Half-elves in Allelon

One character race I want to develop for Allelon is the half-elf race. Normally they are outcasts, etc, who look like humans but live a long time. Boring (no offense to anyone who loves half-elves, hey, I had a man-crush on Tanis Half-elven for years…so, I mean no harm, really).

So, what I plan on doing is making the half-elf’s life span very short (probably 30-40) years, in which they will go mad and die, but they will be very powerful psions (which will drive them crazy). Think male channelers from Wheel of Time and you have what I have in mind. They will be outcasts as well. Many of them (though they are rare) will be elbino, and heavily shunned.

Qual is one.

Mike, if throughout this process if you want to work on d20 stats for these races, etc, that would be sweet. I would feature them here as well for anyone who wishes to adapt them in their campaigns (if you don’t know what d20 is, then don’t worry about it…lol).

Allelon: restart

I am going to get this site up and running again. At the suggestion of a friend to start occupying my time with “normal” things (that is anything that doesn’t have to do with “church”) I decided I am going to start reading some fiction that I have been wanting to, start writing and getting some thoughts worked out for some stories based in a world called Allelon and also start drawing again (my brother will be pumped to hear this!). In fact, I went and looked for an art table today (to no avail, bleh). I also am getting this going again in hopes of fueling Jay and to help him find his muse (whatever that is).

More Pics

Jenna Lightfoot (Ghuss’s partner)

Qualenthi Sandal (yet to be introduced)

Character Sketches

Here are some sketches I did about a year ago for this story.

Angus Ericsson

Kliff al’Burton

Ghuss Fhairbotham

more to come…

The Boring Wait

Normally a crowded pub afforded Jenna Lightfoot a chance to kick back and enjoy herself; her way. Riker’s Pub & Inn was crowded, but Jenna was on a short leash, a leash that was figuratively held by Ghuss Fhairbotham. Jenna hated to think that Ghuss’ reasoning was right – it went against everything she was. Not just because she was a cutpurse by nature, as all halflings are, but also because she wasn’t the type of girl to admit it when a man was right, even if it was Ghuss.

So next to him at the bar she sat as he slowly finished his second mug of ale; she was still working on her first. Jenna loved her drink, but more than two drinks and she was a little less sturdy than she would have liked. What would put her under Ghuss would drink with his dinner. The bartender was nice, though, and cute even if he was a human. She almost felt bad short changing him two silver pieces, but in the end, he’d never know.

“He better show, Ghuss,” Jenna said looking up at her large friend. Ghuss was seemingly handsome – to muscular for her taste – with a square chin, cropped with a tuft blond hair. The blond hair spiked into the air on his head, and covered half his ears and almost all of his neck. Jenna hardly even noticed the deep scare that ran from the bottom of his right ear down his chin line. Bad wound, that one was. Good thing he was a mercenary, scares come in handy when you’re fighting for money. He never intimidated her though, she knew when it came down to it he wouldn’t kill a fly for landing in his stew.

Pointing his rough finger in the air to single the barkeep, Ghuss turned and looked down slightly at her and answered, “He better,” and winked before he turned to tell the bartender he wanted another drink. “He’ll pay us in full, too.”

“Full isn’t much these days, is it?” Jenna asked. Mercenary work paid, but picking pockets and hocking valuables paid more. Ghuss and Jenna made a great team. Ghuss would kill them, and Jenna would clean them, just like it was when she and her brother used to go fishing on the shores of Blackberry pond. “At least if we have to sit here and wait we could hear some music!”

“It’s just now dusk, Jenna, and besides, I’m not in the mood for pub music tonight. I just want to get our pay and lay down and sleep,” Ghuss replied lifting his new glass of ale to his lips.

“Are you always this boring, Ghuss? Oh wait, I forgot, you are always this boring! A little music. You letting me down…”

Jenna couldn’t finish before Ghuss turned to her on his barstool and spouted in a quiet yell through clenched teeth, “No! You are not going anywhere but right there, Jenna, you promised. The last time you where here you about got me killed! Why do you have to pick on the biggest guys in every tavern we come to?”

Pick meant more than it normally did, and in Jenna’s case it meant picking their pockets. “They always seem to let me get the closest. Besides, just because I sit on a guys lap and put my hands in his pockets doesn’t mean he can kiss me…” She couldn’t finish that last part without starting to laugh.

“Ha, ha, really funny. You flirt, I fight; we make a great team!” Ghuss joked as he slowly looked around the room. He didn’t expect that guy Jenna hit on to be there, unless there was a healer in this village, but you never know who his friends are. People always want a piece of a mercenary it seems. They think they are always up for a fight

Prelude to the Storm

Tightening his gloved hands on Thunder’s reigns, Angus Ericsson stared intently through blue-gray eyes at the town just down the grassy hill. Thunder’s sturdy Clydesdale frame tensed, perhaps sensing the tension in his master. Thunder was a beautiful horse; Angus was not worthy of such a steed. Horses were prized animals in the North, but to Angus’ people they were valued friends and loyal companions. Thunder was not Angus’ only friend, but Angus thought perhaps he was his most faithful.

Smoke began to rise from many of the thatch-roofed homes and establishments below. Twilight was not far off. The early evening sky was a cloudy array of pinks and blues. Town and village folk alike welcomed the sun going down with smoke going up. Night was welcome here, Angus wondered if he would be.

The change in the sky resembled the change in Angus’ life. He had once been the Stormbringer, warrior and priest of the Donar, hailed deity of thunder and lightening. Donar was reverenced by many of Angus’ people; their crops depended upon Donar’s great hammer, Mjiolner, smashing down through the sky, and loosening the rain to fall upon them. They counted on his mercies and perseverance as they traveled the troubled seas, raiding and conquering the Frozen Lands, as those in England knew them. To Angus, the Frozen Lands were known as home.
Donar was a god of courage and battle as well, feared by the giants and their kin. Those who fought bravely in his name, those who fought without fear and compromise, earned a place in Valhalla to sit at Donar’s table and drink ale and share stories of battles and valor. Angus Ericsson was one of Donar’s clerics, fighting for and worshiping the Lord of Storms. He was one of those whom Donar deemed worthy to carry his name and to whom he granted special power.

Along with the power had come the precious material gifts he still carried with him, the gauntlets, the girdle, the hammer, and the armor. Looking back at the wagon behind Thunder, Angus sighed. Could he wear it now? Could he use the might hammer, Bjarni Herjolf, Giants Bane? His gut told him he would know the time when he could, and until then he knew he must keep them safe, and stored away in a chest riding in Thunder’s wagon.

Angus caught himself smiling internally at the thought of what Donar had done through him. He remembered standing alone, clothed in gold and black armor, lofting Giant’s Bane high, calling down Donar’s fury against the Bjarni hordes invading his lands. A man calling down lightning from heaven! A man using wind like a mighty war-hammer, striking with it to crush Donar’s foes! There were so many memories, so many adventures. Angus’ heart raced as those memories flooded his mind. Memories of watching the undead hordes of Loki flee at the sound of Angus’ voice commanding them to in Donar’s name. Memories of healing friends and companions injured in battle by Donar’s might.

But now all of that was…gone. The power of Donar no more flowed through his very soul. He could not explain it to anyone, not even to his wife, as lightning flashes and thunder booms he tried, but Angus knew in the recesses of his spirit that Donar was gone. Gone, and leaving Angus empty, hollow. It was as if his very heart had stopped beating. Donar had found him no longer worthy to wield his might or his name, but why? What had he done to disgrace Donar? How had he failed his beloved master and lord?

The slowly darkening sky reminded him of how he had fallen; how he had failed. He must have failed, and that failure haunted him. No matter how hard he tried not to think on it, it would not leave the recesses of his mind. Where he went, the knowledge of his fall from grace tugged at his heart. Some days that tugging was light – those days were few and far between. Others the tugging was so heavy it physically slowed his heavily muscled frame.

It was that weight that caused Angus to leave house and home. Softly thanking Donar for his wife, Idriana, who was so understanding, even though there was no way for her to understand. Angus had to leave, he had to understand, he had to find out what he had done to loose Donar’s favor; find out what, anything – he would do anything, to restore it. Idriana, I love you and miss you. Anything.

Whispering to the Lord of the Storms, a prayer that would not be answered, a prayer of habit, Angus Ericsson, Stormbringer, fallen shaman warrior of Donar settled into Thunder’s saddle, and made his descent upon the town below.

*********

Meagan VanBergen turned slowly in her father’s large leather covered reading chair. The chair had been built for him; it helped keep him comfortable and it didn’t hurt his posture any either. It was quite roomy for Meagan’s petite frame to fill. Besides, she slid easily against the shiny leather seat and chair backing in her silk robes. She didn’t know if she would ever get used to the chair, or wearing those wizard robes her father insisted on her wearing while she was in training.

“Training to wield the magic’s of the known and unknown worlds is a discipline that demands the pupil’s detailed attention in every aspect of life,” her father would say. Many saw Jaymes VanBergen as a fanatic and a crackpot, so devoted to his studies. Meagan saw him as wise and solid. You knew where you stood with father. He never minced words; his time was valuable, as was yours. A fanatic, maybe, but that was because he was dedicated, disciplined, and quite frankly, he was the best mage Palanta had seen.

Of course, Palanta had never really seen mages much, being mainly made up of small farming communities, but there were several large towns and cities in its regions. Palanta was named after King Hamar Palanta who conquered the small region inside of Gaul. In King Hamar’s day, Gaul had been New England, inland extension of the island nation of England. England was a powerful nation until the known world expanded, and England was forced to expand and defend itself with it.

As the Gaul Empire expanded and conquered, New England stood mightily in its way. King Hamar’s region of New England was once a bulwark against the barbaric forces of the Gaul’s, but that soon changed, as King Hamar Palanta the Third made a pact with the Gaul forces; preserving his niche in Gaul, while letting them carve out New England for themselves. The Gaul’s a loud Hamar’s region to remain entitled Palanta, and while the fourth King’s of Palanta recovered some of his forefather’s integrity and trust with the New Englanders who remained (that namely because Palanta was now ruled by a council of elders instead of a King, and none of them are of Palanta’s blood), the name of Hamar Palanta would forever be a byword and a curse.
Meagan’s father would be proud of her grasp on history, however slanted it was in her thinking; the slants of her thinking often frustrated her father, more than he let on. Father was a stickler for discipline and regimented thinking. Anything that was outside of the fundamentals that he had been taught and taught her were wrong, silly, or a waste of time.

Sliding the high backed leather chair up to her father’s desk, and slowly creaked open the worn hard leather bound tome that closed was at least as thick as her hand tall. Three of the seven days of the week she was to read literature, mainly stories of those who used magic, and how their lack of attention to detail and discipline of thought got them into trouble. She was also to spend equal time in the study of Euclid’s formula’s and laws, as well chemistry. Grimacing at the thought of chemistry, she hated the courses, they always seemed so boring, but she knew they were needful, so she bore it. The tome in front of her was a chemistry book of sorts; at least she might be able to justify it as that. The book contained a vast amount of information about the diverse components needed for spell casting.

The magic that Jaymes VanBergen wielded and taught was the art of casting spells through the use of incantations and mixing certain components. There were other forms of magic in the known world; many of those forms were mostly different ways of using the components and gaining similar effects. There was a rare way some one could use magic, and that magic needed no components, nor any incantations, it was simply a part of you. It was known as the Gift, and it was a rarity these days, so rare that it was believed to be myth if you asked anyone on the streets of many villages just like the one Meagan lived in.

Even many mages believed it was myth. Meagan’s father knew better, knew the Gift was real, and he even claimed he could test people to see if they had it. But, after so many people who paid to be tested (father had done it freely, but because of demand for his time, he had to ask for payment, a man had to put food in his daughters stomach somehow) walked away negative, the myth continued to grow until it was believed the Gift was something for Bardic tales and children’s stories, ranking right up there with stories of Elves.

I wish I had the Gift! All this study wouldn’t be necessary! Meagan VanBergen thought, as she began to read the start of the third chapter entitled, “Sand. Be careful what you track in, it could take you out.” Sighing, Meagan, reminded herself to ask father to test her for the Gift when he came back from his trip, and this time he wasn’t going to forget to!

******

Angus clicked his tongue to his cheek giving a soft, quick command for Thunder to begin pulling the wagon in tow down into this town. The wooden wagon rolled awkwardly, making different creaking sounds that joined the night bugs who were newly orchestrating a song they would be playing with their bodies as instruments through out the coming night. Fixing broken wagon wheels was one of the reasons Angus decided to stop in this particular village. Kliff al’Bhurton was another. Angus smiled at the thought of Kliff. Would Kliff be the same? Would he have settled down? Could a village handle him if he didn’t? Ha! Angus laughed out loud at the thought. Kliff’s tattoos alone would probably scare the village into hanging him for a demon!

Angus’ heavy heart lightened a bit, laughing at Kliff had always helped. Much had changed since he and Kliff adventured together. How many years had it been now? Six at least; no, eight maybe? Eight? That long? We were so young then

More to come on this post.