The World of Baeg Tobar

The Torn God Chapter One Cover

2009-09-28T11:02:00.001-05:00

Howdy folks!

Well, we're in the home stretch, here. Launch is coming up on Friday and we're all scrambling to get things put together and ready. I'm furiously coloring pages (we're going to launch with a good clump of pages) and everybody else is working away at various other things. We're all getting pretty excited!

I'll try to put up a preview of the new website design tomorrow as well - just to give you all a little preview of what's to come.

The Torn God Page 02

2009-09-23T19:03:00.003-05:00

Hey folks,

I spent the day today working on coloring some illustrations for The Unmade Man, but, I think I'll keep those under wraps until we relaunch. Gotta save something back, right? Anyway, here is the next page for The Torn God. Hope you like it!

Pencils by Alan Gallo, colors by me...

William Ward as RPG Editor

2009-09-22T09:41:00.005-05:00

Howdy folks!

I just wanted to take a minute and introduce William Ward as our new RPG Editor.

For the last year or two, we've been chipping away at a tabletop RPG based on the Baeg Tobar setting. Scott (Colby) and Daniel (Gooden) have been working hard at putting together the basic premise for the RPG and writing out the meat of the book. But, for what we have planned, we wanted to bring somebody with a little more experience with RPG's into the fray.

William will be taking over the development of the rules system (something we're still not quite set on, but we are working on it) and the development of supplemental RPG material once we get the core book wrapped up. William will also be heading the development and execution of a Living Campaign based on the world of Baeg Tobar (which I am rather excited about).

I have known William for some years. He has contributed a variety of content to Baeg Tobar over the last few years, both conceptually and story wise. The main one that people might remember was the webcomic Stoneteller. He has since contributed another short comic that we haven't made available yet and a lot of good advice.

Outside of Baeg Tobar, William has been on the comics scene for quite a while and has had his work appear in the British small press books Futurequake and its manga offshoot Mangaquake as well as the Diamond solicited anthology Fiendish Fables. Most recently, William organized, edited, and had a story in the Fablewood Anthology. You can order and find out more about Fablewood at http://www.fablewoodcomic.com.

Welcome to the team, William!

Baeg Tobar Fantasy Fiction Website to Begin Publication on October 2, 2009

2009-09-21T10:56:00.003-05:00

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Baeg Tobar Fantasy Fiction Website to Begin Publication on October 2, 2009

Lawrence, Kansas (September 21, 2009) – Baeg Tobar (www.baegtobar.com) announced that it will begin publishing web content in a variety of forms beginning on October 2, 2009.

The site tells the story of Baeg Tobar, a preindustrial fantasy world where music is magic. The land's young nations seem poised to pull themselves out of the primordial expansionist ooze to become lasting institutions, but a mysterious threat from a parallel realm of immortals threatens to end it all.

"I'm very excited about the launch of this project,” explained Jeremy Mohler, owner and Art Director of Baeg Tobar. “We have a huge amount of content we are planning to release and what I believe is a unique and interesting way of publishing that content. It is my hope that people will enjoy not only the complex stories but the amount of detail that we're including to really flesh out the world."

“The Torn God,” a web comic written by Daniel Tyler Gooden and Scott Colby, illustrated by Alan Gallo, and colored by Jeremy Mohler, tells the story of Boruin, a mercenary with a mysterious past who suddenly finds himself the focal point of the battle between realms. Pages one through three of “The Torn God” will be available at launch. Subsequent half-pages will be published every Monday.

Readers can learn more about Boruin and his cohorts in “The Unmade Man,” a novel written by Daniel Tyler Gooden and illustrated by Scott Godlewski. Chapter 1 of “The Unmade Man” will be available at launch. Subsequent chapters will be published every other Friday beginning on October 16.

Launch content also includes eleven fully illustrated Resource Guide articles providing encyclopedic information about the people, places, and things that appear in “The Torn God.” A new article will be published every other Wednesday beginning on October 7.

“‘The Torn God,’ as our master storyline, will rip across Baeg Tobar ricocheting off every important nation, race and detail on the book,” said Content Editor Daniel Tyler Gooden. “What’s extra special is the wealth of deeper stories that will unroll along side of ‘The Torn God’ to expand in detail what the comic touched. Short stories, flash fiction, sequentials, guide entries, table-top games, online games, all coupled with fantastic artwork, will allow the readers to delve as shallow or deep into Baeg Tobar as they may wish. I hope they go deep. Baeg Tobar is astounding down here in its depths.”

Baeg Tobar is a premiere purveyor of online fantasy fiction focused on delivering an immersive experience through a wide variety of media. For more information, visit www.baegtobar.com.

Contact:
Jeremy Mohler
jeremy@baegtobar.com

The Torn God Page 01

2009-09-14T09:18:00.003-05:00

Hey folks,

Just wanted to show off page one of The Torn God, written by Scott Colby and Daniel Tyler Gooden, and illustrated by Alan Gallo and myself! Really folks, this is just the beginning. We have a massive story that I think is going to be really, really good. I hope you will enjoy it! But for now, I hope you will enjoy seeing some of the artwork!

I just wanted to be sure to include the pencils since Alan did such a stunning job on them. And my final colors below so you can see the before and after.

"Ommany"

2009-09-09T22:00:00.003-05:00

The world of Baeg Tobar is enormous. There's so much information about every part of the setting that we couldn't possibly hope to cover it all in our fiction and art.

That's why we're also releasing articles from the Resource Guide, a sort of encyclopedia of all things Baeg Tobar. Each article will correspond to a person, place, or thing relevant to recent events in "The Torn God." To give you a peek at just how much information these articles provide, here's the first half of the Resource Guide entry for the nation of Ommany:

Geography
Capital: Mide (MY-duh)
Location: Eastern peninsula across the Ururo Bay, opposite the Empire of Pileaus
Climate and Terrain: Temperate

Population
Citizenry: Omman
Physical Attributes:
Skin: Light skinned
Eye Color: Brown
Hair: Brown and black
Avg. Height: 5’5”- 5’10”
Naming/Language Conventions: Celtic root with Greek, Britannic, and Germanic influences (depending on region of origin and family)
Religion: Nivalliem.

Politics
Ruling Body: Hereditary Monarchy
Title of Ruler: King
Name of Current Ruler: Regin XIII
Allies and Trading Partners: Thila and the civilizations of the Valley of Munier
Enemies: The Empire of Pileaus (specifically Losa, the Black Queen of the North, eldest daughter of Pileaus), the shuen, the giants of Kilkest, and the Njordfel (a colony of cannibals and butchers living in the mountains)

Trade
Crops/ livestock: Cattle, sheep, pigs, game fowl, and various temperate crops
Fabric: Leather goods, wool, and hemp-cloth
Unique Export: Weapons and armor
Major Exports: Weapons, armor, coal, and granite

Overview and History
Over a thousand years ago, the Ommans were separated into a number of individual tribes that were further divided between Summi (Highlanders) and Plainen (Lowlanders). These clans were constantly battling for land, resources, and notoriety. In the year -457 D.O. a man by the name of Fain D’Ghaul rose to prominence in the hill country of the northern Suricles. This man began an unprecedented seventy-year campaign to unify the clans. By the time of his death in the year -385 D.O., the first union of chiefs had been established, led by Fain D’Ghaul’s son, Delig. This union eventually became a council, which in turn grew into a court. In the year -132 D.O., the first king, Bale Cuchal, was crowned.

In the nine hundred years since Cuchal’s ascension to the throne, over seven hundred major battles have been fought by and among the Omman people. Many of these battles were internal struggles between the lords of the land, but a large number of conflicts were also fought in the name of expansion as the country expanded its borders from the great Thilan wall in the south to the Norrington Territories in the north. Countless smaller cultures have been absorbed by the Ommans, and many more have been wiped out completely.

Throughout most of recorded history, the only powers in the region that were a threat to Omman sovereignty were the nations of Norrington and Thila. This changed drastically in the year 762 D.O. when Pileaus sent his eldest daughter, Losa, across the Strait of Sadys and into the former nation of Oran with an invasion force of over seven thousand soldiers. The small nation fell to the Black Queen in under six months and has since been used as a staging ground for her push to conquer the rest of the Oran and Braem Peninsulas.

Since that time, the Ommans have entered into a strong alliance with the Thilans and what remains of Norrington as they bravely attempt to thwart the Black Queen’s push. The construction of a tremendous defensive wall around the entire country has slowed Losa’s assault, but all involved know it may be only a matter of time before the Empire’s greater numbers overwhelm the smaller nations.

The Torn God Cover

2009-09-04T12:08:00.004-05:00

Howdy folks!

Well, today marks the first day that we are starting to actively promote the project. We're looking at a relaunch in October (we'll be releasing a press release about the specific date in a few weeks). To celebrate this occasion, we're going to probably be ramping up our posting on the blog.

For those of you who don't know, The Torn God webcomic is the main storyline for the world. It is essentially a sequel to our first nove The Unmade Man by Daniel Tyler Gooden. The Torn God is written by Scott Colby and Daniel Tyler Gooden and will be penciled by Alan Gallo and colored/lettered by me (Jeremy D. Mohler). We're pretty excited about this because we've got a really fantastic story coming together for you all to enjoy.

Here is some teaser text -

War is coming. The Fae courts understand only that a Duine has kidnapped one of the Nai’Oigher. This kind of threat is exactly what the To’Sidhe’Lien has been warning about. The Duine, not just its people but the entire dying land realm, is a danger to the Fae race. They must be dealt with for once and all.

In Deos, Boruin must decide which path to take. Meeting Nightmare, and dodging Polorun, has put him no closer to understanding the strange being that he is. The late emperor’s concubine, Lani, holds some possible truths, but not all. What he does know is that bad times are coming. Polorun is on the hunt. He leaves Wraethe in Deos to protect Lani and Pileaus’s child. The boy might be the key to fighting back against Polorun. Boruin and Pile race south, for Nightmare—the unparticipating key to his existence—has been stolen from his custody as well.

Here is the cover (pencils by Alan Gallo and colors by me) -
Anyway, we'll be posting up more art and updates in the following weeks.

Thanks!

The Unmade Man Preview

2009-09-01T00:17:00.003-05:00

Hey folks,

I thought you might also like to see a preview of our first novel, The Unmade Man, by Daniel Tyler Gooden. Hope you enjoy this little sneak peak!

Chapter One: The Waiting Boy

Sometimes, when part of a man is lost, the rest seems in ruin.
Sometimes it's the unknown that binds him together.

The boy felt the man descend from the ridgeline almost as if he were his own hand held out into a numbing cold and now returning as a stranger to the warmth of his pocket. He was glad. The Fae had searched long for them both, reaching out with eyes and whispers from their home in the Dreaming Lands. Now the boy would journey home, if this new man could bear the weight of the burden he’d come to carry.

The boy listened to his grandfather’s last breath as the man and his three riders broke through the jungle’s edge. He held his mouth shut and watched them ride into the field. When they were halfway across the thin valley he inhaled again, no longer fearing that his grandfather’s last dead breath would be sucked into his own body. In life the old man would never have done the boy harm; he was a protector. In death, the boy knew, spirits tend to do odd things.

He laid his small hand on the dead man’s chest, feeling the heat slip from the corpse. He felt his grandfather’s magic fade, too. The ties snapped like a broken spider’s web. The strands began to sever and would soon wipe clean what life he knew in this hidden glade.

The riders came to a halt before the porch. This is where his life would now go. His grandfather was gone, and he’d taken the protection of the valley with him. The boy thought little of that, noticing only the runes tracing down the arm of the man standing before him. There was much power there. A keen few would see them: those that still knew the smell of old magics, those that heard the hum of coarse power even trapped in script. Why did the man risk laying out that secret out for those watchful few? He gazed at the others in the group. There was much strength here, almost as much as there was weakness. The boy rubbed his palm against his grandfather’s chest, one last goodbye and a measure of what little time they had left for introductions.

*****

Boruin stood before the boy and ran his hand through his short gray hair, deciding what to make of the scene. The smell of the dust rising up where his boots stirred the earth was too sharp. His scabbard smacked against his leg louder than it should have. There was little time. He could feel it all changing. The jungle around them was coarse as rock salt rubbed into a wound; this place was smooth and fine, but it was cracking. The dead man's magic had polished down this deep valley. He had held the land in check, held his valley in a chosen image. Now he was gone, and this place was on its way out.

Boruin could feel Pile’s eyes pricing the items on the porch, peering through the open door into the gloom. He didn’t have to see the young man’s hands to know they were already twitching, ready to take his share. They had all been relic hunters in their own way and time, but it was engrained in Pile, part of the young man's fabric. He would not make a move though, not with Wraethe keeping him in check.

Wraethe, though, stayed wrapped in her shadowy cloak, her raven hair and pale skin hidden from the sun. Only her blue eyes appeared under that dark hood as she dreamed of the day and waited for night. She could wake now, if needed, but rarely did those eyes rise from the depths of shadows into the bright sunlight without riding on a wave of rage.

Toaaho showed no sign of eagerness, no pleasure at finding the boy. Perhaps the mask of tattoos laid across his face kept his emotion hidden as well. The broad strokes covering his sun-darkened skin seemed overdone, if their purpose was only decoration, but Boruin knew they kept the Mana’Olai hidden from more than just his emotions.

Boruin stepped forward, and the boy took his hand off the dead man’s chest. He did not shy away, did not run and hide from the four strangers. The old man watched the boy’s eyes dart across his left arm and it made him nervous. His tattoos were not seen by all, by very few in fact, and for a child to see them meant something. The boy was not what he expected, much like this whole contract. Every time he swore off that damn Nefazo merchant, the next job was doubly strange.

The boy reached out to touch the black runes, and Boruin almost stepped back. He took the small hand and dropped to his knees before the boy.

“Do you know me?”

The boy shrugged.

“You know why I’m here, or who sent me?”

The boy nodded yes. He stood up and walked to the horse as if he had expected a ride. The stirrup hung shoulder high. Though the steed stamped about him, the boy did not flinch. He placed his small hand on the horse’s flank, and it quieted.

“Do you have anything to take, anything you need? You won’t be coming back,” Boruin said. The boy pointed south, where the jungle closed in to swallow the valley at its needle point. A brown cloud had stirred up, dust probably. The wind had begun to descend out of the hills. Wind didn’t suck the thick grass down into the ground, though.

“Time to leave,” Toaaho said in his quiet, ever undisturbed voice.

Pile spat in anger, and the wind blew it back on his jungle-stained pants. “What about all this? You promised us some treasure! I didn’t hack through the Fae-cursed jungle to leave empty handed.” He sidestepped his horse closer to the porch, and Wraethe’s black shift rustled. His eyes darted toward the shrouded woman. “Come on, Boruin. I’ll be quick. Anything will do. It’ll just go to waste.”

“I see wooden bowls and a dead man, Pile. Search for more if you want,” Boruin said, placing the boy on the horse and vaulting up behind.

“The time is almost past,” Toaaho said, turning his horse to the north.

Boruin followed and shouted over his shoulder against the rise sound of the wind. “Half the valley is gone. Take what you can if you wish to join it!” Pile looked back and saw the valley behind him was now a whirlwind of destruction. The air sucked down out of the hills, pulling the ground soil toward the pocket storm. Pile’s mouth snapped shut as a heavy gust made his horse stumble backward toward the swirling mass.

“Have it your way!” the young man shouted as he spurred his horse into a gallop after them.

Pile hurried his mount forward and soon led the galloping riders through the field. The grass lay flat before their horses’ hooves. They all leaned close to their mounts, save for Wraethe, who seemed to flow as part of the gale.

The moisture drained from the dirt, and great cracks split through the soil. Boruin glanced back and watched as the storm engulfed the small cottage. The old man’s body rose into the air, or maybe it was the ground collapsing beneath. It hung still and then pulled apart as if made of dust.

Boruin drove his horse on harder as they crashed back into the thick jungle. The horses did not slow, and their riders did not try to rein them in. They plowed along a shallow stream and stayed low, ducking under the trees. The wind continued to blow down off the ridgeline, whipping the tangled branches and vines across their skin.

“Up! Up!” yelled Boruin as he felt the first tremor. The horses staggered as the earth began to shift, and the riders turned up the slope. Toaaho led them, switching back and forth up the steep walls of the valley.

Pile swung free from his saddle, leaning off the side of the horse as a boulder burst from the underbrush. It passed behind his horse’s head and flew down into the valley.

“I’m going to pass you if you don’t flog that beast!” Pile yelled at Toaaho. He dug his spurs into his mount and the horse tore forward. Wraethe followed after, and Boruin pushed his steed onward, cursing from the rear.

The horses halted as a great tremor shattered half the valley. The bedrock snapped with a loud groan, and the shelf sagged beneath them. A cleft in the hillside, virgin gray of exposed stone, ran upward from their feet. Toaaho did not hesitate to gallop up this strange track. The others followed. Boruin could smell the sharp spice of sparks as iron horseshoes clattered against the tilting rock. The trail canted steeper as they rushed on. The valley was dropping away and soon there would be nothing but air under their feet.

To be continued...

The Northern War

2009-08-31T16:33:00.003-05:00

Hey folks!

It's been a while since I put up some of the artwork from the project, so I thought I'd share this piece that Shannon Potratz did for the project last year. It's really one of my favorite pieces he's done and I'm proud to say that it turned out above and beyond all expectations. Shannon really is a talented man!
This will be one of the pieces that we relaunch the world with. And expect to hear some exciting news about that coming up in the next few weeks!

A look at Emma Melville's "Balance"

2009-08-26T21:57:00.003-05:00

One of my favorite parts of this job is giving a writer a topic and seeing that writer take said topic in a direction I hadn't thought of. Emma's done just that with her latest short, Balance.

One of the most important moments in the lives of the mysterious and ethereal Fae is the granting of a name. An individual's actions and attitudes determine his name and his lot in the strict caste system. Emma brought this process to life in a very simple but very beautiful way, making use of the existing castes to make it all happen. She also gives us a slightly different look at Old Bramble, a typically gruff, no-nonsense character that serves as a mentor to so many of our heroes. She shows us his compassionate side, and she gives us just a taste of the events that made him who he is.

Here's a bit of Balance:

The city shone in the bright sun, spread out before him as he descended from the heights of Vision. The soft Diun light he travelled through pushed forwards, the sharp line where sun and moon met rolling toward Maeda Criacao’s outer walls.

Bramble paused to watch Diun claim the city boundary, a wry regret catching his heart. No shades of gray here in the Dreaming Lands, no shadows of uncertainties. He missed the borders, the half lights of his valley, the times between times.

He’d probably spent too long on the edges of the Dying Lands, lit by dusks and dawns, but he’d grown to enjoy the twilights, neither one thing nor another. In a way it suited the life he’d made. The Valley of Munier hung between, neither of the Dreaming Lands nor the Dying.

Bramble shook his head and took a deep breath of Aiemer-rich air before descending, following the stark line of light into the city.

He wondered, briefly, what that made him; neither one thing nor another, perhaps. A pertinent question when on his way to a naming. His own had been somewhat unique, which he supposed fit.

Other Fae were entering the city, some no doubt also interested in the fate of the Lean’Aghan. He caught glimpses of them arriving from the circling talamhs. Some he’d already passed on his journey, exchanging greetings and news before their separate paths spun them off through the ever-changing landscape of the Dreaming Lands.

The path dropped suddenly, dipping through a gateway carved in stone, carrying Bramble forward without volition until he found himself standing still on a paved path. Behind him was the gate, the opening to the Dreaming Lands. If he looked back he knew he’d see merely a haze of multi-colored light. The path he’d entered by was there somewhere and, if he stretched out his awareness and grasped at the Aiemer strands, he would find it. Even just standing still he could feel the vague pull of the valley, of home. Content that it was where he expected and could be found at will, Bramble set off into the heart of the city.

The streets were paved in golden stone which glowed softly even after the sunlight had passed. Buildings were few and irregular, interspersed with the wide expanses of nature which were as much home to the Fae as the carved stone. An array of colors assaulted the eye, the Aiemer flows deepening and brightening everything even under Diun’s gentler light.

Bramble wandered slowly around the outer city, drinking in the familiar sights. Nothing ever changed in Maeda Criacao, a constant hub in the continual flux of the Dreaming Lands–a necessary paradox. He meandered clockwise through the golden streets and lush parks, ignoring today the impossible palaces ringing the center of the city, the sacred heart. The sky-touching spires and columns, twisted trees, and flaming waterfalls of the Nai’Oigher had never held much attraction for him, monuments to the immortal arrogance of the courts. He preferred the gentler places, the natural, still pools and elegant swoops of land left to its own devices.

The noise around Bramble gradually grew, bringing him out of his reverie. His feet had finally led him to his destination: the Delledeir market.

He stopped, letting the riot of color and noise wash over him. It brought a smile to his lips. Here you could buy or sell anything, trade even your soul if you owned one. Stalls were set up haphazardly in a giant wheel with wares of every conceivable make strewn across them. Each one had its attendant Delledeir, either buying and selling or merely observing and arbitrating, maintaining the balance so important to the Fae.

Their distinctive features–thin faces, long noses, beady eyes, twitching fingers–marked the Delledeir, the ferret caste.

Bramble nodded to a couple he recognized and headed for the market’s heart. Here was a clear central space containing a single table spread with a velvet cloth of shimmering hues. On it was placed a single set of golden scales and a giant book. Behind the table stood two Fae, ancient and unchanging. Cadwyn, First of the Delledeir, barely came to Bramble’s shoulder. His short hair was white, his eyes nearly black. His lips and fingers were never still, as if eternally counting over invisible profits and losses. His companion was much taller and upright, his face having the high, sloping forehead and faraway gaze of the Riddari. Harvlyn, Keeper of Names, rested his hand lightly on the book in front of him while his dark eyes scanned the crowd. He showed no signs of recognition, though Bramble knew those long fingers had recorded the name of every one of them.

Bramble remembered his own trip to the stall so many, many years ago, Cadwyn’s probing questions and Harvlyn’s scratching pen after their initial consternation at his singular appearance and lack of mentors.

A look at "Refrain" by Emma Melville

2009-08-12T18:35:00.002-05:00

Emma's been with us from the beginning. She's done a great job with her signature character, a bard named Nikos, who appears in several of our stories. Here's a peak at "Refrain:"

Nikos staggered through the trees, his feet catching obscured roots and sudden hollows as he plunged along. Leafy branches snagged his tattered clothes and slapped his already bruised and battered flesh.

“Marii,” he muttered, “must get to the marii.” It had become a mantra, the only thing keeping his legs going and holding his fragile sanity together. For mile after mile he’d driven himself south, far beyond the reach of civilization and into the inner continent. He’d bypassed any place in Thila where he might be known. He wasn’t strong enough to take Aetos’s pity or face the truth of his loss. The hope that the marii, with their link to the World Song, could restore his music was all that kept him moving. He ate little and slept less; the deep void where his talent had been was present even in dreams, a hunger gnawing at his soul.

“Marii,” he said again, the words slurred, “must get-” His foot twisted out from under him, sending him sprawling. Ignoring the pain and the tears, Nikos dragged himself back to his feet. “Marii,” barely a breath.

There seemed to be a red light through the trees, a sharp contrast to Diun’s silver twilight. Nikos stumbled towards it, his twisted ankle depositing him in a heap every few paces until he resorted to crawling.

“Music...”

Dragging himself into a small clearing, he registered two forms leaping up in surprise at his arrival before he crashed onto his face beside their fire.

“What is it, Fale?” The first voice was soft and feminine.

“A man, and a badly injured one at that.” The second voice had the peculiar lilt of the marii, somehow heard inside one’s soul as well as through one’s ears. The guild taught that it was a by-product of their music and the magic in it.

“Marii!” Nikos struggled to rise, but the last of his strength had seeped away.

“It’s all right,” the woman said, misunderstanding him. She came to kneel at his side. “Can we help? Can I help?”

“Leave him, Gwyn. You don’t know him.”

“But I can help.”

Nikos shook his head as best he could. “No, marii–music. I need music!”

The marii knelt at his other side. “Do you indeed?” she asked.

The two of them helped him up and moved him to sit beside the fire. They sat opposite, side by side, staring intently at him. One was indeed a marii, its animalistic features more wolf than human, its eyes wary. The other surprised Nikos.

“Fae? You are not mortal.”

“I am Fae. My name is Gwynhaefar, and this is Fale. Who are you?”

“Nikos.”

“You said you needed music,” Fale said.

“Mine has...was...it’s gone.” Fresh anguish left him trembling.

“Gone?”

“Taken.”

“How can someone-” Gwyn began, but Fale laid a hand on her arm.

“Silenced?” the marii asked.

Nikos flinched away from the word, his hands covering his ears.

“Who would do such a thing?” Gwyn said.

“Bards,” Fale snapped, spitting the word like something distasteful and sour.

“Why would they silence someone? I thought they-”

“Why?” Fale demanded, cutting her off. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” The word was screamed from a torn soul. Nikos slumped and repeated softly. “Nothing. They said I caused disharmony in perceived futures.”

“No!”

“What is it?” Gwyn demanded. “What have they done to him?”

“Cursed him. Taken all his music from him. Silencing leaves a man devoid of all ability, all hearing, all-” The marii stood, obviously agitated. “It is evil beyond any words of mine. To sever anyone’s path to the World Song–how dare they?”

“I hoped the marii-” Nikos whispered.

Sad realization dawned in Fale’s luminous eyes. “Oh, child, I am sorry. Our music has not such power to heal.”

Nikos’s last hope crumbled, and he felt his tenuous grip on sanity slip. “Please, you’ve got to help me!”

“Truly, I cannot. I wish I could.”

“I can,” Gwyn said firmly. “This is something I can do.”

“This is a destiny you came here to escape,” Fale said. “You turned your back on your own kin because they asked-”

“He didn’t ask.”

“Semantics. What difference-”

“You cannot take what someone is away from them like this. It’s killing him.” Gwyn came around the fire to kneel in front of him. She was taller than Nikos and very slim. He noticed that her long chestnut curls were flecked with green and marred by a single black streak. “I can take this curse from you,” she said. “It is what I am.”

“How?” He looked to the marii, who was obviously unhappy with Gwyn’s offer.

“You were right: she is Fae, but she is more than that. She is Ainghad Fas, one of those who takes in the darkness of others in order to maintain the paths of light upon which the world rests. She can take your curse upon herself.”

"Cordellon" by Scott Colby

2009-08-05T17:11:00.003-05:00

Here's a quick look at the story that tells us the fate of the man responsible for the death of Emperor Pileaus:

The alley was a dead end, a lidless tomb of towering limestone walls. Cordellon risked a glance over his shoulder, back in the direction of the yapping hounds hot on his trail. The Imperial guards would be on him soon, despite the rain. If they caught him, he'd be strung up before a million snarling fanatics who'd like nothing better than to tear the mastermind of their god's murder limb from limb.

And so he dashed down the alley, his old joints creaking in protest against the speed, the hems of his billowing black robes growing heavy as they soaked up the puddles between the cobblestones. He let the far wall stop his flight, pressing himself as close to the slick white stone as he could. Craning his neck to the left so he could eye the reed-thin seam between buildings, Cordellon began to shuffle sideways toward the tiny gap.

There's no possible way I can fit through there. Cordellon banished the thought from his mind, knowing that doubt would slam shut his only escape route. He took a deep breath and shuffled on. Plenty of room, plenty of room, plenty of room...

The fabric of his sleeve distorted as it pressed into the gap, flattened like light through a prism. He pushed onward, the barks of the hounds loud in his ears now, ignoring the strange tingle as his body passed into the space between realms. The other side was warm and dry and inviting. He closed his eyes as Fuiligh had told him. The view of one's form passing between could drive a man mad, she had said.

Cordellon stumbled as the gap released him, and his eyes snapped open. The alley was gone, replaced by a lush meadow, the skies above clear and blue, the dirt path at his feet slicing through the lush green grass in dozens of directions. He glanced back at the gap, now nothing more than a narrow slit between a twisting tree with a split trunk. A set of canine teeth snapped at him uselessly on the other side. He waved and smiled at the hound and sauntered away arrogantly, impressed with his escape.

To his right, a stand of purple lilies as tall as a small child swiveled their blossoms to examine him.

“Did you see that!” he crooned, squeezing the rain out of his long gray hair. Most mortals would've feared such creatures, but he, Cordellon, was at home among the Fae. “Stupid Pileans will never find me here!”

"Swallowed by a God" by Daniel Gooden

2009-07-22T17:43:00.003-05:00

Here's a sneak peek at another one from Content Editor Daniel Gooden, Swallowed by a God. This short story is a great example of how our short fiction integrates with and enhances the tale presented in our web comic, The Torn God. In the comic, we see Polorun taking possession of Reverie; here in this short story, we find out what it was really like for the poor man.

Here you go:

“Aiemer stream shift in five, four, three, two, one,” counted down the navigator of the airship, Brailee.

In his shade form, all appendages and trailers of smoke like some malevolent fog, Polorun drove into Reverie—bashing in through his mouth and nose, squirming past his eyes and eardrums, prying up under his fingernails, shoving past his anus, and soaking into his pores. Like the gossamer worm sliding silken threads into the brain of a cow, the dead god eased into the Uddani’s mind, seeking out his new friend. He began with the corporal’s last thought, a memory he’d opened a moment before Polorun had struck.

“My mother taught me to fish,” Reverie’s father said. The older man put his foot on the rail of the small skiff and pulled in the cast net. Reverie stalled a moment, still puzzled at the darkness swirling through the water. His father’s words rolled about in his ears a moment before they caught.

“Your mother?” he questioned. His grandfather had been the fisher. Reverie looked around at the salt marsh, Naahm hazy to the north, then closer at the man standing on the bow. This was a memory of his father, but this man was not him. He looked Uddani, could have been his brother or cousin…except for those bright blue eyes.

“Where’s my father?” the Uddani asked, forgetting for a moment that this was his memory—a picture in his own mind. “What are you doing on my boat?”

Polorun laughed, pulled the cast net into the boat, and then laughed again as the silver fish spilled struggling across the bottom. In his confusion Reverie grinned too, but it was fleeting. The darkness in the water was spilling out of the fish’s mouths, bleeding out their gills and running up the man’s pant legs. Where are his feet? The Uddani squinted and squeezed his brow with his hands, like a man out too long in the sun.

“The thing I like about fishing is the wait,” said the dead god, his voice much more now like Reverie's father’s.

“Get out of our boat—out of our head,” Reverie muttered. He beat a fist against his nose and let the pain set his mind straight. “My boat! My head!” he managed to yell. He dropped his pole and tackled Polorun. The soldier meant to drive him down onto the deck of the Brailee—because that’s where he was, standing on the deck of the airship, not in his father’s boat on the salt marsh above Naahm.

Fae Song Artwork

2009-07-15T21:15:00.002-05:00

Here is some artwork for one of our short story's, Fae Song by Mark Adams.

Artwork is by Tim Hibbetts.

I thought this turned out pretty great myself - one of the earliest visions I had of Lani way back when we began developing Baeg Tobar was after she took the throne, bloody and very, very pregnant.

Hope you enjoy this!

"The Engineer's Prayer" by Daniel Tyler Gooden

2009-06-30T17:49:00.003-05:00

This week we've got a sneak peek at the first short story by our very own Content Editor, Dan Gooden. The Engineer's Prayer gives us a look at the Brailee (Losa's airship) and the men and women who keep her up and running:

Atop the Brailee, with only sky above and wind everywhere else, the young engineer lifted his feet and carefully pushed his body up until he rested on his index finger. Wrapped in leather, cold-weather gear, he looked like a sausage.

Torman was barely heard over the roaring wind. “Brun, this is amazing!”

“Any second the captain will order full burn, and then you’ll feel some weight in your shoes,” the old mechanic shouted back. Torman was nearly floating because the Brailee was almost in freefall.

The old man grinned at his companion's enjoyment but turned back to look at the sea with a sour face. They were still thousands of feet up, but the lady was a heavy bitch and her mass was hard to stop.

The Brailee was the first of the great steam-driven airships. Her iron skeleton was surrounded by the taishu culmerant, a viscous soup found somewhere in the creature’s stinking innards. Some genius engineer had boiled it down, and now the blue gel served as flesh and soul to the Brailee. When warmed by her hundred-odd Aiemer engines the culmerant could carry the Brailee—her bombs, her iron skeleton, the propellers and steam equipment that drove them, the thick shielding across her long belly all her--massive tonnage as high above Baeg Tobar as one could go and still breathe.

Brun took his eyes off the rising sea and tried to peer through the deep blue culmerant. The wind was too loud to hear the captain’s order through the relay tubes, but he would see it. Buried under the blue were the Aiemer engines; when fired they would be like stars exploding in the night sky. An engine's hard dunnum steel petals would create a small pocket of Aiemer; its light would be brilliant, and its massive outpouring of heat would arrest the ship’s stone-like plummet. If it didn’t, they would spear right through the taishu below them, taking the Brailee, its crew, and the hundred thousand Yuin-damned shuen that lived on it right to the bottom of the Yan Po ocean.

“Tools buckled down?” Brun shouted over his shoulder.

Torman dropped back to the deck and shouted into his ear. “I’m ready. You got your burn glasses?” The kid was green; he’d come straight from Deos and the Pilean Engineering Academy, but he was full of good details. Those engines would be blinding at a full burn, even outside the shell. He pulled on his goggles over his fur-lined hood. They couldn’t repair what they couldn't see.

Brun felt the engines before he saw them. It was like some drunkard had leaned on his shoulders. The burn rose then out of the blue guts of the Brailee. The Aiemer engines blossomed like suns and the light exploded up at them. The weight doubled, then tripled, and he let it push him flat on the deck. Now the drunk sat on his chest and Brun fought to breath. He counted, concentrating on the numbers.

The captain was attacking out of the sun, falling in its light to surprise the floating shuen city. With their weight and speed, Torman had calculated the full burn needed to level the Brailee would last twenty seconds. Any number past that and they’d be a drowning ship rather than a flying one.

Torman figured right. At 18, when the wind quit roaring, the drunk climbed off Brun’s chest. The sea and taishu were still lost behind the wash of blinding light. The engines would burn at full until they got positive lift. Only then would the captain throttle them back.

“What a ride,” Torman shouted. The wind had stilled, and from somewhere below the Brailee Brun heard the familiar sound of bombs crashing into their targets at close range. He cupped his hands around his eyes, trying to see through the brilliance. He found Torman, faint as a ghost in the wash of light.

“When we get the all-clear, grab your tools and get back to amidships,” the mechanic ordered.

“I know. A full burn should put out 27,000 Vuls of heat on just one engine,” said Torman, fading out as he started calculating the number of engines in the upper nose and shoulder of the Brailee. Brun didn’t care how many Vuls. All he knew was that the heat was incredible. It moved through the culmerant slowly, but when it reached the outside deck it could take a frozen pot of water and boil it off in under a minute. There was no excuse not to be safely amidships on the observation deck by then.

“Cinching down,” came the call over the order-relay tube. The light dimmed, and they could see the whitecaps of the sea around them. The towers of the taishu shrunk as the Brailee climbed back up. Brun said a quick prayer and thanked Yuin Losa had been aboard. To attempt timing the mechanics of turning from freefall to positive climb just before sea level was stupid. The Black Queen, the God-King’s own flesh and blood, had no doubt saved them from crashing into the sea with her divine presence.

Torman rubbed his eyes and took down his hood. “I don’t think my goggles worked,” he said. “I still see an after-image.”

Brun turned to find the young engineer looking down at the deck, rubbing the lens of his glasses. He followed his gaze and found one burning sun still shining deep under the deck. He dropped to his knees, pulled the whistle over the relay tube, and blew two loud blasts. “Cinch down failure!” he shouted, squinting to take another look at the spear of light. “Secondary level…engine 48, or 68.”

“Grab your bag,” he started to shout to Torman, but the boy already had the access hatch open and was switching over to his safety line.

The heat was already beginning to build. It rose out of the shaft as hot breath from some waking beast. The two engineers slide down the rail, Torman ahead and watching the bright star.

“It’s 68 all right!” the boy hollered as they stopped their descent at the junction. The small room seemed an underwater observatory, its wide walls the semi-transparent culmerant in which the banks of engines floated. The light from the engines bathed the engineers, the dials and gauges all in a rippled blue.

Engine 68 burned all out. Brun had slapped his shaded goggles back over his eyes, but still the engine was an eye-tearing blaze. Its heat was moving aft quick, too—he couldn’t feel it yet, but he’d learned to watch the culmerant. Something about the way the light pierced the gel—a crisp sparkling—could tell you it was getting hot.

“The intake wheel is jammed,” Brun grunted. He braced his feet against the pipe and pulled again. The wheel would not budge.

“What about the steam return?” Torman asked as he lent his weight to the wheel. When it still failed to move, Brun agreed. Closing off the steam pipe would freeze up the engine like a dam below a waterwheel.

That valve turned, and the petals on Engine 68 started to collapse. As they fell the Aiemer fled its hollow, but only for a moment. When the fire renewed, Torman dropped to his knees, trying to get below the burn to see.

“Yuin-damned,” he muttered. “The return pipe cracked. It's spilling out into the culmerant!”

Brun saw it too. The steam had punched a hole in the blue gel. It shoveled its way through the material, pressing out toward the surface skin. Somewhere it would blow out, hopefully not under some important station, and the culmerant would collapse back onto itself—if they could get the pipe shut down.

Resource Guide Artwork - Pileaus

2009-06-24T10:29:00.004-05:00

Hey folks,

I didn't realize just how long it had been since my last update to the blog. I apologize! It's been over a month and that's not good at all. So, here is some artwork for our Resource Guide featuring the Empire of Pileaus. Art by Mike Hamlett.
Hope you like this - we were all pretty blown away by it! I'll also make sure we get back onto a weekly update schedule. We've just been so busy trying to get things ready for launch - getting new art generated, finishing off short stories, and editing various novel and RPG material.

We'll have more soon!

"Fae Song" by Mark Adams

2009-05-15T14:10:00.003-05:00

Mark's second story, Fae Song, tells the story of the Emperor's death. This is a huge event in the world of Baeg Tobar, one that really needed a great story - and boy, did it get one! Mark totally knocked this one out of the park.

Here's a quick peek:

I watch her, as ever, the bastion of light in the darkness, as Lani and Pileaus have a small meal brought to them and dine. I know that my brother, Baelic, the Shadivengen bound to Pileaus, is undoubtedly in the room as well, but I can only guess where he has stationed himself. Not a true brother, of course, but in some ways the few Shadivengen that remain are tied together by bonds far greater than those created by blood.

“Sing for me, Lani,” comes Pileaus’ tired voice. “Something to ease my thoughts.”

“I would be happy to,” she replies with a smile. I watch as she takes a long drink from her water, clearly sorting through her repertoire. She rises, her voice rising in a clear, strong tone. I follow behind her, never far from her side. The song she has chosen is familiar to me, one of the songs she sings to her unborn. I grimace, for it is one of the songs Cordellon taught her. The man grates at me, far too knowledgeable in illicit Fae material. How did he come by so many Fae songs? I cannot bring myself to trust him, despite Lani’s vain attempts to bring her two closest confidants together. Lani forbids me to take any action against Cordellon, however, and I abide by her wishes. For now. To his credit, Cordellon does appear to have Lani’s best interest in mind, so it is easier for me to tolerate him.

Lani moves behind Pileaus, running her hand across his head as she sings. She rubs his shoulders, easing the tension out of him with her voice and hands, and the Emperor’s face relaxes. She ends the song, continuing to massage his shoulders, and starts another.

“I have heard these,” he says, stopping her. “Sing me something new. Something I have not heard before. Something that you don’t sing to my son.”

She smiles and kisses the top of his head. “Alright. I have one that was taught to me not all that long ago. I have not tried to sing it for you.” She retrieves her water and drinks again before facing him. “It is an old song, taught to me by Cordellon last summer,” she explains. I notice that Pileaus’s face pinches slightly at the eyes upon the mention of the teacher, but it quickly smoothes away. That bothers me, and my hackles rise in warning.

I reach up and loosen my blades in their sheaths as she begins again, her voice strong and clear, the tone unwavering. The words are beyond my understanding, but I have never been able to grasp the old languages, despite Lani’s attempts to educate me. My ears do not hear the words, just a string of melodic sounds that run together in a pleasant fashion. It does seem to have a calming effect, however, and I realize with a start that I have closed my eyes.

Suddenly alert, I shake my head to clear it of the drowsiness. The bond I share with Lani suddenly tightens, and I know instinctively that she is coming under duress. A quick look at her face tells me that my fears are correct. Her lips, still moving with the words of the song, have drained of blood, and her eyes have gone wide, the pupils dilating. I start to take a step to her side when the floor tiles of the chamber begin to vibrate with the growing power of the song.

Baelic shifts into view, dressed very much like myself, and kneels next to Pileaus. A quick glance at the Emperor confirms that the man is definitely feeling some ill effects as well.

“What is happening?” Baelic shouts at Pileaus, but the emperor makes no sound, a trickle of blood beginning to run from his nose. Baelic looks up, staring directly at Lani. “What are you doing!” he shouts at her.

Lani does not answer, her eyes flicking wildly about the room. Her hands have risen to her throat, but the song continues to issue forth, her pure voice straining against the words but unable to stop. Baelic stands, reaching up to draw his matched blades in a single, smooth motion. The firelight turns the edge of one of his blades crimson as he points it at her. Like me, Baelic seems to feel the force of the song, but its power fails to keep him rooted in place.

“End this, Lani, or you give me no choice.”

In Killing Gods Short Comic

2009-05-07T09:54:00.005-05:00

Well, about a year and a half ago we were kicking around the idea of submitting some content to Heavy Metal magazine in an effort to get some press. Daniel Tyler Gooden worked up a really fantastic short comic story called "In Killing Gods" and Gene Kelly did the illustration.

Well, quite recently, Gene finished up all the linework for the project and it is just SO good, I thought I should share some stuff from it...

Synopsis -

"As First Disciple to the God-King, Merenui submits her mind, body, and soul to absolute service. But when Merenui's faith is shaken, she treads into heresy looking for answers that jeopardize all she has lived for."
I expect that we will eventually post this story on the main Baeg Tobar website at some point, but in the meantime, I hope you enjoy these glimpses!

"Discord" by Emma Melville

2009-04-20T19:48:00.003-05:00

Emma's done a great job developing Nikos, former member of the shadowy Bards' Guild and a close friend of Aetos, King of Thila. Here's a peak at "Discord," a story which delves into Nikos's history:

“Nikos!” The man who confronted him was a singer of exceptional skill. He’d been one of Nikos’s teachers, a master of harmony and resonance. His voice rang through the hall, carrying its rich timbre to every corner.

Nikos relaxed his firm clasp on the harp and tried a smile. “Master Karos, how good to see you again.” He was ignored.

Karos resolutely fixed his gaze on a point two inches to the left of Nikos’s head in a most disconcerting manner. “Welcome,” he said, his voice lacking any warmth or sincerity. “Do come with me.”

The tall singer strode off across the marble floor without a backward glance. Nikos briefly considered staying where he was or even leaving, but it wasn’t every day a bard was summoned – however rudely – to the guild. Failure to respond to such a summons was simply unacceptable.

With a heavy heart, he hurried to catch Karos and fell into step beside him.

“I wondered why-”

“You’ll be told.” Karos still refused to look straight at him.

“You’re obviously not happy about it,” Nikos said. “Can’t you tell me something?”

“No.”

They walked a few steps further. Nikos hoped there would be more, but Karos continued in silence.

“How about if I leave now?” Nikos suggested.

Karos finally look him in the eye. “Don’t be an idiot, Nikos. You’re right; I don’t like this one bit, but we’re saving the guild, so...“ He turned away and walked on.

“Saving the guild?”

“Enough. You’ll be told. Through here.” He led the way into the testing chamber at the back of the Great Hall.

Nikos remembered the room from his very first visit. Here was where all musicians were judged by their skills. The small chamber was perfectly round, its acoustics faultless. The floor tiles with their central circle of pale green were occupied by a single chair, placed in the very center. Here the applicant would sit to play while those assessing could view him from every angle.
Two guild members stood in the room today. They turned to face the door as Karos pushed it open. Nikos recognized both of them. Thera had tutored him on the harp and assured Nikos on graduation that his playing would one day surpass even her’s. It had been the greatest compliment he had ever received. Today, like Karos, she couldn’t meet his gaze. The third bard, standing perfectly still and watching Nikos with hard eyes, was the head of the guild. Gylmyn Mor was as grim faced as ever, forbidding lines etched in each side of his long, thin nose. Karos stepped away from Nikos and joined his colleagues, indicating as he did that Nikos should take the chair.

Judgment-the word ran circles round Nikos’s head. This was a place of judgment, of testing. But he was already a member of the guild, and he knew he had done nothing wrong.

Such a thought made the cold room, with its silent judges, even worse. “I’m a Thilan,” he thought. “It must be that. I’m going to pay for Pileaus’s failures.”

“We have heard the paths of the future,” Gylmyn announced, disregarding all introductory courtesies. “They are strident with discord, and the tunes of some we love will be silenced forever.”

Nikos blinked in surprise. This was nothing like he’d expected.

“It is clear,” Gylmyn continued, glancing at his companions who stood either side of him. “Is it not?”

“Clear,” Karos agreed, staring again at the wall beyond Nikos.

“It saddens me that it is so,” Thera said.

“It is clear,” Gylmyn repeated, “that all disharmony to the guild spreads from your tune in the world.”

New The Torn God Pages

2009-04-09T10:13:00.006-05:00

Hey folks,

Well, we've had a bit of a shift on the production of The Torn God. Shannon Potratz, who was going to be doing the comic has gotten entirely too busy to continue work on it. However, he's not leaving us! Rather, he'll be moving over to work The Unmade Man. He'll be contributing an illustration per chapter per week. We're all looking forward to seeing what he comes up with!

Regarding The Torn God, Alan Gallo has stepped up to take it over. You may remember Alan working on The Rise and Fall of Pileaus, which he did an exceptional job on. We felt it only right that we move him over to take over The Torn God as well. Below are a few of his pages so far!
And please be sure to go over and check out our brand new forums!

Forums now live!

2009-04-07T15:39:00.003-05:00

Hey folks,

The new Baeg Tobar forums are now live and active! By all means, please head over and say hello!

Thanks!

"Dreams and Nightmares"

2009-03-23T21:10:00.004-05:00

Here's a snippet from Dreams and Nightmares by yours truly, which continues the story of Darin and gives us a look at the noble Nai'Oigher.

“May I present to you Mistress Obata, the Lady Dream, ruler and conduit of fantasy and desire.”

Dream stormed haughtily into her brother’s throne room. His terse summons the day before had infuriated her and sent her attendants diving for cover. Just who did he think he was, demanding her attendance like that? Sometimes his lack of gratitude for all she’d done for him was absolutely disgusting.

And why did he choose to live in such a dreary pit of a palace? Dream’s bare feet prickled against the hard stone floor, and she fought the urge to shiver. Her sheer gown, woven from the strands of joyous visions and carefree daydreams, wasn’t much help against the chill, and its lustrous shimmer was lost without a light source to reflect, but she refused to give her brother the satisfaction of causing her to change her wardrobe. She supposed it was better that she couldn’t see much of anything, if only because the darkness hid whatever vile, twisted things lurked in the corners of her brother’s lair.

Like Dream, her brother was Nai’Oigher, the elite of the Braegheayn nobles. Anything he’d asked for could’ve been his: the richest clothing, the finest foods, the most luxurious home. And yet he chose to live in a hole, far from the Dreaming Lands’ sole city, Maeda Criacao, indulging in whatever despicable desire struck his fancy. He could’ve been someone worth her time, rather than being a no one she barely tolerated.

Then again, she supposed such abhorrent behavior was likely just part of a day’s work for anyone named Nightmare.

Dream waited impatiently for a response to her herald’s announcement. Just as she was about to clear her throat in annoyance, a quick scale from a violin wafted through the dank air and sent a tingle through her bones. She shook off the feeling before it could take hold of her.

“It is typically considered good form to return a guest’s greeting with respect and courtesy,” she snarled to the surrounding darkness. “It is also common practice to light a torch or two when one knows company is on its way.”

Another quick scale screeched across the violin, and the sconces lining the walls exploded to life. Dream held her composure and didn’t so much as blink.

Nightmare’s throne room was a massive space, larger even than her own, Dream noticed with dismay. The walls were all sharp, abrupt angles. In the flickering firelight, they seemed alive and in motion – and slightly frightening.

Far across the throne room, a young man sat sprawled in a dilapidated chair perched across a crooked dais. His hair was long and unkempt, his clothing little more than tattered rags hanging loosely from his spare frame. He was dirty and exceptionally pale, as if he hadn’t seen the world beyond Nightmare’s catacombs in quite a while.

His violin, on the other hand, looked good as new. Oiled to a lustrous shine, it glistened softly in the strange shadows cast across the room.

Dream clicked her tongue and put her hands on her hips. “My idiot brother had best have a good reason to leave a mortal to greet me.”

“That he does,” the young man crooned as he swung himself down to the floor and strode toward her. She could tell by the slight twitch in his leg that he was doing well to hide his dread. It was shameful how her brother always felt the need to frighten people into doing his bidding. Dream herself was above such tactics, as well as such persuasions. “He knew it would make your blood boil.”

She just smiled and sauntered forward. “My brother has always known how to get a rise out of me. A singular talent, that.”

The man sneered arrogantly and played a sharp set of chords on his violin. In spite of herself, Dream shivered a bit. His parlor tricks were becoming annoying.

“Perhaps not so much,” he said tauntingly. He stopped ten paces away, trying to leave a careful separation between them.

But Dream kept on walking. “If it’s talent you want...”

Sarcillian Tree Art

2009-03-13T09:34:00.002-05:00

Height: 12’-15’
Width: 30’ canopy

The sarcillian tree is a disgusting example of carnivorous flora. Its leaves are dark green with mottled black spots. They are long and thin and hang over the tree like the branches of a weeping willow, making it hard to spot as a sarcillian. It has black, flaking bark covered with four to six inch holes that look and ooze like lesions. The interior is a soft, slug-like flesh that can extend out of these holes like eyeless worms to eat. An oily coating on this flesh and in the tree’s bark makes it immune to fire.

The sarcillian is found mostly in stagnant waters, swamps, and river deltas, as the tree has the capacity to pull itself through muddy or soft soil. It travels slowly in dirt, about three feet per minute. This increases in thin mud or water to about 30 feet per minute. Due to its slow movement it is almost completely silent and most dangerous at night as it sneaks up on its prey.

The tree propagates by planting seeds in its victims. The process is often slow, taking a day or more. The victim is then released to stagger away. The seeds cause the body’s temperature to spike after 12 hours and the victim begins to seek out water to cool itself. As the victim enters or drinks water, the seeds erupt and kill the man or animal. It generally falls in or near the water where the sarcillian saplings then take root and consume the rest of the flesh.

Its weakness is salt, which dries up the oil and flesh much like a slug’s. Those that live in sarcillian territories often sow salt into the soil around their homes and villages to keep the trees from coming near. The seeds can be removed with salt and the victim saved, but it often leaves lasting scars.

Art by Scott Godlewski.

BT RPG

2009-03-06T15:05:00.003-06:00

Work continues on the Baeg Tobar pencil-and-paper RPG. We've decided to frame it as a secret document developed by a Riddari that the Fae courts can use as a means of predicting mortal behavior.

Here's a sneak peek at the current draft's Introduction:

It has not escaped the Courts’ notice (nor that of this humble author) that the Duine of the Dying Lands, despite their mortality, could one day pose a threat to those of us in the Dreaming Lands. The following document, created at the behest of the Courts, describes a simulation of the Duine of the Pilean Continent to be used as an assessment of the Duine threat and to prepare future defenses against mortal incursion. To most properly defeat one’s enemy, one must be able to think like one’s enemy.

Simulation participants will utilize a combination of precise traits and carefully balanced ratios to assume the identities of Duine characters. Said characters can then be placed in any number of unique situations as a means of exposing their workings, both individually and as a group. Completion of this simulation will reveal much about the chosen characters, providing a new, deeper understanding of the strange mortals that inhabit our sister realm. Aids including miniatures, maps, and costumes can make the simulation easier to visualize, though the only necessary tools are parchment, a quill, and a set of dice.

Participants must be mindful at all times of their characters’ impending demises. Regardless of the party’s success or failure at their given tasks, its members will all eventually die. Mortality is not an easy concept for those of us in the Dreaming Lands to grasp, yet it is the single most important motivator in Duine life.

Every simulation requires the designation of one participant as the simulation master (SM) responsible for the creation and administration of the planned experiment. The SM imparts all details relevant to the simulation’s setting to his fellow participants and determines the effects of all participants’ actions upon the simulation as dictated by the rules and probabilities within this document and, when necessary, his own best judgment. The SM must also be able to produce, as quickly as possible, any necessary information required to properly describe any people, animals, or phenomena the participants may encounter. Preparation is an important part of being a successful SM.

Characters controlled by the participants are called participant characters (PCs). Characters controlled by the SM are called non-participant characters (NPCs) because the SM is not considered a character. NPCs include all characters the PCs meet during the simulation, including any characters that may join their party. NPCs are not defined as completely as the PCs – the SM rarely needs to know in advance the complete character history of each shopkeeper, for instance.

SMs are encouraged to create situations that will challenge the minds of their participants. Forcing participants to adopt mortal thought processes to solve complex problems will provide a more complete understanding of Duine tactics and priorities. Participants should do their best not to break character while completing such tasks.

It would be most beneficial to the Courts of Twilight to see the same characters utilized in the same setting for several sessions as they attempt to achieve a difficult goal. These campaigns often revolve around a story of some sort in which the participants fill the lead roles. The SM plays the role of the storyteller, much like an author writing a novel wherein the characters have minds of their own and the story often deviates in useful and interesting ways.

Please note that this document is bound to the Courts of Twilight through a magic most sensitive and destructive. Use this simulation against the will of the Courts at your own risk.

- Secrecio, Most Knowledgeable Riddari of Admi

The Torn God News

2009-02-27T10:17:00.006-06:00

Well,

We've had a very minor set back, lately. Shannon Potratz, who was our artist on our planned webcomic, The Torn God, has decided to step down. Instead of working on the webcomic, Shannon is going to be working on developing new artwork for our first full length novel (which will also act as a prelude to The Torn God), The Unmade Man by Daniel Tyler Gooden. While we're sad to see Shannon go (because he was doing some really spectacular pages for The Torn God), I think that this new arrangement is going to work out beautifully.

That being said, Alan Gallo, the artist on our print comic, The Rise and Fall of Pileaus, has graciously stepped up to take the reins of The Torn God. Below are some of his first set of layouts:

Also, it looks like I will also be taking over the colors for the webcomic. We've got a bit more work to do before we can relaunch, but, I think we're in good shape!

And we have another new artist involved in the project - Scott Godlewski. Below you can see his version of people from Norrington. Great stuff!

I'll keep you posted as we work more out! Relaunch is looming closer!