Monday, August 14, 2017
Image: The Evolution of Rhym
I've been working on some new Rhym materials, and some material I hope to present later this year in a workshop. One thing I did was make an image showing how the map of Rhym developed from a pencil sketch to its final form. I use an old copy of Paintshop Pro for this stuff. And dispite the age of the 16bit era software it still works great.
Friday, August 4, 2017
Fiction: A Matter of Honor - Part I
A Rhym Story by J. D. Conrad - 2017
Zharn Ghostwalker stood next to his commander and watched as the troops were decimated. Fortunately they were not his troops, they were the enemy. But the manner it which the Tarani executioners went about it left him feeling unclean. No warrior deserved to die in such a manner. True, they were slaves. But they had fought bravely and only their commander's many betrayals had caused this outrage to come to pass.
The Bloodoath Company's employer had struck a deal. The rebel's leader, a noble tiefling named Arxion, would go into exile, not only without punishment, but with his personal wealth. And the Ghilman slave legions he had talked into supporting him in his bid for independence? One in ten would be impaled alive as examples to any others who might have such notions. The others would be shipped off to the mines, loosing all privileges and any chance for advancement or freedom. It made his blood boil to think that he was in some small way responsible for the inglorious death of so many brave men.
A low growl rose in his throat and he took half a step toward the company's employer Kashyar, yet another tiefling noble. Before he could do anything else a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. He turned a pair of glaring amber eyes onto the owner of that hand, his commander, Mishak Bloodoath. The older Zhakuri half-orc stood fully as tall as Zharn, so they locked eyes for a moment. That was all it took. Zharn cast his gaze down, shamed that he had let the bloodlust control him even for a moment. That was not The Way.
The much more massive commander leaned in close to the scout and whispered. “I too do not look with favor on this deal. But we must keep our words just as the Tarani do.”
He nodded, agreeing that honor demanded as much. Then he snapped his gaze up to lock eyes once again with his commander. This time not in challenge, but in query. The Tarani were so famous for violating the spirit of any agreement, while keeping to its letter, that half truths and lies of omission were known as “Tarani Truth.” If the company were to keep to the letter of their contract?
Mishak's coal black eyes told him nothing he did not already know. So he took half a step back and began to ponder the actual terms of the contract which he was honor bound to follow. He was only half aware of the horrific executions that continued all afternoon and into the evening.
To be continued...
Zharn Ghostwalker stood next to his commander and watched as the troops were decimated. Fortunately they were not his troops, they were the enemy. But the manner it which the Tarani executioners went about it left him feeling unclean. No warrior deserved to die in such a manner. True, they were slaves. But they had fought bravely and only their commander's many betrayals had caused this outrage to come to pass.
The Bloodoath Company's employer had struck a deal. The rebel's leader, a noble tiefling named Arxion, would go into exile, not only without punishment, but with his personal wealth. And the Ghilman slave legions he had talked into supporting him in his bid for independence? One in ten would be impaled alive as examples to any others who might have such notions. The others would be shipped off to the mines, loosing all privileges and any chance for advancement or freedom. It made his blood boil to think that he was in some small way responsible for the inglorious death of so many brave men.
A low growl rose in his throat and he took half a step toward the company's employer Kashyar, yet another tiefling noble. Before he could do anything else a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. He turned a pair of glaring amber eyes onto the owner of that hand, his commander, Mishak Bloodoath. The older Zhakuri half-orc stood fully as tall as Zharn, so they locked eyes for a moment. That was all it took. Zharn cast his gaze down, shamed that he had let the bloodlust control him even for a moment. That was not The Way.
The much more massive commander leaned in close to the scout and whispered. “I too do not look with favor on this deal. But we must keep our words just as the Tarani do.”
He nodded, agreeing that honor demanded as much. Then he snapped his gaze up to lock eyes once again with his commander. This time not in challenge, but in query. The Tarani were so famous for violating the spirit of any agreement, while keeping to its letter, that half truths and lies of omission were known as “Tarani Truth.” If the company were to keep to the letter of their contract?
Mishak's coal black eyes told him nothing he did not already know. So he took half a step back and began to ponder the actual terms of the contract which he was honor bound to follow. He was only half aware of the horrific executions that continued all afternoon and into the evening.
To be continued...
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