The Enclave > Lore

Datarii Silver

The Datarii prize the metal they know as mura, or "First Found." It is rare, found only in the depths in small, strangely strangely shaped pieces fully separated from the surrounding rock. The common folk of the Enclave call mura "Datarii silver" for its appearance and origin.

Mura is the hardest of metals, almost impossible to forge, form or damage. Even the smallest worked items are very rare and near priceless. Ammander sages and the descendants of the Magi have found that Datarii silver influences their wizardry in undue and unpredictable ways; some seek it, others shun it.

[ Posted by Reason on January 2, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

The Moon, the Stars and the Unending Sea

The white moon, closest of the stars according to the most learned sages, shines at night over the Unending Sea. Like the uncertain tides, the moon is a fickle aspect of creation - its round face sometimes here, sometimes there, sometimes large and bright, sometimes small and dim.

In the old Ammand, the most ancient of chill mountain folk bowed before the moon and were known as savages for their ways. The Kings of plain and forest rode into the mountains to tear down the moon temples - all this a very long time ago, long before the Greater Power. Moon-faced or moonlover is an old, inoffensive slur amongst Ammanders, meaning fickle ignorance or unthinking, clumsy ways.

The seafaring Magi fought and soothed the moon, stars and tides of the Unending Sea with their wizardry, but that knowledge is long gone, torn away with the Vanishing. Stonefolk care nothing for the moon, but maintain that it is made of mura, the rare metal mortals call Datarii silver. As for the cruel Neth - well, who can tell what Neth think of any subtle concept?

[ Posted by Reason on February 10, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

The Farthest
The Enclave > Lore > The Farthest

Tales of the Farthest

The Datarii call the place beyond all places "the Farthest." The long-departed Draugh, from whom the Datarii inherited myths, fragments of language and little more, called it by this and many other names.

Every place in the Enclave borders the Farthest, or so the Datarii say. Forest, field, library, inn, temple and open land all lead into the Farthest - endless, increasingly strange extensions of the border that led you there. No wizardry is needed to enter the Farthest, and the most common of folk must exercise care in their daily tasks lest they stray too far from the familiar and lose their way.

White-bearded Ammanders first wrote of the Farthest as the "Quintessential Realms," showing curiosity and understanding beyond that of the Lost Magi of the Vanished Isles. The sages hold that certain thresholds must be reached before the Farthest opens up like a rare flower to Visitor and Trespasser alike. The borders of the Farthest are most tangible in large and intricate buildings, the densest of forests, most frequently tilled fields, the busiest of marketplaces and docks.

To enter the Farthest is to notice folk becoming stranger; it is to become a Visitor in their lands, just as Visitors and Trespassers come from the Farthest into the Enclave. The farther from the familiar, the more different the Farthest becomes - and the more likely a Visitor is to lose their way. Even the near Farthest shifts and changes from day to day.

The Farthest Market is the Market of all Markets, the Quintessential, unending, eternal Market, the Market that, somewhere, contains everything that could possibly exist - as is true for the Farthest Library, the Farthest Inn, the Farthest City, the Farthest Temple, the Farthest Fields and Farthest Forest. Ammander tomes declare that all things may be found in the Quintessential Realms. The Datarii tell grand tales of wizardry won from the deepest Farthest by brave Visitors in dire need - and at great cost.

For all of the tale-telling, the border of the Farthest is often hard to distinguish. The folk are much the same, as is their merchandise. Sometimes it is only that the street leads to a different junction, or the corridor has an extra turn, or the bookshelves do not end where they should. Stray too far, however, and you might come back with whitened hair and strange tales - or not return at all.

[ Posted by Reason on December 21, 2004 | Permanent Link ]

Tal's Daughter

"Elbows in all the wrong places," Tal is prone to grumble. His daughter - no Datar, but as skilled as any in stone and metal - came from the Farthest, found wandering the deep halls of Dar's Craft where the Datarii carve Unfinished Works and the border of beyond is close. To hear the older Datar retell the story to all who pause and listen, the Beautiful Stranger herself stepped out of the Farthest Craft to foster this Lost one on Tal.

Tal's Daughter is strange, unlikely in appearance and far from her birthplace. She refuses any name and never learned the gruff tounge of the Datarii. She speaks through stone in the deep halls, and the Datarii of Dar's Craft are fiercely proud of their Visitor.

The oldest stories, those said to come from the Draugh, speak favorably of charity to the Lost. Datarii respect the old wisdom, the craft of storytellers and wise ones long gone. Be kind to the Farthest, kind to the Lost, for one day you may need such kindness yourself.

[ Posted by Reason on December 21, 2004 | Permanent Link ]


Not all who come from the Farthest are friendly - or willing. Trespassers, as the Datarii call them, are violent, angry and destructive Visitors. Trespassers are fortunately rare, only to be expected in fear when the Enclave touches upon the Farthest Battle. It is said, however, that sages of the Black Tower and followers of darker Powers know of wizardry to call Trespassers from the deep Farthest, meddling in a balance best left alone.

Of the many stories of the Emerald Company, the Farthest-Broken Raid is but rarely told by warriors, and then only in hushed tones. Neth from the Road in the Greenwood were seen from the villages before even first snow that year, like long-dead things carried by the tide of winter. The Company, bolstered by Ammander spearmen, rode forth to drive these most vile Neth back beyond the Known Roads. Yet many great and shambling Ur Maka were amongst the lesser Neth - a pitched battle developed amidst the stench of Neth earthworks and rotting game. Neth and Ammander stepped into the Farthest Battle, which in turn stepped into the Enclave. Powerful warriors, white of skin and strange of face, came forth from the confusion of blood and death to smite at spearmen, Neth and Emerald Company alike.

Neth broke and fled as the bile of the last Ur Maka tainted the snow, as did the Ammander spearmen. The White Trespassers tore at snow, Neth-turned earth, bodies and each other. There died Arith of the Company, last of the first, her body never found.

It came to be a part of the tale that cruel, dark-minded Neth had come to an ancient place of the Draugh, had found wizardry to summon forth the White Ones - but who can tell the truth of these matters? It is not a tale that those who know best, those who once wore an emerald broach, like to retell.

[ Posted by Reason on December 29, 2004 | Permanent Link ]

The Farthest Coast

The miser Menas has your coin from the fresh pressing, eh? That's the last you'll be seeing of that silver, mark me well. He'd be on the Council in place of the Master Trader if he cared to look up from his gold - aye, too much greed to be a Councillor, there's a thought to go with the ale!

The old trader wasn't always so devoted to coin, leastways not until he brought back ten blue coins from the Farthest Coast. The Master Trader's lackeys have the Coast Road now, aye, but not when Menas led mules about the Known Roads for the Guilds. Headed to Cael with glass and red iron he was, making camp for the night high up where the Road touches the cliffside before the Watch of Trees. Aye, something to be said for watching the moon out over the Unending Sea while far and away from everything; the fisherfolk know that and more.

More ale! A seafarer could die of thirst afore you'd even notice! Aye, the hook on the story, eh? The first cool mists of the season came rolling in the next morning and Menas was Lost afore he knew it. No Watch of Trees, not the Coast Road nor other travelers; just the Sea, cliffs and hills all mist-covered and strange.

Aye, the coins, not found lying in the grass, no. Menas and his mules met an old whitebeard of strange manner and clothing, wandering the cliffside with fishing line and a fresh catch. Menas is a trader - they traded, what did you think? Fish, strangers' coin and the way through the mists in exchange for glass, red iron and mules besides. To hear the way the old miser told it, he bargained with the greatest trader in all creation; with the Fisher in Darkness, some say. Aye, but I say he would have given his right hand and purse besides to a drunk thief to see the Coast Road again, and there's the truth.

Still, ten blue coins it was, and he has them still after all these years. Wizardry there, if you will; coin that brings out the greed for counting in a man. Aye, all thoughts for you to mull over while Menas is counting your silver, eh?

[ Posted by Reason on March 11, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Lost in Thought, Lost to the Farthest

Well and well; she's in her bed, asleep finally. She doted on that boy, and there's the rub of it. If he'd lived in the City Without or the Port docks there'd have been none of this. Apprenticed he'd have been and had some sense knocked into his head years ago. It's too easy to be Lost in city streets, none of this wide-eyed dreaming and following Master Lareth's ruffians here and yon, no.

Someone has to say it now - it's been the better part of two days and neither hide nor hair of the boy, not in field nor Road. Lost to the Farthest he is, though none may want to say it. It could have happened anywhere with his head in the clouds and the ramblings of troubadors the way it was. Blind man or a fool to be Lost from a village, and isn't that the truth? I'll tell you this, mark my words, I'll be placing a coin with the Powers tonight, for I'll be the one his mother leans on in the days ahead, and there's a task.

Well and well, and maybe the Beautiful Stranger herself will point the boy back to the village - just like Krineth once on a time, none the worse for wear and learned his lesson well. I'm afeared that's only the way in tales, mind, so best to expect the worst.

[ Posted by Reason on May 2, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Each Village an Island

All of the larger personal collections of books and parchments in Port and Three Stones include elegant copies of the most important work of The Expected Smile - fifteen treatises, often bound into two folios in the traditional fashion. Amongst them is "Our Sea," an anonymously circulated treatise that Black Tower sages declared - not without some controversy - to be from the quill of The Expected Smile.

"Our Sea" is a powerful, short treatise on life lived amidst the Farthest, the "Quintessential Realms" that so fascinated Ammander sages in seasons prior to the Vanishing. The Expected Smile - or perhaps another, more anonymous sage - wrote that "each village is an island, comfortably familiar and from which travelers venture forth but rarely. By comparison, Port is a convergence of tides at the river mouth, a place of strange sailing and unfamiliar streets. We are never quite sure of ourselves; are we Lost; will the stranger before us speak the Ammander tongue; is this unusual finery the latest fashion or a Visitor's garb; was this wall here the day before? The children of tradeship passengers have grown to be sharp-witted and careful in the tides of dockside and Port streets. Dreams are for village folk, for those who do not have to mark the road ahead - the careless wanderer in Port is soon Lost to the Quintessential City, at the mercy of the Powers of this land."

[ Posted by Reason on May 3, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Weather of Powers and Strangers

The mortal folk of the Enclave have many sayings for fog and mist from the Unending Sea. "Fog brings forth the Farthest" they say, and teach their children to walk with care, stay inside or settle beside a known place when the sea mists come rolling in. The fisher folk of Port and the coast villages touch statues of Salin the Seafarer, or toss a coin overboard for the Fisher in Darkness when fog is sighted out on the waves. To be Lost at sea is a very real threat, even though Enclave seafarers sail only within sight of land since the last of the Vanished Isle Magi and their great tradeships passed away.

On the Coast Road, in Port and the fisher villages, mists are the weather of Visitors and Trespassers. Fog and sea mist are the heralds of unfamilar streets, mysterious traders and unknown stalls in the Dockside Market; strange faces, incomprehensible languages and novel fashions in the taverns; travelers to places unknown to Enclave mortals; odd fisher folk bearing ugly or wonderous catches; Strangers' calls and half-glimpsed vessels out on the Sea.

Yet just as often, the mists of the Unending Sea come and go without incident, and careless folk can become just as Lost to the Farthest on the clearest day or night. The wise amongst the Enclave common folk leave coin for priests and the Powers, to be saved for a day of mist and need.

[ Posted by Reason on July 23, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

That They Were Lost, Not I

There was never a merchant's fear like it afore nor since, a cold craw grasping at my heart, as when the folk drew near upon the Coast Road. Close enough to see robes of red and stranger's beasts carrying I know not what, and I alone with my mules - watching my thoughts and not the Road, not the Road. Then it was, by the touch of the Beautiful Stranger, I saw the third-broken stone marker and its sapling tree beside the cliff. It was as the Unending Sea came up to wash away the blood of my legs, to know that they were Lost, not I!

[ Posted by Reason on August 22, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Thieves' Toll, Paid to the Beautiful Stranger

Only a thief counts steps, or so it is said, but in truth many cityfolk keep the habit in places they know well. Who knows when you might be caught without lamplight on a cloudy night when the moon is dim and far over the Unending Sea? But only a thief would willingly set forth to walk city streets in darkness, avoiding the lanterns hung from taverns and the high walls of manses, for to walk in darkness is to walk on the very edge of the Farthest Night, and the thieves of Port and Three Stones pay a toll in coin of lives Lost.

Healers and devotees of the Beautiful Stranger in Three Stones tell tales of the long arm of the Power of the Farthest; she watches the borders and Roads between the Enclave lands and the rest of Creation, reaching out to touch those who carry ill will in their hearts. The dockside eels of Port laugh at such legends; those Lost to the Farthest Night have demonstrated themselves poor thieves, and only their coin should be missed.

Still, common thugs and safehouse eels in Port carry torches for skullduggery and theft on the dockside after dark, while thieves in Three Stones work by day, for the lantern-lit streets belong to Watch blades by night. True thievery on dark and clouded nights, counting steps and skirting the Farthest, is the province of tall tales and rare, masterful rogues like the Unseen Hands.

[ Posted by Reason on September 8, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

The Twice-Folded Scroll and the Farthest Library

In the Year of Winter, The Twice-Folded Scroll was the eldermost whitebeard of the Black Tower, of such great age and frailty so as to have passed into that lonely demi-realm that only the very oldest mortal folk inhabit, and then for but a short time. Many Ammander sages of the Tower vanished in the seasons following the Winter of Trespassers, and this most ancient whitebeard was amongst their number - already all but forgotten by those beyond the black crags and former retainers. All that remained were folios and inkwork, copied hastily by a few poorly rewarded scribes, buried and misunderstood in private collections, lost amidst long shelves in the Three Stones Library.

The Twice-Folded Scroll was a sage of the Farthest from the very first, a student of the works of The Denier and The Expected Smile, of the Port sages of past times, those who had walked two shores of the Unending Sea. In his lifetime, The Twice-Folded Scroll journeyed to Spire, the vaults of Great Home and Ura above the Mountain Below to speak to wise Datarii, and to the Watch of Trees in search of the last Ammanene. As seasons passed, and hair faded to white, this Ammander sage was drawn ever more to the Library of Three Stones - and all Creation beyond it, the unending shelves and halls of the Farthest Library.

It is perhaps this closeness to the Library, and the old, bad blood between Black Tower sages and Library priests, that led The Twice-Folded Scroll to obscurity in his own lifetime. The guarded, jealous hierarchy of Black Tower sages had no place for those overly-familiar with priests of the Vessel. The priests, for their part, have long been comfortable with the Farthest Library as a mystery of the Seeker after Burning Truth, their honored aspect of the Vessel. In the eyes of the Library faction of the Temple of Powers, the Farthest Library exists for all, a necessary step on the Road walked by the Vessel and all those touched by the Burning Truth ... but what possible use could there be for any sagely elucidation of the Farthest Library? Burning Truth can only be sought, found, mastered - not taught.

So it has came to pass that the deepest secrets of the Quintessential Realms of learning - sought, founded and scribed by The Twice-Folded Scroll - were never told, but are hidden away in fading ink and aging folios, their very existence all but ignored or forgotten.

[ Posted by Reason on December 25, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

The Enclave > Lore > Wizardry

Seafarers' Needles

The Magi of the Vanished Isles employed enchanted needles to guide their great ships across the Unending Sea, the needles pointing this way and that as the currents shifted. This lesser wizardry was one of many given to the Datarii in trade in older times, and the stonefolk made good use of it.

In the present day, Seafarers' Needles are enchanted throughout the Enclave to guide wayfarers on dry land. Merchants traveling between Port and other Enclave communities use the wizardry of the needles to avoid the Farthest Roads. Canny Ammander hunters and woodsmen find their way home by following the point of the needle - marks on trees and known paths soon fail as guides in the Farthest Forest.

[ Posted by Reason on December 21, 2004 | Permanent Link ]

Declarations and Refutations

There are refutations and then there are Refutations; the wizardry of Ammander sages is subtle but surprisingly effective. The common folk of the Enclave believe that a compelling case in ink or oratory can sway the Powers and the Farthest. Many an old legend tells of Trespassers summoned and banished, of curses, punishments and rewards created from nothing more than quill, ink and knowledge.

The Silent, one of the many to disappear into the tower of The Ebon in the time of the Greater Power, was a prolific writer. Her papers and tomes on every subject imaginable piled high about her isolated manse. As her name might suggest, The Silent found noise quite intolerable.

An Ammander merchant and his mules came uninvited one day in high summer, or so the story goes, determined to buy as much as he could. Many papers should mean a low price, after all. The Silent would have nothing to do with this trader, so there he stayed - shouting, singing, kicking up dried tinder and warming himself by a crackling fire as night fell. The mules brayed incessantly.

The Silent could stand no more than a day and a night of this terrible fellow and his animals. She wrote a Refutation to end all Refutations, direct and puissant, scribed most carefully on the cheapest, poorest parchment. The sage emerged from her manse to thrust the Refutation upon the trader. His face paled upon the reading of it, and he ran as though the Powers themselves were chasing him - but in silence. For all we know, he is running still, Refutation clutched tightly in his hands, somewhere in the far reaches of the Ammand.

The Silent, or so the storytellers would have us believe, dined well on salted mule for half a season.

[ Posted by Reason on January 4, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Lying Scales

Lying Scales were once a curio, a trade good from distant lands and of no practical value to the Magi of the Vanished Isles. The two sides of a Scale balance in quite erratic and unexpected ways. The Datarii found such minor wizardry endlessly fascinating; they created ingenious new uses for these and many other similar novelties.

Less reputable folk have found their own uses for Lying Scales in the generations since the secret of their creation was traded to the stonefolk. Fortunately Scales of a form useful for deceit are quite rare now. Most are very old indeed, dating to a time before the Vanished Isles became Lost.

[ Posted by Reason on January 5, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Peerless Blades

A sword that cannot be sheathed is of no use at all as a visible symbol of lordly status in Three Stones - city law is quite clear on the carrying of weapons within the walls. The Watch may turn a blind eye to nobles and their ornate locking scabbards (heavy enough to serve as a club), but a naked blade would certainly attract unwelcome attention. Thus it is that the Verden Blade gathers dust and cobwebs on a stone pedestal in the manse of the current Lord Verden of Three Stones.

The origin of the Peerless Blades is a matter for conjecture. One story tells of a swordsmith in training, Lost in the Farthest Workshop until he stumbles upon the Smith of All. Ammander troubadors prefer the comedic version: Jarn the Apprentice stumbles from frying pan to fire and back again in the course of forging his first sword, ultimately emerging victorious after many tribulations ... but with a sword so puissant it cannot be used.

Some old writings claim that the Datarii made the Blades, and that they would be foolish indeed to reveal this talent to the unruly folk who dwell under open skies. Sages usually suggest that any such overt wizardry dates back to the time of the Magi. The Corner once said, in a manuscript commissioned by the grandfather of the present Lord Verden, "Forged by Powers, sharp as thought, sheathed only in stone, come to us from far. A sword for war, a weapon for distant seasons. It is well for us all that so great and noble a figure watches over this Peerless Blade."

[ Posted by Reason on January 10, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Black Stone

Datarii legends claim that the black stone crags and monuments found throughout the Enclave are remnants of the long-vanished Draugh. Black stone resists the tools of Ammander guildsmen just as it resisted the wizardry of the greatest searfaring Magi; it simply cannot be broken or marked by the Enclave peoples. Even the stonefolk, for whom all rock yields like clay, cannot work Draugh stone.

In truth, most Datarii have little interest in black stone, as for anything that cannot found beneath the mountains of Great Home. Still, The Denier unlocked the secrets of the Black Tower of Three Stones after his time with the stonefolk many generations ago. Other equally important discoveries may yet remain to be made, hidden half in myth and half in the Farthest Enclave.

[ Posted by Reason on February 2, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Wizardry of Seafarers and Islefolk

Only tales and seafarers' songs remain of the old, potent Magi wizardry that faded with the Vanishing; sails to charm the wind; great tomes and ledgers that knew their own contents; robes to slick away arrows and fire like rainwater; hulls that avoided shoals of their own accord; full sea chests weighing less than a feather; cold wizard-lights to bring day to night; fishhooks to call and land the mightiest eels of the Unending Sea.

Dusky Islefolk in Port, Cael and fisher villages know only a little of the old wizardry; the ways of the Magi Vanished along with the Isles. All that is left now was once traded to the stonefolk or recorded by renowned Ammander sages such as The Denier or The Expected Smile. In truth, few descendants of the Magi have the perseverance or the talent in their blood - wizardry may come easily to Datarii, but not to mortal folk.

Still, most Magi-blooded shipwrights claim a little wizardry and many folk believe them. Islemarks are carved on prows, painted on sails and engraved on axes used by Seafarers' Guildsmen - marks thought lucky or effective are paid for in good coin, but only a few amongst the many descendants of the old Magi work true wizardry; Seafarers' Needles; wizard-lights; Unbroken Casks, and the like. Islefolk such as Nelaan the Lightkeeper and Master Shipwright Benlei are held in high regard for their wizardry, albeit the merest shadow of that wielded by the greatest Magi of the Vanished Isles.

[ Posted by Reason on February 19, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Unbroken Casks

There's ten spears here, more than enough to make it to the old tombs in high summer; we've half a season to find coin for mules, bows and provisions. We've all killed Neth in winter snow - they won't trouble us in sun and heat. The sage won't come, but we don't need her. A few coins and we'll have booklovers a-plenty at the Library of the City Within to find us all we need to know. Those Black Tower whitebeards can wait as long as they like if they think I'm cutting them into a share.

None of you have funny ideas about taking back what the dead aren't using anymore? Good. It doesn't matter how many women chased him when he was alive, Krineth's just dust and bones under his Hills now. Dead is dead.

Blood! The Unbroken Cask, of course, what did you think? I don't care what the stories say, my sage says differently. There's a handful in Port; they never rot, never break, never leak, lighter than a feather whatever you put inside. The Cask is there, in the tomb, in the Hills, waiting to be sold for more coin than you've seen in your life. Now, are you with me, or do I need to find a hardier set of spears?

[ Posted by Reason on February 20, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Krineth's True Map

If I had a stamped lead hundred for each alleged copy of Krineth's True Map in the shelves of our library ... well, I would be able to live handsomely for the rest of my years in a large manse on the Great Way. Take my word for it, there is no such thing!

Oh yes, indeed. Krineth was large beyond his stature even in life, but no map can show the Enclave lands. The purses of clever thieves and the Farthest Wilderness wait on those who would believe such a thing. By coming to me you have at least saved yourselves from the latter fate.

My, this is an elegant work for all it is useless. Look, there, the Neth Road in the Greenwood ... and all sorts of other fanciful suppositions. A portrait of Krineth on the final curl, well I never. If you cannot find a better price, I am sure I could convince the Master to part with three lead tens - this would go well with the other maps and curios.

[ Posted by Reason on April 6, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Salin's Fishhook

Salin found the Fishhook while shipwrecked and cast ashore on a rocky isle in the Farthest Sea, or so the tale is told. The Fishhook washed ashore one morning, glimmering in the surf as if waiting for the roguish seafarer who walked the shoreline, casting his eyes to the Sea in search of rescue.

The battered old Fishhook of strangers' metal would have tales of its own to tell no doubt, if only it could talk. It has a wizardry to it; working its whiles over eel and fish as Ammander sages over men and women. The fisher who holds Salin's Fishhook will never go hungry nor poor; the glowfish will swarm by night, the eels by day. The fisherfolk of Port and the Isleblooded of the coast villages tell tales of those fortunate few to find the Fishhook - they would return each day with a boat laden to the waterline.

How did the Power of seafarers return from his shipwreck to steal a new vessel and raise his next crew? Enclave troubadors tell it well: Salin rode from the rocky isle by night astride a great and mighty glowfish, the Fishhook caught deep in its gills and a cloth line taut in his hands. Far across the Unending Sea the fish took him, to the strange lands beneath the moon - but that is another tale.

No-one knows where the Fishhook lies now. Some say it was hidden away by jealous folk, others that it returned to the Unending Sea. Perhaps it is merely lost amidst old nets and unclaimed goods in the warehouses of Port - but who can tell the truth of tales and seafarers' songs?

[ Posted by Reason on June 3, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Wine From the Farthest Sea

To Enclave folk, any Visitors' drink is wine; many strange, rare libations have come from the Farthest over the generations. There was wine in the old Ammand too, favored by nobles and wealthy folk, made from the fruit of vines that did not thrive in the Enclave lands, or so the tales tell. Ammander nobles of the Enclave must content themselves with strangers' wine traded from the Farthest and by merchant folk for fat purses of coin.

Amidst an unending variety of strange casks and bottles in markets and the collections of Ammander nobles, the wine of the Magi is the greatest of all. Seafarers from the Vanished Isles brought wine from lands far across the Unending Sea in tradeships packed with crated urns and pitch-sealed barrels. Magi wine brings a strange lucity to those who drink deeply; the greatest sages of the early Enclave, contemporaries of The Denier and The Expected Smile, heaped praise upon its effects.

Lady Talmur of Three Stones is said to hold sealed urns of Magi wine in the cellars of her manse in the City Within, a modest part of the collected wealth of the large Talmur family.

[ Posted by Reason on June 4, 2005 | Permanent Link ]

Ammand Spears

Spears of the old Ammand, crafted of Ammand iron from mountains once home to cursed moon-worshippers and heartwood from the great forests of the Ammane, can still be found here and there in Enclave lands. Their old design is distinctive, a match only for the red-veined spears forged by smiths of the Red Iron Guild - by those who are privy to the old secrets of the Guild, in any case.

Tarurn of Port is said to have carried an Ammand Spear against the Trespassers of Farthest Winter, and two more stand in the manse of Lord Verden in the City Within of Three Stones. The Ammanene carried spears away with them to the Watch of Trees, but others no doubt lie buried beside graves from the earliest seasons of the Enclave, or were Lost to the Farthest Wilderness with the first explorers.

For all their age, battered and worn, these Ammand Spears never succumbed to the passing of generations. Troubadors and seafarers tell tales of spears touched by the Shining Ammanene of ancient times, spears that will be carried by spearman after spearman for so long as the ageless Ammanene still live on in the Enclave.

[ Posted by Reason on February 2, 2006 | Permanent Link ]