Category Archives: Fiction

By the Campfire

The road from their last camp had been tiring. The halfing hadn’t shut up the entire time, the two humans reminded her unpleasantly of her father’s enforcers and the half-elf… there was something about the half-elf that both attracted and repulsed her. She was glad, therefore, when they set up camp for the night and the halfling wandered off with their guide to find firewood, wittering away about the carrot soup his mother used to make and asking if any of the local herbs would be good in it.

“I’ll find some food.” The taller of the four women, Sonja, muttered, dropping her pack on the floor and stalking off into the night.

“So will I.” Muse turned as the half-elf crept away, reading a desire to be alone in every muscle of the young woman’s body.

“So that leaves us, I guess?” Muse said, a smile playing on her lips as she reached for her pipes. “How about I play a little tune to get you in the mood for cooking, Chef?”

Telari, a brusque human woman who, as far as Muse could tell, didn’t know how to smile had distinguished herself as a cook the first night they had made camp and hadn’t taken well to Muse’s nickname. She glared at the young tiefling and sat down, her legs crossed and loose robes arranged comfortably around her.

“I’d rather you didn’t.” Her voice was stern and uncompromising. “Meditation is easier when it is as silent outside, as it is inside.”

Muse shrugged, her tail flicking idly from side to side.

“Suit yourself.” She slid her pipes back into their pouch and drew a dagger from its sheath instead. The dark metal drank in the light of the setting sun and she started to sharpen it, rubbing the whetstone along the blade. She whistled quietly to herself as worked, a sea shanty she had heard once on the docks of Zazesspur.

She heard Lovefoot before she saw him, the halfling’s voice carrying easily on the still air.

“-and that’s how Mr. Crabapple lost his chickens.” Their guide grunted. “Anyway, I’m hungry. Let’s get this fire lit so I can cook something.”

Muse smiled widely as she saw Telari stiffen slightly. The monk opened her eyes and stared at the halfling in horror for a fraction of second before standing.

“I was thinking I’d make a stew tonight.” She said. Lovefoot thought for a second and then nodded.

“Okay. I’ll save Mrs. Halfthorn’s recipe for a rainy day.” Telari nodded and began laying the fire.

There was a quiet footstep behind Muse and the young tiefling flinched, turning to see Myca approaching, the edge of her tunic lifted to form a pocket of sorts. A few nuts fell from the pile of whatever was in there as she walked past.

She watched the half-elf move with an awkward grace, her profile striking in the rays of the setting sun, and then returned to her dagger, finishing it to her satisfaction before sheathing it with a flourish.

“Thirsty work, hunting.” A clear voice called out from the encroaching darkness as Sonja strode into the firelight, a brace of rabbits over her shoulder. “Where’s the wineskin?”

Muse reached into her pack and pulled it out.

“Catch, your Ladyship.” She said, throwing it to the statuesque woman.

Without breaking stride, Sonja caught the wineskin, pulled the stopper out with her teeth and downed a mouthful of wine before dropping the rabbits to the floor next to the intricate wooden structure Telari had built. Wisps of smoke began drifting in the air and the monk walked to her pack and pulled out some pots and small leather pouches which Muse knew contained her supply of herbs and salts.

They watched the fire grow swiftly as a light breeze picked up, and sparks began dancing on the air around the iron pot nestled in the flames. Muse volunteered to collect some water from a stream Sonja had noticed nearby and when she returned, Lovefoot and Telari were in a heated discussion about the correct amounts of basil and thyme to drop into the rabbit stew.

She noticed Myca was sitting slightly away from the rest of them, her brow furrowed and her teeth worrying at her lower lip.

“She’s not cut out for this.” Sonja said quietly, her usual ebullience missing from her voice. “She’s seen some horrors, but the open road and the desert? They aren’t in her blood. Not like they’re in yours and mine.” Muse looked at the red-haired woman, surprised by her insight. Sonja shrugged, the metal scales sewn into her clothes jingling slightly. “Mercenaries have to be able to know who they can trust in a fight. I look at you and I see the open road, a wanderlust that can’t be sated, and a darkness, a willingness to do what must be done. But her,” she gestured at Myca, “I see the forests and a desire to belong, for family. This isn’t the place for her.”

“Maybe not. But I think she’ll surprise us all. There’s a steel there, a resolve I haven’t seen in many people.” Muse smiled, her pointed teeth glimmering in the fire light. “Besides, the road has a way of dealing with the weak.” Sonja grunted and moved to sit by the fire as the argument began to die down.

“I believe it’s your turn, Muse.” Telari said absently as Lovefoot skipped away from the fire, whistling a nonsense tune to himself.


“To tell us why you’re here.”

“Oh. It’s not really an interesting story.”

“Nevertheless, we’ve shared our stories.” She said, gesturing to Sonja with a long-handled spoon. Muse sighed and pulled out her pipes.

“I’m doing this my way then.” Sonja laughed.

“I’d expect nothing else, tale-teller.”

Muse blew a few, eerie notes on her panpipes. A slow stream of smoke and cinders fell to the ground as the notes faded and three orbs of lavender light emerged as the smoke dissipated, floating to revolve slowly around Muse’s neck. Her skin took on a violet hue as their light combined with the fire illuminating her lavender skin.

“I don’t know my parents. I grew up on the streets of Zazesspur, far away on the coast to the north. A city of elves and men, one such as I was frowned up. Bearing the mark of a devil,” the orbs split up and drifted to float around her horns and balance on the tip of her tail, “and living on the streets, my opportunities were few and far between.”

The orbs moved slowly back to her throat and sank into the skin, forming a line of light from her clavicle to her jaw.

“So, I learned to sing and tell tales, to dance and to smile, to play and to charm. An honest urchin can live more consistently than a dishonest one. I was not rich, but nor was I poor.”

The balls of light pulled together in her throat and drifted outwards to become a humanoid shape, roughly as tall as an adult male.

“One evening, as winter drew in and the nights turned cold, Marvolo found me. The master of a travelling troupe, he needed a muse, an inspiration to bring cheer to his players once more. I became his Muse. I learned the ways of the road, the songs of many people, the magic of the stage.”

A tear fell from her quicksilver eyes.

“Until the day tragedy struck. Marvolo’s right-hand man, a man I trusted as a brother, betrayed me. I heard them arguing in the dead of night. He intended to sell me to a thief-lord, to be used as a pawn in some unknowable game.”

The orbs separated and turned a violent crimson, two floated to Muse’s eyes where they burned brightly and the third sank into the tip of her lashing tail.

“I am no-one’s pawn. I am not a toy to be used by others. I am my own person, now and forever more, until the Nine Hells freeze over and the Abyss swallows us all. So, I ran. I took everything I owned, and I ran.”

The lights faded as she blew another series of notes on her panpipes, the cloud of cinders and smoke dripped again in a caliginous mass from the ends of the pipes and wrapped itself around her throat. When she spoke again, her voice boomed in the still night air, her tone ominous.

“I ran to Seawell, I ran to my future.”


Prophecies of the Elements

Here is a selection of prophecies to inspire your own story hooks in whatever tabletop rpg you are playing, or to provide an ambiguous plotline for you to incorporate into your own games.

I would be interested to know what you, or your players, make of them, so please let me know in the comments.


When the sun burns green,

And the trees sing in an unknown breeze,

A faceless man will bring a rose from the East.

When he reaches the tower and gifts the rose to a woman of unmatched knowledge,

The winds of the Great Plains will sweep over the land and bring plague with them.


At the dawning of the new age,

An age of blood, steel and smoke,

A child will be born.

To her, will the secrets of the Ancients be given,

To her, will all the skill of the Children of the Stone be taught.

When she is of age, a great calamity will befall the house of Hask.

Only a gift of the earth, purest of the many Azure Crowns, will save it.


As the sun and the moon meet,

As the seas fall calm and the animals sleep,

As the plants in the field wither,

He shall come unbidden.

A stranger, cloaked and playing a lute,

With hair of fire and tongue of silver.

He will charm all who see him,

And destroy all who follow him.

He brings the cold, cleansing fire of death.


There is a cave in the middle of the world,

A mouth of broken stone and trailing plants.

A bear lives in the cave, her fur matted and hide scarred.

The world-bear carries the weight of the world on her shoulders and guards the fortunes of all.

At the height of its powers, a great empire will challenge the moon for supremacy of the night.

It will win, and the moon will fall, shattered into a hundred pieces.

As it dies, the seas will rise and wash into the cave, drowning the bear.

My vision sees nothing more,

Save a bear skull bobbing on a tide of blood.

Funeral Songs

Unplanned hiatus + Christmas break = tumbleweeds.

Hopefully, I can get back into my update schedule, so for today, we have a selection of funeral songs to inspire your world-building or to add flavour to a ceremony.

I will probably write more in the future, but for now, enjoy!

A Daughter’s Lament

You, who made me
You, who taught me
You, who helped me,
I weep for you

I weep for our past
I weep for our family
I weep for our loss
For a future not to be

A future of loss
A future of darkness
A future of hope diminished
A world with one less life

One less ember burning
One less breath of wind
One less smile to brighten a day
One less parent to raise a child


From the Stone

From the Stone, to the Stone
From the fire, to the forge.

As our hearts are made of iron,
So are our spirits made of steel.

There is nothing we cannot endure,
No struggle too great or small.

We are the Children of the Stone,
The world is our canvas.

Our life is granted to us by the Earthfather,
And it is taken by the Skymother.

Upon our death, we find peace,
An end to the struggle of life.

Where there is death, there is sadness,
There is pain and there is grief.

But turn this pain inwards,
Use it to temper your steel.

Grow stronger from it,
Become more of who you are.

This world will not mourn them,
It will not mourn you.

We are Children of the Stone,
From the Stone we come,
To the Stone we go.


Walk In Their Sight

We mourn you, you who have gone,
We are the many who knew the one,
A bright star passing through the night,
Burning strong in Ivellios’ esteemed sight.

You graced our lives with your love,
Given form by Her Grace above.
A light in the darkness burning strong,
A note on the wind from an unknown song.

As Vaella showed us the mercy of the Divine,
A golden nectar sweeter than any wine,
You brought a smile to our lips and hearts,
As pure as that of any lovers’ arts.

We mourn you, you have gone,
We are the many, who knew the one,
We thank you for teaching us of death,
And we remember you with every breath.

Walk in their light with our blessings, friend.

A Moment to Herself

Hi all! I know the hiatus ran on longer than predicted, but I hope the wait was worth it. This week, I wanted to attempt a change of tone in my normal writing style so I wrote a short vignette concerning my latest Call of Cthulhu character.

Any feedback is appreciated!


The record span in silence, the music long since finished. She sat in the room, her fingertips resting gently on the photograph in front of her.

A handsome man, his uniform smartly pressed and an infectious smile on his lips stared out at her, his youthful good looks belying his age.  The ornate golden frame was worn beneath the pads of her fingers, the grain of the carved wood as familiar as the matched pair of rings hanging from a chain around her neck.

A single tear rolled down her cheek, falling onto the glass, and she wiped it off with a rapid, jerking movement, a slight frown creasing her brow.

The pain was as fresh now as it had been all those years ago. She remembered when she had said goodbye the first time, as he left for Europe, and she remembered the brief moments of happiness they had snatched when he was sent back for convalescence.

Her hand drifted to her stomach as she remembered the news she had so desired to tell him. Another tear fell for the life that had faded when she said goodbye the second time, when he lay feverish on the hospital bed, his right leg a ragged mess and blood on his lips.

The hand on her stomach clenched as a spike of hunger shot through her and she looked away from the photograph to the plate on the low table in front of her. Her breakfast lay there, a single bite taken from it. She had intended to eat it, but the food had turned to ash in her mouth. Not even the sweetened mint tea, purchased through her contacts, had tasted of anything and remained undrunk in its cup next to the plate.

A sob forced its way from her throat and she hunched forwards, rocking slightly as more tears fell. Her chest felt as if it were wrapped in a vice made of ice-cold iron, a slow, cold pressure that made her feel as if her ribs would break at any moment. The tears, salty on her lips, brought a gentle warmth to her face.

The fire in the hearth had been lit before the maid had left for the day, but it had done nothing to drive the sluggish numbness from her body. The embers glowed dimly, a dull orange light in the bright room.

It was days like this that she felt like the fire, a muted glow surrounded by the life of this great, bustling city. She frequently walked the streets of London, the crowds not only serving to remind her of the humanity that she frequently struggled to feel a part of, but also making her feel adrift in a strange ocean, floundering for meaning and life. She rarely felt so alone or insignificant as she did when she was lost in the mass of people around her.

Helena, the maid, had asked her to remember to eat today. Her rebelliousness was what attracted Amina, but sometimes she was too perceptive. She wondered how much the maid really saw, and whether or not she realised that every day she had off, her mistress spent the day wrapped up in her own pain. The pressure of remaining positive for the rest of the week was almost too much to bear with so much grief and anger straining against her chest.

A letter from Winifred lay nearby, discarded after reading. Her dearest friend was the only person she had confided in and the elderly woman had reacted with her usual grace and poise, offering a handkerchief and a warm pastry from the café near her apartment. Amina suspected that Winifred had known a pain like this, the wisdom in her kind eyes had spoken of hard-won experience.

The tears gradually faded and the still, quiet air of the room returned as she stopped sobbing. She closed her eyes slowly and drew a long, heavy breath into her lungs. She had given the maid her word that she would eat and Amina Farah Atan kept her promises.

She sat down again, minutes later, a trembling hand lifting small pieces of fruit to her mouth. She had hesitated in the pantry, her eyes on the plate of halal meat resting under the fly net but the sight of it had turned her stomach over, reminding her too much of what she had seen in that hospital ward.

Her eyes stared unblinkingly at the wall opposite as she ate, the sweet fruit barely registering on her tongue or full lips. The only thing she really felt was the cool china of the plate as it slowly warmed against her skin.

She reached for another slice of fruit and blinked as her fingernails scraped the plate. She looked down slowly and took in the pattern on the now empty china. She lost herself in the design as half-remembered sensations of being held and late-night conversations filled her mind. She felt her throat closing again and forced herself back to the present, blinking away the tears welling in her eyes.

She stood and carried her plate to the sink in the kitchen before returning to the sitting room where she mechanically turned off the record player and put the disk away. That done she stood still, her eyes on the floor, for a few minutes before shuddering and walking to the mirror where she stared at her reflection and forced a smile. She held the expression for a few minutes until it felt natural and turned back to the room, taking in the orderliness of it.

The fire was the only thing that really needed tending to and as she was brushing her hands clean of coal dust, there was a knock at the door. She straightened, glanced at the clock, made sure her smile was fixed firmly in place and that her eyes weren’t red from crying with a quick glance in the mirror, and then walked to the house’s door. She drew a steadying breath as she reached for the handle and opened it.

“Rahim, please, be welcome.”

The Meet

Something different this week, a short piece of fiction inspired by Shadowrun.

As ever, comments and criticisms are welcome!

Rain-slick tarmac reflected the cracked blue neon tubes of Harran’s Diner. Leonin leant against the cool concrete of a doorway across the road, his collar turned up against the biting wind. He’d been standing here for about thirty minutes, his hands in pockets and his cybernetic eye powered down, watching the door.

About five minutes ago, three patrons had entered, a couple of elves and a troll, and then left moments later to take up discrete sentry positions. He had smiled at that. He’d been told their contact was security conscious, but these were obviously trained professionals. He had begun to wonder if Mr Johnson worked for one of the mega-corps when the man himself turned up, striding confidently down the street as if he owned it.

A dwarf of middling years, Mr Johnson was dressed smartly, with the tell-tale sheen of synth flesh covering cyberware mods around his eyes and hands. The rain was deflected by an umbrella carried by an aide, one of five, walking at his side. The other four, all armoured, masked and wielding snub-nosed rifles, walked with military precision and dispersed at a gesture from their employer, taking up overwatch positions around the Diner.

Leonin counted off in his head, waiting for the agreed upon time and then shrugged himself upright. One of the guards noticed the movement, his gun barrel twitching slightly. The troll stepped from its position and sauntered casually into the Diner as he approached.

The Diner’s security, a broad shouldered female ork with a scarred lip, glared at him as he approached and pulled out a scan-baton.

“Stand,” she said, indicating a faded cross on the soaked tarmac. Leonin nodded and stood on the spot, raising his arms. The baton hummed into life and passed over his body, chirping at the sheath strapped to his belt. The ork wrenched his coat open and drew the knife, staring into his eyes as she did so. “No weapons allowed. Bosses’ orders.” She grunted, flipping the short blade and handing him a tag. “Claim it when you leave.” He nodded and smiled easily, he had expected something along these lines when Johnson had suggested the diner and when the ork had not approached any of his people.

“May I?” He asked, his tone smooth and unflustered, gesturing towards the door. She nodded, her eyes already sliding away from him and towards the steaming mug in the little shelter she had been provided.

The door ground slowly open as he approached, the mechanism whirring audibly.

“I apologise for the safety measures.” Johnson called out from the only occupied table in the Diner, his arms opening to encompass the few standing, and visibly armed, patrons in the place. “They are necessary for a man in my position.” Leonin laughed.

“What position is that?” The dwarf gave him a searching glance with narrowed eyes.

“That is of little consequence. Now, sit. We have business to discuss.” Leonin walked slowly over to the indicated chair, his eyes firmly on Johnson.

“Indeed, we do. You have the information Jorral requested?” The dwarf nodded and slid a folder across the scratched plastic table.

“Half of it is in there. The rest will be delivered upon completion of the job.” Leonin’s jaw clenched momentarily before he nodded, his face open and relaxed. “I appreciate your deactivated ‘ware, by the way. I assure you, your confidence in me puts you in good standing.”

“I judged a man with your security requirements would be unwilling to have his face recorded.” Leonin said quietly, reaching out for the folder. “I expect that the security systems along your route experienced short-term malfunctions upon your approach.” The troll, the one from outside who was now standing near Johnson’s shoulder, chuckled quietly.

“Indeed.” Johnson said, “Let me re-assure you that division of payment is a standard practice for me, it is not a slight on your reputation.”

The speaker in Leonin’s ear whistled quietly and Jorral’s voice came over the line.

“He has someone searching for your face. Halsa is slowing them down but don’t take too long. We need that mask to work for a few days more.”

“I appreciate your honesty.” Leonin said, meeting Johnson’s eyes. “To business then?” The dwarf nodded.

“An acquaintance of mine has stumbled across some information that he should not possess. I am willing to give you the rest of your payment after your decker’s services have yielded fruit. Nothing difficult. Just a simple server intrusion and data mining.” Leonin laughed.

“Nothing is ever a simple intrusion in this business. You have the relevant information to hand?” Johnson nodded and slid another file across to him. “Jorral has most of the details but there is an updated summary, along with some additional information, in the folder. I trust you will be discrete?” Leonin smiled, nodded and stood.

“Discrete and swift. That’s how we do things.” He nodded at the dwarf. “We’ll be in touch.”

Without looking back, he walked out of the Diner and claimed his knife.

“Have a great evening.” He called to the ork over his shoulder. “Take plenty of vid for what happens next.” His hand found the transmit button sewn into the cuff of his coat. “Contact Ares. Tell him I have the proof of the dwarf’s involvement. The job’s finished.” He smiled as he walked away, content with another run safely completed.

The Beginning of Things #1

At long last, here is the first instalment of my serial fiction featuring the characters I have introduced through a series of prologues. A .pdf is available here and will be updated as the story progresses.

If you have any comments or criticisms, let me know.


The setting sun shone in through the large windows and warmed the pale marble floor under her feet. Around her, the sounds of quill on parchment gradually faded as the students left. Within minutes, she was alone in the Grand Library.

Caelynn Selasthrin, her auburn hair pulled messily back and her ink stained fingers trembling with fatigue, desperately wanted to leave the Library as well. She had been here for three days already, grabbing short naps where she could, and eating what little she had brought with her.

“You really should leave, you know.” The deep voice carried on the still air, causing her to jump. She looked up from the research scattered on the table and rubbed her eyes.

“I don’t have time.” She said, stretching out her spine. “I need to find what I’m looking for, much depends on it.” The priest approaching her smiled, the weather-beaten skin on his scarred face creasing along well-worn laugh lines.

“That’s what they all say.” He stopped at the edge of her table, folding his hands into the sleeves of his plain robe. “I’ve been a librarian here for a long time, and I’ve seen all sorts pass between these shelves. You, Caelynn, are not a researcher.” He cocked his head and looked at the scattered books and papers covering the wooden surface in front of her. “You have works on five different subjects, presenting thirteen points of view and collecting the results of at least two insane geniuses.” He sighed. “Please. Get some rest.”

“No. I need to find this, Raez. I need to. I just don’t know where to look.” She looked around, gesturing towards the shelves. “There is so much to go through.” Her shoulders slumped.

“What are you even looking for?” Raez’s voice was quiet and he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Lassin’s Rune of Protection. Master Gerund needs it for something and he said it was here. Somewhere.” She paused as a broad smile split Raez’s face. “What? What is it?” The priest said nothing in return, merely pointing at the ceiling. She looked up and her eyes widened.

Lost among the mosaic depicting the end of the Cataclysm, but plain to her trained eyes, a grand rune, undeniably a master rune, was hidden in the exact centre of the library’s roof.

She groaned and slumped forwards on the desk, her head cushioned on her right fore-arm.

“Are you sure this wasn’t a test? It’s not easy to forget where it is.” Raez said, struggling to contain his laughter.

“Of course it was a test.” Caelynn’s voice was muffled against the fabric of her sleeve. “It’s always a test. He’s been testing me ever since I got back to Scour with that caravan.”

“That’s just his way. You know what can happen if your magic isn’t applied properly.” She raised her head and stared at him

“I know, I know. I know I struggle to focus on things sometimes, I know that elves don’t make natural rune-carvers, I know that the tests are for my own safety. I just wish he would stop telling me that.” She sighed. “Sorry. It’s not your fault. I’ll sketch the rune and put these things back before leaving.”

“I’ll put the books back. Just go and rest.” Raez smiled. She couldn’t help returning the smile as she pulled some parchment towards her.

“Thank you.” She said, sketching the rune swiftly.

Raez began to silently tidy her desk as her hands drew smooth, sure strokes on the parchment.

As she put the quill down and craned her head to check her work against the original, he stepped away and made a shoo-ing gesture with his hands.

“Now go.” He said, smiling. “Sleep.” She nodded wearily and collected the few things on the desk that didn’t belong in the library.

“Thank you, again.” She said, standing. He nodded and grabbed a pile of books from her table as she started to walk out of the library.

The double doors opened smoothly at her touch and the golden sun painted the courtyard in shades of amber and bronze.

At this time of year, Temple Court was still busy in the evening. Students and faithful alike filled its numerous courtyards and meeting spaces.  The Grand Library, with its ornate façade, formed the entire south side of this particular courtyard and looked onto the unassuming rear of the Temple of Knowledge. Statues of both the Guardian and the Seeker, the two deities of knowledge, were recessed into alcoves along the temple wall and stood silent vigil over the Library.

She breathed deeply, enjoying the warm summer air, and started walking down the steps. The sounds of the city surrounded her and wrapped her in their familiar embrace as she crossed the square. The smell of food from somewhere nearby caught her attention and she realised how hungry she was.

Without really thinking about it, she changed direction, heading for the little café she favoured. Honeydew and Bramble was a small establishment, unknown to most and tucked away behind a few university buildings, that served a wide variety of traditional halfling pastries, as well as the honeyleaf tea she had thought she would never find again when she left the Starspire Forest.

It didn’t take her long to get there and sit down with a bramble-berry tart and a pot of steaming tea. She closed her eyes and inhaled the sweet smell of the infusion, smiling with satisfaction.

“Looks nice.” A sibilant voice said nearby. She opened her eyes and looked at the copper-scaled dragonborn standing next to her table. There was an air of lazy authority in the stranger’s voice, and a stiffness to her bearing, that betrayed an expectation of obedience.

“They usually are.” Caelynn replied, her tone guarded.

“Elenia Moondharrow wishes to see you.” The dragonborn said, reaching into her pocket and dropping a sealed roll of parchment onto the table. “She awaits you in her tower.” She turned to leave. “I wouldn’t keep her waiting.”

Caelynn froze as the dragonborn left, her hand hovering over the parchment.

The Protector of Stability. She thought. What does she want with me? She began searching her memory, desperately looking for something she might have done that would result in being summoned by the head of Scour’s secret police and one of the oldest, and most powerful, members of the Twelve.

She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, reaching for the missive. Without pausing, she broke the wax seal and unrolled it.

Caelynn Selasthrin, I need someone with your knowledge for a mission of utmost importance. Your tutors suggested you as a possible candidate and have given me permission to offer you a once in a lifetime opportunity.

 I can say no more about the mission other than that it is dangerous, but vital for the continued survival of the city. You will be well compensated for your troubles and I believe the experience will give you ample opportunity to practice your skills.

If you wish to take me up on my offer of employment, bring this letter to my tower and show it to my assistant. He will know what to do.”

She put the letter down and ate her tart as fast as she could, unwilling to keep Elenia Moondharrow waiting.

Sans Comic: Belladonna Origins – Page Two

Panel 1

Description: A tall, narrow panel showing Isabelle from the front. Her coat is blown open by the wind, revealing a blazer and blouse above the dark jeans. An ID badge is clipped to the blazer’s breast pocket.

Text: A trained psychiatrist, Isabelle spends her days working in a council-funded clinic in the heart of the Hollow, offering psychiatric help for free.


Panel 2

Description: A square panel showing music playing in Isabelle’s coat pocket.

Text: –


Panel 3

Description: A square panel showing her pulling a mobile phone from her pocket, the caller ID reads ‘Mark’.



Panel 4

Description: A square panel showing Isabelle’s face, frowning slightly.

Text: Sometimes though, her patients aren’t the only one with problems.


Panel 5

Description: A square panel shows Isabelle holding the phone to her ear.

Text: Isabelle; Mark. You know you aren’t supposed to call this number.

Mark; I know. But I wanted to hear your voice again.

Isabelle; Mark-

Mark; Please, I just want to talk.




Sans Comic: Belladonna Origins – Page One

Introducing my new series, Sans Comic! This will be a script for a comic series to explain the background behind several superhero characters I’ve created for various RPGs.

I’ll be posting it a page at a time because some weeks I can’t write much more than that.

If reading scripts isn’t really your thing, come back next week for some supplemental rules for use in your own games.

If you do enjoy this, let me know and feel free to share with anyone else who might like it.

Panel 1

Description: A wide panel that depicts a city skyline abutting a small mountain. The sun is setting and the sky is full of grey clouds.

Text: Freshmount, a city of hopes and dreams. Founded in 1789, it has seen its share of troubles.

Panel 2

Description: A square panel that depicts a section of the city as seen from above. Traffic is heavy on one major road cutting through the district, and a few umbrellas can be seen on the pavements.

Text: At the heart of Freshmount lies the decaying district of Banker’s Hollow. Hidden from the rest of the city by a natural depression, it is here that the founding members decided to erect their banks and trading houses.

Panel 3

Description: A square panel that depicts a bird’s eye view of an alleyway cutting across it diagonally. A lone figure walks down the alley, her long violet hair blowing in a strong wind.

Text: Years of economic troubles have stripped the Hollow of its wealth. Now it is exists as a reminder of the golden days and as a place to house the poorer members of Freshmount’s citizenry.

Panel 4

Description: A wide panel that depicts a young woman walking across it, right to left. She is of medium height with violet hair being blown backwards in a strong wind. Her hands are buried in the pockets in a long, grey coat. The coat covers her body to her knees, revealing dark jeans and boots. A messenger bag is worn across her chest.

Text: For people like Isabelle Langdry, Banker’s Hollow is an opportunity for change.

Lady Kima of Vord and Cassandra de Rolo – A Grave Conversation

Here is the last entry for Critical Role Relationship Week and as promised, I have compiled a PDF of all the vignettes I wrote.


The blade on my shoulder felt cool where it pressed against the skin of my neck. The tombstones lying all around were disquieting at this time of day.

With the sun barely risen, and the clouds in the sky, the scene looked like something I would have stumbled across back in the Dusk Meadow District. A mausoleum nearby caught my eye and, for a second, a tall, hooded figure stood in front of it. I blinked and the figure disappeared.

I felt my fingers tightening unconsciously around the sword hilt and forced myself to breathe. My breath plumed in the air visibly and I frowned. Something was wrong.

I stopped and looked around.

Ahead of me, I could see Lady Cassandra and her guards in front of an ornate crypt. Behind me, Jarett was sauntering out of sight. I could see nothing else in the graveyard and yet, I was certain that something else was here with us.

“Come out where I can kill you.” I whispered under my breath. The silence answered me and the feeling passed as abruptly as it had arrived. I shivered and glanced again at the mausoleum that had attracted my attention. A lone bird was perched upon it.

As I saw it, it gave a loud caw and flew off.

“Bloody bird.” I muttered and started walking again.

My plate clanked quietly as I moved and it broke the ominous silence. Birdsong filtered through the air and the guards with Lady Cassandra flinched, as if jerking themselves to wakefulness. One of them turned and leaned towards her slightly. She nodded and made a dismissive gesture. The two figures saluted and began walking towards me.

“The Lady bids you welcome.” One of them said, his voice deep in the full face helm. “We will be nearby if anything happens.”

I nodded and grinned.

“I’ll let you know if it’s something I can’t handle.”

The other guard laughed quietly and they continued past me.

“Lady Kima.” Lady Cassandra’s voice was strained, dark rings lined her eyes and her smile was a tired one. “Thank you for coming.”

“Lady de Rolo.” I inclined my head hurriedly, barely remembering the etiquette lessons I’d suffered through in the Platinum Sanctuary.

“Cassandra, please.” She flicked her fingers in a dismissive gesture. “I endure enough of the proper formalities in the castle.” She met my eyes, looking down into them with a pleading expression on her face.

“Cassandra.” I smiled. “Why am I here?” I looked around again. “Graveyards aren’t really my thing, you know.”

She laughed.

“I know. You’re here because I wished to pay my respects to the memory of my parents and because I wanted somewhere we couldn’t be overheard.” I nodded. “I worry about a lot of things. I worry about my brother. I worry about redemption. I worry about my people.” She fell silent and looked up at the empty sky. “But most of all, I worry about what we’re going to do if the worst happens. I am not a warrior like you or Percival. All of this is new to me. Lady Kima, would you teach me to fight?” She looked down at me again.

“I’m always happy to fight, Lad- Cassandra. But Jarett…” She shook her head, cutting me off.

“Jarett is competent and experienced. But he will never think of himself as more than an employee. I need someone who isn’t afraid of shouting at me when I need it. I need someone who will show me how to get the job done. Someone who doesn’t care about social standing, or the niceties. In short, Lady Kima, I need you. Will you do this for me? Will you teach me to fight so that I may better defend my people?”

I grinned widely.

“Will I take every opportunity to hand you your ass without regrets? Of course, I will. But,” I stopped smiling. “I will also show you how to improve. A sword is only as good as the intent behind it. Intention, Cassandra, begins here.” I touched her chest with my gauntleted hand. “Do you have the resolve it takes to fight?”

She straightened.

“I am a de Rolo, Lady Kima. Much like Percival, I have the resolve to do anything I set my mind to.”

I laughed and held my hand out to her.

“Good. Then this will be fun.”

Jarett Howarth and Trinket – Prepared for Anything

Today is the penultimate day of Critical Role Relationship Week. Tomorrow’s entry will round things off nicely and be accompanied by a PDF of the entire week’s worth of updates.
Look for another update later concerned more with the usual content on this website.


“Look after him, darling.” Vex’ahlia said over her shoulder as she walked through the doorway back into the castle.

“Of course.” Jarett replied, eyeing the growing crowd and turning to address it. “I can see there won’t be any training until this happens, so you may as well come in and watch.” He gestured for the onlookers to line the walls of the training yard. “The life of a mercenary, or a soldier, or even a guard, requires you to be ready for anything.

Obviously, at the moment, our problem is dragons, wyverns and lizardfolk. But that does not mean you can be caught off-guard by less…” His voice trailed off as he searched for an appropriate word. “Less awe-inspiring threats.” He drew his sword. “It is my job to make sure that you’re prepared for any enemy, at any time.”

A few of the guards watching began to whisper amongst themselves and he rounded on them.

“You think that you know all of this?” He asked, his voice quiet. “You think that you know how to use a sword? That, when the moment comes, you will be able to do what you must in defence of your city?” He gave a grim smile. “Good. You will need that certainty to carry you through.” He stopped pacing and turned to face the centre of the training yard.

A large, brown bear stood there, the morning sun glinting from the metallic plates of chitin that it wore as armour. Jarett took a few moments to admire the workmanship of the armour and the primal might of the bear.

“That, as you can see, is a bear.” He looked around, his sword by his side. “A common sight in the forests around the city. Lady Vex’ahlia has kindly agreed to let him spar with me so that I can teach you the skills you need to use in case you ever encounter one whilst out hunting. As you can also see, it is armoured. This is not a natural state for a bear.”

A few guards let out a laugh and he nodded.

“Because this is the Lady’s companion, I have agreed to do my best not to hurt him and, I have been assured, he understands not to try to kill me.” Out of the corner of his eye, Jarett saw the bear make a clumsy nodding motion with its head. He smiled and walked over to a rack of training weapons.

He scanned it quickly, looking for one of the heavy wooden practice swords. He sheathed his own blade, drawn more for emphasis than intent, and lifted a wooden blade from the hooks it rested on. Giving it a few practice swings to learn its balance, he picked up a shield from where it leaned against the rack and turned to face the bear again.

“Assuming you live long enough to draw your weapon against a bear in the wild, you have a few options. You can try to fend it off and summon help, you can try to run away or, and this is the foolhardy choice, you can try to kill it.” He looked at the bear and readied himself. “Pay attention, because what you are about to see may save your life. Now, Trinket.”

At his words, the bear exploded into action. Giving out a deafening roar, Trinket charged straight for him. He watched the beast’s movement with an experienced eye and dove sideways at the last moment, rolling to his feet as Trinket slammed into the weapons rack.

The wooden construction collapsed in a cloud of splinters and Trinket bellowed again, turning to face him. Jarett had backed away from the bear and stood facing him across the yard, sword and shield readied once more.

The bear shook itself free from the wreckage and took a few steps towards him before breaking into a blur of teeth and muscle.

He tried the same thing again and realised too late, that Trinket had anticipated his movement. As he dived sideways, the bear lashed out with a massive paw, hitting him solidly in his breastplate. He skidded along the ground and smashed into the stone wall, where he lay winded.

Trinket, thrown off-balance by his own attack, stumbled and fell.

The bear was the first to regain its feet and stalked over to where Jarett lay, struggling to breath and fighting the pain that threatened to overwhelm him. Trinket lowered his head and butted his muzzle against Jarett’s throat.

The man nodded and dropped his sword, reaching up to use a plate of the bear’s armour to help him stand.

“And that,” he gasped, “is why you do not fight a bear alone. Or in such a small area. The main strategy when fighting a bear is attack in large numbers.” He patted Trinket’s head cautiously. “What do you think about getting some food?”

The bear looked at him for a second and then, slowly and deliberately, licked his face from chin to temple.