Dust & Blood

Wevv's Appendix #0489

Wevv’s Appendix #0489
:: Wevv’s Trial :: “In The Water Of The Aberrant, pt one” ::
“Swimming deep into the cave, the ancient energy still tingles in my arm as we swim. My new friends don’t see my shame.

We enter the large cavern, sunlight falls down through a tiny hole at the top. In the waters around us, facets of aura quartz reflect the light as cacophonies of dust twitter, coming from nowhere, in the air & water.

A host of large & strange water insects skulk in the waters surrounding the bizarre metal craft. Its form riven by sheets of rust, the shape is still unmistakably other-worldly. The psionic emanations are stronger here, reaching deep into our minds.

The insects charge toward us, almost ceremonially, & the calm waters part as we approach the vessel. They don’t buy our ruse & we draw blades against them. Grappling with their blank minds I’m distracted by their pincer arms, barnacled in the same quartz of this strange thing. The Dark-eyed Templar falls, at the vessel’s edge, sinking slowly.

& then it rises, out of the water. A brain-shaped thing. Maw-covered tentacles hanging down below. Its beak, the only feature of its face, nips spastically at the air around it. We hold."

Wevv's Appendix 0409 - 0415

Wevv’s Appendix #0409
:: Wevv’s Trial :: “Ay’mad, His Mistress & The Challenges Outside of Tyr” ::
“My Party marches on in their path as I’m overtaken by the circumstances of these past months, straddled by touching the darkness of my Sister-Elf’s mind. The Blackness consumes me, tunnel-vision forming around my every sense of perception. I follow my prayers as The Players head out.

The sight of the horizon, endless & hazy as the heat melts the air above the sand, loosens the grasp of The Black in my mind. But its influence, alters things. I’m still out of phase with reality but images form in the hours of the march out of Tyr. The sickness in my psyche peaks harder than ever, my eyes burn black & blue.

Parched, I see That Black Tower everywhere. I see two hands, covered in fine metal gauntlets, more poured than carved. Its form draped in a near unending starry dark viscous cloak — alive with The Defiling Dark still lingering in my psyche. Firery puss yellow eyes float glowing against the completely tattooed skin of its face — sharpened & deformed through some dark pact. It sits atop a throne, perched on a platform-less ziggurrat, its aura reaching into the recesses of a room more suited to some bizarre ritualistic animal slaughterhouse.

Instead there are … littering its throne room, giant racks, half-bodies stapled & screwed to them. Blood. & … Dust. & the smallest bits of the souls that left this plane here ooze into grates strewn randomly throughout the sickly black-red stone work of the decaying floor.

An evil thing, a woman, perhaps formerly an elf — now possessed with the unbalanced evil of its master’s touch — adorned with the most abhorrent pieces of humanity available, leisurely inscribes a cruel patchwork of artistry & misery on a small human boy.

Its silvery hands move slowly & gracefully, as if to a distant beat. Until they don’t. Springing to life. Dealing out its deathly touch. It points & the circulatory system of the boy dissolves into the nothingness of its touch. He quivers then slumps finally as he touches The Gray. & on.

Its mind stabs at me then, even in these oblique images. The pain slowly forces itself out of me. It retreats & Her blessing returns. Water returns to my lips & the sun no longer blackens my gaze.”

Wevv’s Appendix #0413
:: Wevv’s Trial :: “An Aquifer of Tyr” ::
“After half-days travel from Tyr, we found the seemingly abandoned Gith camp, at the base of a cliff wall. There’s a passage, inside the face. There’s something in the air, a psionic wind emanating from this place. I feel a particular verb, the sounds of dripping water, like the most sacred places of home. I pray to Her, The Water Spirit, hoping this is the place. But I am too weak to conjure Her power to this plane.

Inside there is clay, shifting beneath us as we crawl into the mouth of the aquifer. Ja’Amun & I slip down into the lair. Foolishly I approach to fast, a tendril-tongue glints in my eye & I poke too closely with my mind. It snaps at me & I phase just barely out of its way. We push our way in as the trap closes its maw. They snap at us, pulling us to them, deep into the height of the cavern. But our strikes are swift & by the sand at our heels we wipe out the chitinous brood. The entrance is sealed, with us & whatever else lays inside this glorious place.

I swim in the water, trying to be amazed to be back in its grace as it glistens by our torch light. This other psionic force inside my mind is ancient, seeming to permeate everything about this place. We gather from, the most iron I have ever seen in one place, as many pieces as we can. I gulp of this pure water heavily as I swim through its shadows.”

Wevv’s Appendix #0414
:: Wevv’s Trial :: “The Silent Mind of My Sister-Elf, pt two” ::
“In the recesses of The Aquifer at Tyr, the ancient aberrant psychic energy lashes out at my Sister-Elf’s mind. She screams; falls ill. Some psychic vision is infiltrating her mind, in seconds she’s writhing in agony. I hear Its Darkness in her voice & fear grips me again.

I must stand strong, draw the aberrant power of this place into my mind & trying to shield myself from the darkness of its touch this time as I attempt to peer into her mind. I draw it into me, through the water, reaching out with my left hand to touch Lorne’s mind.

My finger connects, just barely with her temple, & the three psionic powers collide knocking me back & up into the air. Tendrils of psionic sparks whip around, immobilizing me there, suspending me by the tip of my left index finger. The blue lightning shoots out from the larger metal fragments in the water, through me, then down to my Sister-Elf. The psionic energy burns. I let out a sharp scream as I hear a brittle crackling & pain rakes through my left arm. I look to it, it’s form shifting to a icy crystalline lattice where my muscles & skin used to be. The veins, nerves & bones now exposed inside of the transparent polyhedronal surface of my new grotesque arm.

The sounds of its crystalline structure solidifying sends shivers throughout my psyche as the aftershocks of the transformation take hold. I hear a cackling, from The Black Tower in my mind, the curse of my own impetuous nature now made manifest in my physical form. This foul mark, this cursed non-flesh, my pride solidified into its horrid shape. I am no longer Drak, instead something else, far darker & stranger. I will forever be an outcast to my people, the creator of my own banishment as I lusted for the power to save the Drak way of life.

I feel a strange new power manifest in my mind, that I can not control. It desires to lash out at all who approach me, requiring only the slightest provocation to make its power manifest around me uncontrollably. The presence of The Water Spirit washes through me, flowing through the new hard surface of my arm. It calms me — as I see that at least She has not forsaken me.”

Wevv’s Appendix #0415
:: “The Cursed Drak” ::
“There are stories told to young Drak training to be battleminds, of the foibles of the overly ambitious, whose lust for power causes their psychic presence to become manifest & permanently mutate their physical form. Such Drak are banished from the tribe for their personal greed, unable to pursue the fruits of a good life within the bounds of the drake’s habit.”

:: You are a foulborn. Your origin changes to aberrant, and you are considered an aberrant creature for the purpose of effects that relate to creature origin. You have the Unbalanced Mind power. ::
:: Unbalanced Mind * Encounter * Immediate Reaction ::
:: Trigger: You take damage from an attack.
:: Effect: Until the end of your next turn, any creature that enters a square adjacent to you or ends its turn there takes 5 psychic damage.

Wevv's Appendix 0313 - 0391

Wevv’s Appendix #0313

Wevv’s Appendix #0314
:: Wevv’s Trial :: “The Bard, The Mines & The Newly Free.” ::
“The Talented Bard continues to regale The Newly Free with his tongue. I follow, out of earshot of his silver words. He sways them well & the people love his antics. I prefer his somber songs, between the heated moments where life lay at the next line of his tune.”

Wevv’s Appendix #0325
:: Wevv’s Trial :: “The Crafting of The Crafter.” ::
“Never removing the skins of her office, the Fire-y Druid erects her two tents. I watch as she works the hides of beasts, offering assistance as I can, the smells & process reminding me of the joys of a wake back home.

She carves beautifully, first a fine bone flute for The Popular Bard, then a Dazzling Singing-stick for The Imminent Templar. She sells other wares, establishing a powerful face in the former coliseum of tears.”

Wevv’s Appendix #0333
:: Wevv’s Trial :: “The Templar’s Eye.” ::
“This Other Templar, he is not like the others. His will is devout, to some other thing. His sees strength in righteousness but does not let him bind him from action. His followers grow throughout whispers in the city of our deeds.

His fortress, his Eye, rests just close enough to his pillar in The Warrens to allow us to move without check into & out of it. He gives to me a small room. The walls offer excellent training space to hone my psionic abilities. The new owner seems not to mind the occasional psionic pierce of the walls.

The furniture of the previous occupant reeks of disrepair, creaking with homespun quality. It feels warm with the voices of groups varied templar unhappy with the new order of things. Their commanding opinions ricochet off one another in the candle-lit night-meetings. I listen, mystified by their ability for intrigue. Jealous of their ability to plan for a future different than the past. I listen inspired by their debate one night as Synkayvitch hushes the room as he plants on the table a pint of black mud from the streets outside. He dips his hand in it, up to the fine edge of his templar cloak & fists black to his face, smearing a thick line across it.

A pause, the room snuffed of reaction, he says, ‘we stand apart now.’

Wevv’s Appendix #0342
:: Wevv’s Trial :: “The Thri-kreen’s Calmness.”
“The Monk ploughs at her mind, deep tracts of vileness inside. Her Calmness, such a contrast to most of her people, veils herself in the strength of the sand, its blight unable to invade deeper than its surface. I knew she would see.

She whispers constantly, to the people we pass, in a mix of common & ‘kreen. Something about illicit tribe & iron trading. I understand little of the plot, learning of the thri-kreen tongue is fobid by Drak law. She watches The Slave Kreen intently, its quest for iron somehow linked to all of this. I trust her in battle implicitly yet the traditions of my people’s forbid further.”

Wevv’s Appendix #0389
:: Wevv’s Trial :: “A Pitch of Memory.” ::
“The blackness of the Sister-Elf’s mind will not leave. I feel it throughout me, on my skin, touching everything around me. Who is she. What could possibly be inside of her to have … this be her mind. I fear we may all be players in her game, not our own, whether she knows it or not. Her blade never fails, I hope never to have to cross it. & then she sacrifices for us, His Spirit & mine, to regain the implements of my training. Risking her life for me, not knowing why she should. The enigma of her amnesia stretches wildly into our lives.”

Wevv’s Appendix #0391
:: Wevv’s Equipment :: “Synk’s Sticks” ::
“A singing stick, carved by our Mirri for the templar turned to Synkayvitch’s path. An elegant weapon, from a simpler time. Presented to me by the man himself, the weight of its sentiment means much to me.”

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“In The Fall, & In The Wake of The Fall”

Wevv’s Appendix #0301
:: Wevv’s Trial :: “In The Fall, & In The Wake of The Fall” ::
“I sacrifice, to The Water Spirit. I feel ice within me as Her power manifests. I draw its form out of my mind, sharp & strong — my psionic rapier.

Then — tremors. Gladiators & serpents, The Matron Thri-kreen, The Silent Elf & The Crafty Druid & The Intimidating Swordmage. A black shape, an abominable creature dissolving slaves in its maw. A pain in the deep of my mind; The Tyrant’s dark magic.

The Seer; she knew.

We watched from the crowd, at the top of the stairs, Ja’Amun, The Conniving Bard & I, the explosions rang, as The Tyrant of Tyr fell. His tower burst into rubble, his pantheon of aristocrats diced by our strike. His people, freed, ran to our sides, & out into the rest of their lives, unaware of exactly what horror was almost visited upon them.

Azur, my new friends & I, we freed The City of tears.

For a moment, anyway. After … it was different. Something that was supposed to happen — didn’t. Despicable Templars abusing their power, the bonds of The City’s machinations slipping out of control, into chaos & disrepair.

Caught in the aftershocks of political & physical intrigue in The Wake of The Fall, we secured our resources, calmed, coerced & usurped a hold deep in the workings of The New Free City, attempting to cement ourselves into its new gears.”

Wevv’s Appendix #0342
:: The Slient Sister-Elf’s Mind, pt one ::
“The Black Sand. A tower, I see it in the elf’s mind — she screams. Throbbing in my mind, for days. Covering everything I experience, the texture of it challenges my grip on perception. Everything in this city already covered in grime, now it moves, shifts, as if it is alive with this defiled presence in my mind. I must get out of this city, onto the seas of sand to rid my mind of this infestation. The Matron Thri-kreen will find what is in her mind. Her calmness sees the truth that I can’t.”

Wevv’s Appendix #0350
:: The Templar Mun ::
“A Mul Templar of Tyr, older than most but still in his prime, his skin is very pale now & the few tattoos he wears are long thin blue lines, like veins — or vines — twisting around him sparsely. He is gruff & loathes all joy, music & merriment. He owns a residence in the Templar District of Tyr, very near to the location of The Swordmage’s Eye. He escorted a cache of slaves gifted from Balic, Wevv included, & temporarily held possession of his Heirloom Items until The Players rescued them. It is unclear exactly what position he now holds after The Fall, as quite dramatically he no longer bears the harsh tan of a slave master yet still appears to be at the top of his art.”

Wevv’s Appendix #0351
:: Under The Moon & Mun ::
“They find him, Mun. They are so wise, my friends — so many things we Drak are not. I watch as they approach his home, I’m frozen — petrified, completely without control. Unable to assist in any way, The Silent Elf sneaks in as The Templar returns from his rounds. That Conflicted Bard tells the worst limerick of his life & Mun pushes past us. I watch, horror-ed as he opens his door. But then, as always, Her Calmness, The Matron, she saves Our Sister. She saves His Soul. She saves mine.”

All that has come before was prelude, now my story is begun
A Letter Home
This the first day of Festival of Highest Sun, in the Year of the Kalak’s Demise of the One Hundred Ninety First King’s Age

My Dearest Sire Ra’Amun,

Rejoice! For Kalak has fallen and the City of Tyr has been liberated! Those who have been ravaged under the whip and whose steps have been measured by links of cruel iron are now freed. The city is alive with newfound joy in the absence of Kalak as a new optimism permeates Tyr. Our friends of Athas’ bounty have shared with me their water and their flame and it is on their behalf that I dare put quill to parchment and entrust this letter finds you promptly.

First of all, Tithian who was named High Templar of Kalak’s Works, he who’s malevolence had so cruelly erected the Witch-King’s Ziggurat upon the blood and bones of the enslaved, has named himself King Tithian, First of his Name, King of Tyr, King of Iron, Highest of Templars, Breaker of Chains, Father of the Freed. He is as greedy and overreaching with his titles as he is with his tenuous grip on power. His rule thus far has been wrecked with nepotism and invidious overtures of peace and unity in the new era, whereupon the corruption we so valiantly opposed has been entrenched through his Templars refusing to concede their offices of justicar, and the establishment of a Council of Tyr. A more cowardly and venal collection of lickspittles you could not hope to find, however it has thus far served to pacify the throng of denizens who rose up as one upon the sight of Kalak’s Golden Tower having been collapsed into so much rubble.

Those desperate souls unaccustomed to behaving as free men are wont to do have taken to wandering in groups milling about the haunts of their former masters reluctant to return to their previous station, yet unknowing of how to progress. I have impressed upon them one hard fought truth: that they were free from the minute they were born and that no man has the right to take from them by force the liberty that they posses in its own right. King Tithian the Pretender has relied upon his fellow Templars, the Minister of Laws, Tehosian, and the Minister of Defense, Mashastra, to rally what forces of Kalak’s remain and forge them into something of a standing army and what has become a mockery of a court. He has yet to break a strike upon the Iron Mines where hundreds of former slaves have blocked the passage and are refusing access to all who approach. Moreover the several merchant houses are arraying themselves to take advantage of a series of aquifers nearby so as to gain control of the resource and profit from the parched throats of the newly enfranchised Tyrians.

Though it was their sweat and toil which had built the fair City of Tyr, and by their life’s blood was it liberated from Kalak’s tyranny, the rebel alliance has been shut from the Council’s table with no voice and no vote for the Free People of Tyr. Father I beseech you, send word of our accomplishments in Tyr, that the people may be inspired to join us in our virtuous new home. Send aid and succor that we shall overcome the petty squabbling of Kalak’s Dogs as they squabble over the leavings of the Witch-King’s court. Pray for my success in organizing the miners, and the tradesmen, the crafter and the porter, the scribe and the chambermaid, that by our strength united we may gain a voice upon this council, and thereby challenge Tithian the Unworthy for a true freedom that we may call our own.

Be also vigilant and on the watch for the agents of Urik’s King Hamanu, the self-styled King of the World, whose spies have been discovered within our city’s wall. Surely word of Kalak’s demise has reached his ear and has filled him with dread that the same fate might befall him, or with treacherous desire that he may add Tyr with its Golden Tower and Mighty Ziggurat, its mines and aquifers, and its people to his own dominion. Send word, if you can, of the rumors in our streets as to what he intends and when and where he will strike if that is indeed his intention. Our liberation is as of yet newly formed and not yet secure. Such an assault would be costly, though with knowledge a-forehand it may yet prove to be another challenge within our grasp. I tell you I’ll not sleep soundly until the fortifications have been made secure, and we have some way of knowing Hamanu’s next move.

I shall close with my sincerest wish that you and all of our family are enjoying the Festival of Highest Sun, and that the new year brings with it all the blessing and bounty that Athas has to offer. Until such time as our paths may cross again, I bid you farewell, Father. May this letter find you in good health and high spirits.

Your ever faithful, and obedient son,

Free Tyr!
The aftermath of the Fall of Sorcerer-King Kalak

After the arduous trials of the slave pits and heroic efforts of our protagonists and their fellow Veilled Alliance comrades, Tyr has been freed from the tyrannical reign of Sorcerer-King Kalak, and many millennia of oppression.

These events take place during the weeks following that fateful day in Tyr’s Coliseum:

  • Kalak is not seen or heard from by anyone, and his body is not found amidst the rubble of the golden wall. He is presumed dead.
  • The Ziggurat’s only entrance, at its summit, has been sealed off by unknown forces; the heavy stone doors closed and warded. The same goes for the Golden Tower in the Templar district, former home of Kalak.
  • High Templar of the King’s Works, Tithian, has assumed power as the new King of Tyr. The Templars maintain their previous roles as city officials and police, but now report to Tithian. Corruption runs more rampant than ever.
  • Tithian, under pressure from the leaders of various rebel groups, declares Tyr a city free of slavery.
  • Tithian is in the process of forming a city council with representatives from various trade groups, former templars, and merchant houses based in Tyr.
  • The Coliseum is transformed into a Free Market where anyone is allowed to set up and trade their wares on the arena floor.
  • The Tyr slave pits are transformed into a new fighting pit, where free gladiators can train and profit from weekly fights held their ordained by the new city government. [


  • Lissan is the current arena darling and works furiously to promote the new Free Games of Tyr.
  • Valmok, your former gladiatorial trainer, has decided to return to gladiator fighting himself.
  • Hamash the Mul has disavowed his former master and moved his fruit stand to the coliseum grounds, where his business has grown. Rumor is fruit’s not all he’s selling.
  • Chch’kraran still seeks iron weapons for his pack in an effort to redeem himself. He’s joined a posse of tradesmen headed by the Templars and was sent to break up the strike at the iron mine.
  • Urrgos has found labor as a porter for House Wavir, but feeling like he owes his life to The Desert Bard and His Friends, he shows up whenever Ja’Amun performs to beat on a new drum he recently purchased in accompaniment.
  • Mahlanda was apparently sent on some unknown mission out of the city by the Veilled Alliance, or so you were told.
  • Granj is organizing a trade guild of Bricklayers & Construction and trying to mobilize those slaves who had been working on the Ziggurat for so long they’ve forgotten any other trade. Rumor is that he’s also been training them as an army.
  • Etheros and Fanda Lisa are still proprietors of The Honeyed Kank, where your party are always free to come and go and discuss business.

A few more rumors

  • Veilled Alliance sources claim an insurgent group denying Kalak’s death and vying for his return to substance and power known as The True have been meeting in secret.
  • House Ianto, a merchant house known for slave trade, is rumored to be holding secret slave auctions in the warrens.
  • Prospectors claim to have uncovered an ancient well on the outskirts of Tyr which connects to an unknown and vast aquifer. Merchant Houses are feuding over rights to its water, and trying to organize expeditions to sieze hold of the ancient cistern.
  • Production at Tyr’s iron mines has slowed to a halt as workers go on strike over work conditions.
  • Sorcerer-King Hamanu of Urik has his eyes turned on Tyr. Urikite spies have been captured within city walls.
  • Certain players in the Veilled Alliance are arguing that now is the time for arcanist disclosure in Tyr, in the wake of the slave rebellion. At the very least, they hope to place a member on the city council in secret.
  • Some monstrous entities from deep in the depths of Under Tyr have begun digging their way out into the warrens, perhaps disturbed by Ziggurat construction and whatever evil magic may still be working within.

Character Goals

At this point please outline at least 3 goals for your character. One which is short term, one which is longer term, and one which specifically relates to the goals of the party or one of your other party members. They can all be small and easily achievable. These goals must be explicitly stated and are subject to DM approval — but when reached, will earn you a Minor Quest XP reward.

Wevv's Trial :: 0000
Prologue, "From Home, to Balic, to The City of Tears"

It has been so long since I have had to write anything down. I should have started this when I left my homeland, instead of here in this city of tears. I will write what I remember, as best that I can, in case this is all that ever returns to my home.

You all know of the trip to Balic so I will spare you the trials I faced reaching there; the months spent wandering north across the endless dunes to the edge of the Sea of Silt. I crossed it through the tunnels at the Smuggler’s Rest, onto Balic. There I served years in Legionary service, learning the discipline of war from the humans & giants there. They looked down on me constantly, their egos too weak to see past my pointed ears & tall thin frame.

But I won the trust of my direct superiors & those serving with me through control of situations & by acting in the best interest of the group. Eventually I was voted to the rank of Praetor. I noticed a shift then, in the way I was treated. Hushed tones were used more frequently. I felt less comfortable then but it felt right to be able to serve as an honest arbiter during disputes.

Eventually Kalak’s minions came to Balic & demanded tribute to their slave horde. I volunteered to spare my friends in the service. I knew I could stand the trip & the hardship one would face better than they would. I should have realized the integrity of the Balic system of government was not universal to the rest of the sands of Athas.

The trip from Balic to Tyr was nothing but long, hot & arduous. We were given so little water, & no chance to — evenly briefly — escape the throng. I hid my ice, barely making any per day, & then only allowing it to melt inside my water skin or under my tongue.

I spent most of my time herding the weaker slaves. One of the Templars took notice of my help, & despite my diminutive status as a Praetor, he offered me service under him. Cautiously I accepted.

He returned the basic items of our house, my cloak of office & clothing & presented me with a Master’s Whip to punish the slaves. I used it sparingly but with great effect, relying on the stronger slaves to help keep the weaker ones in line & punishing those to cruel for the responsibility. It’s fine craftsmanship allowed for powerful displays that ended if dramatic but not destructive pain. I hope.

I begged him, my Templar, to retrieve the confiscated badges of our house from the treasure to be presented to Kalak. Eventually he saw their importance to me & offered to indenture me further to him once we reached Tyr if he were able to secure their safety. I accepted. I hope it was the right choice but I could not bear their falling into the possession of that Tyrant-lord.

We travelled north. & north. Through Glamis & Ledo. Then to Thamo. To Altaruk, then Skonz. Then to Tyr. & into the city of tears.

An oath is given
Detail on some RP we glossed over last week.

At long last my journey has brought me to this, the Veiled Alliance of Tyr, and in time to help bring down the mighty Witch-King Kalak, thinks Ja’Amun, I don’t know this Etheros, and it may well be a trap, but if so than all is lost anyway. I must choose to trust him either way. And I have come so very far to find them, for this very chance, I must not hesitate. The fates have brought me here for a purpose, I must see it through.

“You realize the gravity of this offer,” says Etheros. Not a question. “Once you accept you can never recant.”

“I do, Good Sir,” replies Ja’Amun.

“Then let us begin,” says Etheros, pulling a parchment scroll from his belt. “Will you say the words, friend?”

“I, Ja’Amun, do solemnly affirm my allegiance to the Veiled Alliance from this very moment until my last dying breath. I pledge my sword and my bow to the service of the Alliance, to protect those mystics who embody the preservation of our fragile planet, and to make war on those who would blithely defile Athas in their greed to attain power over the arcane. I shall endeavor to undertake whatsoever charge I am given in the defense of the people, or towards the destruction of the Sorcerer-Kings and their Templars. For as the Green Age passed into the ether, so too shall the Desert Age come to an end. By my own life’s blood do I swear!”

At this Etheros unrolls the parchment, and produces a barbed thimble on his thumb, gesturing for Ja’Amun’s hand. The prick is sharp, and quick, biting into the pad of his left thumb, welling into a dribble of blood, dark and red. Ja’Amun presses his thumb to the scroll, and looks up with something of a satisfied smirk on his stubbled face. He waves his right hand over his left, the bleeding stops.

“Do you write, friend?” Etheros asks, offering a quill with a wide grin, “if not make your mark next to the imprint.”

“You injure me, Sir” quipps Ja’Amun, taking the pen and signing his name with a flourish: Ja’Amun son of Ra’Amun of Urik – the Desert Bard, the Philosopher Rouge, the Wandering Star, freeborn man of Athas. In for a bit in for a purse, I always say.

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Wevv's Appendix 0000