments. At the bottom of the linen two words where engraved: "To Serve".

The three spells written down by the Great Servant Jeeves were Make Bed, Hold Tray and Recommend, all cleric spells.

Make Bed
Range: Touch
Duration: Immediate

"The bed of your Master, may never be left a disaster!"
- from the Linen of Jeeves

This spell simply makes someone's bed, preferably when it's empty.

Hold Tray
Range: Caster
Duration: One evening

"To help thee fight gravity!"
- from the Linen of Jeeves

This spell helps the caster avoid fatigue in his arms while holding trays during banquets.

Recommend
Range: Caster
Duration: 1 hour

"Wine and dine!"
- from the Linen of Jeeves

This spell let's the caster suggest the right type of wine to any kind of dish, with local specialities prioritized.

Lie (spell)

2010-01-04T21:56:00.008+01:00

Lie
Range: Touch
Duration: Until dispelled

As often as possible, Billobi Rustfoot and his best friend Tristan "Hum" Beadle skipped classes. They went on adventures in the nearby forest, fighting dreadful monsters and casting legendary spells - at least in their imagination. More often though, they just went fishing.

One hot summer's day after returning to school, the head master caught them by surprise. He was furious and wanted to know what it was that was so important that the two couldn't attend their classes. The head master turned his head to young Rustfoot.

Billobi was at this time no stranger to bending the truth, so he told the head master that his aunt was ill and that he had to help her. Furthermore, this aunt lived deep in the forest, alone.

Right about then Tristan's older brother Brisan came walking across the school yard. When he saw his younger brother standing in front of the furious head master, he hurried up to them and - to everyone's surprise - hugged his little brother hard and long, while mumbling something. One nod to the head master later he was gone.

The head master now turned his head to Tristan. Billobi feared that Tristan, being the notorious bad liar as he was, would blow their cover. But to young Rustfoot's surprise, Tristan told the most beautiful and trustworthy lie he had ever heard (and he had heard a lot of them). When he stopped talking, the head master left them without a word.

Billobi turned to his friend and said joyfully: "That was the best lie I've ever heard!"

And Tristan answered him: "What are you talking about, that was no lie!"

One long and frustrating day later, Brisan finally rid his brother of the spell.

This spell causes the targeted person to lie constantly, unless a successful saving throw is made. The spell lasts until dispelled, something that has to be done by someone other than the affected person (since it would be a lie if the caster tried to dispel himself).

The effect of the spell isn't cumulative, so nothing happens if cast twice upon the same person.

Chug (spell)

2010-01-04T11:11:00.014+01:00

Chug
Range: Caster
Duration: Immediate

As a not so inspired pupil at the school of Badgerbrough, young Billobi Rustfoot found the local pub to be a more comfortable place than his class room (although he didn't drink anything). One particular night he managed to overhear some of the older students talking about the pain of being thirsty and short of coins. Suddenly one of them started waving his hands and chanting something with a low voice. At the end of the casting, he fell backwards in his chair with a big burp and a satisfaction in his face. He had just had the best mug of ale that evening, and it didn't cost him a copper. Soon everyone around the table was doing the same thing.

The Chug-spell is infamous among pub owners around Badgerbrough, and anyone who is caught casting this inside that kind of establishment is banned for life.

Chug fills the caster's stomach with fluid equal to one mug (12 oz. / 35 cl.).
The exact type of fluid is random and cannot be predetermined, but is almost always alcohol based.

Chug is reported to work all over the known world, but strangely enough the liquids never change; they're always the same local (to Badgerbrough) beverages, probably due to the origin of the spell.

If cast a second time within 2 minutes, the caster must make a successful saving throw or be prone to violent vomiting for 2d6 minutes (unable to act).

Die Roll	Fluid
1	Water
2	Horsehead’s Stout (beer)
3	Pimbleman’s Cut (wine, red)
4	Ogrenose Pint (strong ale)
5	Pimbleman’s Teeth (wine, white)
6	Horsehead’s Best (mixed spirits)