Chaoselbows.com Life, like your elbow, is chaos

This is the Story of Fidark, a champion of Tomanåk.

"And you take your pox-ridden gods with ye!" And with this, Fidark was thrown out of his father's household. The rough-hewn door thunked behind him as the bar dropped in place.

Fidark reflected on how he got to this point in his life. With a sudden interest in the "unchancy arts" as his father would have it, he had begun to look into the chapter of Tomanak in the capital city. His training and advancement there, from novice to initiate, was swift, if circumspect. Even then, his father didn't approve of it, Fidark's education was nearly complete.

Just last week, however, it had all changed. Fidark still didn't know what gave him away, but the end result was the same. Pennyless, he wandered the streets, visiting the places of his childhood, and to be candid, saying goodbye to them. He didn't see much of a future for himself, ostracised from society for simply believing in a god. The unfairness of it all bubbled inside of him, feeding the Rage within himself.

My Days of Silence are over. Master has charged me with a new task. I am to become a Journeyman. He wishes me to perfect my self and my dance of death. I am to begin my training in the unknown wilderness known as Ptolus. I have not ventured outside the monestary walls for so long, it is like the world has changed. I must learn it all new. The Journey will be endlessly facinating. I hope to capture that facination in my writing, but my skills have evolved in other areas.

I must remember my rules:
I must not sit in a chair
I must not eat meat I have not butchered myself.
I must not become corrupted to evil influences.
I must be dispassionate, as passion clouds judgement.

I am looking forward to following Master's last command: "Have Fun."

Zane gazes down from his vantage point high up within the Pythoness House, out across the bridge which spans the air to one of the fortress's tall towers. He peers cautiously out, from the safety of the chamber in which he stands...every fiber of his being alert. Already he has endured great danger, indeed the entire party has... but in his heart he knows, the greatest dangers are still ahead. Stepping out upon the high bridge a sense of for-boding grips him like an icy cold hand.

"Steady yourself" he says to himself. None-the-less he reaches inside his cloak, his fingers closing upon a small vial with the blue lid. "Blue for Air" he says quietly, gazing at the stopper.

"Just in case." He says to himself, as he palms the vial.

Glancing quickly over the edge of the railing to the ramparts below, Zane begins to cross the high bridge, working his way toward the other side, where the far towers sealed door awaits. His senses, heightened by the vulnerability of his precarious position, register a movement behind him...the scrape of hooves, then a shadow, which blots out the sun. Zane turns to look... and beholds a truly horrific sight.

This is the master page for Ptolus books. all the books we have created are linked from this page.

This is our game notes from the adventures we have.

Kilan Goodsong’s Story–I am blessed with many names, Kilan Goodsong is my stage persona and current name of war, Kilan Blindeyes as an apprentice; more I will reveal later...
I was born in the City of the Spire. My first memories were that of an orphanage, and thought my name was “HEYU.” I was lucky to be spirited away from the orphanage (or my mother after she came back to get me, depending which story my master told at the time) and Ptolus at a young age–maybe five turns. I became the apprentice to a great singer and storyteller, Oropea the Great. I know my name isn’t “HEYU,” but I am not sure my name is really Kilan, as I discovered on my many travels that Ki is an ancient word for musical note and Lan an ancient word for lyric Once thirty seasons changed, my master went blind. I became the eyes of my master as we traveled the world, performing for folks high and low, although interestingly never back to Ptolus. A kindly wizard enamored with Oropea’s stories gave him a magic blindfold that could help him, or anyone, see in the dark. I hated the ocean voyages we periodically took in our performance travels, and one storm that our ship barely survived made me afraid of the water for good. Once I reached my age of majority (or thereabouts–I don’t recall my birthday or year I was born), my master did what all bardic masters do–he set me free in the middle of the night without waking me, leaving me a new mandolin, his blindfold of dark vision, and a note that said, in the bad handwriting of a blind man, “You start the story, you be the song. Just stay away from Pt.” I was sure he was writing “Ptolus” and ran out of paper and didn’t realize he was writing the last letters on a table, but I decided this mistake on his part allowed me permission to go “home again.” I served as a traveling minstrel, saving money for the next fare and equipment I would need to go to Ptolus, crossing the hated ocean again and again, getting closer and closer to the City of the Spire. Besides my shadowed childhood, all the best stories and songs revolved around the Ptolus. I would go to learn more of the tales, and participate in the creating of new ones by becoming a “Delver in the Dungeon.” Would I find my mother still alive, or was I truly an orphan? Who was my father? Does it matter? Oropea was my “real father.” What has become of him? Why did he want me to stay away from Ptolus? Or was he luring me here for some unknown reason?

The Saga of Jada Smith, Rogue, Adventurer, and Daughter of a locksmith begins here.

I'm still trying to get it to work.

Tentatively, the game support module will move to bearded dragon. Please don't post a lot until I get it straightened out. not that you all were going to town anyway...
:)