The Price of Magic

On a frontier town in ArnhelmDolf was having a pleasant morning. It is only noon and the drunken brawls had yet to start, so mostly he'd been walking around town saying hello. After nearly three months, he was �nally starting to get used to life out here. It was certainly rougher than being a Guard in Byrneholm and your chances of a monster eating your head o� was signi�cantly higher; but your chances of getting caught up in the murky politics of the nobles was virtually nil. "Monster! Monster approaching!" the shout came from the Eastern edge of town and Dolf muttered under his breath as he started to run in that direction. It was shaping up to be such a pretty morning too.He ran to just beyond the buildings where a few hardy townsfolk were gathering while the rest scattered for cover. "What do you see?" he asked, catching his breath."It be a medusa, Guardsman!" came the shout from Sharp-Eyed Rick who was staring towards where the single monster was purposefully moving towards town."Medusa!" Dolf exclaimed, "We need protection from poison..." he glanced around searching for a mage. Leaning against wall, his face half in shadow, was a tall elf. The Mage's Brand was tattooed over nearly half his face and the Slayer's Collar seemed chokingly tight around his throat."Mage!" Dolf called, "Mage!"The elf stared at him indi�erently."Elf!" Dolf shouted urgently."Are you talking to me Guardsman?" the elf asked, pushing himself o� the wall and walking closer."Yes, dammit. We have a Medusa incoming, we need shielding against poison.""Eight gold," the elf replied, his eyes glittering strangely."Eight!" Dolf exclaimed."Well, there are eight of you and that Medusa is approaching at quite a clip.""Fine," Dolf pulled out his purse somewhat reluctantly; it was just shy of three months’ pay after all.

The elf eyed the ever closing Medusa and rapidly drew a circle in the dusty road. "With an eldricth force I build a circle of Harmony," he intoned sonorously. There was a brief �ash of power from his hands. "All of you in the circle," he commanded, producing a small lute. "Poison on the skin,Poison in the air,Poison in the blood,A young wife's despair. Let her tears not fall,Let her smile shine forth,Let her man return,With no poison in his blood. The magic shield is true,The power shall protect,No gas nor touch Shall make the lady cry. But ware you husband,A drink untended,A bite that you knew not,Poison may still make your lady cry." There was a brief pause after this short ditty. "I grant you the power of a poison shield." Magic rushed from the Elf's hands and touched each of the eight men in the circle. Dolf felt the power run over his spirit and form a shield about him.

He glared at the elf."Eight gold for two spells?" he demanded."Aye Guardsman. If you bother to learn my name, I'll charge you a more reasonable price next time. Here she comes," and with that, the Elf faded into the shadows, leaving the Guard and the seven town brawlers to their fate.

Doing Business

Byrnholm, capital of ArnhelmWilfried didn't really like the capitol of Arnhelm much. After the Mad Sorcerer was defeated, the old city had been in such bad repair that they had rebuilt it from the ground up. This meant that Byrnholm was a beautifully planned and constructed city but not really conducive to doing private business.That in turn meant that if he wanted to do business quietly in Byrnholm, he needed to be very inventive, which is how he came to be standing outside Marcella D'Angilini's townhouse pretending to be a beggar and dodging the city watch. The Hobling's house was in one of the nicer districts in town, comparative to the Human Noble's quarters. There was a de�nitive limit to which foreigners and non-humans could aspire in Arnhelm and a house of this nature in this neighbourhood was generally beyond that limit. Marcella however, was not a citizen of Arnhelm. She maintained the D'Angilini family's far �ung holdings here. She was a guest of Arnhelm and considering the money that came from D'Angilini trade, well, Arnhelm took good care of guests of such calibre. So, he had to make sure the city watch did not catch him looking (and smelling) like a beggar outside the gates to her townhouse.He heard her carriage before he saw it and just had time to position himself nicely beside the gate before the glossy brown horses came around the corner."Alms! Alms for a poor Dwarf far from home?" he called out as the carriage came past him.

The carriage stopped and Marcella stepped out."What is this?" she asked in her soft, cultured voice, "A beggar at my house?""Yes, Mistress Marcella," he bowed rapidly, holding out his begging bowl which now held a tightly folded note and a signet ring."You are a fool Dwarf," he could hear the tone of scorn in her voice even as they both heard the rapidly approaching footsteps of the city watch. She reached out and took the paper and the ring from his bowl, "Don't you know what they say about a Hobling and her purse?""They say," chipped in one of her guards, "that Seward will open the Gates to Life before a Hobling opens his purse. Of course, we say that charity begets naught but laziness. Begone beggar before the city watch slings you into a human jail and they shave your beard."There was laughter all round and Marcella stepped back into her carriage. As she drove through the gate, she glanced back once and nodded so very slightly that Wilfried barely detected it, but the acknowledgement was there.He sighed with relief even as the city watch came up to sling him o� the nicely manicured street. Well, he'd had his �ll of Arnhelm for a while anyway. Time to travel once more...

Rite of Passage

The far south tundraIt was dusk. The last vestiges of red were leeching from the horizon as the heavy violet of the evening settled over the land like a blanket. The wind continued to rage and the almost-horizontal sleet reduced visibility to barely a few feet. Still, Jodh did not move. He knew that soon - very soon now - his quarry must return through this pass. Jodh could just see the glimmer of light from the windows of the Sky-Talker's tower over the lip of the pass rising steeply to his right. The Sky-Talker had departed three days ago, venturing forth into the gale - which he no doubt conjured to disguise his movements - and, judging by the provisions he carried, must be returning this evening.

Jodh re�ected on his journey while he waited, his grip tight on his spear, crouched in the snow next to the trail. His way had been long and hard. When the elders sent him south he thought that they had taken leave of their senses, but he did not argue. It would not do to show disrespect to the elders upon assignation of his name-quest. Still, he thought that there was nothing south of the great tundra which his tribe called home - except maybe the end of the world. Jodh had thought that perhaps the Elders intended for him to �nd the end of the world and bring back a star, plucked from the heavens, and so he travelled, foraging as best he could as he travelled through the cold, white, inhospitable waste of the Ice Hell which stretched for countless leagues south of the great tundra. Imagine Jodh's surprise when he crested the rise in the foothills leading to the cli�s of ice and espied a dark, twisted spire before him, spearing into the heavens in de�ance of all the elders and shamen taught about respecting the great spirits of the air and being humble before them. At once, Jodh knew that this tower must be the abode of a Sky-Talker - a shaman grown proud and foolhardy enough to challenge the spirits of ice, wind and lightning. Suddenly, Jodh knew why he had been sent south by the elders - he had been sent forth to �nd this tower and destroy this foolish shaman before he could rain calamity down upon the heads of the tribe. So Jodh had begun his vigil; observing the tower and waiting, patient as an ice-bear, waiting for the perfect moment to strike the pretender down. Suddenly, Jodh was torn from his reverie as movement caught his eye... a �ash of colour - bright yellow - in the dying light, as his quarry rounded the bend in the trail some �fty feet from where Jodh was concealed carefully beneath a mound of snow. The Sky-Talker was elderly and wizened, sporting bushy white eyebrows and a long, narrow white beard of a style that Jodh had never seen before. He wore bright yellow and green silk robes, heavily embroidered with patterns that Jodh did not recognise and he carried a gnarled sta� tipped with a large clear crystal orb. The Sky-Talker shu�ed passed Jodh, muttering softly to himself and oblivious to Jodh's presence. As he passed by, Jodh was aware that his attire was untouched by the fury of the elements - His clothes remained dry and untroubled by the ferocity of the gale that howled through the pass.

As the Sky-Talker moved on, Jodh pounced, uncoiling from his crouch and erupting from the snow-bank, with his father's fearsome battle-cry upon his lips. The Warlock turned, an incantation on his lips, his hands spewing forth �ame, hungry to taste the sweetness of Jodh's �esh. It was too late - even as Jodh felt the heat of the mage�re kiss his skin, he felt the impact of his spear as it thrust into the Sky-Talker's breast, dark red blossoming abruptly on the bright yellow silk of his robe. The Sky-Talker collapsed to his knees, blood bubbling on his lips as Jodh drew his hunting knife and prepared to claim his prize and the honour of bearing his father, Bergr's, name into battle...

The Supremacy of Being

A country roadThe Biata rested on the side of the road, wiping sweat from his copious brow, his robes hugging his somewhat rounded physique in the heat. It was midday and he had been walking since dawn. Finally, the heat had become unbearable and he decided to rest until the sun had begun to sink. He stared speculatively at his rucksack as he drank deeply from his waterskin, wondering why he hadn't purchased additional provisions at the last town. He was warned about the draining e�ect of the heat here on the lowlands, but he was overcon�dent and thought that he would make much better time than he was actually capable of. The neighing of horses drew his attention back to the road and away from his miserably empty pack and he was greeted by the sight of a wagon making slow but steady progress towards him. Seated on the wagon was a young man - Human by the look of it - wearing a broad-brimmed straw hat and cradling a wicker basket under one arm. The Biata smiled and rose, stretching deeply from his waist, his hands in the small of his back, as he thought to himself, "I knew something would come along! As the Arikansha always says...be positive and the world responds positively."

As the wagon drew alongside the broadly smiling Biata, he bowed deeply to the driver speaking as he rose in a loud, clear voice, "Greetings my good sir! A moment of your time, if you please!"The driver clicked at his horses, tugging gently on the reins and bringing the wagon to a gentle halt as he turned to the Biata, raising an eyebrow expectantly, "Yee-ees?"The Biata's grin broadened, "Allow me to introduce myself: I am Aniruddha Devaraja Arundhati Pariwyakw, a humble traveller and seeker after wisdom, who has proved to himself yet again that he has yet to discover his prize!"The driver frowned suspiciously, "Whaddaya want birdman?"Undaunted by the terseness of the driver's reply, Aniruddha continued to grin, "I was hoping that I might prevail upon you to provide me with some form of midday repast? I will gladly provide you with some form of recompense from amongst my belongings, for, you see, I seem of have run short of provisions on this rather daunting sojourn."The driver stared somewhat blankly at the grinning Biata, "Huh? I dunno whatcha mean...speak normal-like…"Aniruddha's grin �nally faltered somewhat as he considered his situation, "I was hoping you might have some lunch you would be willing to trade me, since I ran out of supplies in the course of my journey?", he supplied hopefully.The driver's eyes lit up and he began grinning himself, "Oh sure! I have plenty of food right here!", he said, patting his basket meaningfully, "And I'd be happy to share it with you if you come with me to my farm and magic up a rainstorm for my crops...It's been awfully hot this summer and the crops ain't liking the heat!"Aniruddha glanced around, before meeting his companion's eyes, "Uhm...what makes you think that I could make it rain on your crops, exactly?"The peasant didn't hesitate in his reply, "All you birdmen are magicky, ain'tcha? Tha's what me aul da always used ta say at any rate" Ya want some magic done Arkell, �nd yerself a birdman - it's all they be good fer!"Aniruddha shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, "Well, actually, most of the Biata don't condone the use of magic, as it encompasses the study and embrace of powers external to the will, even

if said powers are controlled through the will...the Arikansha teaches us that the greatest power of all is the wellspring of the mind and the supremacy of the self and being...but, as it happens, I can provide the service you require...in fact, it's the reason why I'm on this journey…"Arkell laughed uproariously, braying like a mule and breaking Aniruddha's chain of thought, "Ayup! Shore enough, me aul da was right on th' money as he always is! Hop on up and tell me all about how you's can make me crops grow! It's still a coupla hours ta home!"Aniruddha sighed heavily as he realised the futility of trying to explain his culture to this bumpkin, then shrugged, shouldered his pack and clambered onto the wagon next to Arkell...

Tales of TeanaRoadmap (dates are subject to change):

ICON (15 July 2011) - Release of Marketing BookletOctober 2011- First playtest

January 2012 - Second playtestMarch 2012 - Final playtestApril 2012 - FIRST EVENT!

Tales of TeanaContact us:

Annick Drewnicki: annick.drewnicki@gmail.comGerhard Pretorius: iyansboy@gmail.com

Tales of Teana is part of the MEAD organisation