A Kinder Sort of Chaos

[moonblade]

i have been wanting to write a long-form story about Lone Wolf's world ever since reading in the Magnamund Companion that Gourgaz were intelligent and sentient. I always wondered what would happen if one was given the opportunity to choose not to align with Chaos. This idea was bolstered by reading the Bonus Adventure from Dead in the Deep and furthered fueled by the events of The Dusk of Endless Night. I have no real experience in plotting out a gamebook, but I know a fair amount about novellas and short stories, so that seemed like the more optimal medium to choose. This is not meant to be an action-oriented story, so do forgive me if the psychology feels overwhelming in later chapters. I hope you enjoy reading it just the same.


Chapter One: The Monster Child

Life for Chellandri had begun and continued much as every other person in the farming village of Tiffifeld. As long as she could remember, her life had revolved around the seasons, the same as any other farmer. Her schooling, her love interests, her joys and sorrows were all inextricably bound to the land. She might have been a little different from most of the young women who lived in Tiffifeld in that she could hear the thoughts of others, but this was hardly an ability that she wished to make public knowledge. Indeed, her telepathy seemed more of a burden then any assistance. She suppressed it as best she could, and lived a quiet life buried in a little-known dale that lay at the foothills of the Durncrag mountains. Her husband Ygra was a decent man, though given to drink at both the best and worst of times. The boy they had together also grew up to be fairly decent, if a bit dim. The three subsequent infants that they had did not survive their first winters on Magnamund.

One day, 16 years to the day after her son Mackus was born, the King of Sommerlund demanded that all able-bodied men report to the nearest city for potential conscription into the army. She dutifully stood and watched 2/3 of her family walk away to be swallowed up in the jaws of war. Mackus did not return. Ygra came home months after the skirmishes that had required his presence ceased. He had been injured saving his captain from marauding Drakkar, or so he told anyone who bought him an ale at the local pub, as he displayed a terrible spiderwebbing wound on his ribcage for veracity's sake.

Chellandri eventually uncovered the truth: on one of the earliest days of battle, Ygra had been pinned inside of his tent by a misaimed spear. Too drunken from the previous night to be able to remove the weapon himself, he had huddled in the tent until medics came along to set him right. He had indeed saved his sergeant's life--by having the colossal good fortune to be blocking the entrance of the tent and preventing the man from going out and getting himself killed. The army was simply paying his pension in the hopes that the story would remain suppressed. Chellandri's bitter amusement at her husband's blunderings quickly dissolved into acid rage when he confessed that Mackus had actually distinguished himself by saving several of his fellows while he fought a cadre of Drakkarim to allow for their safe retreat. Mackus was brave, unlike his father. Also unlike his father, he suffered from much worse luck.

Chellandri sent Ygra away with his unearned pension, his wine-enhanced wounds, his dirty secrets and his well-deserved shame. Then she continued to work the farm while she grieved for her lost son. A young lady from the village had loved Mackus; there was some hope that they might marry once he returned from the war. Now there was nothing, nothing but the small house that felt too large for just her, a half-acre of grain and the wild goats that regularly ate and spoiled it.

Fortune seemed to be directing the fate of the farm. By the season of harvest, the grain had been chewed down to straw, but now there was a healthy herd of goats that followed Chellandri around gladly whenever she made an appearance. In fact, it was the bleating of the goats that brought her out of a warm bed and down to a strange bipedal form that lay in the front of the barn, stiff with early cold and weakened with several vicious hacks along its back. She winced, recognizing the signs of a dull axe. She also frowned at the distinctively reptilian features that had been obscured by the light frost. What on earth?...

There was a flicker in one of the dull orange eyes, a quick slither of a forked tongue between clenched jaws, and for the first time that Chellandri could remember, there was a voice responding to her thoughts. For so long, she had heard the thoughts of others, but she had long accepted that no one in Tiffifeld shared her gift. She was doomed to hear perpetually, and never to speak--a living ghost among them.

But now, the weak voice groaning Hungry... could not be anything other than the creature half-dead on the ground in front of her.

Chellandri thought quickly, but only two options lay before her. This ... whatever it was ... was clearly carnivorous. And dangerous, most assuredly. And half-dead. Either she had to kill it now, while it was unable to fight her, or she would have to comply with its request for food. And considering the complete lack of sentient reptiles in Sommerlund, this thing might very well consider her food once it could move. She could tell that it was her height, even prone on the ground, and much like every other predator, it was lean, solid muscle, all glinting teeth and wicked claws. She would be no match whatsoever for it in a fight.

She thought of unwise husbands and sons.

Please, I am hungry ...

The goats were watching.

***

She didn't sleep well for the rest of the week. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the goat that she had killed, lying on its side as peacefully as if it were merely resting in the shade, and not lying dead in a smattering of dirty snow. She saw the bucket of warm blood, as steamy as any cup of strong coffee, and her own hands, trembling as if she had not slaughtered animals for meat for many a meal when she still had two other mouths to feed. The saving grace was how meekly the other goats had followed her away when she whickered to them, how quickly the scent of sacrifice faded from the cold air once the creature had drunk its fill and eaten. The goats were uneasy, but they did not run.

The creature had not run, either. She did not know what to think about the fact that it, too, was telepathic. They had not spoken since that first meeting, communicating solely through met eyes and short gestures. She was a ghost again, but now it haunted her with uncanny orange eyes and silent tread, never close enough to accidentally touch her or allow her to carelessly tread on its sensitive tail, but likewise never completely out of sight.

Even now it stood by, watching her with interest as she prepared the fields for their months of dormancy. Chellandri did not feel the prickling of nerves that one might expect to experience while such a being lingered. The look in its eyes was simply too sharp to be opportunistic hunger. She dared imagined that it was curious about what she was doing.

"It's winter, you know," she heard herself saying aloud. "I don't know where you're spending your nights, but you're going to die of the cold soon if you keep outside."

I sleep near your hotspring.

... Ah. Far enough away from the livestock that the unfamiliar scent could only waft to them by degrees. Clever. She smiled almost in spite of herself. "Hungry?"

So for the first time in many moons, Chellandri found herself visiting her neighbors, some of whom genuinely did not recognize her at the first. It was a slow journey of seven miles all told through mud and back trails, and her requests for any spare sweetbreads earned her more than one puzzled look. "I tell ye, that woman ain't right n'more," she heard distinctly as one front door closed. "She been off in the head ev'r since her son went t'Ishir. She's bound t'get worse, mark m' words."

***

She began to call her new boarder "Eggsy" after the item that went missing most often after he came. She wasn't even aware of the point at which she realized that Eggsy was in fact male. It was a fact that she just accepted, much as the goats just accepted his presence and scent as he gradually came closer and closer to their living quarters.

He became her right hand. She would find him watching her with those sharp eyes, observing whatever she might be doing at the time--mending harness, crafting tools, breaking sod, clearing brush--and inevitably within 24 hours she would see him performing that task, rather imperfectly to be sure, but it never failed to impress.

They weathered the winter with Eggsy doing as much as the frigid weather would permit him to. If he was not working odd jobs around the ranch, Chellandri invariably found him dozing in the tack room, camouflaged against the leather. A detached part of her mind reminded her that she was allowing a predator full access to her home.

Perhaps she truly was mad, after all.

But spring came, with the two of them still alive and healthy, the ranch in good condition, and only two more goats butchered. She had continued to buy the leavings from her neighbors' slaughterings, which Eggsy ate gratefully. It had not occurred to her that her sudden interest in offal had been a source of much gossip until she crossed paths with the village's unofficial mayor.

This humble and intelligent man was most frequently to be found in the vicinity of his large barn, selling the farmers whatever they found themselves short on, though on rare occasions he was known to pay house calls. Chellandri saw him from a distance as she lugged milk down cellar, and quickly came back up to greet this unexpected guest. He was leaning on the fence, watching the new kids wobble about.

"It is a strange feeling," he said after they had stood in silence for nearly two minutes. "Our men are regularly asked to serve in the army and the whisper of war is always on the wind, and yet ... when I watch these little ones play in the field, it does not seem true, even though I myself bear the scars of battle." He tapped his right shoulder, which was noticeably deformed, and smiled gently at her. "My lady, I do not wish to intrude in your business, but I feel as though I must, if only to allay a curiosity. I understand that you have suddenly begun a steady trade in ... organ meats. Which is puzzling, as I personally have only ever known you to eat vegetables. Is everything quite alright, Chellandri?"

"I am ..." She paused, acutely aware of the void of sound. Was Eggsy nearby? "I am well, elder Lalos. The additional meat is for ... a houseguest."

"A guest," Lalos repeated, slowly. "There are certainly different and strange customs throughout this world, but I have never heard of a culture in Magnamund that ate sweetbread exclusively. To be truthful, that is the sort of diet I might expect of a beast of prey."

"Elder--"

He waved his hand slightly. "Again, it is mere curiosity on my part. I had heard that you had a new farmhand assisting you--your neighbors had noticed him moving about your lands in the afternoons. I came over to find out whom it might be because I was not aware that any new persons had come to Tiffifeld." He pointed at a clear set of two tracks in the mud--hers, and Eggsy's. "Those tracks there, lady. I have seen them before, while patrolling the border. We quickly learned to fear them."

"Why is that, elder?" She realized that Eggsy was most likely nearby, hidden in a tree, or lying flat in the mud. Listening. Judging this stranger's intent. She suddenly felt horribly afraid.

"Ah, you see. Those creatures were called 'Gourgaz,' and they fought not only with their claws and teeth, but also with weapons, as well as any of the King's Knights. One alone was quite dangerous, three could decimate a troop of trained men in no time at all. They were also natural leaders, see, so they were always surrounded by Giak troops, the better to end us all quickly. It was fortunate for us that we discovered early on that killing the Gourgaz would send the Giaks into panic, otherwise many a young man from those days would not have returned home. If you were an archer, you learned to aim for their undersides. If you were a foot soldier, you learned to stay the bloody hell away from them. Rumor had it that they ate human corpses. I counted myself quite lucky to have never witnessed that." He made eye contact with her now, his expression level, searching. "But I did find our dead horses more than once with very distinctive bites in their bellies. Dreadful sight. It's been well over forty years since those days and I still see it in my dreams."

He straightened himself. "In any case, you and your ranch appear quite well. As for your hand ... I get the impression he chiefly keeps to himself, and I suppose all I can do at the moment is wish you well. It was pleasant to see you. In all honesty, you appear rather happy. Happier than I remember since ... the last conscription."

"I am, Elder. Thank you."

He tipped his hat to her and went his way. She remained outside until he was completely out of sight, thinking about the things that he had said. Elder Lalos was not a rash man, but neither was he a fool. He had come to her home to investigate a rumor, and it was clear that he was not entirely at peace with what he had learned.

Was she?

You fear me now?

Ishir's eyes! ... Eggsy was on the other side of the fence, watching her with those intense orange eyes that seemed to hold a touch of sadness. Chellandri could not hold his gaze. Her head bowed as she spoke silently, unconsciously assuming the position of cornered prey.

I knew that you could do me harm from the day you asked me for food, but I chose to help you regardless, and you have shown yourself to be steadfast and true. His words do cause me some concern, yes, but I choose to believe that if you truly meant to attack me, you would have done so long ago. She looked at him now, still trembling from head to toe. Whatever you may be, I have chosen to believe that good lies within you, and despite what others may feel, I will continue to believe.

Eggsy was silent for a time. The wind blew through the withered field. From a distance, Chellandri could hear the kids calling to their nannies.

You had a son once. You loved him very much, I could tell. Even though he is gone, you have kept all of his clothes.

They are all I have to remember him by. She chuckled quietly. I preferred to keep his old clothes rather than his father.

I had a mother once, and one day men in black armor came into our pond and killed her for their own amusement. Then they killed my brothers for daring to attack in return. I was the smallest male, I could not fight. I ran with my sisters, not even knowing where to go or hide. They gave me all the food they could spare as they all slowly died. I did my best to survive alone, but all I truly knew to do was to hide myself. I count myself fortunate that the people who tried to kill me with their axes were not as experienced as your elder.

Chellandri felt a cold sensation in her stomach.

I do not blame him for the way he feels. He has ample reason to hate and fear my kind. What you say is more correct than you may know. Many of my kin truly were man-eaters.

But ... not all?

It is not a desire of mine. My desire is to have my mother again. It is vain hope, but even so ... I retain it. Like you, I choose to believe.

By now the sun had set. The dusk promised a chilly night. Chellandri set about gathering twigs to feed to the evening fire, not particularly surprised when Eggsy began to follow her lead.

[GhostofLandar]

Thank you for the beginning of your story. It need not be action, I wish we had more stories from Magnamund (or anywhere in Dever's Planes) like these. One thing I've been critical of in some of the bonus adventures has been things that don't quite feel like Dever's world. My understanding of Gourgaz is that they were corrupted by the increasingly poisoned waters of the Maakenmire and sort of evolved into creatures that will always be malign BUT I do think it's a far expansion that there could be Gourgaz in MAGNAMUND (just not in V'Ka and its surrounds) that escaped this fate but none who would serve with Darklords would have these reservations (but again, if there is some enclave and he was taken from there, then yes this story might still hold.)

It's not "Chaos" but Evil. Chaos in Dever's work is a manifestation, a facet of supernatural Evil. It's Moorcock and the Moorcock-inspired Warhammer (Mallus, I think is the name of the world) and WH40K where Chaos is more or less=Evil. You would want to either justify the choice in the text (at some point) or you would simply change terms or develop something as pithy (and true to the real existence of Evil in Aon and beyond) that you prefer.

[moonblade]

GhostofLandar , that's a fair assessment. I guess the way I'm looking at it is that since Gourgaz are sentient beings despite everything, there might yet be some who actively elect to stay removed from Magnamund's conflicts at large, even if they could not be considered allies of Good, they could be counted on not to molest you if you accidentally ended up in their territory. I'm also thinking of the tendency of immature creatures to imprint on whatever mothering figure they see in front of them in times of great crisis. It's all a pipe dream at this point, in any case.


Chapter Two: Rumors and Fears

Chellandri finished tying the leather straps into place and took a step back to critically assess her handiwork. Eggsy sat in place at the rear of her rickety wagon, covered with a cloak and wraps and leggings. She had carefully wrapped his extremities with delicate calfskin to hide his claws as best she could. It was the most she could do. There would be no helping his large taloned feet. He would just have to stay seated, to conceal his feet as well as his tail.

She drove the wagon to the local open-air market and left him to wait while she bought dry goods, the better to quietly gauge the attitude of the townsfolk. To be certain, they were certainly nosy enough to take the opportunity to see Eggsy more closely, though only the small children dared to approach. They climbed over his still form with great joy, chattered to him familiarly, and hardly noticed the potential danger that they were in. The tension did not entirely evaporate, but it did ease.

By making additional cautious excursions of this sort, she slowly won some of the villagers over, but far from all, and she reconciled herself to the notion that she would continue to be an outlier within her community. So it was with great shock that she found Elder Lalos waiting for her by her tallest tree one splendid summer morning, standing with two sturdy mules at the ready. It took her quite some time before she could speak. "Elder, this is a pleasure I hardly dared expect twice."

"It is a pleasure I wished to share. I rather enjoy a morning's ride through the countryside, and this particular morning I thought of having your company. Join me?" He held the mule steady as she mounted, and they rode a mile away from the ranch in complete silence.

"Where is Eggsy at the present?" he asked abruptly.

Chellandri blinked, as startled as if he had shouted an insult directly at her. She was completely aware that many of her neighbors found Eggsy's presence less than comforting, but she had dared to hope that Elder Lalos felt differently. Perhaps she hoped for too much. "I believe that he is sleeping in the birch grove. It's so warm lately, perhaps he needs the shade."

"Perhaps," the older man said. He fell silent again, Chellandri watching him closely. A burden seemed to stoop his shoulders, one beneath which he trembled. Finally he came to a decision internally, and stopped his mount. Uncertain of what she ought to do, Chellandri drew hers in as well and watched as he gestured towards the pastel mountains along the bright horizon.

"Do you see that mountain range there, Chellandri? The Durncrags are a peculiar place. We have been told for centuries that it keeps enemies without, but only in the past two hundred years have we learned that it also holds enemies within. There are dangerous people who shelter in its caves, and I do not mean the common brigand or highway robber.

"Many years ago, when I took on leadership here, a man approached me under cover of dusk and asked that I allow him and his people to freely pass through the village to the Durncrags without advising anyone of their presence. A harmless enough request, but his eyes! Had you seen them, you would have known to run as far and as fast as you could. But I was a headstrong young fool fresh from the battlefield and I did not think anything of it at the time. It was only years later that I realized the gravity of the decision I had made. That man was a Cener Druid, Chellandri, and I had given him permission to use this village as a safe passage to and from an impossible labyrinth of caves where he could enter into Sommerlund at will. Ishir pardon me. At first I excused my misgivings by imagining that our consideration would prevent him from taking any steps against us. Then I heard the rumors of plague-crows being sighted in the skies above small towns much like Tiffifield. They were neutralized quickly enough, but I could finally see that we would not be spared once the evil broke forth in its full bloom.

"I wrote to the King, numerous times. The response ranged from none whatsoever, to a brief missive written by an indifferent clerk explaining that whatever our town's issues might be, they were hardly priority to the Crown at this point in time. I had resigned myself to the fact that we could expect no help in these matters, when a new development brought itself to my attention. The Ceners had asked for the means to enter the mountains unmolested, and in return they brought no attention to themselves. But three weeks ago, a Druid specifically sought me out at my home to inform me that one of his people was known to have passed through the town, and nothing had been heard from him after he departed. Though I had no personal knowledge of the matter, for I had long since taught myself to disregard their appearance, nine days back a different Druid found me at my well to tell me the same information regarding the second man--that his last known whereabouts were passing through this village and that he has not been seen since.

"As you can imagine, this has become a cause for great concern. Namely, that not only have the Druids noticed that some of their own are going missing, but also that this place is known to them. I fear that their patience in this matter grows short, for they have come to the conclusion that this passage is no longer safe. Their favor was hardly to be desired before, but I do not covet their vengeance. As the King has made his sentiments on our position quite clear, I have written to another person who has had dealings with the Ceners in times past. I am certain that some people would say that bringing the Kai into this is akin to pouring oil on smoking coals, but I have had ample time to reflect on the situation, and the evidence before me is sufficient to persuade me that I made the wrong choice in my youth. I will make my amends, both here and in the afterlife, but neither the village nor Sommerlund must be forced to pay for my rash decision.

"The Supreme Master of the Kai has responded to my plea for assistance in this delicate issue, and some of his acolytes are on the way to investigate. Indeed, I expect them here tonight. I had hoped that you might be willing to house them, at least for the short term, while they determine a course of action. And ... well, I am curious to see how they might react to Eggsy. It is a distinct possibility that their opinion of him will influence the villagers."

Chellandri stared at him, trying to understand her place in this grave matter. Her voice felt faint and lost. "Elder Lalos. You do me too much honor, sir. Why would our land's most noble defenders wish to stay in the home of a goat farmer while they perform a mission of this magnitude?"

"Chellandri," he said, his voice very gentle. "I know full well that you have suffered more than you ought. Ygra did not do nearly as much as he might have, and more than one person has spoken about your business when they would have done better to keep silent. And to tell truth, I am well aware that you have some ... talents ... that you choose not to display. You may find that you have more in common with the Kai than you realize at first, though you are but a goat farmer."

She froze in place. The Elder was watching some point in the far distance, waiting for her to respond.

"You knew?" she quavered.

"It took me some time to be certain. Do not fear, I have not mentioned it except to Supreme Master Lone Wolf himself. I have been assured that the Kai are equally discreet, which will be a must to allay suspicion on multiple fronts. The only Kai who will know what you are capable of are the ones with similar abilities, and then only if you choose to communicate with them. If you wish to remain silent, they will as well."

She needed to catch her breath. It had never once occurred to her that anyone else was aware of her telepathy. She looked at Elder Lalos with a new-found respect and more than a small amount of awe. "I ... I'm honored by your regard, Elder."

"It is no more than you deserve, and very likely less. Now. If we could pass back by your home and discuss accommodations over a cup of that lovely lentil stew you make, that would be ideal."

***

That evening her home stood clean and welcoming, awaiting her coming guests. The rooms had been swept thoroughly and well turned out, with makeshift mattresses of straw awaiting weary riders. A barrel of strong ale waited at the door, soon to be tapped. A fire crackled in the hearth, keeping soup and roast root vegetables steaming hot. A full roast goat adorned the table, along with fresh bread and homemade butter. Chellandri sighed, exhausted by the extra work, but pleased at heart. It had been a dishearteningly long time since she had prepared a meal for more than two.

When she returned home with the unexpected news that they would need to act as hosts, Eggsy had roused himself from stupor and helped with great alacrity--indeed, his strength had made mucking out the little-used stables a light affair. Chellandri thought to reward him with the innards of the goat that she was butchering for roast. To her great surprise, he politely refused. He went directly back to the birch grove, the colors of his scales visibly shifting to camouflage him as he silently slipped between the slender stalks of the young trees.

Is everything well?

Of course, meehto. He had told her that was the childish name he had for his original mother. Hearing him use it now brought a smile to her face and a warmth to her heart. I do not want to overeat right now, in case these guests prove aggressive. Self-preservation instinct.

You are wise. Be safe.

The approaching clip-clop of hooves and the hard blowing of the weary steeds was her only warning to come to the door. Chellandri took up her post as they came into sight, a silent group of eight. She had only heard of Kai warriors in snatches in taverns, and the little she had bothered to listen to seemed so outrageous that she had given it no credit. To be fair, this band of dusty travelers seemed less like mystical monks and much more like a quietly exasperated pair of chaperones whose charges had very nearly exhausted their patience. Judging by the puckered expressions on several faces, the silence had been forcibly ordered.

"Welcome, my lords," she said uncertainly.

The man in the lead smiled, his teeth flashing a brilliant white against his dirty face. "My lady, thank you for providing for us on such short notice. We will only impinge on your hospitality for the night. Half of our party will move on in the morning."

"It is no burden to me. You may stay as long as you have need." She quickly brought them warm water and towels to allow them to refresh themselves.

Once they had washed the initial layer of road dust away, the Kai stratified into their accustomed domestic roles. The most junior of them, a handsome youth with thick brown curls and gentle blue eyes, took charge of the horses and led them to the stables for careful rub-downs and combing. The two seniors immediately took seats at the table, while the remaining five lined up against the long wall and waited on them. Chellandri began to help them dish up food, but the seniors insisted that she join them at table. They also made room for one of the juniors to eat, a man much older than any of the others. He was badly injured. His ankle was grossly swollen, which he attempted less than successfully to conceal as he hobbled to the seat indicated for him. He smiled at Chellandri's expression of concern. "Please do not worry, my lady. My injury is entirely my own doing, and my lords will correct it this night."

"With respect, sir, your ankle appears to be broken."

"It is, alas, but I assure you I shall be quite well by morning. Now, if I could trouble you for a potato and some of that delicious-looking broth."

Once the two leaders and the older man had eaten their fill, the other five sat down. Immediately Chellandri realized that her initial assumption about the group was correct. They weren't quiet because they were monks, it was because they had been ordered to stop talking. Within a minute there was an argument because the stockiest of them had helped himself to five thick ribs of goat meat before anyone else had gotten any, then there was a complaint that someone had taken all the rest of the bread, then someone accused someone else of drinking from their mug of ale, and before long the younger Kai were all irritably growling at each other while simultaneously mocking each other for their table manners. This one was too dainty, and this one ate like a starved bear, and this one needed to stop drinking as if the world was running low on ale, and this one should stop worrying about the fit of their clothes and eat something for Kai's sake--

Chellandri looked back at the leaders. One was indeed tending to the older man's ankle, compressing the injury in large hands, silently praying. The other caught her eye and smiled ruefully. You see why half of us need to leave on the morrow, he spoke directly to her mind, and winked at her.

To his young charges, he said aloud, "I would like for all of you to stop this needless squabbling. Anyone would think that you needed to argue more than you need to eat! Meet me outside in ten minutes to receive your assignments for tonight, and for Kai's sake stop disgracing yourselves."

He went outside, pulling out a pipe from a concealed pocket as he left. Two of the Kai continued to eat with relish, while the other three looked at each other stonily.

Finally, one stood and undid the elaborate knot of thick hair piled high on his head. "I've been advised that there is a hot spring available. If I may, I would like to make use of it."

"Yes, yes," purred a voice made of silken malice. "By all means, do your best to forget that we are here for field work and go wash your hair, petty princeling."

"You would do well to wash your own after lying with such company as you chose last night, noblesse [sleeper]," said princeling snapped, and he swept out coolly without waiting for further response.

Chellandri stared. The instigator of this last skirmish laughed out loud. "More fool him! I lay alone last night."

"You ought not to provoke him so," the last of the youngsters said, a look of mild reproach on his broad face. "You know that he is hasty--"

"And he ought not to provoke me! I would not jest with him if he was wise enough not to respond." This provoking Kai stood up and undid a long coil of hair that was such an intense shade of ash-blonde that it might have passed for gray in certain light. "My lady, please forgive our lack of manners. It has been a trying day for some of us. I promise to avoid such scenes in future. ...if I am allowed to, that is."

A sharp rap on the window notified the young Kai that their presence outside was required. They dutifully filed out. The other senior Kai emerged from a bedroom.

"I do believe that Creeping Vine will sleep through the night now," he said with a quiet sigh. "Now we must see about this group of rowdy children. Do forgive them--and us, for obliging you to see that foolish spectacle. I will make formal introductions once we have reminded them to behave with some semblance of dignity."

***

By the time Chellandri was able to bring up enough goat's milk to offer her guests an after-dinner digestif the group was once again subdued and thoughtful. As promised, the senior Kai formally introduced everyone in the group to her: themselves, Ghost Wind and Nightingale; Creeping Vine, the older man whose frail body belied unparalleled skill as an archer; Storm Blue, the princeling, Bound Blade, he of the broad face, Forest Mist, the boy with the lovely curls, Brookstone, the largest of the young Kai both in height and width, and the noblesse with the ashen hair, Dancing Leaves.

"We must investigate the area in accordance with our Supreme Master's wishes. For tonight and tomorrow, I will leave two Kai within your home at all times, to protect you and Creeping Vine. We will sleep in shifts and exit as unobtrusively as may be. To tell you more would be to cause you needless worry, but count on our diligence, my lady, and feel free to go about your daily life as you would otherwise. We will watch over you as if you were one of us."

Chellandri felt some measure of reassurance in looking at the faces of the young warriors, which had frozen back into stoicism. If they could regain control of themselves so quickly and set their complaints aside, she, also, would give them credence. She offered them cups of warm spiced goats' milk and watched as most of them quickly filed out. Two remained behind: Storm Blue, and Dancing Leaves.

"Go to sleep, you two. In different rooms if you must, but no more of your quibbling until the sun rises," Ghost Wind admonished them before closing the door. Chellandri watched him go but found that she had lost track of him before he had taken half a dozen steps. Disoriented, she shook her head and sat down.

"Well, I intend to take his advice," Storm Blue sniffed. "I'll be in the room next to Creeping Vine. If you wish to share the room--"

"I do not."

Frosty silence, then: "Well, don't stay up half the night jabbering. I'm not waking you up if you oversleep. And Kai knows you don't need any more demerits." He turned crisply on his heel and vanished behind the nearest door.

"Ishir's eyes. And to think he wants me for ... could we go outside and talk, my lady? Maybe over a little more of that goats' milk?"

Chellandri nodded readily and pointed to a rude wooden bench that sat near the front gate. There was just enough light between the window and the moonlight to give them opportunity to observe each other. She found herself staring at Dancing Leaves' hair once again, her delicate features and unscarred hands, and felt ashamed of her own weathered appearance.

"Don't," the young woman said, setting the cup aside. "Please, don't treat me any differently than you already have. I am no one of particular importance, even as a Kai. Storm Blue is right, to a point. I am a noblesse [sleeper], or at least I would be if I were not in the ranks of the Kai. As the seventh bastard of a noble who simply cannot stop sowing wild oats, you quickly learn your lack of importance in the world." She stood and gazed out into the night, listening. "Hmm, strange. I could have sworn I heard something."

"Oh?"

"It ... well, it doesn't make sense to me, my lady, but it sounded a bit like ... digging."

[moonblade]

Chapter 2, part 2.



"You very well may have heard digging, we are in the countryside, after all."

"Very true," Dancing Leaves acknowledged, but continued to stand wavering for another minute before murmuring, "Forgive me for leaving your charming company, but I feel as though I must investigate it. I would advise you to go inside and wake Storm Blue up so that you have a protector until I return." She vanished into the night as easily as Ghost Wind had, leaving Chellandri to once again doubt her eyes.

Chellandri dutifully returned to the house, quietly cleaning and listening for the quiet noises of the two sleeping Kai. They were both far gone in slumber and she had no desire at all to disturb either. She entered into the tack room and opened the door that faced the goat pen. The animals within were at rest. Until they weren't.

She saw one, then two, then five, then all of them jump to their feet and bleat anxiously. Some made to escape the enclosure and she called to them, hoping to calm them. There was still no audible disturbance in the chill night, but her nerves had hackled in sympathy with them as the smallest of the kids bawled piteously.

Then she heard it: a short, stifled scream, and the brief, horrid sound of flesh being torn. She had heard it many times over the course of her life, and never before had it sounded so appalling. She ran, as quickly as age and fear and lack of visibility would allow, as instinct drove her straight towards the birch grove. She hoped desperately to see nothing at all, even as she feared what she would discover.

What she found left her breathless: the young Kai collapsed on the ground, dark-red blood oozing over the ghastly white fingers she had pressed against her ripped upper sleeve. Chellandri tore her eyes away to stare horrified at a corpse that lay half-buried in a crude hole. It was a man, a stranger in strange robes with a strange mask slipping from his strangely-disfigured face.

"A Cener Druid," Dancing Leaves gritted out through clenched teeth. Her voice was remarkably steady, but Chellandri was astute enough to tell that the young woman was maintaining her composure through great pain. "I .. must report this ..." She turned her face away as she clutched her gashed shoulder more tightly.

Chellandri said nothing as she quickly tore strips of cloth from Dancing Leaves' cloak and bound the bloody flesh back together, which was all that she could do immediately. She heaved the young woman over her shoulder, internally noting that Dancing Leaves was more solid than her slim figure suggested. "You'll need to keep that arm stable on the way back, miss. Cling to me."

Dancing Leaves complied without further comment, though Chellandri sensed a faint amusement through the aura of burning pain, and it soon became apparent why. As they neared the house, Chellandri could see a stiff silhouette watching from the back door. It vanished momentarily, but not before she detected a distinct glimmer of disapproval.

"It seems we woke up Storm Blue," Dancing Leaves murmured, and snorted quietly.

***

After entering the house and depositing her charge in the nearest chair, Chellandri received ample evidence that being mutual members of a warrior's cadre was absolutely no guarantee of camaraderie between individuals. Storm Blue provided additional healing to Dancing Leaves' wounds. He also provided a great deal of unsolicited advice. The young woman, for her part, accepted the scolding with very poor grace. Fortunately their quarrel came to an abrupt stop when Ghost Wind appeared in the doorway, glowering. "I thought I made it clear that the two of you needed to put an end to this nonsense. Report, please."

Dancing Leaves reported dutifully, and Ghost Wind listened with increasing concern. She described the small copse where she had found the dead druid, and the dark form in the middle of exhuming it. "I meant to observe, but I startled my assailant and he fled. I next thought it best to examine the corpse, as it appeared strangely mutilated--"

"Meaning?" Ghost Wind demanded. Dancing Leaves winced.

"... it had been ... partially consumed."

Horrified silence fell over the room. Dancing Leaves began to detail the ragged bites from the legs, but Ghost Wind stopped her, grimacing. "That's quite enough. So now the situation has progressed from a village where Cener Druids come to hide themselves from Border Patrols, to a village where said druids are cannibalized. I believe your elder was right, Miss Chellandri. You certainly have quite a problem here." Turning his attention back to his junior, he observed, "And you have not explained the wound to your shoulder."

"Yes, my lord. I ... I am afraid I did not get a clear look at what attacked me. It was remarkably fast and I could hardly see it in the dark."

"How careless of you," Storm Blue interjected. "You might have gotten your throat slit for all of your pains."

"The thought occurred to me as well," Dancing Leaves said shortly. Her face went pale again as Ghost Wind lay hands on her wound. Her shoulder swelled from the pressure of his large hands as he quite literally willed her body to accelerate its healing process. Chellandri watched with a sick fascination as the open flesh gradually knit together again before her eyes, the skin bruising as easily as an overripe peach.

These cuts are from an animal's claws," Ghost Wind said presently.

"Ah ... yes, my lord. I think it may have been reptilian. It didn't have fur, I remember that much. It didn't smell warm-blooded."

"You smell your opponents as you fight them in the darkness. This seems less than helpful."

"Do not discount the information given by the basic senses, Storm Blue. This is actually more helpful to know than it appears." Ghost Wind stood up, cracking his joints out as he did so. "I believe that the other patrols will return shortly. Nightingale and I must discuss a new strategy, now that our situation has become more perilous, and our numbers fewer. Miss Chellandri, may I have another cup of that goats' milk?"

***

Chellandri helped Dancing Leaves into the bedroom where Creeping Vine lay huddled under multiple blankets, and set her down very tenderly so as to avoid further abuse to her arm. She offered to mend the ripped blouse as well, and after a moment's hesitation, Dancing Leaves stripped to the waist, exposing the light chain mail and breastplate that protected her chest and ribs.

"Surely you don't plan to sleep in that?" Chellandri enquired.

"It would be more burdensome to put this on again than to leave it be," the younger woman said, shrugging. Her face suddenly expressed mischief. "And besides, Storm Blue will already be so displeased to see you with my shirt, I hardly dare imagine what he may do if he believes that you saw me uncovered."

Chellandri snorted. "You do enjoy provoking him, then."

"But of course! His sanctimonious prattle is just what I need to hear after nearly being gutted. It assures me that all is well in the world. If you care to bait him yourself, tell him that you intend to lie with me and see how he behaves himself."

"I do not care to," Chellandri said gently. "Bait him, that is."

She realized a bit too late what she had truly said, and one glance at the younger woman's face told her that the unspoken had not been missed. But Dancing Leaves only murmured, "I see," and lay herself down.

Chellandri returned to the main room and brought out materials for patching the clothing she held in her hand. As predicted, Storm Blue's eyes latched on immediately, and she felt, more than heard, his dismay. He quickly declared an intent to scout along the perimeter of the property before hastily taking his leave. She seated herself near a lamp and painstakingly began to sew. Ghost Wind faced away from her, watching for movements in the darkness, and said nothing. So it was with a start that Chellandri realized that he had asked her a telepathic question.

It was simple enough: You weren't injured tonight, were you? and yet she had to pause to answer it, because she found that by focusing on the gentle voice in her head she was no longer in her chair, stitching together a bloodied, shredded sleeve. She was at the entrance of a great maze that shifted and reconstructed itself into new dead-ends and pitfalls as she watched.

What--

A Mindfort, my lady. It is how we choose whom to let in.

She looked at the ever-moving maze, and quite suddenly she saw the fabric again, the soft folds shining in the lamplight, her best thread too poor of a quality to mend it with justice. She thought about the first time that she realized that she could hear the thoughts of another, how the path into their mind was so open and broad, and she considered this Kai Master, whose mind was protected with such strange geometry. And just as abruptly, the maze folded itself into an open corridor, a direct invitation, Ghost Wind choosing to let her in.

She spoke to him. She told him, not without great trepidation, about Eggsy. She explained the circumstances that led to her bringing a Gourgaz into her home in the first place, and his inexplicable change in behavior in the past day. But I assure you, my lord, that he has never done such before.

Alas, Miss Chellandri, this is an era of things that were never done before, and one opportunity is all the Cener Druids need to bring ruin upon us all. Your Gourgaz appears to have killed and eaten at least one of their number, and if your elder's words are true, these are members of their sect who are important enough to be missed. There is also the issue of this Gourgaz injuring one of my Supreme Master's acolytes. Lone Wolf will not look kindly on this matter, despite your assurances.

She had to force herself to see her fingers as she whipped the needle through the fine cloth. Ghost Wind had opened himself to her, but she had no means to close her mind to him. She thought of poor Mackus, dying in the mud, and Eggsy trailing at her heels like a small child while she did ranch chores, and then there was a cold, lonely thought of waking up tomorrow utterly forsaken, no family, no friends, no son, real or adopted, nothing to even look forward to but the sounds of goats and the empty stares of her neighbors.

Please forgive my bluntness. I do not wish to cause you to think of painful topics. But I must bring this new information to the Supreme Master's attention, to allow him to offer us guidance. There may be more to this than we know. And I must beg that we be allowed to make use of your home for a little longer, but do not concern yourself about the children arguing. I will make certain that the two biggest troublemakers keep apart. I will put one of them in the goat pen, if need be.

He stopped communicating, and Chellandri had the distinct sensation of movement, a gentle falling, even though she sat solidly in the chair, repairing the gaping holes. She ran a finger along the puckered edges and recalled the blood spilling so freely over Dancing Leaves' fingers, and she momentarily thought of Eggsy doing such a thing to her, or perhaps one of the villagers, or one of the small children who liked to clamber across him, just a quick twitch of his sinewy limbs and oh please Goddess no.

Ghost Wind had come to her side unnoticed. His large, scarred hand felt firm on her shoulder, a fixed point that she could focus on when her world suddenly felt so fragile. I truly have no desire to trouble your heart or mind. I can tell that despite what this Gourgaz is to us, he has become something much more to you. I will discuss the matter with our Supreme Master. It may be that he will wish to speak with you personally. But in the meantime, let us put these tired children to bed.

He opened the front door and allowed his mud-spattered comrades to crowd into the room. Chellandri set the shirt aside and began to prepare fresh cups of warm spiced milk as he lay the new variables before them. The surprise of the young Kai was great indeed. More than one argued in favor of tracking Eggsy down before dawn.

"Ridiculous," Nightingale said firmly. "None of you has any business fighting a Gourgaz, even a young one. Particularly not at night."

"Eggsy won't fight you," Chellandri said as she thumped the tray of mugs down for emphasis. Several sets of eyes turned to her with great surprise.

"You ... you named it?" Bound Blade asked incredulously.

"I named him," Chellandri answered levelly. The four young Kai stared at her, disbelieving, uncertain what to say. Nightingale pursed his mouth. "Well, this is unexpected. What assurance do we have that i ... err, he ... won't see all of us as his next meal?"

"You're all still alive, aren't you?" Chellandri pointed out.

That made Ghost Wind laugh.

***

Chellandri mucked out the stables on her own at dawn, trying to do something useful with her nervous energy. She had not slept. She had fed the ones who were hungry and fetched cloths for the ones who wanted to wash themselves in the hot springs, she had turned beds and made more spiced milk and checked in on the injured, one of whom was not entirely asleep. She exchanged a brief greeting with Storm Blue, who was doing his best not to scowl at her and not entirely succeeding. She resisted the urge to listen to the thoughts around her and likewise did not call out to Eggsy, lest she be overheard and misinterpreted. She would trust him to care for himself.

She pitched out the used straw and horse dung with a strength born of anxiety, trying not to think how much more simple this task would be if Eggsy was here to help. Poor Eggsy, who was wise enough to know that he must stay away from her house, but who had returned in the night regardless and been stabbed by a lucky strike. She felt certain that he had no intention of doing anything to Dancing Leaves besides escaping as quickly as possible when she found him ...

... eating.

"My lady, forgive me, are you well? I thought I heard you choke." Forest Mist appeared from seemingly nowhere, smelling strongly of horseflesh. He gently eased the pitchfork from her shaky hands. "Please allow me. I'm well used to stable work."

Before Chellandri could protest, he had guided her to a rough log bench and sat her down gently. Then he took up where she left off, proving his words as he cleaned the stalls with efficiency, despite his slight appearance. "I apologize for surprising you earlier. The stables are my favorite place to be, always. I was just outside talking to your goats. They're feeling a bit worried, you know. They can tell that you're nervous. And ... umm. Last night. Last night wasn't good for them."

She smiled despite her current pensive mood. He was a farm boy clear to the roots. "No, it wasn't. I'll have to make some mash for them."

He kept on shoveling. "So what's it like, having a Gourgaz just ... around? I admit, I would have never imagined anyone trying to keep one of those things, let alone training it."

Again, Chellandri felt the familiar sting of rebuke. I know she's been unhappy since her son died, but by Ishir, she's gone mad to have such a thing in her home. Ygra was right to leave. She tempered the anger in her voice the best she could. "It was truly no different than having around a youth. Except he was more tactful."

The pitchfork paused for a few seconds before Forest Mist chuckled, embarrassed. "You must care a great deal for it ... err, him."

"I do. And in honesty, when I found him, someone had already tried to kill him and he was starving. I could have left him where I found him, he would have been dead the next morning, and none of you would have had to make this trip."

"And then we would have been wondering why this town was destroyed by plague without any warning months from now. No, I must believe that there is a reason that this has come about, even if I don't understand it at all." He stood still for a moment, thinking. "You called him ... what? Eggsy?"

"The first month I had him here, he sucked every hen's egg dry before I'd had it in the house for a full day. I've never spent so much coin buying eggs in my entire life."

Another chuckle. She could see him imagining the scene and her consternation. He was probably mischievous himself.

"That's ... fascinating to me. And he never attacked you? Or anyone else? He just ate eggs and innards?"

"And pitched hay better than you do," Chellandri smirked.

"That wounds, my lady. Well, I can't allow myself to be beaten by a Gourgaz. Do you have more chores for me to prove myself with?"

"On a ranch?" Chellandri returned. "Always."

***

By the time the sun shone over the horizon, everyone was back inside, eating freely from a freshly-prepared meal of grilled goat sausage, fried eggs, roast potatoes and dark brown bread. Ghost Wind gave another series of orders to his charges, and gently suggested to Chellandri that she had more than earned a good rest. "We will watch over you and your home, my lady. Please, go to sleep for a while."

So Chellandri turned over an unoccupied pallet once more, and wondered how all of the events of this night, and other nights, were connected until sleep stole up unnoticed and claimed her. Her dreams were quiet and unremarkable, disturbed only by the sound of the heavy door dragging over the dirt floor. It woke her up immediately; in times past it would have meant that Ygra had just come home after a long night of drinking.

But this was not Ygra--it was Dancing Leaves, ash-blonde hair tied into a ponytail that hung most becomingly over her bare and bandaged shoulder. She set down a tray of fruit, bread, and hot tea within reach of the pallet, and lingered on her knees for a moment, her graceful pose and gentle face making her look for all the world like a lovely, pampered courtesan. Chellandri felt her mouth go very dry, and quite suddenly, very wet.

"Storm Blue has asked me to accompany him to the open-air market, to see if we might glean any further information from the villagers about the situation. Considering that we have already been advised that only your town elder handled business with the Ceners, I rather suspect that his true wish is to spend time with me alone." She sniffed disdainfully.

"Refuse," Chellandri suggested, and Dancing Leaves laughed. "I would and gladly, but I do believe that more than one person has asked me not to ... provoke him. I feel as though slighting him now would be less than beneficial for the mutual peace of the group, and we will need as little distraction as possible for tonight, for I believe Ghost Wind will have made up his mind regarding your Gourgaz by nightfall."

Chellandri lay back and stared at the ceiling, fighting the knot of emotion that squeezed her throat shut. The fear, and the loneliness, and the fear of future loneliness, seemed so inevitable that tears dribbled down the sides of her face before she could stop or deny them. Dancing Leaves watched her in silence, eyes hooded, face sympathetic.

"... he must be very important to you," she murmured.

"He is," Chellandri sighed, and she thought as she never had before about how utterly unfair life could be.

"I don't entirely know what that feeling is like, to occupy such a place in someone's heart," Dancing Leaves admitted. "But ... I imagine it must feel rather nice."

The word hung in the air between them, and almost imperceptibly, Dancing Leaves edged closer. Chellandri's eyes locked on the spiral of shimmering hair, trying to understand exactly what was happening. Or perhaps, she understood all too well.

There was a sharp tock-tock at the door, and the warm moment dissolved into dusty, sun-speckled motes that drifted away into the air. Dancing Leaves sighed dramatically. "Someone lacks patience today, I see!"

"Someone is taking entirely too long to drop off food! Did you step in the chamber pot? Or simply forget how to operate a door?"

"Loutish man. I am sorry for abandoning you yet again, my lady. Hopefully this trip away will not end as poorly. If you need anything, Bound Blade and Nightingale are both nearby. I will return as quickly as I may." She stood and tossed her hair as she jerked the door open. "Have you completely forgotten that you're supposed to be of noble birth? Must you always put your immaturity on public display? So I took longer than the average maid to deliver food, what of it?"

"Do you truly think me such an imbecile that I can't recognize your behavior? You are simply trying to indulge yourself again. I would think that nearly dying not quite ten hours ago would ground you a bit more, but apparently I give you far too much credit--"

They went out to the stables, still arguing ferociously the entire way. Chellandri listened to them continue to quarrel over the the sound of their horses' hooves until their strident voices faded away in the distance and left behind a hole of silence, which she filled with her own useless speculations until she slept again.

[Rune Owl]

Can I make a suggestion?

I think Chellandri might sense the Gourgaz before she sees him.

We know that Chellandri is telepathic. When she is around other people she has to work to block out their thoughts, but that usually isn't an issue because she is by herself on the farm with the goats. When neighbors come calling, she will often catch a bit of their internal dialog before she sees them. That happens with Eggsy, but it feels different and she can't figure out why at first.

You can use that little mystery to keep the reader on the hook while you get the story going.

Chelladri looked up from the goat she was milking and frowned at the trees out at the edge of her farmstead. Someone was nearby. A stranger.

She finished with the goat and stood, still looking at the trees. She untied her long hair, pulled it tight, and tied it again. Strangers were rare. She had been alone on the farm for just over a year and in that time she hadn't seen a stranger yet. It was unusual to see her neighbors more than once or twice in a month. As she picked up the milk bucket, she thought about what to do.

So now the reader knows Chellandri is a woman alone on a farm.  There is a stranger nearby, which could be good or bad.  Chellandri is clearly able to get by on her own, but if things go badly with the stranger there is no help nearby.  We've set the stakes and raised some questions.  Who is the stranger?  Why has Chellandri been alone on a farm for more than a year?  How does she know the stranger is there if she can't see him? 

Of course, this is your story.  I don't know if Chellandri milks her goats or has long hair.  I am only making a suggestion about about structure.

I like your setup with Chellandri and Eggsy.  Chellandri has already had to make some choices.  You're off to a good start.  Have you thought about the arc you want Chellandri to follow and how she'll change over the course of the story?  How would you like me and the other members of the forum to interact with this?  Do you want to discuss it, or should we just be readers?

I'm glad you've made the decision to occupy Magnamund as an author.  I think when you write about a setting, you really have to live there in your head in a way that's different from just being a reader.  I hope you have a good time with it.

[moonblade]

Apr 21, 2021 4:39:11 GMT Rune Owl said:

Can I make a suggestion?

I think Chellandri might sense the Gourgaz before she sees him.

We know that Chellandri is telepathic. When she is around other people she has to work to block out their thoughts, but that usually isn't an issue because she is by herself on the farm with the goats. When neighbors come calling, she will often catch a bit of their internal dialog before she sees them. That happens with Eggsy, but it feels different and she can't figure out why at first.

You can use that little mystery to keep the reader on the hook while you get the story going.

Chelladri looked up from the goat she was milking and frowned at the trees out at the edge of her farmstead. Someone was nearby. A stranger.

She finished with the goat and stood, still looking at the trees. She untied her long hair, pulled it tight, and tied it again. Strangers were rare. She had been alone on the farm for just over a year and in that time she hadn't seen a stranger yet. It was unusual to see her neighbors more than once or twice in a month. As she picked up the milk bucket, she thought about what to do.

So now the reader knows Chellandri is a woman alone on a farm.  There is a stranger nearby, which could be good or bad.  Chellandri is clearly able to get by on her own, but if things go badly with the stranger there is no help nearby.  We've set the stakes and raised some questions.  Who is the stranger?  Why has Chellandri been alone on a farm for more than a year?  How does she know the stranger is there if she can't see him? 

Of course, this is your story.  I don't know if Chellandri milks her goats or has long hair.  I am only making a suggestion about about structure.

I like your setup with Chellandri and Eggsy.  Chellandri has already had to make some choices.  You're off to a good start.  Have you thought about the arc you want Chellandri to follow and how she'll change over the course of the story?  How would you like me and the other members of the forum to interact with this?  Do you want to discuss it, or should we just be readers?

I'm glad you've made the decision to occupy Magnamund as an author.  I think when you write about a setting, you really have to live there in your head in a way that's different from just being a reader.  I hope you have a good time with it.

Hi Rune Owl, and thank you for reading!

Everything you bring up regarding structure is 100% valid. I think the reason I dove straight into the backstory to explain why Chellandri is living alone immediately is coming from my training in college level creative writing, where people indicated that they did not like a story where they were not told what was going on until much later. Granted, almost none of us were writing fantasy style stories at that time, we were writing hard fiction. So I forgot that the rules are a bit different.

What I intend to show and/or tell in the story seems to be evolving the more I write. Initially I only intended to write a short story about a childless couple who ends up with a Gourgaz and treats it lovingly as opposed to with fear. Then I got the idea of inserting some of the lower rank Kai into the story, as a way of thinking about how the inhabitants of Sommerlund see the Kai through their untrained and unsophisticated eyes. There’s also the wonder in the back of my head of how the younger, potentially more spoilt Kai lords act out of the presence of their Supreme Master, and so on and so forth. I still haven’t quite decided if Chellandri will actually have an arc, or if this will be just an event, albeit a major one, that happens in her life.

Feedback is absolutely welcome. Although I’ve been reading Lone Wolf for many many years, I do not claim to be very familiar with the fantasy genre. I am perfectly aware that there will be very obvious technical details that I miss, or things that need to be further explained. I’m just muddling around.

[rhygar]

Mar 24, 2021 4:17:10 GMT GhostofLandar said:

It's not "Chaos" but Evil. Chaos in Dever's work is a manifestation, a facet of supernatural Evil. It's Moorcock and the Moorcock-inspired Warhammer (Mallus, I think is the name of the world) and WH40K where Chaos is more or less=Evil. You would want to either justify the choice in the text (at some point) or you would simply change terms or develop something as pithy (and true to the real existence of Evil in Aon and beyond) that you prefer.

My take on this (and nothing to do with the story which I will sit down and read properly at some point, apologies...)

With Moorcock you’ve got the conflict between chaos and law as the tension between the impersonal forces of flux (chaos) and stasis (law) – both of which are ultimately destructive to life. Though impersonal, in the books these forces find themselves personified in the form of gods like Arioch and Arkyn. The need for a balance between flux and stasis is a key part of Moorcock’s ideas, as is a desire to move away from actually needing to ally oneself with those gods and be your own master.


In Warhammer, Chaos is more the manifestation of certain spiritual ideas or emotions found in sentient life forms which in moderation are good things -a love of beauty, arts and music and a striving for perfection; pride in physical strength and martial prowess; endurance, stoicism and an acceptance of death being a part of life; ambition and a thirst for knowledge.


But taken too far and what can you have? Perversion and hedonism, a love of violence and cruelty for its own sake, morbidity, corruption, changing and twisting things for the sake of it, destructive plotting and machinations.


The Warhammer Chaos Gods were set firmly against each other to the extent that in the game, fielding units with different loyalties was likely to end up in a bloodbath as Chaos Champions went headhunting the followers of rival gods whether they were on the same side in the battle or not. The irony is that most of those champions having had a meteoric gain in powers as a result of their pacts, were destined not to ascend to demonhood but descend into becoming mindless chaos spawn which then join the warband of newer rising champions who use them as expendable troops.