A Grey Beginning is a prelude to Skein of Shadows and details Szeethe's rise to power as the head of the sinister Cult of the Grey God. He is determined to sacrifice the city of Crown to slake the thirst of his master, but first the foundations must be set. Exclusive Wandering Men website content.
A fan of Gritgut, the great furry fury from Skein of Shadows? Then Axiomatic Anarchy and its anchor swinging action is for you! Before Gritgut's tore through the streets of Crown he careened through the seedy and dangerous undercity and encountered his spiritual opposite. Exclusive Wandering Men website content.
What's all this about wandering? Who are these guys? What's all this about, anyway?! Why am I here? Find the answers to these questions and more inside and be sure and meet each of the Wandering Men: Ashy, Davis, Hall and Nathan! Also, be sure and check out our Frequently Asked Questions!
If you cannot rest until you see the vista afforded by a surmounted peak, then the Wandering Men will resonate with you. We embrace journeying and exploration; we're constantly pushing ourselves over the next hill, whether the hill is an obstacle, such as a towering mountain or raging river, or a challenging project, like writing a book or crafting a RPG. Reaching for the horizon is the name of the game. Do you hear the mountain's call?
"Humans, I cannot understand them - everything they plant only fruits death."
- Mylanthrevdi, the Greenwarden
Break the Stereotype
Tree-men, children of nature, they dwell in the deep woods. Treants spend days if not seasons in deep thought, pondering the health of their demesne, and wandering their woods tending their charges. Often sagacious sages, and sometimes solitary defenders of the woods, tree-men rarely have a reason to interaction with the outside world. Hoooo-huuummmmmm.
Life from a treant's point of view: daily men enter your wood to fell your silent brothers and sisters. And for what? Their fires choke the sky, their fields dominate the land that was once forest - their ways are wasteful and destructive. And worse, their numbers constantly increase, and they continue to require more land.
As nature is tamed and the wilds are slowly pushed back, one treant has had enough.
Birth in Flame
Mylanthrevdi awoke over a hundred years ago in the woods he still calls home. He spent his first couple decades in quiet solitude - wandering his woods, communing with his charges, and contemplating why he had been given the gift of sentience. Then the humans came. A foreign king had granted the land to a noble, if he could tame the wilderness. The noble's men entered the woods and cut down trees for their lord's manor and the new village. When the first tree fell, the treant felt it like a dull ache.
He immediately sought out the lumberjacks to ask their intentions, but the peasants ran in fright. Angered at the setback and the fact that "a monster" opposed him, the noble hired a band of mercenaries and entered the woods with his most faithful servants. Under guard, the servants began once more to cut down trees. The treant responded and walked into the trap - the mercenaries and noble attacked without listening to Mylanthrevdi entreaties. The treant tried to defend itself and it crushed the life from a number of mercenaries, but there were too many.
Mylanthrevdi begged and pleaded for his life, and the noble granted a reprieve. The noble proclaimed himself lord of the woods, not the treant, and he and his men would cull the forest as they saw fit. If the "abomination" wanted to live, it would leave the region and tell all the other brutes lurking in the wilderness to do the same.
Shocked by the brutal attack and the audacity, the treant retreated to the forest's heart to heal his wounds and plan. Mylanthrevdi was torn, he did not want to fight, but he could not leave the wood, he was part of it, and every day he stalled in acting he felt more of his charges falling to the ax. First, he tried to seal off his woods, but the humans came in droves and used force and fire to open paths. Resigned, the treant then called upon his charges to expel but not kill the invaders.
The noble responded with force, he gathered more mercenaries and rode into the forest. They set fire to the treant's personal grove and fought Mylanthrevdi once more. The treant knew there be no mercy - it barreled through the wall of humans and into the flames. A quarter of its body was charred and withered from the intense heat and flames, but Mylanthrevdi survived and escaped. (More...)
Dwarves hardened by four hundred years of imprisonment and war. Not even death will stop their march.
Shadows danced along the tall valley walls as the flames slowly consumed the tents. Vala watched the orc chieftain as he approached. He'd been wounded, an ugly gash in his leg, his right eye was swollen shut, and numerous bruises covered his body, but he still stood defiantly. She admired his tenacity.
"What's your name?" she growled in the orc's brutish tongue.
"Go to hell, drow toad!" Her second planted his boot into the back of the orc's right knee, and the chieftain toppled forward. With his hands lashed behind his back, he couldn't stop his fall, and the orc went face first into the dirt with a snarl of anger. Vala kept the smirk on her face as Sigye pulled the brute up, so he was kneeling before her. "Now I know how you diggers feel, so low, crawlin on your bellies!"
Vala took two quick strides and backhanded the orc, but he didn't stop smiling. "I'll make this easy for you to understand. You've got two choices - life or death. The fate of your village is up to you. Will you serve us?"
The orc spat in her face. Vala frowned and calmly wiped the noxious substance off. "Make peace with whatever gods you believe in." She turned and retreated a few steps. A pale figure with embers for eyes waited silent and impassive. The orc finally took note of the dwarven ancestor and began to growl, but Vala ignored him.
She half bowed to the being and spoke: "They have chosen, grandfather - do with them as you wish."
The ancestor's eyes blazed brighter than the flames from the burning village. "Thank you, daughter." Vala ordered the men and women of her party back. They climbed to the top of the ridge that led into the valley, but they still heard the screams of the orcs as the dwarven ancestors slaked their hunger.
Inspired by Rich Burlew's Champion class and in the vein of Celtic Christian lore, Corey embarks on the journey of a broken hermit into the mythos of faith and fantasy. How does a humble caregiver become the vision of the ancient Britons' redemption? Follow the steps of the Docile Shepherd as he ventures into the power of angelic intervention and divine empathy in the revelation of the most unlikely Cymric Champion to ever walk the Isle of Mighty Men.
Way back in 2001, I co-authored an adventure with my good pal, Ken Marable, for the now-defunct Roc Games (the only "live" stuff I could find on the net about Roc Games now is here). In our standard mode of operations back then, I came up with the storyline, bounced it off of Ken, ran it by my wife (who has a fantastic "no, that's lame" OR "no, that's waaay to nuts" meter); then Ken came up with the stats to meet my adventure ideas. We also enlisted the help of a good friend of mine named Cliff Brannon (yes, ANOTHER Brannon) who wound up doing the cartography and art for us. It was a small, short adventure, but I thought it a good one and so I will now pass it on to you, my one (or two) adoring fans...
Several years ago, in the height of 3rd Edition, Eden Studios held an open call for one of their new and upcoming products heralded as Waysides: The Book of Taverns. In this open call, they were looking for interesting waystops and (of course) taverns which could be easily dropped into any game, almost at a moment's notice. I thought it a great idea and drafted up a few taverns to send to them; got accepted and then waited anxiously for the book to be released and payment to come due.
Which never happened...
I'm still not exactly sure what happened, or why the Eden folks did not reply to my emails and inquiries, but here it is, nearly four years later and I've still seen no trace of the book. But, I'll show you what I wrote here... Enjoy!
"I can see through them! They're not human, you have to understand!" he screamed through the bars, but the guard had stuffed cotton in his ears and was quickly losing the fight against sleep. The man in tattered and dirty robes began to pace back and forth. "Too many eyes, and fangs. But where do they come from?" he muttered. "Legs, all legs!" A noise brought him to a stop - a soft whisper came from just outside the bars.
He could have imagined it, but the hair on the back of his neck and arms prickled. "They're coming!" he screamed. Then he did hear it - a squeal and a chattering, and something large slipped in the cell with him. The spider-like horror on the ceiling fluttered and shimmered into existence, rapidly gaining disgusting solidity.
The multitude of dark eyes stared down upon him, and below two vicious fangs seeped noxious poison. He dropped to the floor and crawled back to the corner, but there was no escape in the small cell.
The mage had seen too much and then dared to speak out. Luckily, the city guard believed the broken man was just a vagabond, but they couldn't take any chances. They had finally come. The broken mage whimpered and begged as the horror stalked forward.
