The City of An: Serenity in the Valley

For a thousand years, the city of An has been at peace. The Ancients built the original site into the side of a colossal mountain, and over the next hundred years or so the stronghold spread out and dominated the green valley nearby, eventually coming to a stop at the Tamalian Wood, a dark and immense forest said to be inhabited by creatures of myth. The city also is bordered by a vast shoreline, with a scattering of uninhabited islands dotting the horizon.

The city is home to heroes and vagrants, people who appear suddenly on the harbor after having come by boat, who mysteriously appear with magical gems from the darkened forest, or who come strapped with great-axes and dented armor from the high mountains. Some appear, as if having fallen from the sky, naked and dazed. The city of An has been a refuge for generations, of lost wanderers and those who have desired to make a home and a name for themselves.

It is said there are innumerable dungeons and ancient evils dwelling inside the mountains, and untold beauties and mysteries in the forest, and the islands hold their share of magic as well. The city itself is protected, though, by unspoken magic, and while magicians have searched for the origin of it, none have discovered its foundation.

OOC Rules: This is a city you design. Basic rules is as follows... 1) Create a character, 2) Put your character in a location, and 3) Have fun in that area. I encourage you to create lots of characters, and create lots of locations and have fun in the art of character generation and city building.

I will try to keep track of everything that goes on here, and when the city gets big enough, create a map with location names. Please post quality characters and locations though.

Once your character is created, you are free to browse throughout the city and interact with other people in other locations.

This post will include the various denizens of the city and the places they inhabit. It will be changed from time to time, as people and places are added.

There are five possible places to place locations. 1)The city, 2)the mountains, 3)the forest, 4)the islands, and the 5)otherworld. The otherworld is a strange and mysterious dimension that is only reachable by magic portal, but you can design to your hearts content there.

CHARACTERS
Accu'Marran - Shari Tana
Accu'Toth - Diaskeaus
"Changeling Gang" (Hands, Moonie, Dreamer, and Lovely) - Diaskeaus
Daygon Gleason - Diaskeaus
"Fortress of Eternity" (Dregs, Shrill, and Lefty) - Darlok
Gielan Hutson - Darlok
Haruspex - Diaskeaus
Iero - Diaskeaus
Lorcan Malheur - Diaskeaus
Octavia Octavus - Diaskeaus
Olffmut - Diaskeaus
Tyson Fireshoal - Diaskeaus

LOCATIONS
City:
Academy - Diaskeaus
Arena - Diaskeaus
Labyrinth Prison - Diaskeaus
Octavus Manor - Diaskeaus
Seaside Slums - Darlok
----Fortress of Eternity - Darlok
----Old Harbor - Darlok
Serpent in the Cup - Diaskeaus
Wellpond - Diaskeaus

Mountains:
Accunari Monastery - Shari Tana
Chasm of Aelwynne - Diaskeaus
Crystalline Peaks - Darlok
Shadowbarrow Moors - Diaskeaus
Summermont Crags - Diaskeaus
Unnamed Village (as of yet) - Diaskeaus

Forest:
Linmoor Glade - Diaskeaus

Islands:
Dragonlake Tower [Faysilver Island] - Diaskeaus

Otherworld:
Temple of King Senra - Diaskeaus

It was high in the afternoon. The leaves on the great sycamore had begun to turn red, and a couple sat beneath the canopy, basking in the shadows of fall. One was a tiny young girl, and the other an older man with a darkened, tanned face. They were picking up leaves and talking about the lines and shapes, about how the leaves reminded the older man of some of the trees in the Summermont Crags, which he pointed up to the mountains and said they were beyond the high shadows at the tip of his finger.

"They are inhabited by golems, little one, creatures so strong and fearsome that the other heroes I was with fled, nearly dropping their pants!" The older man was named Tyson Fireshoal, although for nearly a decade he had just gone by Daddy.

"Do they really carry gems as big as this leaf, daddy?" his daughter asked, with huge eyes. She cradled the leaf in her hand like a mysterious treasure, turning it over and drawing her fingers along the veins of skin.

"Ay, lass, and some of the gems they carry even look like that leaf your are holding, green and red gems that they often attach to their waist and walk around, gloating to the other giants in their families, smiling and pointing to the treasures they wear on their belts." Tyson took his daughter's hand.

"You see this marking, here? The end of the leaf, see it? It is said that when a golem dies in the mountains, his soul goes into the earth and becomes a root of a tree, so that when that tree springs up out of the ground, all his children see his leaves and they begin to dream of their old man. That's why they look for those particular gems, that look like the leaves of their ancestors."

His daughter looked up at him, and grabbed his face, laughing. "Why don't they just sit under the tree, then! Why do they go out and find stones? They have all the leaves in the world right here!" She giggled and jumped into a pile of leaves.

"Ay, daughter, the wisdom of children speaks again..." Tyson remarked, and looked to the skies with earnest, if a somewhat regretful glance. "If only they had."

The Wellpond today was quite isolated, but Tyson noticed at the far corner of the pond a flock of doves had gathered, resting their wings on the green gnoll. Beyond the grassy hill, the rise of buildings began. The doves were of the Linmoor, one of the glades in the forest beyond the city. They rarely came into the city, but when they did, they were a dazzling sight to behold. Their radiant white wings against the emerald green of the Wellpond was like staring into the palaces of heaven.

Locations: Crystalline Peaks (Mountains)
Seaside Slums (City)

Characters: Gielan Hutson - Darlok
"Dregs" - Darlok



*************************************

"Quick! Get it!"

Two little boys chased the rat across the pink cobblestone, barely taking the time to watch for the missing stones in the worn down road. Weaving and dodging, the rat made a bee-line for a crack in the wall of a nearby building. The boys never missed a beat, life on the streets instilling a quickness in the pair that the rat was unable to match. With a quick motion the taller of the two had the rat lifted by the tail. Sensing the impending doom, the dirty animal began to writhe harder but was unable to break the grip of the equally dirty...and hungry...child. With a flick of the wrist, the boy struck the tiny animal against the ground. Still and bleeding, the rodent was added to a pile nearby, totaling seven in all. The smaller child turned to the older. "Seven rats! Seven! Dregs is gonna be so proud of us!"

Together, rats hanging over their shoulders, the two boys made their way down the steets and alleys. Had anybody been on the streets, they might have gawked and shuddered at the pair of dirty urchins and their foul catch. However this area of seaside market had been abandoned for sometime. Pinched between the ocean and the mountains, the seaside market had thrived for a time. Unfortunately, the noise and the smells had been enticing enough to lure the creatures of the mountain down to the city, threating the safety of the merchants and others who frequented the area. Choosing to move the market down the coast, the stores and warehouses were left to fall apart. That was when Dregs and the boys moved in.

The boys stopped at a boarded up tackle shop and rapped a couple times on the door. Shuffling and whispers from inside indentified that others had already gathered at the 'fortress of eternity'. From inside the shop two voices could be heard arguing.

"Let'em in!"

"No! They didn't say the password!"

"We don't even have a password you dolt!"

"Do so!" "Do not!" "Do so!"

WHAP!

The two outside glanced about nervously, afraid someone or something might come along and gobble their treats. "C'mon guys! We got rats!"

With a creak, the door to the 'fortress' swung open revealing two equally dirty children, one rubbing the back of his head. "Food?"

The taller one nodded. "Yep. Big ones too! Where's Dregs?"

The boy rubbing his head nodded. "On the roof, as usual."

As the pair entered, rats clung closely like a prized catch, they eyed the room. Inside the store was a dozen or so kids, each as dirty as the next. Orphaned and Abandoned, each had been welcomed into the group with open arms by Dregs, the leader of the group and founder of the 'fortress of eternity'. Now the kids were like a close knit family, each doing whatever they could to ensure the survival of all. That included foraging, scavanging, and even petty theft. Now each kid eyed the new arrivals, or more so the bounty each carried.

At the top of the stairs, the boys exited into what had once been the second story. Now, the roof and walls rested upon the first floor creating an open area. In the middle of the area on a oversized stool sat a boy a couple years older then the rest. Dregs, as the other kids knew him, was about seventeen years old. Two years older, a boating accident claimed the lives of both his parents. Rather then live with his uncaring grandma, Dregs had decided to run away. In the old seaside market, or the seaside slums as they had come to be called, Dregs met another runaway and together they made the 'fortress of eternity'. Since then they had recruited runaways and orphins.

Dregs smiled at the boys as they entered the open second floor. "Hey! Whatcha got there?"

The smaller piped up before the taller, obviously the leader, could speak. "We got rats! Seven of em!"

Dregs smiled. "Good job you two! tell me where you found them..."

*************************

OOC: I'll write up the other part (Gielan's plot) later.

"The Elder Haruspex lives on a remote sea isle. He is said to be a mere youth, who shuns the light of day." -The Profundis Arcanum XII

"One pinch of marrow from dragonbone, two red shark eyeballs, and the gemstone of a dead sorceror's staff. That should do it."

Puff.

Suddenly the table exploded, including the vial of glass and ingredients. Shreds of wood flew into walls, his expensive rug, and his bed.

"Curses!"

The door on the far side of the room flew open, and in marched an ageless wizard, whose hat was charred and glowing, and whose face could have seen a better day. Wrinkles lined his face, as if he had woken up as a bare babe on a faultline. He didn't look a day over 15, but his hair had gone shred-white, and his face sagged from his bones.

"This will never work, Olffmut, never work. Get out from under there, would you?" The wizard kicked what was left of the table, and it went smashing on its side, revealing a shivering old gnome whose whiskers were still flaming.

"Get me my book, Olffmut, and hurry on it. I haven't many ingredients left," Haruspex said in a huff. He dusted off his purple robe, now spattered with a white dust that smelled faintly of burned adventurers and long nights guarding treasure.

The little gnome was unlike other gnomes. He had hardly been fed in years, and so had a skeletal visage. When he was first conscripted into service to the despicable wizard (or so now he thought) he had been a fat and jolly gnome, taken in by the wizard's flamboyant long hair and eternal sense of youth. However, in the last few years, the once mighty conjurer had begun to try and pry the doors of the world open to the Temple of King Senra, a terrible place that had been closed for a reason. No matter, the little gnome thought, the master's wishes must be handled properly, or else he would find himself back in the mines, and that wasn't something he relished much. As much as doing the wizard's dirty work was awful, he had been here so long he was afraid he couldn't lift a pick anymore or look at his people with pride.

When the gnome returned, the wizard began to arrange the materials once again on the table, turning the giant tome to a blackened page with a hole in it.

"Drat it all!" He grabbed the page and ripped it out, and then slid to the floor, defeated.

"My lord?" the little gnome asked.

"It's been stolen. I have to go to the city, to HIM."

"Oh dear. Are you sure? Maybe it's been eaten by the mice?"

"Don't be silly, Olffmut. He has it. I remembered. He has had it for years, ever since he came here. I'm never going to get young again." The wizard sighed.

The crowds cheered, their voices granting him strength.

He gripped his sword tighter. He could feel the hilt against his fingers. He could feel the sweat on his arms slide down, the autumn breeze cooling skin and perspiration. His heart was beating through his brain, undulating with the sway of the crowd. The clouds were cheering for him. He felt like the sand of the pit would swallow him whole.

"I am Iero!" He shouted across the veins of his throat, his insecurity only giving rise to his blood boiling, the tempo of the roaring stands becoming one with his voice. "I am your hero!"

Iero, his mother had called him, though she knew not where he came from. She found him as a child huddled in the mountains atop the body of a troll. Was he the child of a troll, had one adopted him, or was he merely a freak accident of this world? The magician of their local mountain village said he was a mistake, a freak, the child of a troll but the face of a man. His strength held no equal, and his brain was slow, coming to concepts like a dim-witted child for all his years as he grew.

When he was thirteen, he killed the magician of their village and was sentenced to the prisons of An, a dreadful labyrinth in the bowels of the old stronghold, where he found himself merely a pawn in the games of the city's nobles. He was dull-witted, sure, but he did know when he was being used. He had been in these pits for the last ten years, and relished them no stronger than the first day he was handed a sword and told to kill the criminal in front of him. But he knew no other life.

OOC: Other people could join in, if they like. We could have a little brawl!

OOC: *Reserves a spot in the arena as soon as I get back from the weekend's travels* :)

What does it mean to achieve enlightenment? What is the purpose of life? These questions were often pondered in the minds of the monks of the Accunari Monastary. The monastery itself was carved out of a mountainside, much like the great city of An across the valley from it. Monks trained in the monastery would journey across the valley, in spite of its dangers, and arrive at An to spread thier teachings by example, or through service of thier unique skills.

The Accunari Order was as ancient as An itself; upheld by tenents of wisdom, self-awarenes, and justice. A typical acolyte joins the monastery no older than 10 years of age, for the training and teachings consume thirty years of thier life. Most are deemed ready by age 45 and are allowed out of the monastery to lead whatever life Accun has set before them. For some, they journy to small villages and act as teachers or healers, others are employed by armies to inspire and restore soldiers. War and fighting are not against the Order's tenents, but the monk must choose a path that is just and in service of Accun.

Accun is not a diety, but rather an ideal. A representation of the state of being to which every Accunari monk aspires. Often depicted as a faceless man in silver armor covered by a hooded cloak and weilding a staff of exquisite design. Because of this visage, most Accunari leave the monastery with similar equipment, though the armor is steel and the staves are basic mahogany with no designs. It is left up to the monk to inscribe his staff as his life's journey continues. Though it's been attempted, no one has be able to sufficiently recreate the staff weilded by the visage of Accun. The Accunari credit this as a semi-divine hand at play, and that the only way to aquire that staff is to find the burial place of Accun. Since Accun was not an actual person, it is difficult to think where that may be.

---

It was a day much like any other as Accu'Maran stepped through the large, ornate gate to An. He'd been here many times before, and returning invoked no new emotions. Citizens parted as he approached, knowing he was an Accunari monk simply by his appearance and demeanor. His armor was well polished and gleaming in the sunlight. The white cloak affixed to his shoulders was bleached and seemed light as a feather as it swayed in the gentle breeze blowing through the city. His staff tapped the cobblestoned street at precicely the same moment that his left foot touched the ground as he walked. The staff itself was more ornate than most Accunari's. It's top was capped by a pair of mithril wings, outstretched to the sky. Below the wings, the metal was inscribed with runes which began to tell the monk's story.

Most laymen wouldn't know what they meant, but those that studided Accunari lore would see that this monk was of 55 years; quite young for one so well equipped. His life was spent in the service of a nobleman who employed his talents in curing a plague infecting his village five years ago. The past five years were spent travelling the known world, discovering new fauna and teaching the ignorant. The last rune represents a raven diving to a pool, implying the monk has begun a search for somthing he deems very worthy.

His trek through the city ended at the Wellpond; a magnificent pool of sparkling mountian water flowing into the city from a tributary off the peaks high above. Two people were enjoying the Wellpond's beauty: a man and his daughter. The girl was happily enjoying herself while the man seemed to be deeper in though. Accu'Maran approached the man and gave him a slight wave of his hand as he sat on the bench next to him.

"A coin for your thoughts, goodman. You look troubled," Accu'Maran commented. Accunari were known for thier wisdom and fari-mindedness. Often people would confide in them, and it was usually a chance for the monk to spread Accunari teachings.

OOC: I'm responding immediately, because I'm afraid I won't have much time tomorrow.

The old warrior took him in. A monk, no doubt, one of the Accunari, those strange warrior priests who donned armor and rested in the pits of monsters. He had encountered one long ago, near the Chasm of Aelwynne. That day was still etched into his mind as clear as summer's rain.

It was mid-morning, with barely a cloud in the sky. His heroes had just battled a fearsome tribe of trolls who had taken apart a young traveler by the seams, in retribution for some blood debt they owed an opposing tribe. Tyson and his band of heroes had rounded a corner and surprised the feasting trolls unawares, and mounted an attack almost immediately. The price of a troll's head was three gold pieces, back then, a sure reward to the driven warrior. The battle had been immense, taking them near to the edge of a cliff known as the Chasm of Aelwynne (thus named when some hero of an ancient age found a magical jug of wine in a crevice, and after partaking to his hearts delight, returned to the city with news of a fantastic crevice that boasting a fountain of immortal youth. A party had been sent out immediately by issue of the elders of the city, and they had all been lost beneath the cliffs, and from then on it has gained the mournful dirge of the Chasm of Aelwynne).

Tyson's men had cut down all but one of the trolls, a huge looking beast with fire in his eyes. Seeing his paths blocked, he went into a rage and took down three of the heroes in a sudden surge. Tyson only survived because the shield he held was smashed to pieces, and he was hurled back, smashing into a boulder, but out of the path of the rampaging troll.

A voice had called out, and suddenly a whirling staff came and smacked against the backside of the troll. A man in shining armor, wielding a thick quarterstaff appeared from behind the body of the troll.

"Do you need aid, young warrior?" he had asked. His face was gnarled and old, but his arms were knotted with muscle, almost like the roots of a great tree.

"The others..." Tyson struggled, and then slid down to his back in exhaustion. A moment later, he felt the soothing presence of a prayer course through his body, and he was on his feet, helping the old monk with the fallen warriors.

When they had finished, Tyson inquired, "And what is your name, gracious friend?"

"You may call me Accu'Tath, of the Accunari. Though do not seek me out, for I am on a quest."

"Of what sort, Accu'Tath?"

"Of the sort of which no man returns," the monk said with such a finality and heat, that Tyson could only stare at him in wonderment.

Tyson said nothing, only offering a smile and a nod in return. He had heard of such quests, heroes seeking the Chalice of Dawn said to be held in the hands of a great giant at the top of the highest mountain, said to grant the bearer not only immortal life, but a chance to relive life however he might choose. He had known a warrior once who searched for the Chalice of Dawn, and this monk had that same look in his eye.

Back at the Wellpond, Tyson looked down at his arms and remembered the strength of the old monk, and suddenly wondered where he had gone. No matter, Tyson thought, those were old memories, easily forgotten.

This particular one seemed different, however, but Tyson could not put his finger on how. Perhaps it was his familiarity with the city, and how easily he had engaged he and his daughter near the water's edge. He doubted he had seen this particular monk before.

"Troubles are everywhere these days, noble monk," Tyson graciously replied. "I have been reliving my days of fight, sharing my stories with the little one here who so dreams of fairies and magic. There isn't much she doesn't ask for."

His little girl was playing in the leaves with a fallen branch, touching the knobs with her fingers and counting to herself with a big smile on her face.

"She is still innocent, see," Tyson began, turning to face the monk. "She does not know the horrors that surround this city, the horrors you know so well. She was born here, in the city, and unlike you or me, she only knows the stories from the mouths of spinster wives who have only spun pure An cloth, never the spidersilk of the Shadowbarrow Moors or even the wool of the horned Eth. You should know those well, monk, as they graze near one of your monasteries." Tyson gave a short smile, and then turned back to his daughter.

"I have little fight left in me, though, as you have probably seen through those studious eyes of yours, even though I still have the fire burning inside to see the mountains again. But with every passing year, I can feel my bones grow a little colder, harder to move, and the skin over my belt sags a bit more." He chuckled.

"That's enough for me, though. What brings you to An, gentle monk? Why aren't you out battling mountain demons in that shining pearl armor of yours?"

Accu'Maran smiled lightly and leaned back against the bench. He turned his attention to the man's daughter as he mentioned her innocence. Indeed her world was much smaller than either of thiers. Accun'Maran sometimes wondered why this life had been handed to him. He didn't lament any bit of it, and was actually quite content. But what if he had chosen a different path? Would he be the same person with a different life? Again, the meaning of life posed its undecipherable query at Accun'Maran.

He tilted his had back towards the fellow as he mentioned the Eth and the monastery. Accu'Maran always thought of the monastery as a serene place. Safe and guarded. He wondered how it might appear to an outsider. Its inaccessability from An was probably viewed as a hazard.

"Life is too short to lament the past, warrior. Your daughter will learn of the world around her from you, that she might be prepared one day when the time comes. She has a brilliant aura; so vivid. Indeed, her name will be known." Accu'Maran sat upright, leaning his staff slightly foreward, "I came to An to pick up supplies. I suppose it may be the last time I'm here for a while. I need warm clothes and horse.

"You see, I've found my calling and my discipline obligates me to persue it. There is an artifact of legend among my order: the Staff of Iracca. It is my destiny to search for it, though I lack the wisdom to know if it is my destiny to find it. Perhaps I will reach nirvana in its persuit, or perhaps the path will lead me to yet another crossroad."

Accu'Maran stood, his armor clinking lightly against itself. Leaning his staff agains the bench, he turned to the Wellpond and pulled an empty glass vial from a pouch beneath his cloak. Kneeling by the pool, he filled the vial and corked the opening. He turned back to the retired warrior. He cradled the vial in the palm of his hands, muttering a quiet incantation. Two small tendrils of light snaked from his wrists and into the vial. They mixed with the water causing it to glow and shift from clear to white to blue at seemingly random intervals.

He exended the vial to the man, "This is for your child. Tell her magic and fairys do exist, but they are very shy."

Reclaiming his staff, Accu'Maran bid the man farewell with a common gesture of his hands and headed for the heart of the city.

"Serve me up two pots of them, fishies, boyo." Councilman Lorcan wore a coat of cream silk, brocaded with gold braid, his traditional retreat clothing. He had combed his long hair back into a ponytail, and fastened precious stones into his mane.

"Don't be getting no ideas, my rascal," Lorcan said. He winked his eye at the little boy, and patted his shoulder as the servant dashed off to the kitchen, turning his eyes back to stare at the Councilman like an animal being chased.

"Honestly, them boys, where they don their manners, I haven't a faint," Lorcan told the woman sitting next to him, a young, beautiful woman, who looked like she had barely made it out of the Academy. Her voice, however, betrayed her age: a lush, deep voice, filled with color.

"Lorcan, you snide, keep your hands off my servants," she said, giving him a look out of the corner of her eyes, and then breaking into a smile she said in a whisper, "and I might keep my hands on you."

The Councilman showed a secret smile, and then cut it off, a serious look embracing his face. "Ah, well, there we go missus," he said. "Speaking of matters, where do you keep them coming from?"

The Lady Octavia ran her fingers through Lorcan's hair, and then plucked one of the gemstones, cradling it in her fingers. "My secrets, Lorcan Malheur, are mine and mine only, including where I find my servants. Don't come crying to me when you can't keep loyalty in yours."

"Oh, but dearie," Lorcan rebutted, snapping the gemstone out of her hand almost viciously and setting the stone back into his hair, "yours are so beautiful, almost noble-like, and you know my tastes are very high..."

"Quiet!" Octavia motioned. "You know I love you, Lorcan, but I have guests who do not look so well on your... activities. Rest assured, if you grant me a place at the Elder's Ball, I will... reward you highly."

The Lady Octavia was a tall and regal woman, almost king-like if a woman could look the part and still remain a ferocious beauty to behold. Her long black hair had been wound into multiple braids, fastened onto parts of her shoulders with golden and silver clasps. Around her neck she wore the emblem of her family, an eight-pointed star with a sun in the center, the Octavus. Her family was one of the oldest sorcerer families in An, taking their lineage back to the founding when the Ancients discovered and build the original stronghold.

Yet, for all of their history, they had managed to somehow slip past the ruling council. Part of that was due to their desire to stay out of sight, for their nefarious activities often pitted them against the nature's laws, and quite often they left material causalities and monstrosities in their wake. But most of the time, they were just a simple magic family, with desires that went into the sacred and the obscene (for such as magic was). They loved, lost, and were born again into a new world. The Lady Octavia was the youngest of their family, but as she grew older, desired more and more to be outside of her family's silent outlook on politics.

Lorcan, Octavia remembered, was an enigma, one of the Cloud Heroes, those warriors who fell from the sky nearly ten years ago and woke up with no memory of who they were. He was a beautiful man, she thought, but one who due to his having no identity, built one up from his lusts and desires, eventually cornering himself into a seat on the infamous Council of An. She suspected bribery and trickery on his part, but nothing could ever be proved. He did happen to be an invaluable asset to her, however, especially in the manner of his tastes. Being from one of the Elder Families, she had connections far beyond a normal person, and could easily supply Lorcan with whatever he wanted, as long as she got what she wanted in return.

The "Changeling Gang," as they were affectionately called, were a rough group of young boys who had been previously enrolled in the Academy, An's prestigious school for young magicians and gifted warriors, but due to their, let's say... diligence in causing trouble, had been shoved out of the door into the wide world. Their parents, astonished, had refused to accept them back into their homes until they could reform themselves, and so banished them from social life. Their parents, of course being from noble families, with reputations to uphold. Perhaps it was a bit harsh of them to punish their children in such a fashion, but it had been unanimously agreed upon at a parent's meeting at the Academy. The children, subsequently, found themselves on the street on a cold winter day, with only their backpacks, books, and boots to call home and hearth.

Shortly after they were kicked out of an abandoned house (the An Militia was informed by a neighbor of lights and noise coming from a house that belonged to a swordsman who had recently gone on a quest into the Tamalian Wood), they were discovered by a tavern owner near the south side of the city named Daygan Gleason, a heavy-set man with a dark brow, curly hair, and a penchant for brawling. He gave the children a room (there were seven of the little vagrants in all), and told them to keep quiet, and that he might find work for them. The next day, the children were sent on a mission to collect as many purses as they could. Although at first the boys were a bit astonished to find themselves as simple "sparrows" (children who stole from the unassuming), they soon took it as a game.

The leader of this particular band of sparrows was a clever boy with very big hands aptly named Hands. His second lieutenant (as he became known) was Moonie, and their sergeant at arms was called Dreamer. Hands, Moonie, and Dreamer soon became quite feared, along with their growing number of boys and their eclectic knowledge about the warrior arts and magic, usually a taboo topic for children except for graduates of the Academy.

One day as the children were going about their business, a girl came into the picture. That afternoon, she was inaugurated into the gang, becoming lovingly known as Lovely, and that very evening, Hands, Moonie, Dreamer and Lovely decided immediately to get out of Daygan Gleason's tavern 'The Serpent in the Cup' and find new accommodations down south.

*

"Hands, what do you say? My pa often took me down to the old market, but I heard there's nobody there no more."

Dreamer was a little, precocious boy, with big black orbs for eyes, haphazardly cut hair, and a deep scar on his right cheek. He was the ideas of the gang, and today he thought it best that the group move down to old market, or what was known in later days as the Seaside Slums.

"Me heard there was another gang down there," Moonie said in a deep voice. He was a very tall kid, with arms too big and legs too skinny for his body. His parents had sent him to the Academy to become a warrior, but he could never properly balance his work and his play, and soon found himself spending more time outside of class beating up other kids than actually working with them. "Maybe we should take them on."

Lovely was a pretty girl, with turquoise eyes and a diminutive nose. She was also growing up, and more often than not received long glances from the older boys. She sat on a curb and puckered her lips, shaking her head. "That's no good," she began, "we don't want to be so stupid, Moonie. You are always giving us stupid ideas."

Moonie's face darkened, and he clenched his fists. "If you were a boy..."

"But," Hands interrupted, "she's not, and we aren't thugs, Moonie." Hands was an eloquent young man, who was studying to be a magician at the Academy, but soon found Moonie and the two of them decided that trouble was more fun than homework. He was also devilishly clever, and didn't see the point in studying since he could remember everything the moment he saw it. "But Dreamer is right, the slums would be a good place for us."

The other boys in the gang were standing about, some at the far corner of the abandoned street, some sitting by listening coolly.

Hands stood up. "Let's let them know we are in the neighborhood. No cause for fighting if we can work together. If it comes to arms, we'll take it from there."

About twenty minutes later, the gang had made their way to the Slums and found an abandoned vegetable market, quite a large one with only a few exits. They were ecstatic at their find, and started to turn the inside into the perfect headquarters for their newly christened rulers of the south city.

The next morning, there were signs posted around the Slums about a new gang in town, the "Changelings," offering an opportunity to meet the "Fortress of Eternity" at the Slum's broken down harbor at their convenience. Of course, Moonie took a little creative impetus, and added, "Or else we'll crush you into pulp," and Dreamer standing by, only smiling his secret smile.

Dregs sat atop his fortress and watched as two kids put up a sign not a block from the tackle shop. After the pair left, Dregs scrambled closer to the edge of the roof to get a better view. "Something about a changling...or chanelling..."

One of the younger boys piped up, "I'll go look sir!"

"That'd be nice," another said, "cept you can't read..."

"Enough of this." Dregs shushed the pair, worry etched on his young face. Was the slums reopenning? Was Dregs and the boys going to have to leave the fortress? Heading down the stairs, the 'big brother' picked out two of the older boys and the three set out together to look see what the sign was about. Reaching the sign, the two boys stood watch as Dregs made out the sign:

'The CHANGELINGS want to meet the FORTRESS of ETERNITY. Meet us at the old Harbor.'

scrawled quickly underneath it had been added in a different writing:

'Or else we'll crush you into pulp'

Dregs eyebrows dug even deeper into his forehead. Another gang? Who were these kids? Dregs thought about the hastily scribbled addition: Or we'll crush you to pulp. Didn't sound like they were even interested in living in peace. Although the scribbles were in another hand...maybe the original author new nothing of the added threat?

"Alright, lets get back to the fortress."

Inside the Fortress of Eternity, Dregs waited for everyone to calm down and sit silently. Soon, after he had twelve pairs of silent eyes watching him, Dregs announced his findings. "Seems to me like we have another...family...who want to live in the slums. Although it could be fun, more then likely it sounds like trouble. Shrill, Lefty, and I are going to go meet them. Nods, you're in charge until we get back..."

As the door shut behind the three boys, the sounds of one the youngest inside crying was quickly muffled. Looking at Lefty then Shrill, Dregs gave a nod and started out. Quickly falling in beside Dregs, Lefty couldn't help but speak up. "What aren't you telling the rest? I could tell your holding back."

Shrill butted in from the other side, "Yeah. Didn't the others have a right to know?"

Dregs glanced from one to the other. "Maybe, but I didn't want the others to worry. There was a threat written on the sign, and I think we might be in for a fight. If I had told the others that, they'd want to come help, and we can't have that." Dregs looked forward, "Besides, I think that the leader wasn't intending on threating us...just one of his friends."

Nearing the Harbor, Dregs and the others veered into a run down house and climbed to the second floor. There in the window a couple of planks connected the house to another, closer to the shore. One advantage we have, Dregs thought, we've been here long enough to know every inch of the slums. In addition, the boys from the fortress of eternity had set about the slums with planks, rope, barrels, and pretty much anything else they could scrounge up. Then they used them to connect window to window, roof to roof, and so on. At the upper levels, the entire slums were a maze of connecting beams, boards and ropes. Thus the reason Dregs chose the upper level of the tackle shop for his 'throneroom'.

Soon enough the three boys were sitting atop of a butchers shop facing the dock. "Alright...let's get going. If things start to look bad, get out and get back. Then we can look at moving the others."

Shrill looked at Dregs in shock. "You mean we're not going to fight?"

Dregs gave a gentle slap. "Some of our brothers are barely thirteen. Most of us know nothing about fighting. we wouldn't last seconds against an actual gang! Now let's move..."

With that, Dregs and the other two headed into the harbor. Calling out, Dregs didn't want to startle the other boys if they were already waiting. "Alright, we're here...what do you want?"