You're not in Gray Hawk anymore
I have written a Players Guide to the Shattered World for my players. I do not really think here is the correct format to post the whole thing, it not being true fiction. Throughout the book are excerpts of fictitious books, quotes, and other writings that appear in text blocks. Is there a name for these types of things? You know what they are. Designed to add color and fluff to the rules and more mundane writing.
Well anyway I am proud of things. So I present them in not any particular order for your perusal.
Filler from Appendix B
Spoken by High Over King of the Heart Tribes, Harmon the Hammer to Ethan the High Bard, at the Battle for Granite Hall during the Conquest: "I have always wanted to fight a hopeless battle against overwhelming odds."
Ethan looked out over the invading goblin horde and answered: "It seems you are going to get your wish Your Majesty."
From Appendix C
The Intelligent Species of the Empire and its Boarders
Of Halls and Roads
It takes a good deal to get a dwarf to leave his Hall and mines. One traveling out in the world without ale or ore is quite unusual. In the gray Morning campaign a dwarf is sent to aid the humans in exploring old mines. He then gets caught up in the adventure with the party. Below is an alternative to that rational for joining the party.
You (insert dwarf name here) have finally reached an age were you can be considered an adult. Your beard has grown in nice; while short, it is a lot better than the scratchy whiskers of adolescence. One of the girls has made it a point to sit next to you at dinner. While she still doesn't speak to you, she does not avoid you. Things could not be going better for you. You have mastered your craft well enough that you are trusted with completing minor projects on your won. Rumor even has it you are about to be chosen to be journeyman to a craftsman that you greatly admire.
Then a horrible disaster strikes from out of nowhere. You have been given the great honor of serving the head table during the Mid-Winter feast when you're rudely bumped from behind. Whether you had too much to drink or someone dislikes you is unimportant, for ale is sloshed all over the Clan Chieftain and his wife. You suddenly cannot move your short legs fast enough to get out of the Mead Hall as the shouting Chieftain banishes you from his sight.
Your family all of a sudden thinks it best that you go on a trip. Perhaps you should seek your fortune in the world for ten or twenty years, just until things cool down back at home. They help you quickly pack and show you the best path to take down the snowy mountains toward the flatlands. Perhaps you can seek gainful employment with some human Household.
Vision Quest
An elf adventuring within the Empire is so unusual that he player needs an excuse for his character's behavior. The following is a rationale that a player can use to join in with a group from House gray morning.
As is the custom among your family a child reaching adulthood is required to participate in an Ordeal. The Ordeal varies among the individuals depending upon their chosen profession. Craftsmen can be required to create a masterwork. Hunters may have to lay a dangerous wild animal. Warriors are usually required to spend a year in the wilderness alone, often going on a Vision Quest to prove they have the skills to succeed on their won.
The Heads of your family have chosen a Vision Quest for you. Before you leave on the Ordeal you are sent to a Diviner provide you with guidance. The Diviner meets you in a forest glade away from any habitations. She has to be the oldest elf you have ever seen. The old woman has white thin hair and is stooped with the signs of age that most elves are able to avoid. She turns away asking neither your name nor giving hers, leading you to a chamber under the roots of an ancient tree. There in the gloom she directs you to strip to your loincloth and sit in a magic circle. She lights candles that smoke with strange smells, all the time chanting softly. Then when you feel this is all just a bit silly and that it is getting too cold to sit there almost nude you begin to see things. You see a long road, a man-built road. You are traveling down it without any effort what so ever, your feet gliding over the surface. As you move down the road the sun rises and sets twenty eight times. Then suddenly you are at the end of the road. Standing there as if waiting for you is a young yellow haired human, a round-ear, armed and armored as a warrior. On his arm is a shield that depicts a sun rising from behind gray clouds. He holds out his hand to you as a sign of friendship. Then as you are deciding to take it or not the vision fades away and you are back in the smoke filled chamber under the tree.
The crone turns to you, "Go seek that which you saw in your vision. The gods have seen fit to show you the beginning of your quest. They cannot show you beyond its beginning. It is up to you whether you chose to accept the path they have set you on." With that she helps you to your feet. Your hands shake as you fumble with your clothing. Your weakened legs feels like you have run a ring around the forest.
Then you return to your family and gather what you will need on your travels. With goodbyes are said you set out to find a man-built road. After several days of travel you leave the lands you are familiar with. The day after that you come to a road heading off into the Rough Hills. It is a road of hard stone laid across the land so man and his wagons can travel as they wish. You set out at a quick pace, knowing it will be almost a month before you reach where you are headed.
You pass towns and villages that you avoid. Turning left or right at crossroads as your whim takes you. Once you realize you have taken the same road twice. It is in an almost dreamlike state that you travel these roads; speaking to no one and avoiding fellow travelers; sleeping at night in fields or empty barns when the winter's cold gets too bad; surprising the occasional lone shepherd or farmer with a greeting as you walk past. Several times you travel at night, just so you can enjoy the stars and moon. Until finally, three days after you have eaten the last of your food, you see the yellow haired man from your vision. He is coming up the road towards you. As he and his several companions approach, you step forward and hold out your hand.
A common sarcasm when referring to dishonesty is, "as straight as a halfling".
Enlistment
Halflings are the least and last of the populace of the Empire. It takes a truly exceptional halfling to be accepted into any position other than a waste hauler. But sometimes need can overcome all of that.
Darby stood with his hands painfully tied behind his back. The three men seated at the desk could see that the ropes pained him, though they had to lean slightly forward to see the short figure over the books on the desk. The central figure was doing just that, leaning forward at the moment to look Darby in the face, even thou it make the judge's hat tilt at an awkward angle. So halfling do you accept our terms?"
"You mean serving in the army, sir? Yes sir, I will be a good soldier, sir. Given half a chance, sir." Darby did his best to seem enthusiastic; his will being depended on it. Besides, his family did not need another with the nickname of Lefty.
"Well then we will put the mark on you as we described. Do you understand that it will cause you great pain if you ever disobey your officer or steal again?"
Darby only swallowed hard and nodded. What ever it took to keep both hands, he thought.
The man in the robes on the right came around the corner with quill and inkpot in hand. He pulled the halflings shirt open, having to kneel down to do so; the man drew a cryptic sign on Darby's bare chest, all the time also muttering arcane sounding words. Darby just looked to the side and held his breath.
On completing this work the robed man returned to stand behind the desk. The other two men also stood. The center one in the tall hat then spoke with a voice of authority, "Darby Swiftfoot, the sentence for your crimes is herby commuted to then years service in the Imperial Scouts. The central judge then turned to the man on his left who had yet to take part. "If you would take this man to his quarters and return with the next accused."
When Darby was towed out the door by his collar, it left t eh tow remaining men alone in the room. The man posing as a wizard spoke up. "Admiral, do you really think this will fool them?"
The Admiral took the borrowed judge's hat from his head and ran his hand through his graying hair. "It does not really matter does it? We will be at sea before the ink on their chests starts to fade and well on our way with a hold full of new Imperial Scouts. What I find most interesting is that every one of these halflings has admitted to being a thief whether we had anything on them or not. We shall have to keep the pay chest hidden all of the time they are on board."
Alternative to Death
For the half-goblin life is harsh and short. If one makes it to adulthood, it can become even harsher. Often tribes shun their half-blood members, causing many half-goblins to seek a path that can put them in the service of a House. While never able to earn membership or citizenship, life serving with a House has vast benefits over being in a goblin tribe.
Grum stood on the road awaiting the approach of the patrol. He had washed his shirt and kilt in the nearby stream. While they soaked, he had taken a plunge and rubbed his hair with sand. Freshly scrubbed with as much dirt removed as possible, Grum stood on the road shivering slightly as the riders drew near. His spear, shield, and sack of meager belongings were lying at his feet. He was prepared to enlist with these soldiers or die trying.
The seven men of the patrol stopped as soon as they saw the figure standing on the road. The men drew swords and readied bows as they were obviously discussing how to deal with the situation. A shiver went up Grum's spine that had nothing to do with his wet clothing. Two riders left the patrol and approached until he could fell the hot breath of the horses. Now up close, he could see that the one dressed as an officer was surprisingly a woman. There was a silver chain around her neck and her straw yellow hair was cut short. Even more amazing, the second rider was one of his own kind. The half-goblin rider grinned at Grum showing his sharp teeth and spoke in goblin. "What do you want scum? You're blocking my mistress's way. Speak quickly or feel steel in you gut."
Grum straitened his back and stood tall. Trying his best not to break and run, he replied in the common speech just to show he could talk like men. "Grum come to serve with mans. Mans need warriors because of big fights. Earn much gold fight for mans."
Pointing with his sword the half-goblin rider spoke out, "and why do you think we need the likes of you in our company? I should just open your belly where you stand. We have no use for your kind."
Grum spoke up in defiance. "Soldiers from big house fight lots beastmans from mountains. Lots soldiers killed in big fights. Mans need more soldiers. Grum come to fight for mans. Me be good soldier."
"Corporal, ask it why it is all wet?" The woman spoke for the first time gesturing toward Grum whose kilt was still dripping into the puddle on the road.
Grum replied quickly before the corporal could speak. "Take bath, wash kilt, not want stink for soldiers." This causes the woman to laugh loudly and the corporal to smile, but not showing his teeth this time. The woman turned in the saddle and removed a small object from a saddlebag. She tossed it to Grum who deftly caught it. He turned it over in his hand; it was a small brown roll.
"Eat it scum." The corporal ordered. Which Grim obediently did, in two quick bites. It was rye and a bit salty to the taste.
The woman spoke with practiced authority. "As a Lady of House Flaming Mountain I accept you service into my Lance. Your offer of service in exchange for food and shelter is accepted. Corporal take charge of recruit Grum and see that he doesn't embarrass me."
New Year's Eve
"Sister of Devotion within the Red Order." That was how the scroll giving her the acceptance started. Reading her new title brought tears to her eyes. Tears that she had to hide by coming out to the frozen fields outside the walls of the Estate. After all the hard work at the pell, the late hours studying by candle light. All the years of effort had paid off. Sister Othnia stood in the snow, the tear stained scroll crushed against her chest. "Thank the Gods of the Arch that have given High Commander Himtel the wisdom to grant me this boon. I promise I will live up to all my teachers expectations and exceed anything my brothers have ever done." She spoke out loud to the cold evening air.
Sister Othnia wiped the tears from her eyes on the sleeve of her new red surcoat, the Red Orders livery that she would wear the rest of her life. Today acceptance into the Order, tomorrow at the New Year's celebration a new posting, hopefully to a Lance of one of the Lords or Ladies of House Gray Morning, experienced warriors skilled in defending the human lands from goblins.
Accounts and Spells
Sometimes very strong emotions can set someone on the path to adventure. Such as our love struck gnome described here. Braden Talltree stood watching the retreating back of his beloved, "How dare she." He almost spoke his thoughts out lout. "Spurn me for that cousin of mine will she. I could not have made the setting of my proposal more beautiful." He looked down at the crushed bouquet of flowers at his feet. Then up at the forest around him. Silver Springs was the loveliest place in the forest. With its clear water, the lovely statue of the goddess, and all the wild flowers in bloom around the little spring.
"How dare she spurn me," speaking out loud now that the girl gnome was out of sight among the trees. "I will show her. Being, and accountant in the largest bank in the province isn't good enough for her? Ha! Well, I will show her, I have grandfather's books and I have learned to read his spells. I will go on a quest to find greatness. I will return with treasure and power. I will show her all right. Yew I will…"
Braden turned into the forest still ranting at his ladylove. Promising that he would not return until he had proven himself a hero. The he would also take vengeance on his cousin. No one was there to see him go or to hear his words except the animals of the forest and the little stone statue of Nada Dimi standing along the flowers. If the squirrels had the intelligence to look they would have seen the single tear the goddess's statue shed for the loss of another gnome to the adventuring life.
From Living in the Empire
Excerpt form, "The Rise of House Green Jewel"
Lady Eanfled was going shopping. She wears a green silk gown embroidered all over with silver flowers. In her finely coifed hair are luminescent green feathers from a rare flying snake. About her slim neck is a necklace of silver and emeralds. Her embroidered silk slippers are protected from the muddy streets by wooden clogs that make her seem a half a foot taller.
A servant in green and white precedes her shouting for the crowed to make way for the noble Lady. Guards in green velvet, sweating in their elaborate armor, use their silvered spears to make the spectators keep their distance.
Four slave girls with white ribbons and silver bangles carefully braided into their long hair, carry an awning of white silk to protect the Lady's delicate skin from the summer sun. Behind them come a full dozen servants, dressed in fine green and white silk tunics, silver octagons emblazoned on their shoulders. Each of these well-muscled servants is ready to carry the bags and baskets filled with the extravagant Lady's purchases.
From The Art of War in the Empire
"If you can't depend on your Lance you can't depend on anyone." Lord Roan's last words at the Battle of White Field. Himdales Saga.
Excerpt from the, "The Second Battle for Virgins Pass."
By Lord Cornal Redmont of the Imperial Sable Guards, Commander Ret.
A dust-covered sergeant in the black and gray tabard of the Guards Company recklessly brought his horse to a stop in front of the reserve cavalry company. To be heard over the din of battle he shouted at the young noble seated on the fine white stallion, "Sir, you will immediacy lead a charge against the goblin's right flank or all is lost." The young man turned to the sergeant and slowly removed his helmet. He mopped his brow with a silken handkerchief and distantly answered the scared veteran. "I will take no orders from anyone but the general himself. And my last orders were to await his command."
With a single smooth move the sergeant stood in his stirrups giving him the height he needed to bring his sword down on the unarmored neck of the noble. Smoothly parting the young noble's head from his shoulders.
Turning his mount toward the turmoil of battle and pointing with his bloody sword the sergeant shouted, "General Cynwise is dead, the battle is turned against us. For the glory of the empire, CHARGE." The sudden surge of the company spurred the white stallion into a run. The proud beast leads the company's charge with the headless body of its master still in the saddle, mindlessly waving the silken handkerchief still clutched in its hand.
A historical report from the campaign in the Rough Hills IY 1520
Captain Osfrid of House Gray Morning has been making considerable progress against the rebels. Here in the hills the surviving rebels are being hunted down like the dogs they are by lances of the Imperial Greens.
Captain Osfrid has used mules from his baggage train to provide the archers and footmen of the lances with sure-footed mounts in this rugged hill county.
Such tactics should provide his Imperial Majesty with a victory parade by high summer.
Yours in imperial service,
Lieutenant Wolfgar of The Imperial Sable Guards.
Excerpt from the, "Cyngwise Birdsong's Big Book of History."
It is truly a grand thing to see one of the Great Noble Houses parading before a battle. With the colorful officers wearing their bright armor and chains of gold. Followed by the lancers all arrayed in straight lines, each rank with newly painted shields. Then come the mounted sergeants carrying the bright banners aloft. Next would come the spearmen, bright ribbons on their helms and pole arms. The archers follow them, each in tabards of the House's colors. With their arrows fletching dyed to match. Next would come the baggage train. The wagons newly painted in the bright colors. Each mule's ears are adorned with flowers. Servants in new tunics ride the wagons and toss candies to the watching crowds for good luck.
A historical report from the campaign in the Rough Hills IY 1520
Captain Osfrid of House Gray Morning has been making considerable progress against the rebels. Here in the hills the surviving rebels are being hunted down like the dogs they are by lances of the Imperial Greens.
Captain Osfrid has used mules from his baggage train to provide the archers and footmen of the lances with sure-footed mounts in this rugged hill county.
Such tactics should provide his Imperial Majesty with a victory parade by high summer.
Yours in imperial service,
Lieutenant Wolfgar of The Imperial Sable Guards.
From The Duels of Lord Hexahuma
There are only two types of Champions: those that die young gloriously defending their House's concerns, and those that never defend a challenge.