The World of Terra

As a fair portion of Corelon Zepheroth takes place in the Sol’s Spine Mountains, I thought it fitting to give a history of the mountain range and how it came into existance.

In the beginning, shortly after Terra was formed. When the wandering willow and quincilus came into existance, there was a great warrior who fought for the early humans.

It is believe he was one of the first among giantkind and he sought peace across Solbrek.

One day, a black dragon, a fierce and terrible beast swept across the seas and devistated the continent with its vile acid breath. Only Sol stood against Targath the Terrible.

Their battle spanned the whole of the continent and raged for days. In the end, each mortally wounded the other. They fell and the mountains were formed.

Long ago, when queens were as equally likely to rule Nestapor as kings, the last great queen sat on the throne in Citadel Beorgar. Breva Fellhammer stood against the encroaching hordes of monsters that threatened to destroy her country. Her vanguard was composed entirely of women. Because of her courage and skill, her son lived to see the enemy defeated and peace restored. She was the last great queen to rule the whole of Nestapor.

Through the ages, many powerful and skilled women have risen to positions of authority. Occasionally, they are left put in charge of small groups of women fighters. Few and far between are the times when there are more than twenty or thirty shieldmaidens in a single company. All are treated with respect and deference.

Now, as a new darkness rises and threatens the people of Nestapor, a mercenary band of such women have been rumored to have gathered to train at the northern-most point of the country. They call themselves Breva’s Shieldmaidens.

*This particular group was inspired by an incredible i recently discovered. If you haven’t read (or listened to) the Dungeon Crawler Carl series by Matt Dinniman, I highly recommend it: https:www.mattdinniman.com *

is the largest, most well-stocked, best sourced shop chain in all of Terra. They have a shop . . . a warehouse in every capital in Terra. The owners are a cooperative of several races and classes who were once adventurers themselves. As Corelon is the center of magic and progress, it’s the home of the company. It’s the location of their flagship store; a massive, sprawling, three-story building. As the years passed, it became home to a small branch of the Fleur holding house, a magical communication center, and a charter office.

The warehouse generally is divided into weapons, armor, magical items, and potions. The company divides their weapons of both magical and mundane nature. The armor is separated in the same manner. The magical items are divided into jewelry, accessories, and traveling accoutrements. The potions are separated into arcane and divine based. They commission the best and most skilled creators in Terra to supply their facilities.

Depending upon the city and country The Warehouse is located–Glendar, Morgath, Dorath, and the Free Lands do not host the business–there is also another, specific section. Sometimes there is an artificers’ corner. Sometimes there is an alchemists’ corner. Sometimes there is a secret rogues’ corner. There is even a Warehouse with a writers’ corner.

As the company continues to expand, they are establishing the Warehouse in other, large cities. They will not be as large as the capital ones.

He drew back the bow with graceful ease. Sable eyes sighted along the shaft. He exhaled and released the string. The arrow flew straight and true, finding its mark in the beast’s heart. A small sound of victory slipped from his lips as he trotted over to recover his trophy. With effortless skill, he hoisted the carcass over his shoulders. He slung the bow over the quiver at his hip and began the long journey back to the citadel.

“Impressive, Quent,” the head chef praised as he dropped the carcass onto the prep table. “This will feed the entire citadel for the next day.”

The half-breed inclined his head, dusted off his hands, turned, and headed out of the room. With a soft sigh, he made his way to his quarters. There, he placed his weapons in their designated spot near the door. At that, he grabbed a clean tunic, trousers, and small clothes. He kicked off his boots at the foot of his bed and strode out of the room.

The door to the bathing room clicked softly closed behind him. Several individuals opened their eyes and nodded their acknowledgement.

He nodded in return and stripped off his dirty clothing. At that, he rinsed and scrubbed the dirt and filth of the forest from his strong form. Once rinsed, he sank down into the communal tub, leaned against the edge, and closed his eyes.

A dainty figure sprinted down the street followed by a pair of city guards. Somewhere overhead an excited and rapid tune swept along on the air with them. As the figure darted down a blind alley and the music changed. A tittering giggle followed along with the music.

Abruptly, the two guards skidded to a stop and looked around. The one on the left pointed to a girl balanced precariously on top of a ramshackled house. He scowled and shouted.

The girl lifted her guitar and held it close to her head. She smirked, plucked out a taunting tune, slung the instrument over her shoulder, and leapt into the street behind the building. With a snicker, she turned and slammed into a solid form. She stumbled back two steps and landed hard on her buttocks.

“One of these days, it’s not going to be me standing here after you taunt the wrong guard, girl,” the man stated as he folded his arms over his muscular chest. As he regarded her, he shifted his weight and held out his left hand.

With a sigh and shrug, she pushed herself to stand. She dusted herself off and casually reached into her tunic. She hesitated.

He cleared his throat impatiently, and motioned more insistently. “Don’t toy with me, girl.”

After another moment of hesitation, she bobbled her head and dropped the sizeable pouch into his waiting palm. “There.”

He tested the weight of the contents, not taking his eyes from hers as he did. After a moment, his gaze narrowed.

With a final, frustrated sigh, she took three coins from the small pouch on her hip and slapped them onto his palm beside the bag. “Bastard,” she grumbled.

“Don’t forget it.” He spun on his heels and vanished into the crowd.

She uttered a curse after him, then turned and moved through the crowded streets.

With trembling fingers, the boy picked up the worn bow and fiddle. Despite it’s size, he adjusted it on his shoulder, rested his chin lightly on the end to ensure it was secure while strategically placing his fingers, lifted his left hand, and drew the bow gently over the strings. A haunting chorus of notes drifted out across the room.

A slight smile played at the corners of the boy’s mouth as he pressed ahead. He closed his eyes and let the music consume him. It swirled around him and seemed to fill the whole home. As the melody ended, he lowered the bow and opened his eyes. The blue orbs widened at the figure standing in the doorway. Hurriedly, he returned the instrument to its place and scurried out of the room, trying to slip by the man without disturbing him. He muttered an apology.

A strong hand caught his slender arm and held him firmly. Dark orbs gazed down at him. “Where did you learn to play like that?” the question held a demanding edge.

His eyes blew wide with terror. Frantically he shook his head. “I don’t know.”

The man shook him roughly. “Don’t lie to me boy.”

“I’m not, sir,” he squeaked. “I just listened and watched.”

His brows knit together. “She never played anything like that.”

He managed a shrug. “I just play what is in my head.”

He glared down at the boy, unblinking. After several heartbeats, the man released his hold. He nudged the boy toward the opposite side of the room. “You have chores to finish.”

“Yes, sir.” He nodded frantically and scurried out of the house.

She shifted her stance as she watched the others move the goat-skin ball down the field. Her gaze darted about as she moved between the two blazing torches that stood spaced farther apart than the others in a sizeable rectangle, except the two opposite hers.

Her voice carried above the others as she called encouragement to her teammates.

“Kae,” shouted a girl from the other side of the field.

“Yeah,” she replied as she caught the ball, dropped, and kicked it in the direction of the voice, “Kim.”

Most sprinted off after the ball. Only two or three lingered in proximity to her.

A shout, and the ball flew in her direction again. Once more, she caught it, and lobbed it in the direction of her preferred teammate.

Moments later, a shout erupted from the opposite end of the field. She pumped her fist in the air and refocused as the ball zipped toward her face. Her hands flew up reflexively, stopping the momentum. She punted it toward the opposite end.

Another cheer went up from her team at the opposing end.

Just then, a shrill whistle pierced the air.

Kimshira trotted over and thumped the girl soundly on the shoulder. She nodded approvingly. “You have incredible reflexes. Have you thought about joining the scouts?”

She gave a noncommittal shrug. “I’m not of majority age, yet.”

Another sound thump on the shoulder. “I don’t think that will be a problem. Come by my tent tomorrow morning and we’ll talk to the chief about it.”

After a moment of contemplation, she inclined her head slightly. “As you will.”

He lounged comfortably on a lower branch of a sprawling, ancient pin oak tree at the edge of the field. His left foot dangled but was still concealed by the drooping limbs of the tree. Propped carefully against the thick bole leaned his crook. Draped from his belt hung a hand crossbow, a quiver of quarrels on his opposite hip.

His clear blue eyes swept back and forth along the open pasture. He knew and recognized each sheep, the rams and the ewes, and understood their habits and behaviors. A slight smile turned up the corners of his mouth as he watched the youngest ram, barely a year old, challenge he oldest ram in the herd. He pulled his right knee tight against his chest and settled in to watch.

“Krevitz,” called a sing-songy voice from somewhere in the distance.

An uttered curse slipped from his lips as the older ram knocked the younger one senseless.

“Where are you, Krevitz?” the female voice persisted.

He wondered how much trouble he would get in, if he simply ignored his elder sister. At last, with a sigh and a shake of his head, he put both hands firmly on the branch and rolled down. He landed graceful and silent, crouched directly behind her.

She looked this way and that, her left hand drifting to take hold of his shepherd’s crook. With a growl and a sharp word, she called him again.

“I’m right here,” he scolded in her ear.

She nearly jumped out of her skin. With an indignant shriek, she spun and swatted at him.

“What?” he grumbled, knowing full well why she sought him.

Another blow, this one a closed fist against his shoulder. “You know good and well that father expects your chores done before he returns. Don’t you understand? If we’re not all there, father will be cross.”

He shrugged as he snatched his crook from her grasp. “When isn’t father cross? Especially with me. In fact, that seems to be the only time he acknowledges my presence.”

She placed a gentle hand on his arms. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice how sad mother is when he treats you like that.”

With a shake of his head, he let the subject drop. It wasn’t worth it for him to argue with her over such trivial matters. He noted his older brother enter the clearing from the opposite side as he fully turned his back and kept pace alongside her.

“Are you certain this is what you want to do?” the woman questioned as her daughter crammed her belongings into her pack.

The younger elf straightened and turned to study her mother. She inclined her head slightly and chose her words carefully. “I understand why you and father chose to come here. I even understand why you encouraged me to study at one of the mage academies. However, I’m grown. Word has come of the state of our homeland. I want to help.”

Her mother placed her hands on slender shoulders, squared the younger woman, and wrapped her in firm embrace. “Your father would be so proud of you. Your skills are impressive and the new king would be more than fortunate to have you at his side.”

For a moment, her gaze dropped to the floor between them. “I certainly hope I can prove you right.”

The woman patted her daughter’s cheek. “Off you go, now. I know you can travel far, but even your significant skills cannot take you across the ocean unaided.”

She bobbled her head, took a step back, and made a simple gesture with her left hand. The world around her shifted from her room in her family home, to an empty alleyway. A slight smile turned up the corners of her mouth. With a deep breath, she stepped out into the bustling streets. She made her way toward the docks. It was easy to secure passage to Karnak.

The voyage was uneventful.

After she disembarked, she made her way to a quiet alley. She took another deep breath and focused on a residence she knew intimately.

The elf woman yelped and jumped back several steps. After an uttered curse, she flung her arms around the younger elf woman. “Blessed Ardole, it’s good to see you.” She gave her a playful slap on the arm. “Your skills have clearly improved, Silestria.”

She inclined her head and grinned. “I couldn’t help myself, Drusilla.”

“Good,” she replied with a sly smile, “then you’ll fit in perfectly in his court.”

Silestria’s brow furrowed as she took in her friend’s words. “Whose court?”

“King Tarak.”