books.mul.q

The FightM. de la Garza    A cold autumn's morning with misty fog secures a dozen brave knights, supplying hidden shelter from prying eyes deep in the foothills of the vibrant valley.  Dragons soar like fierce warriors, circling around and around, then roaring like thunder, rallying all that listen.  The dragons land swiftly beside the proud warriors, bending necks and extending wings, lifting black claws and allowing valiant fighters to ride forth and win an arisen battle.  The increasing winds silence the sounds of combat, and they fight, standing their ground like mothers protecting their childern, bright armor flashing as each one falls.    A cold autumn's evening with misty fog cradles a dozen battered corpses of knights, creasing them in currents of winds that run deep in the foothills of the desolate valley.  Dragons glide like silent angels, circling around and around, then calling like banshees; keening cries of mourning.  The dragons land heavily beside the peaceful bodies, bending necks and extending wings, lifting black claws and allowing valiant fighters to ride forth and win an arisen battle.  The increasing winds silence the sounds of combat, and they fight, standing their ground like mothers protecting their childern, bright armor flashing as each one falls.    A cold autumn's evening with misty fog cradles a dozen battered corpses of knights, creasing them in currents of winds that run deep in the foothills of the desolate valley.  Dragons glide like silent angels, circling around and around, then calling like banshees; keening cries of mourning.  The dragons land heavily beside the peaceful bodies, bending necks and extending wings, lifting black claws and pinching the sacred ground and new eternal home.  The dying winds whistle among the dead in somber procession, and they lie, grasping weapons to protect themselves like knights still in battle, shattered armor shining like newly born stars.Birds of BritanniaThom the Heathen   The WREN is a tiny insect-eating bird with a loud voice.  The cheerful trills of Wrens are extraordinarily varied and melodious.    The SWALLOW is easily recognized by its forked tail.  Swallows catch insects in flight, and have squeaky, twittering songs.    The WARBLER is an exceptional singer, whose extensive songs combine the best qualities of Wrens and Swallows.    The NUTHATCH climbs down trees head first, searching for insects in the bark.  It sings a repetitive series of notes with a nasal tone quality.    The agile CHICKADEE has a buzzy "chick-a-dee-dee" call, from which its name is derived.  Its song is a series of whistled notes.    The THRUSH is a brown bird with a spotted breast, which eats worms and snails, and has a beautiful singing voice.  Thrushes use a stone as an anvil to smash the shells of snails.    The little NIGHTINGALE is also known for its beautiful song, which it sings even at night.    The STARLING is a small dark bird with a yellow bill and a squeaky, high-pitched song.  Starlings can mimic the sounds of other birds.    The SKYLARK sings a series of high-pitched melodious trills in flight.    The FINCH is a small seed-eating bird with a conical beak and a musical, warbling song.    The CROSSBILL is a kind of Finch with a strange crossed bill, which it uses to extract seeds from pine cones.    The CANARY is a kind of Finch that is often kept as a pet.  Miners would often take Canaries underground with them, to warn them of the presence of hazardous vapors in 	the air.    The SPARROW weaves a nest of grass, and has an unmusical chirp for a voice.    The TOWHEE is a kind of Sparrow that continually reminds listeners to drink their tea.    The SHRIKE is a gray bird with a hooked bill.  Shrikes have the habit of impaling their prey on thorns.	    The WOODPECKER has a pointed beak that is suitable for pecking at wood to get at the insects inside.	    The KINGFISHER dives for fish, which it catches with its long, pointed beak.    The TERN migrates over great distances, from one end of Britannia to the other each year.  Terns dive from the air to catch fish.    The PLOVER is a bird that distracts predators by pretending to have a 
broken wing.    The LAPWING is a kind of Plover that has a long black crest.    The HAWK is a predator that feeds on small birds, mice, squirrels, and other small animals.  Small hawks are known as Kites.    The DOVE is a seed-eating bird with a peaceful reputation.  Doves have a low-pitched cooing song.    The PARROT is a brightly colored bird with a hooked bill, favored as a companion by pirates.  Parrots can be taught to imitate the 
human voice.    The CUCKOO is a devious bird that lays eggs in the nests of Warblers and other small birds.  Cuckoos have the uncanny ability to keep track of time, singing once at the beginning of each hour.	    The ROADRUNNER is an unusual bird with a long tail, which runs swiftly along the ground hunting for lizards and snakes.    The SWIFT is a very agile bird that spends nearly its entire life in the air.  With their mouths wide open, Swifts capture insects in mid-flight.	    The HUMMINGBIRD is a cross between a Swift and a Fairy.  These tiny, brightly colored birds hover magically near flowers, and live on the nectar they 	provide.    The OWL is a reputedly wise bird that is active at night, unlike most birds.  Owls have excellent night vision and low-pitched hooting calls.  Their wings are silent in flight.	    The GOATSUCKER is a strange owl-like bird that is thought to live on the milk of goats.  These mysterious birds make jarring sounds at night, for which reason they are also called Nightjars.    The DUCK is a bird that swims more often than it flies, and has a nasal voice that is described as a 	"quack".    The SWAN is a kind of long-necked Duck that is all white.  Swans are usually voiceless, but they are said to have an extraordinarily beautiful song.
The Bold StrangerOld Fabio the Poor    In a time before time, the Gods that Be assembled a group of artisans, craftsmen and lore masters (for, yes, even in those days, art existed) to create the world of Sosaria. To this group, the gods gave a tiny world, Rytabul, in which to test their works, to see if they were of the quality desired for the true world in which they would be placed. And though the gods were tight fisted with their gold, this small crew worked hard and long, and were happy in 
their tasks.    A small corner of Rytabul had been claimed by the artisan Selrahc the Slow. Though he was not the fastest of the assembled workers, the gods smiled upon his work, even presenting him with a mystic talisman proclaiming his work the best among the newer artisans. And so Selrahc went about his business, creating hundreds of designs which would one day add color and variety to Sosaria.    One day a stranger appeared to Selrahc. His chest was bare and he wore trousers of the brightest green, and wherever he went, plants grew in his footsteps. This caused Selrahc no end of trouble, the stranger always looking over his shoulder, and the plants sprouting in places Selrahc required to ply his art. And so Selrahc approached the stranger and bade him speak. But this man in green remained silent. Selrahc pleaded with the stranger to give his name, and would he please leave Selrahc to his work. But this mysterious stranger remained mute.    This angered Selrahc mightily. Who was this silent man, interfering with tasks the gods themselves had entrusted to Selrahc? In an attempt to embarrass this interloper, Selrahc stole his green trousers, leaving him naked and open to comments about his very manhood, and still the stranger would not speak, would not leave this tiny corner of 	Rytabul.    Vexed to his very limits, Selrahc took his war axe and smote the silent one mightily, again and again, until the silent stranger ran away, having never said a word, and never showed himself in Rytabul again.    Thus endeth the tale of the bold 
stranger.
The Burning of TrinsicJapheth of Trinsic    'Twas a sight to see, the sunlight falling lightly on the sandstone walls of Trinsic 'pon a morning in spring.    Children ran along the parapets and walkways, their laughter and running providing music to the daybreak, despite their oft-ragged 
clothing.    And I was one of those young ones, letting my joy rise up to the skies.    Little did we all know of the darker days that would lie ahead, for we were too young.    Had we but gained access to the quiet councils held in the Paladin tower as it faced the sea, councils lit by candlelight and worry, we would have learned more of the fears of imminent attack from the forest, where foul creatures born of dank caves and darkness were marauding ever more often into the lands around Trinsic's moat.    But we were children! The parapets and the moat were places to play, not stout defenses, and we gave no thought to the necessities that must have required their construction.    We used to reach the sheltered orchards on the lee side of the parapet walls, where the southern river cut through the city, by swimming across the water.    The rich folk who lived in the great manses there would shout from their windows and shake their fists, for we would run through their gardens and tear up the delicate foxgloves and orfleurs with our unshod dirty feet. Then we would dive into the water and splash merrily to the 
fruit trees.    The southern river lazily slid under the an ungated arch in the mighty wall, and we would lay on the grassy bank and watch it gurgle by the lily pads.    That spring that pleasant spot became the doorway through which our city of Trinsic let in the monstrous deformed humanoids that savaged us. I lay upon that grassy bank and watched them wade in, their coarse hair wet and matted, algae and muck festooning their wild brows.    They caught sight of a quicksilver girl with bright blond hair and lively eyes. Her name was Leyla, and that spring I had held fond dreams of holding her hand and sharing flavored ice while dangling our feet off the small bridge by Smugglers Gate.    And I said nothing when they caught her, and did not cry out when they dragged her off through that breach in our wall, and did not warn the city when I saw the helmeted orc captains call the charge upon the 
mansions.    Blame me not, for I was but a child, and one who hid in the branches of the peach trees, all a-tremble whilst I watched the smoke rise from Sean the tailor's, and fire lash out at the roof of witchy Eleanor's tavern.    To this day I have had no word of Leyla, and to this day the smell of burning wood can conjure terrible dreams. Yet with the eyes of adulthood, 'tis possible to examine the flaws in the defense of Trinsic on that fateful day, and the reasons why our walls are now double-thick, and why our buildings are now built as fortresses within a somber fortified city.    While I can look out from the top of the new Paladin tower, and spy the mighty white sails across the barrier island, and can descry the small hollow south of the city where gypsies are wont to camp, I can also envision the city as it might be burning, and I bless the bargain we made: space for safety, grace for sturdiness, and wood for stone.    Whilst I live, I shall not see Trinsic burn, and no more cries of little girls will haunt the sleep of our fair citizens.    - Japheth, Paladin Guildmaster of the City of Trinsic
A Song of SamletheSandraThe first bear did 
swim by day,And it did sleep by night.It kept itself within 	its caveand ate by starry light.
The second bear it did cavort'Neath canopies of trees,And danced its strange bearish sortOf joy for all to see.
The first bear, well, 'twas hunted,And today adorns a floor.Its ruggish face has been dentedBy footfalls and the door.
The second bear did 
step onceInto a mushroom ring,And now does dance 
the dunceFor wisps and unseen things.
So do not dance, and do not sleep,Or else be led astray!For bears all end up six feet deepAt the end of Samlethe's day.
The Wild Girl of the ForestHorace the Trader    Her name was Leyla, she said, and her hair was braided wild with creepers and thorns. I marveled that they did not hurt her, but when I asked, she but shrugged and let her eyes roam once more across the woods. Though I had my hands securely fastened by her ropes, I itched to reach out and comb that unruly golden mane, dirtied and 
leaf-ridden.    Her provenance, she told me over nights illumined by campfires, was once the city of Trinsic. She claimed to have been kidnapped and raised by orcs, which I judged an unlikely tale, for all know orcs delight in eating the meat of honest folk. When I told her this, she laughed a fey laugh, and gaily admitted that honest she was not, for oft had she stolen folk away from caravans to loot their possessions from an unconscious body!    At this, I began to fear for my life, and her smile seemed full of teeth sharper than a human ought to have, for the tale of orcish raising had struck fear into the marrow of my bones. "Wilt thou eat me?" I asked, a-tremble, fearing the answer.    And she cocked her head at me, like a wild animal facing a word that it dost not understand, and the fixity in her eyes was a glimpse into the deeper reaches of the Abyss. But she finally grunted, and said, "Nay," in a voice that recalled to me a child. "Nay," she said, "for thou dost remind me of a boy I knew once, when I was a girl who played in a city of great sandstone walls, before I was taken. He had sandy hair like thee, and I dreamt as a child of holding his hand and sharing flavored ice. His name was 
Japheth."    The next morning she let me go, stripped of my pouch and clothes, and bade me run through the woods, and to fear recapture, for surely her heart would not soften again. 'Twas a fearful run, and I came to the road to Yew with welts and scratches run rampant crost my skin, but I did not see her again.    Oft have I wondered of the boy named Japheth, and whether he remembers a girl who lived in sandstone walls. The only Japheth I know is the Guildmaster of Paladins who died last year warring amidst the orcs, and though he had indeed sandy hair, I cannot picture him side by side with a feral girl whose tongue has tasted of human flesh.    Yet the paths of fate are strange indeed, and I suppose 'tis possible that this paladin died defending his remembered lady's honor, unknowingly struck down by the orc that she called father.
Treatise on AlchemyFelicia Hierophant    The alchemical arts are notable for their deceptive simplicity. 'Tis true that to our best knowledge currently, there are but eight valid potions that can be made (though I emphasize that new discoveries may always await). However, the delicate balance of confecting the potions is difficult indeed, and requires great skill.    To give thee an example of the simpler potions that can be created by those well-versed in the subtleties of 	alchemy:    Black pearl, that rare substance that is oft found lying unannounced upon the surface of the ground, when properly crushed with mortar and pestle, can yield a fine powder. Said powder in the proper proportions when mixed via the alchemical arts can yield a wonderfully refreshing drink.    The revolting blood moss so gingerly scraped off of windowsills by fastidious housewives is but a tiny cousin to the wilder version, which when properly prepared yields a magical liquid that for a time can make the imbiber a more agile and dextrous individual.    However, beware of the deadly nightshade, for it yields a deceptively sweet-tasting poison that can prove highly fatal to the drinker, and in fact is also used by assassins to coat their blades. Fortunately, this latter art of poisoning is little known!    There is much to reward the student of alchemy, indeed. The rumours of longtime alchemists losing their hair and acquiring an unhealthy pallor, not to mention unsightly blotches upon their once-fair skin, are unhappily, true. Yet the joys of the mind make up for the complete loss of interest that others may have in thee as an object of courtship, and I have never regretted that choice. Honestly, truly. Not once.
A Primer on Arms and WeaponsMartin    These are the basic elements to consider in assessing a weapon, of which all warriors who regard themselves as more than mere mercenaries should be aware.    First and most obvious is the amount of damage that the weapon may do against unprotected flesh. While 'tis this which first attracts the attention of the novice, 'tis a deadly mistake to regard it as the sole value of a weapon. While it may prove devastating indeed as a means of causing damage, a weapon must also serve as stout shield when engaged in combat.    Hence the second issue to which to pay attention is the amount of protection that a weapon may offer. Pay close attention to the guard on it, if it be a blade, or the stoutness of its wood if it is a pole arm.    Oft related to this is the weight of the weapon, for a heavy weapon is more difficult to maneuver to block with, though it may do more damage to thy 
opponent.    If a weapon is too heavy for the wielder to move it freely, they should choose another and not attempt to prove their prowess by the size of their sword.    The reach of a weapon both increases its defensive ability, and renders it more useful in open spaces as it allows attack against the opponent without the need to close. But be aware of the limitations of thy weapon! For a weapon with great reach may be useless in close quarters, for lack of space to maneuver it. Should that dagger-wielding enemy close on thee and thy halberd, 'tis best to flee.    Lastly, a factor that must always be considered is the condition of the weapon. It might be a wondrous magical blade of surpassing sharpness and it may leap to block blows with a mind of its own. It also might be of such flimsy construction, or damaged to such an extent, that the first time it clangs against steel, 'twill  shatter into useless shards.    Seek ye a good blacksmith should thy weapon become damaged, but be aware that their ministrations may simply make the matter worse.    While mages of some ability oft create magical weapons which enhance skill, are preternaturally sharp, or incinerate the enemy as they fall, to my mind the greatest gift that they can grant a stout sword is to make it resistant to damage, for thy own skill can 
make up the difference. Except for the fireball, but if the corpse is charred, then so will be the possessions, which maketh looting difficult!
Classic Tales of Vesper, Volume 1Clarke's Printery'Tis an Honor to present to Thee these Tales collected from Ages Past. In this Inaugural Volume, we present this Verse oft Recited as a Lullabye for sleepy 
Children.
Prefaceby Guilhem the Scholar
  The meaning of this verse has oft been discussed in halls of scholarly sorts, for its mysterious singsongy melody is oddly disturbing to adult ears, though children seem to find it restful as they sleep. Perhaps it is but the remnant of a longer ballad once extant, for there are internal indications that it once told a longer story about ill-fated lovers, and a magical experiment gone awry. However, poetic license and the folk process has distorted the words until now the locale of the tale is no more than "in the wind," which while it serves a pleasingly metaphorical purpose, fails to inform the listener as to any real locale!  Another possibility is that this is some form of creation myth explaining the genesis of the various humanoid creatures that roam the lands of Britannia. It does not take a stretch of the imagination to name the middle verse's "girl becomes tree" as a possible explanation for the reaper, for in the area surrounding Minoc, reapers are oft referred to among the lumberjacking community as "widowmakers." That these creatures are of arcane origin is assumed, but the verse seems to imply a long ago creator, and uses the antique magickal terminology of "plaiting strands of ether" that is so often found in ancient texts. In addition, the reference to "snakehills" may profitably be regarded as a reference to an actual location, such as perhaps a local term for the Serpent's Spine.  A commoner interpretation is that like many nursery rhymes, it is a simple explanation for death, wherein the wind snatches up boys and girls and when they sleep in order to keep the balance of the world. Notable tales have been written for 
children of adventures in "the Snakehills," which are presumed to be an Afterworld whence the spirit lives on. A grim lullabye, to be sure, but no worse than "lest I die before I wake" surely.  In either case, 'tis an old favorite, herein printed for the first time for thy enjoyment and 	perusal!
In the Wind where the BalanceIs Whispered in 	HallwaysIn the Wind where 
the MagicFlows All through the NightThere live Mages and MagesWith Robes made of Whole DaysReading Books full of DoingsPrinted on Light
In the Wind where the LoversAre Crossed under ShadowsWhere they Meet and are PartedBy the Orders of FateThe Girl becomes Tree,And thus becomes WidowThe Boy becomes EarthAnd Wanders Till Late
In the Wind are the 	MonstersFirst Born First CreatedWhen Chanting and EtherMix Meddling and NighFear going to Wind,Fear Finding its Plaitings,Go Not to the SnakehillsLest You Care to Die

Classic Children's Tales, Volume 2Guilhem, EditorClarke's Printeryis Honored toPresent Tales fromAges Past!    Guilhem theScholar Shall EndEachVolume withStaid Commentary.

THE RHYMEDance in the Star ChamberAnd Dance in the PitAnd Eat of your EntreesIn the Glass House you Sit
COMMENTARY    A common feeding rhyme for little babies, 'tis thought that this little ditty is part of the corpus of legendary tales regarding the world before Sosaria (see the wonderful fables of Fabio the Poor for fictionalized versions of these stories, also available from this same publisher).    According to these old tales, which survive mostly in the hills and remote villages where Lord British is as yet a distant and mythical ruler, the gods of old (a fanciful notion!) met to discuss the progress of creating the world in mystical rooms. A simple analysis reveals these rooms to be mere mythological generalizations.    "The Star Chamber" is clearly a reference to the sky. "The Pit" is certainly an Underworld analogous to the Snakehills of other tales, and "the Glass House" is no doubt the vantage point from which the gods observed their creation. All is simple when seen from this perspective, leaving only the mysterious reference to dinners. Oddly enough, the rhyme is universally used only for midnight feedings, never during the day.

A Politic Call to AnarchyLord Blackthorn  Let it never be said that I have aught as quarrel with my liege Lord British, for indeed we be of the best of friends, sharing amicable games of chess 'pon a winter's night, and talking at length into the wee hours of the issues that affect the realm of Britannia.  Yet true friendship doth not prevent true philosophical disagreement either. While I view with approval my lord's affection for his carefully crafted philosophy of the Eight Virtues, wherein moral 
behavior is encouraged in the populace, I view with less approval the expenditure of public funds upon the construction of "shrines" to said ideals.  The issue is not one of funds, however, but a disagreement most intellectual over the proper way of humankind in an ethical sense. Surely freedom of decision must be regarded as paramount in any such moral decision? Though none fail to 
censure the murderer, a subtler question arises when we ask if his behavior would be ethical if he were forced to it.  I say to thee, the reader, quite flatly, that no ethical system shall have sway over me unless it convinceth me, for that freely made choice is to me the sign that the system hath validity.  Whereas the system of "Virtues" that my liege espouses is indeed a compilation of commonly approved virtues, I approve of it. Where it seeks to control the populace and restrict their diversity and their range of behaviors, I quarrel with it. And thus do I issue this politic call to anarchy, whilst humbly begging forgiveness of Lord British for my impertinence:  Celebrate thy differences. Take thy actions according to thy own lights. Question from what source a law, a rule, a judge, and a virtue may arise. 'Twere possible (though I suggest it not seriously) that a daemon planted the seed of these "Virtues" in my Lord British's mind; 'twere possible that the Shrines were but a plan to destroy this world. Thou canst not know unless thou questioneth, doubteth, and in the end, unless thou relyest upon THYSELF and thy judgement.  I offer these words as mere philosophical musings for those 
who seek enlightenment, for 'tis the issue that hath occupied mine interest and that of Lord British for some time now.
On the Diversity of Our LandLord Blackthorn  While I deplore the depredations of the misguided and belligerent races with which we share our fair Britannia, and alongside the populace, do mourn the needless deaths that their raids cause, I cannot countenance the policy of wholesale slaughter of these races that seems to be the habit of our soldierly 	element.  Can we not regard the ratmen, lizard men, and orcs are fellow intelligent beings with whom we share a planet? Why must we slay them on sight, rather than attempt to engage them in dialogue? There is no policy of shooting at wisps when they grace us with their presence (not that an arrow could do much to pierce them!).  To view these creatures as vermin denies their obvious intelligence, and we cannot underestimate the repercussions that their slaughter may have. If we regard the slaying of fellow humans as a crime, so must we regard the killing of an orc.  At the same time, should a lizardman slay a human, should we not forgive their ignorance and foolishness? Let us not surrender the high moral ground by descending to bestiality.  Now, I say not that we should fail to defend ourselves in case of attack, for even amongst humans we see war, we see famine, and we see assault (though we owe a debt of gratitude to our Lord 
British for preserving us from the worst of these!). However, incursions such as the recent tragedy which cost us the life of Japheth, Guildmaster of Trinsic's Paladins, are folly.  I had met Japheth, and like all paladins, he burned with an inner fire. Yet though I had the utmost respect for him, none could deny the hatred that flashed in his eyes at the mere mention of orcs. And thus he carried his battle to the orc camps, and died there, unable to rise above his own childhood experiences depicted in his book, "The Burning of Trinsic." 'Tis a shame that even our mightiest men fall prey to this ignorance!  Are there not legends of orcs adopting human children to raise as their own? Tales of complex societies built underground by races we regard as bestial?  Let us not repeat the mistake of Japheth of the Paladins, and let us cease to persecute the nonhuman races, before we discover that we are harming ourselves in the 	process.
Regarding LlamasSimon  Llamas are curious beasts, shaggy and sought after for their wool, yet of a curiously arrogant disposition reflected in their eyes. They live in mountainous areas, though who may have first tamed them is lost in the mists of history.  'Tis a well-known fact that llamas can indeed be tamed, and used as grazing animals, for their meat, and of course for their wool. Yet 'tis lesser known that their ornery disposition and tendency to spit at those they dislike makes them appealing guard creatures as well, though they have little sound with which to sound an alarum.
The Life of a Travelling MinstrelSarah of Yew  While 'tis true that the musician who seeketh only to make sweet music for herself and for others needs little more than some talent, and stern practice at the chosen instrument, those of us who seek the open road shall find indeed that a greater skill is required. Herein discover those secrets which I have learned over the years as an itinerant performer...  Once I was in 
Jhelom, and accidentally angered a bravo of some local repute, whose blade flickered all too eagerly near my slender neck (for I was young then). After various threats to "ruin my pretty face" this bravo grabbed my arm in a most unseemly fashion and tossed me into a barbaric enclosure locally entitled a dueling pit. My plaintive cries for help went unheeded by the guards, for the inhabitants of Jhelom are eager indeed to measure fighting prowess at any time!  What saved me was the ability to improvise a melody and tune that satirized the proceedings, and sufficiently angered an onlooker to prod him to coming to my defense. Once that fight was underway, I was able to make good my escape. Hence, I regard the ability to incite fights as indispensable to the prudent bard.  Upon another occasion, 'twas the obverse side of that coin which saved me, for I was being held prisoner by a particularly nasty band of ruffians who had seized me unawares from the road to Vesper.  They had worked themselves into a frenzy and were ready to attack and I fear, tear me limb from limb, when I began to sing frantically, tapping my falled drum with my tied up feet. The melody developed into a soothing one, and the brigands slowly calmed down to the extent of apologizing, and they let me go!  A final example I would pray you grant your attention: once I was lost upon a large isle far to the east of the mainland, well beyond Serpent's Hold, where lava made its sluggish way across the surface landscape. And this accursed land was filled with vile beasts and cunning dragons.  I was being pursued by one of said fell dragons when I found myself trapped. I quickly skirted a bubbling pool of molten rock and attempted to hide.  The dragon scented me and was preparing to skirt the pool, when I began to play a lusty tune upon my lute that attracted its attention. Mesmerized and enticed by the melody, it stepped directly toward sme, and into the lava-where its foot was so burned that it quickly hopped away, undignified and 	annoyed.  'Tis my fond hope that other travelling minstrels shall learn from my experiences and apply themselves to practicing these skills in order to preserve life and limb.
Taming DragonsWyrd Beastmaster  I have not much to tell about dragons. The sole time I approached one with an eye towards taming it, my initial attempts at calming it met with failure. It fixed a massive beady eye upon me, and began its slithering approach, intending no doubt to insert me into its maw and bear down with its teeth.  However, as I was engaged in what remains to this day the most terrifying combat of my life, the dragon suddenly whirled as if in a panic, ran a short distance, took off into the air, then transformed into a whirlwind. Lastly, it exploded, showering gouts of black blood and heaving, stinking flesh upon miles of countryside. The fireball was massive, enough to light a city, I should surmise.  I never did discover the exact cause of this strange behavior, except to assume that it was not typical for this reptilian species. My best guesses revolve around a magical fracture in the nature of reality, which is far too esoteric a territory for one of my limited 
scholarship.  Hence my basic advice to those who seek to tame a dragon-be sure that thou hast mastered the twin skills of taming animals, and running away very very fast.
Britannian Flora: A Casual GuideHerbert the Lost  Oft 'pon rambling through the woods avoiding bears have I spotted some plant whose like I have never seen before, and concluded that I was a blithering idiot for failing to notice it in the past. Equally as oft have I concluded that I was a worse idiot for not running faster from 
the bear.  While not all my readers may share my proclivities for tree-climbing, it occurred to me that 
mayhap mine information might serve some humble 	purpose.  The two most unique flowering plants in the Britannian countryside are the orfleur and the whiteflower, also called white horns.  The orfleur is notable for its massive orange-red blossoms, which dwarf marigolds like the sun dwarfs your common fireball spell. The odor of said blooms is best described as peppermint-apple, with a dash of garlic. 'Tis a popular potted plant despite, or perhaps because of, its exotic nature.  Whiteflowers exude a subtle fragrance not unlike that of freshly shaven wood mixed with cool lemon ice. Their tall stands always droop with the heavy weight of the massive blooms, oft as large as a child's head.   The flowers are so large that one may scoop out the pollen in handfuls, and during the spring season many a prank hath been played by idle boys 'pon their sisters by dumping said pollen into their clothing drawers, causing sneezes for days.  The most interesting native tree to Britannia is the spider tree. The reason for its naming is obscure, but may have to do with the twisted gray stalks from which the spherical canopy sprouts. 'Tis something of a misnomer to term these "trunks" as they are spindly and flexible. Spider trees provide a fresh, piney smell to a room and are therefore often potted.  In jungle climes, one finds the blade plant, whose sharp leaves oft collect water for the thirsty traveler, yet can draw blood easily.  The deadliest plant, if you can call a fungus such, is the Exploding Red Spotted Toadstool. No pattern can be discerned to its habitats save malice, for merely approaching results in the cap exploding with powder, noxious gas, and tiny painful pellets flying in all 
directions. Unfortunately, 'tis impossible to tell it apart from the Ordinary Red Spotted Toadstool save through experimentation.  Truly odd among the varied flora of Britannia, however, are those which bear names clearly alien to our tongue. Among these I name the Tuscany pine (for I have never seen a region of this world named Tuscany), the o'hii tree, whose very name sounds like some tropical isle, and the welsh poppy, 
which while different from the ordinary poppy in color and appearance, is prefaced with the odd word "welsh," which as far as I know means to forgo paying a debt.
1My StorySherry the Mouse  'Twas on a chill night, when the moon shone pasty-faced above the horizon, balanced on the towers of Lord British's castle, that the events I am about to relate took place, some years ago now. I witnessed them all from my tiny mousehole.  Milords British and Blackthorn are accustomed to a game of chess 'pon an evening, over which they argue the issues that affect the course of the realm. Lord Blackthorn was on his way to Lord British's chambers, and Lord British stood by a window casement, just having finished setting the pieces upon the board.  Suddenly the shutters blew open, and Lord British fell to the ground, one hand shielding his eyes. A chill wind entered the room, and it seemed a gash was torn in the very air. Through the gash I could see stars and swirling clouds of stellar dust, and a coldness sucked all the warmth from the air. A terrible wind tossed books and blankets across the room, and furniture 	toppled.  From within this gash issued a great voice, unlike any I have ever heard. And these are the words it spoke (for I memorized them most carefully):  "Greetings, Lord British. I am the Time Lord, a being from beyond your dimension, as thou art from a world other than Sosaria. I am here to bring thee warning. Dost thou recall how long ago a mysterious Stranger came to Sosaria and saved the world from the evil wizard 
Mondain? He shattered the Gem of Immortality, within which dwelled a perfect likeness of 
this world."  Lord British slowly stood and faced the hole in the air. "I remember," he said. "Oft have I wished that stranger would 	return."  "He hath returned," spoke the voice. "But not to here. When the Gem was shattered, a thousand shards were scattered across the dimensions, and in each shard there is a perfect likeness of this world. And thou dost live upon one such shard, for thou art not of the true world-thou art merely a reflection."  Lord British looked shaken by this, and I did not know what to think! Was I merely a shadow of the real me, which lives still somewhere else across uncounted universes?  "My task is to heal this shattered world, Lord British," said the voice. "And I seek to enlist thee in my cause. Be warned that in this case, healing carries with it a terrible price."  Concern warred with curiosity on my liege's face, but ever one to shoulder a burden, he straightened and faced the gash in the air bravely. "Name thy price."  "A shard of a universe is a powerful thing, and a universe shattered is always in danger from the powers of darkness. Already three shards were turned to evil, and sent to plague the original universe in 
the form of Shadowlords. Many times have I brought the Stranger back to Britannia, to preserve it from its own folly or from outside dangers. Yet as long as the world remaineth in pieces, it remaineth vulnerable. We must bring the shards into harmony, so that they resonate in such a manner that matches the original universe. Then the two universes shall merge, and be again 	as one."  "But if we are only shadows..." Lord British said 
wonderingly.  The light from the stars within the hole seemed to dim. "Indeed, the reflections shall become one with the original. Thou wouldst cease to be as thou art, and become part of the larger you. Thou shalt not die; however, uncounted generations have passed and borne children since that day, and they have no counterparts. They would perish utterly."  Lord British sagged in shock, realizing the terrible price that would be paid to heal the universe. "All of my people," he 
breathed.  "'Tis for the greater good."  Lord British bowed 
his head.  'Twas then I saw the movement by the door, half-hid by the heavy red curtains. Lord Blackthorn stood there, concealed from the rest of the room, his face white. How long had he been listening? I cannot say, yet I suspect that he had heard all that the mysterious voice had to say.  "How then, shall I aid thee?" Lord British said, weariness in his voice.  "Aid the nobilty that resideth in the human heart. Protect the Virtues that so recently came to thee in thought late at night. They are the Virtues of life, as your counterpart understands them to be. For when thy populace doth live and breathe these Virtues, shall it match the true Britannia, and thy shard shall rejoin with it."  The gash in the air began to close, and with it warmth stole back into the room.  "I was going to discuss my idea with Blackthorn tonight," Lord British breathed. "Have I no thoughts that are my own? Is my life but a reflection of 
another me?"  "Nay," said the voice, smaller through the diminished opening. "Say, rather, that you are parallel, for there is no guarantee that thou shalt accomplish what I have set thee to. I speak tonight to a thousand of thee, and ask the same of all. Perhaps not all shall seek to aid me." And with that, the gash closed, and the voice was gone, leaving a room that appeare tossed by a mighty storm.  "Destroy the world to save the universe," Lord British said bitterly. "I do not wonder that some may balk."  Lord Blackthorn collected himself, and strode into the room, a decent mimicry of surprise on his face. "My liege! What has happened here?" he exclaimed, feigning dismay well. But not well enough to fool his old friend, whose eyes narrowed at seeing him there.  "How much didst thou hear?" demanded Lord British.  "Why, nothing," managed Blackthorn, his head ducked away from his friend, as he bent to retrieve the fallen chess pieces. "I merely came for our game of chess."  Together they righted the pedestal table, and set the pieces upon the black and white squares. "Such simplicity to the game, Blackthorn," mused Lord British, idly brushing one finger against the board. "Black and white, each to its own color, as if life were so simple. What think you?"  Blackthorn sat heavily on a hassock beside the chess table. "I think that matters are never so simple, my liege. And that I would regret it deeply if someone, such as a friend, saw it thus."  Lord British's eyes met his. "Yet sometimes one must sacrifice a pawn to save a king."  Lord Blackthorn met his gaze squarely. "Even pawns have lives and loves at home, my lord." Then he reached out for a pawn, and firmly moved it forward two squares. "Shall we play a game?" he asked.  The chess game that night was a draw, and they played grimly.  And the next day, Lord British gathered the nobles to proclaim the idea of a new system of Virtues, and declared that shrines should be built across the land.  Lord Blackthorn opposed it bitterly, and many thought him strange for doing so, for ever had he been a noble and upright man, and ever had he and Lord British been in accord. Declaring that he should start his own shrine, he departed the castle that day to live in a tower in a lake on the north side of the city.  They are still the best of friends, yet a sadness hangs between them, as if they were forced into making choices that appealed not to them. And at night, when I creep softly from one corner of my liege's bedchamber to another, I sometimes see him take a pawn from his night table, and hold it in his hand, and quietly weep.  But I am but a mouse, and none hear me. This tale goes unknown, save for my writing these enormous letters with mine ink-stained tiny paws for thee to read, for I fear indeed for our world and for our people in these perilous times.
Dimensional Travel, a MonographDryus Doost, Mage  'Tis beyond the scope of this small monograph to discuss the details of moongates, and the manners in which they distort the fabric of reality in such a manner as to permit the passage of living flesh from place to place, world to world, or indeed from dimension to dimension.  Instead, allow me to bring thy attention, Gentle Reader, to the 	curious characteristics that are shared by certain individuals within our realm.  Long has it been known that the blue moongate permits travel from place to place, and none have trouble in taking this path. Yet 'tis also known, albeit only to a few, that certain individuals are unable to traverse the black moongates that permit travel from one dimension to another.  The noted mage and peer of our realm, Lord Blackthorn, once told me in conversation that his arcane research had indicated that the issue was one of conversation of ether. To wit, given the postulate that matter within a given dimension may be but a cross-section of ethereal matter that exists in multiple dimensions, it becomes obvious that said ethereal structure cannot enter dimensions in which it is already 	present.  Imagine an individual (and the Lord Blackthorn hinted that he was one such) who exists already in some form 
in multiple dimensions; said individual would not be able to cross into another dimension because HE IS ALREADY THERE.  The implications of this are staggering, and merit further study. 'Tis well known by theorists in the field that divisions in the ethereal structure of an individual are already implicit at the temporal level, as causality forces divisions upon the ether. This is the basic operating mechanism by which white moongates function, permitting 
time travel.  As time travel is not barred by the presence of an earlier self (though encountering said earlier self can prove arcanely perilous), there must be some rigidity to the ethereal structure that bars multiple instantiations of structures from manifesting within the same context.  If one regards time and causal bifurcation as a web, perhaps the appropriate analogy for dimensional matrices is that of a crystalline structure, with rigid linkages. The only way in which an individual such as Lord Blackthorn, who exists in multiple dimensional matrices, can cross worlds via a black moongate, would be for the entire crystalline structure of the dimension to perfectly match the ethereal resonance of the destination dimension.  The problem of why certain individuals are already replicated in multiple crystalline matrices is one that I fail to provide any schema for in these poor theories. It is my fondest hope that someday someone shall conquer that thorny problem and enlighten the world.The Major Trade AssociationsPieter of Vesper  There are ten major trade associations that operate legitimately in the lands of Britannia and among its trading partners. Many of these guilds are divided into local or specialty subguilds, who use the same colors but vary the heraldic pattern.  There are many lesser trade associations that have closed membership, and one can join them only by invitation. Beltran's Guide to Guilds is the definitive text on the full range of guilds and other associations in Britannia, and I heartily recommend it.  In what follows I have attempted to bring together the known information regarding these guilds. I offer thee the name, typical membership, heraldic colors, known specialty organizations within the larger guild, and any known affiliations to other guilds, which often occur because of trade reasons.
The Guild of Arcane ArtsMembers: alchemists and wizardsColors: blue and purpleSubguilds: Illusionists, Mages, WizardsAffiliations: Healer's Guild
The Warrior's Guild
Members: mercenaries,  soldiery, guardsmen, weapons masters, 
paladins.Colors: Blue and redSubguilds: Cavalry, Fighters, WarriorsAffiliations: League of Rangers
League of RangersMembers: rangers, bowyers, animal 	trainersColors: Red, gold and blue
Guild of HealersMembers: healersColors: Green, gold, and purpleAffiliations: Guild of Arcane Arts
Mining CooperativeMembers: minersColors: blue and black checkers, with a gold crossAffiliations: Order of 
Engineers
Merchants' Association
Members: 
innkeepers, tavernkeepers, jewelers, 
provisionersColors: gold coins on a green field for Merchants.  White and green for the others.Subguilds: Barters, Provisioners, Traders, Merchants
Order of EngineersMembers: tinkers and 
engineersColors: Blue, gold, and purple vertical barsAffiliations: Mining Cooperative
Society of ClothiersMembers: tailors and weaversColors: Purple, gold, and red horizontal bars
Maritime GuildMembers: fishermen, sailors, mapmakers, shipwrightsColors: blue and whiteSubguilds: Fishermen, Sailors, Shipwrights
Bardic CollegiumMembers: bards, musicians, storytellers, and other performersColors: Purple, red and gold checkerboard
Society of ThievesMembers: beggars, cutpurses, assassins, 
and brigandsColors: red and blackSubguilds: Rogues (beggars), Assassins, ThievesBeltran's Guide to GuildsBeltran  This reference work is intended merely to serve as resource for those curious as to the full range of trades and societies extant in Britannia and nearby nations. For each trade or guild, their blazon is given.
  Armourer's Guild. Gold bar above black bar.
  Association of Warriors. Blue cross on a red field.
  Barters' Guild. Green and white stripes, diagonal.
  Blacksmith's Guild. Gold alongside black.
  Federation of Rogues and Beggars. Red above black.
  Fighters and Footmen. Blue horzontal bar on red field.
  Guild of Archers. A gold swath parting red and blue.
  Guild of Armaments. Swath of gold on black field, gold accents.
  Guild of Assassins. Black and red quartered.
  Guild of Barbers.  Red and white 	stripes.
  Guild of Cavalry and Horse. Vertical blue on a red field.
  Guild of Fishermen. Blue and white, quartered.
  Guild of Mages. Purple and blue, in a crossed pennant 	pattern.
  Guild of Provisioners. White bar above green bar.
  Guild of Sorcery. A field divided diagonally in blue and purple.
  Healers Guild. Gold swath dividing green from purple, gold 	accents.
  Lord British's Healers of Virtue. Golden ankh on dark green.
  Masters of Illusion. Blue and purple 
checkers.
  Merchants' Guild. Gold coins on green field.
  Mining Cooperative. A gold cross, quartering blue and black.
  Order of Engineers. Purple, gold, and blue 
vertical.
  Sailors' Maritime Association. A white bar centered on a blue field.
  Seamen's Chapter. Blue and white in a crossed pennant 	pattern.
  Society of Cooks and Chefs. White and red diagonal fields checker on green field.
  Society of Shipwrights. White diagonal above blue.
  Society of Thieves. Black and red diagonal 	stripes.
  Society of Weaponsmakers. Gold diagonal above black.
  Tailor's Hall. Purple above gold above red.
  The Bardic Collegium. Purple and red checkers on gold field.
  Traders' Guild. White bar centered down green field.
VirtueLord British  Within this world live people with many different ideals, and this is good. Yet what is it within the people of our land that sorts out the good from the evil, the cherished form the disdained? Virtue, I say it is, and virtue is the logical outcome of a people who wish to live together in a bonded society.  For without Virtues as a code of conduct which people maintain in their relations with each other, the fabric of that society will become weakened. For a society to grow and prosper for all, each must grant the others a common base of consideration.  I call this base the Virtues. For though one person might gain personal advantage by breaching such a code, the society as a whole would suffer.  There are three Principle Virtues that should guide people to enlightenment. These are: Truth, Love and Courage. From all the infinite reasons one may have to found an action, such as greed or charity, envy or pity, the three Principle Virtues stand out.  In fact all other virtues and vices can be show to be built from these principles and their opposite corruption's of Falsehood, Hatred and Cowardice. These three Principles can be combined in eight ways, which I will call the eight virtues. The eight virtues which we should build our society upon follow. Truth alone becomes Honesty, for without honesty between our people, how can we build the trust which is needed to maximize our successes. Love alone becomes compassion, for at some time or another all of us will need the compassion of others, and most likely compassion will be shown to those who have shown it. Courage alone becomes Valor, without valor our people will never reach into the unknown or to the risky and will never 	achieve. Truth tempered by Love give us Justice, for only in a loving search for the truth can one dispense fair Justice, rather than create a cold and callous people. Love and Courage give us Sacrifice, for a people who love each other will be willing to make personal sacrifices to help other in need, which one day, may be needed in return. Courage and Truth give us Honor, great knights know this well, that chivalric honor can be found by adhering to this code of conduct. Combining Truth, Love and Courage suggest the virtue of Spirituality the virtue that causes one to be introspective, to wonder about ones place in this world and whether one's deeds will be recorded as a gift to the world 
or a plague. The final Virtue is more complicated. For the eighth combination is that devoid of Truth, Love or Courage which can only exist in a state of great Pride, which of course is not a virtue at all. Perhaps this trick of fate is a test to see if one can realize that the true virtue is that of Humility. I feel that the people of Magincia fail to see this to such a degree that I would not be surprised if some ill fate awaited their future. Thus from the infinite possibilities which spawned the Three Principles of Truth, Love and Courage, come the Eight Virtues of Honesty, Compassion, Valor, Justice, Sacrifice, Honor, Spirituality, and 
Humility.
Ethical Hedonism: An IntroductionRichard Garriott  Societies oft have common codes of conduct which it expects all its people to abide by. Now, while 'tis true that this can offer some advantages, most of the codes I see today around Britannia have fatal flaws. Let us examine them.   First, there is Blackthorn's code of Chaos or basically Anarchy. Whereas this affords the individual maximum opportunity for individuality and even pursuit of personal happiness, it does not offer even basic interpersonal conduct codes to prevent people from killing each other.  Without such basic tenets, all the people will need to spend a significant portion of their time and effort towards personal protection and thus less time towards other more beneficial 
pursuits.  Then there are the moral codes that are so popular today. These codes are built largely on historical tradition rather than current logic and thus are also antiquated. For example many moral codes we see today include statements about not eating certain foods that once were often poisonous, but today can be prepared safely.  Many forbid contact between young people of the opposite gender, which can in fact be hazardous; but the codes often have lost the context as to why this is done, instead merely calling it amoral. In this day and age to call that a necessary moral would need a new reasoning. I put forth that tradition is not enough  Then there are Lord British's Virtues. It strikes me that while a system of virtues is wonderful as a touchstone to guide a society to good behavior, these are but shades of the underlying truth as to why one may wish to live a life according to certain rules of 	conduct.  On the other hand, clearly the Virtues that I have heard Lord British speak of are clearly positive codes of conduct, far better than the world of anarchy that Lord Blackthorn suggests. Yet, are not these Virtues still derived from a set of principles which though they sound good, are difficult to pin down as actual, undeniable, rational truths?  Worse yet though imagine a society who's code of  conduct was based on pure survival of the strongest. While this society may function and even accomplish much, it can be fairly argued that personal happiness would suffer greatly, except for those at the top. To rule that out, however, we must first believe that people have a right to pursue happiness.  I hope is a safe assumption that all beings wish to be happy; I will broadly describe this as Hedonism. Yet, if all people did is live a life of hedonism, their hedonism might be in conflict with those near them, so I will use the term Ethics to describe limits one might put on one's hedonistic tendencies to allow others to pursue their happiness as well.  Allow me to give this example: If one were to live alone on a desert isle, one could live a life of pure hedonism, for no action one might take could interfere with another's right to pursue their happiness. Poison the lake if you like, there is no one to blame but yourself!   Now suppose two of you live on that island. Thou dost not want thy neighbor to feel free to poison the lake. Would it not be better to consider it unethical to poison the lake without first thinking of those whose pursuit of happiness might be affected by this action?  I put forth that it is the fact that we as a people choose to live in groups known as a society that causes us to compromise our pure hedonism with logical ethics. Likewise we accept not being able to kill others without reason, because our own pursuit of happiness would be greatly interfered with if we feared others would do the same to us. From this basis of logic can be formed the Tenets of Ethical Hedonism.   For more on this subject, see The Tenants of Ethical Hedonism, by Richard Garriott and Herman Miller.
	The Rankings of TradesLord Higginbotham  Whilst 'tis true that within each trade, one finds differing titles and accolades granted to the members of a given guild, nonetheless for the betterment of trade and understanding, we must have a commonality of 	titling.  For those who may find themselves ignorant of the finer distinctions between a three-knot member of the Sailors' Maritime Association and a second thaumaturge, this book shall serve 
as a simple introduction to the common cant used when members of differing guilds and trade organizations must trade with each other and must establish relative 
credentials.  NeophyteHas shown interest in learning the craft and some meager talent.	  NoviceIs practicing basic skills but has not been admitted to full 
standing.
  ApprenticeA student of the discipline.
  JourneymanWarranted to practice the discipline under the eyes of a tutor.	  ExpertA full member of the guild.  AdeptA member of the guild qualified to teach others.	  MasterAcknowledged as qualified to lead a hall 
or business.  GrandmasterRarely a permanent title, granted in common parlance to those who have shown extreme mastery of their craft recently.
A Grammar of OrcishYorick of YewThis volume, and others in the series, are sponsored by donations from Lord Blackthorn, ever a supporter of understanding the other sentient races of Britannia.-
  The Orcish tongue may fall unpleasingly 'pon the ear, yet it has within it a complex grammar oft misunderstood by those who merely hear the few broken words of English our orcish brothers manage without education.  These are the basic rules of orcish:  Orcish has five tenses: present, past, future imperfect, present interjectional, and prehensile.  Examples: gugroflu, gugrofloog, gugrobo, gugroglu!, gugrogug.  All transitive verbs in the prehensile tense end in "ug."
  Examples: 
urgleighug, biggugdaghgug, 
curdakalmug.  All present interjectional conjugations start with the letter G unless the contain the third declensive accent of the letter U.
  Examples: ghothudunglug, but not azhbuugub.  The past tense can only refer to events since the last meal, but the prehensile tense can refer to any event within reach.  The present tense is conjugated like the future imperfect tense, when the interrogative mode is used by pitching the sound a quarter-tone higher.Orcish hath no concept of person, as in first person, third person, I, we, etc.  Orcish grammar relies upon the three cardinal rules of accretion, prefixing, and agglutination, in addition to pitch. In the former, phonemes combine into larger words which may contain full phrasal significance. In the second, prefixing specific phonetic sounds changes the subject of the sentence into object, interrogative, addressed individual, or dinner.  Agglutination occurs whenever four of the same letter are present in a word, in which case, any two of them may be removed or slurred.  Pitch changes the phoneme value of individual syllables, thus completely altering what a word may mean. The classic example is "Aktgluthugrot 
bigglogubuu dargilgaglug lublublub" which can mean "You are such a pretty girl," "My mother ate your primroses," or "Jellyfish nose paints alms potato," depending on pitch.  Orcish poetry often relies upon repeating the same phrase in multiple pitches, even changing pitch midword. None of this great art is translatable.  The orcish language uses the following vowels: ab, ad, ag, akt, at, augh, auh, azh, e, i, o, oo, u, uu. The vowel sound a is not recognized as a vowel and does not exist in their alphabet.The orcish alphabet is best learned using the classic rhyme repeated at 23 different pitches:   Lugnog ghu blat 
suggaroglug,Gaghbuu dakdar ab 
highugbo,  Gothnogbuim ad gilgubbugbuilugBilgeaugh thurggulg 
stuiggro!
A translation of the 
first pitch:Eat food, the first letter is ab,Kill people, next letter is ad,I forget the restBut augh is in there somewhere!
  What follows is a complete phonetic library of the orcish 
language:ab, ad, ag, akt, alm, at, augh, auh, azh, ba, ba, bag, bar, baz, bid, bilge, bo, bog, bog, brui, bu, buad, bug, bug, buil, buim, bum, buo, buor, buu, ca, car, clog, cro, cuk, cur, da, dagh, dagh, dak, dar, deak, der, dil, dit, dor, dre, dri, dru, du, dud, duf, dug, dug, duh, dun, eag, eg, egg, eichel, ek, ep, ewk, faugh, fid, flu, fog, foo, foz, fruk, fu, fub, fud, fun, fup, fur, gaa, gag, gagh, gan, gar, gh, gha, ghat, ghed, ghig, gho, ghu, gig, gil, gka, glu, glu, glug, gna, gno, gnu, gol, gom, goth, grunt, grut, gu, gub, gub, gug, gug, gugh, guk, guk, 	Talking to WispsYorick ofMoonglowThis volume was sponsored by donations from Lord Blackthorn, ever a supporter of understanding the other sentient races of Britannia.-  Wisps are the most intelligent of the nonhuman races inhabiting Britannia. 'Tis claimed by the great sages that someday we shall be able to converse with them openly in our native tongue--indeed, we must hope that wisps learn our language, for it is not possible for humans to pronounce wispish!  The wispish language seems to only contain one vowel, the letter Y. However, the letters W, C, M, and L seem to be treated grammatically as vowels, and in addition every letter is followed by what sounds to the human ear like a glottal stop. It is possible that the glottal stop is considered a vowel as well.  Wisps do make use of what sound to us like pitch and emphasis shifts similar to exclamations and questions.  The average word is wispish seems to consist of three phonemes and three glottal stops, plus possibly a pitch shift. It often sounds like a fire burning or crackling. Some have speculated that what we are analyzing is in fact nothing more than the very air crackling near the wisp's glow, and not language, but this is of course unlikely.

A Tale of Three TribesJanet, Scribe  The dungeon known as Despise is in fact not a dungeon as such, but rather a large natural cave. Inhospitable and unfriendly to visitors, it is filled with damp spots where the deadly Exploding Red Spotted Toadstool grows in abundance.  According to the oldest of historical texts, in days gone by the cave was once the home of three separate tribes who had come to an accommodation with each other. Oddly enough, the three tribes were of dragons, lizard men, and rat men. While today few except extremists associated with Lord Blackthorn regard these latter two as being intelligent beings, apparently they have indeed fallen from a more evolved state over the years.  'Tis said that these three races did dwell in relative harmony within the vast cave, building when they required it, and trading amongst themselves if needed.  But over time, something happened, and they were forced to withdraw from their society, until today thou mayst find individuals of each species within the dungeon, but never again as a civilization.  'Tis also said that someday the three tribes may return to Despise, to once again inhabit it together.  Until then, nothing remains as token of this save an oddly intelligent skeleton, magically enchanted, that doth speak when questions are asked, and from whom I obtained these tales one day, when I was pursued by evil monsters and fled into his skeletal arms.  Fortunately, I escaped and lived to write it all down!
Deceit: A Dungeon of HorrorsMercenary Justin  My employers have oft taken me into this den of hideous creatures, and I thought that it behooved me to write down what I know of it, now that I am retired from the life of an adventurer for hire.  Deceit was once a temple to forgotten powers of old. It was taken over by mages who eventually were driven out by the depredations of their own evil lackeys. However, many of the magical traps and devices that they placed for their defenses remain, particularly those the wizards used to protect their treasures.  The dungeon is mystically linked by crystal balls placed in different locations. These magical orbs do transmit speech, and even have memory of things that have been said near them. No doubt they once served as a warning system  Be wary of a brazier that giveth warning when approached; thou canst use it to summon deadly creatures.  There be a tantalizing chest, undoubtedly full of treasure, that cannot be reached save past a complex set of pressure plates that trigger deadly spikes. As I never had sufficient folk with me to unlock the puzzle, I never obtained the riches that awaited there.  Do not investigate iron maidens too closely, for they may suck you within them!  There is one place where a deadly trap can only be disarmed by making use of a statue that cleverly conceals a lever.  Oft one encounters the deadly exploding toadstool; the ones in Deceit are deadlier than most, as they explode continually. Likewise, the very pools of water and slime on the floor may poison thee.  The most magical device in the dungeon is a mystical bridge that can only be triggered by a level embedded in the floor. Be wary however, for the bridge thus created doth burst into flame when one passeth across it!