Posted By Montalve on March 9, 2010
Iomedaian Cleric by Lazarus
Under suspicion, Jordan’s coming home could turn lethal for the young cleric. Returning to the land of her birthplace, Jordan confronts old demons hoping to find closure of a personal tragedy that happened long ago.
Posted By Montalve on March 8, 2010
The girl’s silvery armor looked out of place on the unkempt road. Though she saw, through the light mist, that the badlands and dark forest were behind her, she did not feel at ease as she approached the pastoral fields and homely farms that bordered her destination. There was no traffic on the road. She knew well that the town ahead didn’t expect many visitors these days, especially not from the southwest.
The town of Canterwall and its attached lands were some of the most bountiful in the country. The land’s fertility was both a blessing and a curse. Its bounty brought riches and a good life in exchange for hard, honest work. The curse was the land’s location, being the westernmost province of Ustalav. To the west, the badlands of the Belkzen spewed forth bandits and orcs who pillaged and looted. It was for this reason that every citizen was also a local militiamen and held weapons at home. To the south lay the cursed lands of Vyrlich, where the evil taint of the Whispering Tyrant could still be felt centuries after his defeat. On the darkest nights when the mist pours from the mountains, every god-fearing citizen knows to stay at home. Over the years, superstition had grown strong in the hearts of Canterwallers, and while they strove each day for their families and lands, they remained wary of strangers and what the night could bring. (more…)
Posted By Dogbert on March 8, 2010
Jordan Fenix.
The name hit a nerve.
How could Norn Hannah Kappel not recognize one of her children, one of the girls she helped bring into the world? Now she could see it clearly. Jordan’s features: her emerald eyes and pale skin. They were those of her mother, just finer due to her elven blood. Whereas her mother had been possessed of long, red hair, Jordan had shorter black hair. Nevertheless, she was her mother’s daughter; she had the same soft smile. Her ears were pointed and her eyes deep and full of purpose just like her father. She was the same height as her mother, just a bit taller than Hannah herself, but she was athletic and fit for combat. (more…)
Posted By Zuxius on March 5, 2010
25 Pharast 4709
Southwest of Katheer nearing the Ketz Desert
Katheer is far behind me as I head into the deep desert. My wayfinder guides me to the excavation, the landscape begins to intrigue me. I wish I had time to set foot on some of the places I have blown by, but such an indulgence would be at great peril.
The open desert of Qadira is magnificent. The colors of the sandy dunes and the textures of the jagged mountains, thrusting up from the earth stand in stark contrast. The smell of the desert fills my senses, intertwining pleasantly with the spiced food I had eaten just before leaving Mansoor’s house. (more…)
Posted By admin on March 5, 2010
I am proud to present Jonathan McAnulty’s story featuring his notorious character Arysta. For those who may not have read A Harvest to Remember, Jonathan introduced his tenacious heroine with that first short story. Following on the heels of that well received piece, Jonathan takes us to another place where his characters face an unusual dilemma. To date, The Silver Lady is the second largest story on the site, rivaling Clinton Boomer’s The Road to Varno. However, The Silver Lady is the largest completed work Pathfinder Chronicler has produced and we are very proud of Jonathan for hitting his goal in stride. Enjoy!
Posted By Wicht on February 23, 2010
I saw my first silver coin in the spring of my twelfth year. A silver lady of Magnimar, it both horrified and fascinated me.
I was visiting my Aunt Lyssa in Wolf’s Ear, a springtime custom I had adopted very early in life. Widowed, with three daughters, she owned the village’s general store. It was a small shop, dimly lit, with a constant smell of mice and dust. I thought it one of the most fascinating places in all the world. Lining its walls and filling its shelves was an assortment of tools, home furnishings, curios, seeds, clothes, cloths and containers. In retrospect, there was little there that was not in greater abundance on my father’s farm, but within the walls of my aunt’s store, each of those otherwise mundane items acquired an unexplainable mystique that charmed and captivated my young imagination. (more…)
Posted By Wicht on February 23, 2010
As we left Uncle Hobias’ bakery, Humruf urged me to try my luck with the silver lady elsewhere. I think he was envisioning a string of similar incidents in which we received food without having to immediately pay for it. While there were a few other establishments in the village where one could buy food, I was not eager to visit any of them after the attempt with Uncle Hobias. Still, Humruf persisted.
“Why not, what can it be ‘urtin’?”
“You think scrubbing the back o’ Uncle’s ovens won’t ‘urt? If yer lucky ‘e’ll be puttin’ the fire out afore he sends us in ta scrub,” I retorted. (more…)
Posted By Wicht on February 23, 2010
Old Mother Crow’s sanctum was a room in the basement of her house. Thola led us down the stairs and through several hallways before stopping at a closed door. She lit a candle and opened the door to usher us in. The small flame of the candle revealed nothing of the room beyond. Walking through, it felt as if I had entered a dark womb reeking of blood, sweat and excrement.
“Remain where you are,” commanded Thola. She hobbled into the darkness. The small amount of light afforded by the candle grew dimmer as she moved away from me and Humrug. The oppressive air seemed to grow ever thicker.
For a moment the candle light disappeared completely and then a fire sprang to life on the far side of the room, hellish blood-red flames that leaped and danced with a life of their own. Thola had touched the candle-flame to oil soaked coals resting in an iron brazier. The stone walls of the room were painted black and four red pillars stood at each corner of the room. Between the two furthermost pillars was a black altar made of marble. Behind the altar stood the resplendent daughter of Heaven: her stern, gaze fixed upon my own worthless self. (more…)
Posted By Wicht on February 23, 2010
I did not sleep well that night. I did as I was told and kept the silver lady on its cord around my neck and against my skin. In my dreams my skin burned and my blood boiled. I was chased by lambs and hounded by hunters. An angel of silver caught me and tortured me, slicing me with cruel hands. Through it all the blessed Lady watched and did nothing, for I had yet to please her.
I shared the bed with Thola and Vyvian. Thola slept well, blissfully undisturbed by my discomfort. Vyvian, as was her custom, slept in her wolf shape, nose to tail and several times in the night she bit at me as I tossed and turned.
In the early morning, before the sun rose, I finally gave up on sleep. Slipping from the bed, I escaped to the river shore where I could think without interruption. I was tired, my chest itched and my leg was sore from Vyvian’s teeth. I considered ripping the silver coin from its place and casting it into the waters flowing into the lake. Something stopped me though, some hint perhaps gleaned from the manner of the old Mother. The silver lady would change but not until I had fed her with patience and blood. (more…)
Posted By Montalve on February 18, 2010
1st Edition D & D
While I have always dreamed of different worlds and landscapes, Dungeons and Dragons helped me to broaden the scope of my imagination. It taught me to see a world from more than one perspective. It taught me how to take on the role of more than just one character. It taught me how to plan a story and present it. It most certainly brought me closer to literature.
I am not alone in this. Even published writers might say the same, as they do in this article.
