"Roarank Ankar, Khazi of the lands of honey, descendant of Earth Mother Sinnoar, dedicate my glorious victory over the Krull to the Mother. Three hundred and forty-three sphinxwood spears, forty-nine newly made widows, and seven bound Krull were here sacrificed to the Mother on the third night of the Twilight Lord's Hunt, thirty-three years after the Bubbling."

These words, etched into a toppled granite stele using a long forgotten script, are the only memories of Roarank Ankar and the Earth Mother that live on. But who, or perhaps even what, they were is a question that occupies many minds. For in these lands, Death wears a mask called the Krull. They do not march across the land in a great show of force, nor have they any imposing fortresses. Yet no army would dare challenge them. The Krull are the terrors that arise when shadows walk on their own accord. They are the whispers you hear when no one is around, and they are the unnerving silence before a predator swoops in for the kill. Before the recent discovery and subsequent translation of the pillar, no one had even believed it possible to harm them. But now, from the Dead Horse Bog up to the Black Cap Hill, hope shined brightly into even the most boarded-up bunker hovel.

Darian Dangerfinger, a dirty little man who made a fortune foraging the deadlands for rare magical mushrooms (but mostly less rare mushrooms that he could fool people into buying for exorbitant prices), was seated atop a grand stallion that made him seem even more diminutive than usual. Alongside him were a small detachment of the Red Flag Mercenary Company who, despite the name, were actually nothing more than a band of unglorified bandits with decently sized bounties on their heads. Behind them was a ragtag band of self-styled adventurers Darian had coaxed into tagging along at bargain prices with vague promises of glory and questing. He snorted. Those fools would surely be dead before nightfall. Taking the rear was a large caravan of laborers and supplies.

Although Darian had done well by the mushroom trade, the reward for finding a single stele with clues about how to stop the Krull would be enough for him to retire to a palace. That is, assuming he was the first to find it. And made it back alive.

Hiding his worries with an outward show of bravado, the little man signaled the beginning of the expedition by lifting his grand plumed hat as high above his head as his short arms could reach. But instead of being answered by the thud of marching feet and overeager adventurers' squeals, he heard only a spontaneous chorus of laughter. Darian looked around, both puzzled and enraged by the response. He angrily put his hat back on... which is when he realized why they were laughing.

"After that thief!"

A little gutterfolk with a nice new hat and a toothy grin could be seen skipping off into the bushes. When they finally caught up with the critter half an hour later, it was nothing more than a lacerated, bloated corpse with gouged out eyes. An ominous reminder of the lethal enemy they faced.

Fortunately, the hat was still in perfect condition.

Gutterfolk are small, genderless, humanoid creatures that reside in nearly any environment with sufficient trash, refuse, or similar elements. They are non-aggressive, energetic beings with a strange affinity for collecting manmade clothes and wearing them at all times. Gutterfolk are believed to have first originated as a result of a Ruse - or collective of multiple Ruse - condemning an entire village into a massive sinkhole, burying its inhabitants beneath the heaps of garbage that had accumulated there. Following thus, Gutterfolk began to emerge from the trash heap and spread about the land. Nowadays, people mostly consider them to be a nuisance equatable to rats, only larger. On rare occasions, however, they are kept as companions/pets.

Gutterfolk breed similarly to insects and fowl, occasionally laying what appear to be separated egg sacks in secure piles of refuse, to be fertilized later by another specimen (imagine a water balloon with a fetus in it). They will produce anywhere around a dozen or two dozen offspring at a time, and it is common for mercenaries and exterminators to be hired to clear out nests before they can become overpopulated with Gutterfolk.

Crude drawing of a barkolopus meandering the smokey hills of Cansma, unknown origin

Massive beings who dwell among the rolling, smoke colored hills of Cansma which expand for hundreds of kilometers known as the Barkolopus make their stopping grounds, scouring the cloudy realm for aetherial energies. They are massive things, with bark-like skin, like massive leathery centipedes meandering the seemingly endless plains. So massive these creatures are, with their millions of limbs stretching dozens of kilometers each even though they are but a few hundred meters wide among the body with their kilometer long legs that whole societies have built themselves on the backs of these massive animalistic creatures, of whom host whole ecosystems lining their back like some fanciful green coating which they parade around, perhaps for mates or simply because they are just so mindless as to not care of the life that subsists off of them. The Barkolopus are attracted to aetherial energies, lo and behold whatever has it- for the Barkolopus are mindlessly persistent in their desire to absorb such energy for life. The Barkolopus aren't plant or animal, yet they are something living. It is unknown what the Barkolopus are, except that they are some form of ruse. The exact nature of which to this day remains amazingly unclear.

As the Barkolopus come in numbers, huge numbers in the sprawling plains and hills whole civilizations have built themselves between various Barkolopi over the ages, subided off the vegetation and material one can find on the back of the Barkolopus.

---

In an unidentified corner of the massive world lies a city dominantly known as Loris City. In the city, all activity is quiet and uninterrupted. Creativity is a rare concept, as not a trace of it is to be found in the city.

Creativity, you say?

In the city of Loris, creativity does not even exist. The unexpecting citizens do not believe there to be more to their daily lives, as they perform their daily tasks robotically. Art, music, and sports are unheard of, as if they are meaningless words from a foreign language from a land never to be heard of. The very concept of these artistic pursuits does not make sense to the Lorisian citizen. During the very founding days of Loris City, citizens were conditioned into thinking that there would be nothing beyond the city itself. Soon, as Loris' population rose, the Ruse produced by such a way of thinking became more and more powerful. Soon enough, the Lorisian citizen would not be able to grasp the very concept of such outlandish concepts, should a wayward traveler attempt to introduce them. Curiosity is considered as the deadliest of vices to ever be possessed by a Lorisian Citizen.

Unfortunately, no such traveler would be able to enter. Loris City is protected by its ever expanding boundaries. At the edge of the boundary sits the Gatekeepers. These individuals possess immense power. It was said that one of them could wipe out the entire Lorisian civilization. The Gatekeepers guarded the boundaries with ease, and it was not in the mindset of the Lorisian citizen to trespass the boundaries. In fact, none of them even thought of doing it.

However, the Lorisian people did have mythology. They believed in the Reaper, one who would bring death to those who did not fulfill their daily duties. The very thought of the Reaper struck fear into the heart of every citizen.

Fear.

Fear was the only emotion that a Lorisian citizen would ever get to feel. Fear from the authorities. Fear from the reaper. Such fear and lack of curiosity gave power to the Ruse that made artistic pursuits nonexistent for the Lorisian citizen. Progress, as the authorities dubbed it, was uncapped. The population grew, and the boundaries expanded.

Welcome to Loris City.

---

A businessman sit behind his table. He wore a tuxedo on top of his white polo shirt, along with a pair of black pants and black shoes; His office uniform. Everyday, he wake up, have breakfast, and walk up to his office. In his room, beside his desk, there was a large window. From there, he would see several people working in the production of bread. Sandwiches were the common staple for a citizen, and they tasted the same always.

Just then, the man heard a knock on the door. No, not a knock, but a series of knocks. The knock was monotonous and repetitive, somehow resembling the man's daily life. The man walked up to the door and opened it, revealing the guise of a fine gentleman. His clothes were identical to that of the businessman's, except that he wore a hat and was carrying a suitcase. The gentleman began to speak.

"Good evening, Bob Meyer."

"Good evening sir. Have you come to check on our daily quota?"

"I do not care for such trivial things, my friend. Such a statistic only plays a small part in the request of my client, who holds me with great esteem. I have much more important business to accomplish here, Bob Meyer."

"That is reassuring to me, sir. May I please request your name?"

The gentleman smiled, revealing an assortment of wrinkles that defined a deftly-crafted disguise. Indeed, the gentleman had much more to do, for his duty was more important than Bob Meyer's was.

"They call me The Reaper "

---

The following day, the name Bob Meyer would be found on a large list placed on a wall located in the City Hall. It read:

LIST OF DECEASED CITIZENS AS OF FRIDAY, JUNE 117

Similarly, another man who went by the name of Counselor Mark Awanson would be in the middle of a phone call.

"Excellent work. Soon, we will be working hand in hand in order to terraform the very world as we see it."

"Indeed. I used to believe that such a mutual pact to be painstaking to make, but seeing that we both reap the rewards from our work, I choose to believe that we are receiving the rewards of our work accordingly."

"You've been very productive over the past few weeks, sir. I accolade you."

"My pleasure."

Counselor Mark Awanson hung up. A slight smile spread across his face. He was very pleased by the current flow of events.

Meanwhile, a young girl lay asleep in bed.


Far, far away, a hooded traveler walked the hills. A necklace dangled from her neck, as it glowed a vibrant blue. The traveler was surrounded by a vibrant palette of colors, although she did not give them much notice. She then turned towards her companion, who happened to be a towering stone golem.

"I've sure missed out on a lot, haven't I?"

---

His home was a wreck and he just wanted to get away. So, when the night was right, he finally went through with it. Leaving everything behind Edwin took off into the darkness and did not dare glimpse back. He had no destination in mind. Wherever he ended up was where he ended up. Anything was better than being driven mad by those who were supposed to care about him the most.

Hours passed and the woods which blanketed Edwin from the moon's light dissipated. A field stretched out before him, the slight breeze tilting its grass. It was then that he was first able to appreciate the stars in the night sky, how they sprinkled its black canvas like glitter. Edwin kept his head up for as long as his neck would support it. Once he was satisfied, he started to rest his gaze.

Rocketing his eyes back up was the howl of a whistle followed by the screech of...brakes? Edwin was petrified by disbelief as descending from the sky, taking form from a swarm of tiny lights, was what appeared to be a steam engine pulling a line of coaches. The train came to a stop right before him and the door to one of its many coaches opened. Edwin peered inside to see if there were any passengers. No one greeted him.

Edwin remained motionless for well over fifteen minutes. The train did not move.

"Fine," he conceded.

Would he regret his next decision? Only time had the answer. Reminding himself that he had nothing to lose he climbed into the coach. The door gently closed behind him and the train started.

As he settled into his seat, the soft leather massaging the tense nerves in his back, Edwin lost the apprehension he felt. He looked out the window and watched as the field passed him by. Tiredness overtook him and his eyes creaked shut. He was sure he would be fine no matter where the train was headed.

"Welcome," a nurturing voice crawled into his ear. "Enjoy your trip."

---

There is a field on which no building may stand, in which no tree may grow. A field where hundreds of people have allegedly vanished over the years. While no one knows the exact reason behind this phenomenon, local townsfolk have frequently reported the passing of a train in the thick of the night. Strange as no tracks run through the area.

The next day a bed that should have been slept in is found empty and another community is left wondering why.

Over the years a sort of folktale has sprung. They say that a train sent from the heavens drops onto the earth to pick up those who truly feel displaced and to take them where they are meant to be. However, this is only a tale crafted from the mouths of the superstitious and bolstered into theory by the need for an explanation.

Those who remain do not know if there is really a train that stops in the field affectionately named the Station of the Taken by locals. They aren't too eager to find out either as all of its trips have been one way.

A woman who has had a powerful imagination since being a kid. Traveled around a lot as a kid. Has two Ruse? Both are mostly invisible. One projects feelings of stalking the woman, and incites fear. He's followed her from house to house, but she's so used to him now she just calls him an asshole and smokes the house with sage whenever he "acts up" (created from stress of moving and fear of new things as a kid?)

And a woman who also follows her as she moves around, but is much more passive through-out the day. The time she "acts up" by inciting fear, is when this character is around reflective surfaces, as she has a sort of phobia about mirrors. She appears as a copy of this character, but with red eyes. Sometimes she'll appear in the reflection behind the character, or she'll move in a more rushed manner as the character passes a mirror/reflective surface.

Because she's operating on basic knowledge and witchcraft techniques, she became intrigued by Rumors of the Ruse..and has been traveling, trying to track down the writer. As she travels though, her personal ruse follow her, perhaps becoming stronger as she begins to wonder if they are legit or if she's just crazy. Her traveling money starts to dwindle because of all the sage and such that she keeps having to stock up on.

-----
Do what you will with her, I give you all the freedom to brainstorm on this one. All the important bits are there.

It is common understanding that different cultures have differing definitions of what is collectively called the "Ruse." Throughout my travels I have encountered such explanations as follows:

• They are great monsters that devour dreams in order to gain selfish power.
• They are the whispers in one's ear, the heckling voice in one's own head.
• They are visions of persons, places or events that have since gone, as mirages in the desert.
• They are formless pockets of energy, with or without sentience, which inhabit liminal spaces.
• They are flora, fauna, minerals, objects or elements which exist and behave in ways that defy natural laws.
• They are gods, demigods and deities with power and authority over nature.
• They are the spirits of the dead.
• They are comprised of a fifth natural element.
• They are a foreign corruption of Nature.
• They are inseparable from existence itself.
• They do not exist at all.

It is my privilege to present a conclusive definition which, through extensive research, encompasses every documented form of the Ruse:

The Ruse are a presence -- physical or spiritual, living or inanimate -- whose existence is defined by or depends upon thought.

But what is thought? Thought is interchangeably referred to as intention, emotion, belief, and dream. Thought is not, as commonly assumed, limited to human minds. Fauna (and even, in certain circumstances, flora) are as capable of thought and its effects, if to smaller degrees, as humanity. They simply lack the concentration that we humans take for granted.

Concentration -- whether intentional, as in a spell of witchcraft, or unintentional, as a recurring nightmare -- is the womb from which a Ruse is born.

But what, then, is the difference between a Ruse and a spell?

A Ruse, as previously defined, is a presence. Something that, for lack of a better term, exists with some level of independence. A light in the sky may be a Ruse. A voice may be a Ruse.

A spell, however, is the process of applying thought and intent to affect something else directly. The enchantment of objects is an application of spellwork. A chant to cause the clouds to gather and rain, or a sigil drawn on a door to protect a home, or a potion brewed with the intent to cure an ailment -- these are all examples of spells. A spell may -- and commonly will -- create a Ruse. A Ruse which possesses enough sentience to also possess thought may also cast spells.

Ruse and spells are undeniably intertwined, in that both are only possible through the power of thought. Thought, I am confident, is a natural element, just as important as fire, water, earth and air. It may exist independently, yet may also be utilized as a tool to change the world around us.

In the next chapter I will discuss the philosophical question of the Ruse: who is to say that everything that now exists does not depend on some cosmic sustained thought, and that all of us and all that we know are not Ruse ourselves?

---

It was nighttime in the secluded city of Loris. People toiled up and down the streets, each doing their daily jobs without any signs of refraining. There was the mailman, who delivered messages by day and night. Deliverymen rode the streets in their vechicles. They would not be alone, as other people of various occupations would be coming from an unusually large building located beside another street. A girl of moderate age went along with the flow, carrying a small plastic bag.

The girl went by the name Ari Chai. She was a student at the Academy, and her job had not been decided yet. While her job was not definite, she studied disciplines such as mathematics and proper speech. Her schedule consisted of her waking up early in the morning to go to the Academy, a school that accommodated all the children in her section of the city. There was only one Academy, but it had several branches. The only thing she would eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner would be sandwiches, and they all tasted the same.

She stopped in front of one of the houses. Having grabbed a key from her pocket, she opened the door. A taller woman of older age came to greet her, as the younger girl unloaded the bag on top of a broad table.

"Ari, you're finally here!"

"I went to the food drive to claim our dinner, mom."

"All right, all right. After eating dinner, you are going directly to sleep. You told me that you don't have any homework to do, right?"

"You're right. I'm feeling tired."


After taking a quick bath, Ari changed into sleeping attire and tucked herself in bed. On this side of the world, she was bounded by her repetitive schedule. However, there was a world beyond what would be known as Loris City. She knew that, and she hoped that she would soon not be the only person to ever know. As she fell asleep, her consciousness began to shift. Soon she would not be in her bed...

---

...but lying on a roll of fabric, inside a cramped room. The room was completely covered, and it did not let even the smallest ray of sunshine disturb the darkness. The surroundings of the room were ambiently lighted by a lamp, which sat on top of a wooden table. The lamp radiated on its own, as if there was an unseen source providing its power. The table was eloquently carved, unlike the large, broad table that Ari had seen in her own dwelling.

Ari stood up. Gently and carefully, she picked up the lamp and held it in her right hand. The lamp began to illuminate more of the room, revealing a well preserved collection of bizarre wonders. On a table stood a jar containing some sort of frog-like creature, floating in a liquid that was probably concocted with the sole purpose of preserving it. A book bound in leather was placed beside the jar, and behind the book, one could see a tube rack which caressed a collection of vials. Each vial contained a liquid that sported its own color; There would be a chemical that was colored red, one yellow, one blue, and much more. Soon, Ari would locate the exit: a door that was slightly taller than her. She turned the doorknob, pushed the door, and walked outside.

It was already morning. The two figures were located on the hut's porch, and the sun was rising in the background. The necromancer who had brought her here was wearing his mask. He sat on a wooden chair, one of the many pieces of wooden furniture that he kept in his warm and cozy hut. His staff leaned on his shoulder, the crystal not flickering as it used to during the night.

"So you're awake now. I was planning on cooking a meal for the two of us, but I have not found the time to as I have been absorbed in my violent thoughts and stipulations. Please forgive me, for my time has come."

"What time?"

"Ever since I have become a necromancer of unbounded talent, I have waited for the day wherein Death itself would come for me. Considering that I have proven to be one of His most valuable assets, Death itself will most likely make something out of me. Something special. Something that will transcend my own existence as of this moment."

"Condolences. I am very sorry, but I will have to leave you here. I have a journey to embark on."

"As far as I am concerned, this matter is very likely to concern your journey. Do you come seeking the Five Crystals?"


Ari was shocked. Somebody had sniffed out the purpose of her journey. However, nothing was to faze her, at the moment. Fate had provided for her, and she had accepted its gift with open arms.

"Yes."

"If that is the case, then I have a gift for you."


The necromancer held out the crystal that was once embedded onto the top of his staff. It had lost its glow. Ari held out her hands in anticipation. The necromancer dropped the crystal right into her hand. Upon reaching Ari's hand, the crystal began to glow brightly.

"Midnight's Scowl is now in your service. Be careful, it is very powerful. However, I do believe that you and the crystal will be able to make a compromise. It belongs in the hands of someone with your disposition. I have never met somebody as empathetic as you even before I started learning the dark arts."

"How did you know it was me?"

"The blue crystal you wear as a necklace is obviously one of the Crystals. Travelers always have ulterior motives, and I figured yours simply through your thoughtful gaze."


Ari smiled. Not all people who lurked in the dark were evil, after all.

"Thank you."


Ari set off. The necromancer was right, for she had her own goals.

As soon as Ari disappeared from sight, the necromancer was greeted by another visitor: a dark and slender figure. Staring into the figure's eyes would be staring into the deep dark void that mortals referred to as "Limbo". He locked eyes with the necromancer, who had taken off his mask in respect

"Your time has come, Klyn. It is your commitment to work for me"


The mysterious entity held out his hand, releasing a small ball of smoke. The small ball of smoke suddenly began to encircle the necromancer, and it transitioned into a column of smoke. The smoke then dissipated. What was left of Klyn the Necromancer would be a creature that resembled the human skeleton. He was now outfitted with a darker robe. A lantern levitated above him, and he grabbed it.

"The souls of the dead heed your name, Klyn. It is your job to lead them to the realm of the dead. Once they have arrived there, we shall judge them by their deeds, without your interference."

"My pleasure."


The newly-created Reaper walked out of the porch. It would be a long, if not endless, day for him.

---

Most gods kowtow to their believers. They may put on a scary face in public, but the fact is that the gods need followers to exist, whereas their followers generally have the much envied power of existing regardless of whether anyone believes in them or not. Among the pantheon, it is considered common wisdom that the best way to gain more followers is to do whatever your followers want, no matter how embarrassing. However, there are a select few gods that manage to exist despite being absolute jerks. Hybris was one of them. Such gods were much more common in ancient times, feeding off primal urges like love, fear, and hatred rather than belief like the later gods. Some even say that Del, the creator god, derived its power from a source other than belief. But even among this select group of gods, Hybris' story remains unique.

Hybris was created by atheist philosophers. The triumph of the Restored Empire's tactics, strategy, and good supply chain management over the powerful gods of the seven kingdoms sparked a rationalist renaissance. But not everyone liked it. Civil war broke out amid the academies and imperial bureaucracies. But, as it was a civil war, the fighting was limited to impassioned philosophical sophistry and purposefully misleading rhetoric. A favorite tactic of the rationalists was to posit the existence of an omnipotent god, and then show that this lead to logical contradictions. This was a dumb, invalid argument for many reasons, but most importantly because before this point nobody had ever even suggested the existence of an omnipotent god. The war grew more and more heated, with both sides continually throwing up the same exact arguments over and over again like a chant. A chant that summoned the god of omnipotence into existence.

Except, nobody actually believed in the god of omnipotence. What everyone on both sides of the debate passionately believed in was that they were right and the other side was wrong. And so the actual god that was created was not the god of omnipotence, but Hybris, god of Arrogance and Proving Others Wrong.

The appearance of this new god turned the civil war into a very uncivil, violent, and bloody war. Ordinarily the death of so many of a god's believers would reduce that god's powers. But Hybris, being the god of Arrogance, believed in its own superiority so much that it managed to sustain its power largely with its own thoughts. As an added bonus, this proved the majority of the nascent Ruse theorists completely wrong.

Free from the humdrum obligations of attending to a flock of needy followers, or even the primal gods' obligations of stirring up strong emotions, Hybris declared itself ruler of the cosmos. It tore up the grand capital of the newly Restored Empire and turned it into a massive throne. It rearranged the nearby mountains into a great wall around the throne, and created the central ocean to be the moat. The other gods, being extremely jealous of such power, joined with what remained of the Restored Empire's army for the greatest siege in history. For seven years, comets and lightning bolts rained down from the heavens even as earthquakes and volcanoes shook forth from below. Witches and wizards shot forth magical beams and fireballs. A swarm of the titanic centipede-like barkolopus even joined in the siege, attracted by the aetherial residues of the divine war. And even the rationalists and wizards put aside their differences to create a magic-powered cannon capable of firing a hundred ton rock, each shot creating its own miniature earthquake. This was all the more impressive considering cannons hadn't even been invented yet. In the end, though, it was not really force that brought down Hybris; It was an idiot.

The idiot's name has been most unjustly lost to history. But what we do know is that this idiot suggested that they give up fighting and start worshiping Hybris instead. Then Hybris would have a large flock of followers just like any other god and would stop being so difficult. The idiot was immediately killed for saying such a thing, but the god of wisdom happened to overhear the conversation and realized just how good of an idea it actually was. When the siege stopped, Hybris came out to investigate, only to be met with a throng of cheering worshipers. At this point, Hybris finally felt that special connection that had been missing since its creation. And then immediately began arguing with its new followers about the proper way to worship it. At this moment, seventy-eight gods of war and other associated concepts sprang out from hiding and totally beat the shit out of Hybris.

Arrogance and the desire to prove others wrong being among the most popular personal qualities, it is widely assumed that Hybris still exists in some fashion although there have been no verifiable sightings since then. Its fortress of geological proportions certainly still remains, located in the eastern reaches of the hills of Cansma, where the mighty barkolopus continue to siege it in vain. Perhaps, as many believe, the god of arrogance lies imprisoned behind those impenetrable walls. Fears that philosophical bickering may awaken Hybris and start another devastating war have prompted no less than thirteen kingdoms to sign the Philosophical Nonproliferation Treaty and have made many philosophers consider switching to a less controversial field such as necromancy to avoid persecution.

Throughout the land, travelers have occasionally encountered strange beings seemingly made of clay, draped in simple garbs. Their sizes, colors, and aesthetics vary, but there are a few consistencies - heads resembling vases which only darkness can be seen within, and multitudes of tentacles taking the places arms and legs. Vendors earned their name when, after some investigating, their intentions were discovered - they are wandering prize givers.

When someone comes across a Vendor, it will approach them and stand idle, waiting for them to initiate the process. The person will have between one to five minutes (varies), before the Vendor loses interest and continues along its prior path, to offer at least one piece of any suitable currency via tossing it into the Vendor's vase-head. Larger Vendors will usually lower themselves into a suitable position to make this step easier. Any amount of currency may be given, and it has become apparent through extensive testing by scholars that the more currency is offered, the higher the quality of the received item. Once currency has been given, and after a brief moment of pause - in which time gurgling and crunching sounds can be heard within the Vendor's body - the Vendor will proceed to regurgitate a random object of varying form and function. Some examples include:

- Weapons. These may range from common daggers to extremely well-crafted blades rivaling that of even the most renowned blacksmiths' make.
- Random household objects, such as dinner plates and silverware, paintings (occasionally depicting rather bizarre events), and even entire pieces of furniture.
- Various fruits, vegetables, and other food items in varying condition.
- Eggs belonging to various creatures, and occasionally live infants of said creatures.
- Fully grown horses with well-prepped saddles.
- Clothing items, as well as armor of varying make and quality.
- Gemstones which are often worth much more than whatever amount of currency was initially offered.

To add, some individuals have attempted to offer Vendors items other than currency in exchange for a random item in return. In this event, all they will receive is the same item, albeit in a heavily damaged state. This action does not appear to incur any hostility from Vendors, who will not return any attacks against them. If a Vendor is killed, cutting open their body will reveal nothing but a hollow interior, with no riches to be pilfered.

It is currently unknown where Vendors originated from, but the etchings on their clay-like skin imply they were sculpted by someone or something in the past. Scholars' attempts to locate such a being have, alas, produced no results.

Following are several accounts of random travelers' encounters with Vendors.

"I met one while on my way to the next town over to deliver a parcel. Mates down at the tavern said you should always spare a coin or two if you get the chance, so I tossed in three coppers into its... vase... head... thing. Moment later, it reached in and pulled out a nice pair of shoes, handed 'em to me, and went on its way. Very comfy shoes, been using them ever since."

"During my travels, my horse at the time was struck dead by a bandit's arrow, but I was fortunate enough to escape with my life. Luck shined on me not an hour later, and a Vendor standing some ten feet tall happened along my path. I offered it thirty pieces of gold - as I was rather desiring of something, anything useful - and the damn thing up and spat out a horse. A whole clean mare, brown fur, black mane, and with a bloody saddle on it to boot! Wasn't even a tiny bit bothered about having been vomited out by a creature of clay. Horse has been with me for months now - named her Maela."

"Met one. Gave it a few gold pieces. Got a cup in return. A nice silver cup, but still - just a bloody cup. Waste of money if you ask me. Although it did make a nice gift for me nan."

All of the known gods of the world are Ruses, created from the devout worship of believers or a strong, collective emotion. Some scholars believe that even Del, commonly regarded as the creator of the world, was merely a Ruse created from the primal instinct to survive. However, there is some contention on this point. A number of scholars believe that Del is one of the true gods, a powerful entity whose power derives from some source other than belief. This is an argument that will not be addressed further here.

Despite their rivalry, the two factions of scholars agree that Del was the founder of civilization. Historical records show that many early technologies such as farming, writing, and mining were discovered and implemented at an exceptionally rapid pace, indicating the presence of outside influence. It has been estimated that these discoveries would have taken at least three thousand years to discover independently. Under Del's care, humanity grew and flourished.

As the centuries passed, the influence of Del lessened, eventually ceasing altogether. Some take this as proof that Del was a Ruse. It is indeed common for Ruses, especially ones born from strong emotions and instincts, to fade when their reason for existence disappears. Del's gifts to humanity allowed people to live without fearing for their immediate survival, thus leading to its demise. Others hold that Del's disappearance was a sign that humanity had become strong enough to fend for itself, and it had merely gone to do whatever true gods do when not taking care of a species.

Before Del left, he left a final gift. It was a gift unlike his others, for it was not a gift for the living. It was a gift for those condemned to a fate worse than death - the fate of being forgotten. It is said that those with a will or spirit strong enough can find their way to Elohim, an eternal city where the past and present meet. Because of the difficult journey, those who arrive in Elohim tend to have achieved fame or notoriety, for it is those that are well known who fear being forgotten the most.

As the living cannot visit Elohim, some doubt its existence, but the occasional sighting of things that should not exist - old gods from ancient texts, legendary weapons long lost, terrible scourges whose names have become synonymous with death - is enough to convince most people of its existence. Those who have reached Elohim may choose to brave the journey once more to visit the world, though they are unable to stay for long. Sometimes, an old god will return to take on a disciple, in hopes of spreading their belief once more. Sometimes, villains will return to spread chaos and heroes will return in times of need. Some return simply out of their desire to see the world once more.

It is not unheard of for particularly brave or foolish adventurers to embark on a quest to find Elohim. Most return empty-handed, but some vanish mysteriously. There are rumors that these adventures managed to reach Elohim, though many believe that the adventurers simply died on their quest.

Give a man a fish and you feed him for the night, teach a man how to fish then you feed him for life. Knowing that he wasn't going to be around to feed his son forever, Muo's father sought to do the latter and brought him to the river just outside of their village to give him lessons. Muo who was freshly eight at the time did not have much interest in fishing and thus allowed his mind to wander during the hours they spent standing by the river with their lines cast. He would scan the river from west to east and dwell on how far it stretched. Remembering that his father told him that eventually, the water would venture to the sea, Muo began to imagine the kinds of fish that lived out there. Far from a marine biologist, Muo had a theory that fish grew to be as big as the body of water around them just as the water took the shape of its container. Muo was an imaginative child and there were times that he let it get the best of him.

However, he was sure that this wasn't one of those times.

Once he was sure that he got as good of a measure of the river's length as he could manage, Muo gazed across to the opposite bank. At first he saw nothing but trees and brush. Sighing, he looked at his line to see that it had not budged an inch. Fishing was so boring!

"Dad," Muo whined to his father, "can we go home yet?"

"No Muo," his father answered sternly, "it's our job and a man must do his job either completely or not at all."

Muo snorted before looking back across the river to see nothing again. Only, that was what expected to see.

"Hello," Muo murmured so his father couldn't hear.

Standing opposite of them, fishing as well, was another father and son pair. Muo and the boy made eye contact so he waved. The other boy waved back simultaneously.

"Dad!" Muo boomed joyfully. "Look over there! They're fishing too!"

His father's sight darted across the river to see what his son saw.

"Oh Muo, stop goofing around and focus before you miss a catch."

Muo was confused. Did his father mean to say that he did not see the other pair across the river.

"B-but Dad they're st-"

"Look Muo your line!"

Never mind the pair! Muo squealed in delight as his line dipped into the river. He was about to catch his first ever fish! Working together, Muo and his father wrangled in the tiny rasckle that was barely bigger than the boy's thumb.

"Awe," Muo whined, "I wanted a shark."

His father chuckled as he dangled his son's miniscule catch front of him.

"You'll have to go a little further for that, Muo. Don't feel bad. You have to start somewhere."

"Yes sir," Muo nodded his head.

The two gathered their belongings and started up the hill towards the village. Before reaching the top Muo glimpsed over his shoulder to check if the other father and son were still fishing.

They weren't. As Muo and his father headed up the hill the other father and son turned towards the woods with their own gear slung over their shoulders. Muo, being only a boy, didn't think much of it.

They must be heading home too. It is getting late after all

"Muo!" He was snapped out of his curiosity by his father's voice. "We have to get back before dark!"

"Coming!"

Forgetting all about the pair across the river Muo zipped towards his father. Watching him as he had watched them was the other father and son pair.

"Dad," Muo said to his father before they entered the woods. "Where do you think they're going?"

"Home," Muo's father answered, his voice creaking. "Where I wish we could go."

Then, as if they were never there, they faded.

---

"If you go to the Karayang River you may just see yourself."

"See me? Well, water does give off a reflection."

"It's different than that they say. Think of it literally."

"You've got be kidding me."

"No joke. On the other side, people meet themselves. Their true selves."

"...you're losing me with all that philosophical bull crap."

"I mean it. The Karayang knows what lies within our hearts and has the power to pull it out of us and make us face it."

"Quit screwing around! Since when did you believe such foolishness?"

"Since I seen me for myself."

"....who are you? What have you done with Pon?"

"I am Pon. The real Pon."

And that wasn't a good thing.

The inverted folk of Elohim are phantom ruses, left over residue of the people who once inhabited the region and were of great adherents to Del, these ruses simply wandering the ruins forever upside down in a ritualistic posture of the Solar Harvest Festivals- they still act as if the rituals never ended. Forever locked to perpetual ritual, to the point where they are viewed more as a scenery than any actual, intractable beings at first glance. These inverted folk hymn in a language alien to most, being of extremely ancient origins and is said to be the very language Del spoke to create humanity itself. The inverted folk's beliefs were in notorious contradiction to that of what was known of Del, claiming that Del made nature and humanity sprouted forth from the radiant lilac at a later time. Their kind was deeply heretical and persecuted, but still their ancient systems of belief managed to persist for ages on end- a timeless ritual that never ends and still has yet to. For unlike others, the inverted folk refuse to accept that Del has left them and have refused to ever move forward in fear of the abyss beyond.

One would be best to not disrupt the ritual of the inverted as they float about the ceremonial amphitheaters in the lower districts of Elohim, for they are extremely violent to anything that perturbs their harmony, lashing out in extreme violence- with a wraith-like force against hose who dare try to pull them to the present. A many of those who reached Elohim, oblivious to the nature of the inverted met their fate being eviscerated and violently mutilated by an Inverted folk in their ravenous desire to punish those who disrupted their ritual. The bones that litter some parts of the ceremonial amphitheaters being the only real indicator of danger.

Outside of that, merely observing them is harmless. You usually see them parade about numerous lilacs, holding them with their toes and hands as they float about the amphitheater in aimless movements comparable to the dance of bees, in various shifts of direction in relation to each other in a childish stupor, with their eyes always shut and a grin always on their almost statue-like faces. They wear elaborate violet colored ceremonial clothes of which defy gravity itself, as if they were attracted to the sky, but never fall up towards it. These robes glisten in the sunlight and the marble-like texture which permeates their form reflects off the pools of waters from the lilacs gardens which are found all over the lower districts where they once had their cults dominate.

These peculiar folk are just one various forces within Elohim that has become lost to the world outside, no out outside of Elohim knowing of their existence or story at all. Beyond what legends one may find hidden away in archives of their cult and usually of highly propagandized accounts in regards to the nature of their activities.

The Web of Fate

The word "Fate" is a well argued philosophical point. Some think it is non-sense, some think it is an element of mystery similar to the Ruse, And yet more think that there is a deity out there that controls everything.

For the most part, everything is speculative and one's belief in the concept only goes so far as how comfortable they are with the idea itself. But in the oldest library there is an article filed away, explaining a phenomenon that's been perceived by many great philosophical minds in the past.

"Fate" is another word for The Inevitable. Men and women of the mind have for many ages wondered what The Inevitable is, and why it is so. Surely, Death is the most known Inevitable. But then why is there life and death in the first place? And why must some people suffer more than others? Why are there prophecies? How even can such insights be made? What happens to the Inner Mind after life comes to an end...as in, where is one's consciousness fated to go?

We've looked into this for so so very long. I've been out here contemplating, thinking that perhaps solitude would help. The very base of philosophy is made up of one's mind, but more particularly, of the questions it asks. And I ask myself, "What if Fate is not the same as The Inevitable? What if Fate is guided to The Inevitable, but may still be changed and chosen? What if the true name of Fate was 'choice'?

Surely, no one would choose a life of suffering, one might retort. But listen closely, I say, for that is not what I am implying.

Since the beginning of life, there has been choice. Whether it is the choice of a deer to feed on a particular tree, or the choice of man to believe in a god. But each choice one creature makes, creates choices for some other. One could say then that the wolf who was scouring for prey came across the deer because that deer chose to eat from that tree. But if that hungry wolf has his hunting pack, and there are not other prey around to be seen, he will not choose to not hunt that deer. Therefore, the deer is fated to be hunted, as the wolf is fated to start the hunt, because while the choice to not hunt is there, it is against the nature of the wolf to make that choice. And that makes it to seem as if that choice wasn't there to begin with, that the hunt of the day was fated to be that specific hunt.

In this way, if one believes this to be the way of things, it is easy to say that humans can control their own fate, but are limited by their very nature. And maybe I am right, for after 5 days of contemplating this, The night sky appeared different to me. It was as if against the light speckled blanket of darkness, I could faintly see golden lines. There were so many, it was a wonder that they did not block out the sky itself. And it was never static, but changing constantly, as if being woven by a temperamental weaver's hand. This of course, only brings up more questions, doesn't it?" - The Man on The Tower

Idyll City -- the sky-island best known for its brightly painted skyscrapers and gravity-defying architecture -- has been hiding one of the most impressive feats of Thought Technology recorded to date. It is called the FENIKS Project, and it is causing ripples among intellectual communities throughout the world.

After decades of dedicated research at the Razum Research Center, Najima Kiira's team -- called the FENIKS Project -- has announced its success. "Death has been conquered," Najima said in a recent interview. "Fear and loss have been obliterated. This is a new age of hope."

Participants in the FENIKS Project -- some as young as six years old -- undergo surgery where a sliver of charged brightstone is implanted into the patient's skull. After a day's recovery, the patient is free to live a normal and happy life, with only annual checkups to ensure the stone is performing correctly.

Upon the death of the patient's natural body, the stone is retrieved and transferred to a Telo: an artificial body, likened to a doll, which does not age nor die. The patient, upon waking, remembers their life up until the moment of death -- and sometimes beyond -- and retains the entirety of their personality. After a brief period of therapy to learn to utilize the new Telo body, the patient is free to continue their life free of sickness or injury or further threat of death.

THE CONTROVERSY
"My Telo has wings!" a ten-year-old patient cheered in an interview. "They said I'll be able to fly! I've already got plenty of pretty dresses picked out. There's a boy in my class who's a Telo, and he has teeth like a shark. I think his mom's gonna make him file them though, he bit the teacher's dog."

"I'll be able to watch my grandchildren grow up," an elderly man wrote. "I'll captain the ships again, see the world, climb the highest mountains, and these old bones won't be slowing me down."

"I feel better knowing my husband has the FENIKS Project behind him," a mother of three told the GAZETTE. "I can't imagine our children growing up without a father."

"This isn't everlasting life," said Eliana Reyes, the FENIKS Project's most vocal critic. "The patient still dies. The implant is simply recording, storing the person's memories and energy. The process of transfer to a Telo is a glorified spell of witchcraft to create a Ruse. What gets up off that table isn't your son or daughter: it's a Ruse that thinks and acts like your child."

"What happens in the long term?" asked Frede Dall, an anti-thought activist out of Loris City. "This thought technology was only developed six years ago; its oldest successful patients have lived in their Tela for only that long. What happens after a decade? A century? Not even the Ruse are immortal."

"You realize witches have been doing this since the Bubbling," said Louis Wallace, leader of the Black Cap Coven. "The clan mothers would wear the stones, and when they died the stones would be put into a dog or a horse, and she'd continue to guide the clan in spirit. It was an honor to the ancestor, not a resurrection."

"The FENIKS Project is the future of the preservation of knowledge," insists the founder, Najima Kiira. "The mistakes of our past will no longer be left to history books; we will learn directly from our ancestors, and we will no longer repeat their mistakes. Ahead of us is an age of peace, hope, prosperity, and a release from the grip of Death."

Nightmares

...wherein the subconscious manifests internal or latent desires fueled not by sound, waking logic; but rather by primitive emotion. Here lies the danger: Some human beings seek destruction at any cost; for others, for themselves. These sorts of emotions rarely, if ever manifest during waking hours.

---

CASE STUDY: Antonina Semonov (deceased)
..subject displayed unhealthy tendencies towards kleptomania, hoarding complex, & various dis-associative disorders.
MANIFESTATION: Plyushkin (low-risk)
_{Analog Recording of the testimony given by Alfred J. Prufrock, conducted by Dr. Brightweather, yr. XXXX, mo. XXX}

"I was on my way home from the pub after work one evening and decided to take the old harbor trail rather than my usual route downtown. It was cold and I was thankful to have remembered to bring along my wool overcoat. I...took a wrong turn. Got lost and doubled back and soon found myself in an alley between a restaurant and tenement apartments. The smell of boiled cabbage and...vodka. Ugh. Excuse me. Sorry the smell was...overwhelming. Anyways...

That's when I saw it. There was just enough light from the security lights to make out the shape of the thing in the dark. The Ruse filled the alley....dark matted hair, stringy and black. Quite disheveled. Grey trousers stained with soot or dirt with an absurd amount of pockets overflowing with various trinkets, trash and...junk. Stuff. Everywhere. The items were seemingly random: Mason-jars with milky liquids. Toiletries: brushes, salves, wipes, pastes, ointments (all of which were no doubt used by half). Newspapers, magazines, paperback novels with the covers torn off. Playing-cards. Tarot cards. Buttons. String. Twine. Wire. Netting. Cloth. Burlap. Jars of nails, filings, screws, pins...I could go on.

It had legs for certain, maybe more than your standard two-how else would it move around? But the hands..dozens of them. At rest. Folded. Clasped together. Grasping. Reaching. A dozen arms of varying lengths extruding from dingy sleeves. Greasy palms...I can still see the yellow fingernails flitting in the dark...

It moved along the alley at a tedious pace, and I struggled not to turn and flee but...this was for science. For learning. I watched as the Ruse picked it's way at a leisurely pace among the urban debris and detritus that so plagues this city. It never landed on any one thing, not caring what it packed away into it's pockets or atop the ever-growing enormous pile upon its back. The mound grew larger and larger until at last it became stuck. At this point I was unsure what to do. I waited. It continued to grab things and add it to the pile upon its back. When there was nothing else within its grasp, the creature-the nightmare paused for a moment. I held my breath and tucked my shaking hands into my coat pockets.

It...may have been but a moment. Or an hour. I can't be sure. A scratching sound filled the alley. A mew or...like a whine of distress. I looked and saw the ruse reach with one of its arms at incredible speed.

The cat, a mangy and pitiful thing never had a chance. It was added to the pile with the other trinkets. I turned and ran, not caring how loud my steps were..."

-_{Recording Ends}

---

RE: Yours???
FROM: Jon Polaski
TO: Dr. B. Brightener

Copy of Dead Souls in the break-room. Janine said it was probably yours. How's the book coming? Cheers -Jon

Name: "Purple Ore"; "Bright stone"; "Magician's Stone"; "Magician's Ore"

Nature: "Purple Ore" is a mineral that occurs in veins, where its most common form comes in fine metalic crystaline structures. Occasionally crystals may grow in bigger solid masses, and that is what's most commonly crafted with and sold.

Location: Usually found around deposits of slate and black granite, veins of this mineral stand out against its darker earthy neighbors, not only because of its bright and reflective color, but also because it gives off a faint glow. As far as research has been able to tell, this glow isn't dangerous. Still, it is considered a sign of power. The brighter a piece of Purple Ore glows, the stronger its abilities are.

Abilities: In a quarries where Purple Ore is abundant, it is reported that the air feels heavier, thoughts/Ruse are easily manifested, and magic is easier to cast and with less strain. Sometimes large rocks containing a significant amount of Purple Ore are found floating in mid-air. Because these abilities are seen as dangerous by some, mining and sale of Purple Ore has been completely and strictly banned in many countries. Therefore, it fetches a high price in the black markets.

Common forms: It's not often that purple ore is sold as a solid chunk in its natural state, but mankind still has not found a way to properly melt down the ore to a liquid metal. Most often, it is found as a glittery powder, or larger crystals may be carefully carved into jewelry.

---

---

The Kingdom of Oadren was and still is a prosperous nation. A land of vibrant pastures, rolling hills, jolly peasants, and sophiscated lords, from the outside looking in one would think of Oadren as highly cultured and consider it a bastion of civilization.

But, as we all know, in this world even the most alluring of things carry the darkest secrets. And that is just what the case is for Oadren.

Once upon a time Oadren was not the magnificent kingdom that it is but a rather unremarkable land ruled by Everard the Hungry, one of the earliest kings in the nation's long history. As his name may suggest Everard was a man who wanted to consume everything he could both literally and figuratively. Unlike his predecessors he had the quality needed to bolster Oadren ahead of its rivals - ambition. And it was that very ambition that nearly drove an entire continent in chaos.

In an era which the world was commonly thought to be flat, it is sensible to think that the Ruse was far from understood. Everard's predecessors shunned the Ruse and thought that meddling with it would bring about the downfall of their people. Everard disagreed and who exactly shall be named as right or wrong should be left to the interpretation of whoever is reading this record. Regardless, the previous kings were right about the Ruse in that it would prove destructive in the wrong hands.

And Everard's hands were barely fit to hold a spoon correctly.

Desiring swathes upon swathes of territory, Everard sought to raise an army. An army that could quite possibly be the biggest the era ever saw. Obviously, Oadren did not have the men or resources to supply the forces that Everard required. That was when he turned to the Ruse. With it Oadren thought to turn every man, woman, and child dead or alive into a soldier. His hunger had taken form and it threatened to infect all of Oadren and beyond.

Ceolmaer, the famed Paragon of Light, could not allow his king to wrong his people in such a way. After failing to appeal to his majesty about his course of action, he decided that betrayal was the only way to prevent the land from falling into despair. He decapitated Everard to stop his hunger from swarming all of Oadren and beyond but by then it was too late. Everard's hunger no longer needed him and was able to thrive on its own. The people of Oadren were consumed by the hunger and became vicious fiends, invading and devouring its neighbors without command. Ceolmaer, by virtue of his honor, was able to resist the hunger and took it upon himself to be the driving force in fighting against it.

It wasn't until after putting down countless amounts of fellow countrymen and even his own family that Oadren realized his cause was futile. Oadren, in its current state, was lost. The hunger was spreading and there was no that Oadren, a mere warrior with armor and a greatsword, could do anything to stop it.

Then he thought. And, thankfully, thought is the Ruse.

What had birthed the hunger that ravaged Oadren would be what birthed the means to save it. However, a price needed to be paid for such a travesty. All that hunger could not just simply disappear from the world. It had to be redirected.

And it was with the Ruse of sacrifice that Ceolmaer took on that hunger and subdued himself within Avolire Castle. As humanity cannot withstand the vicious plague that is the hunger, Ceolmaer quickly became the very enemy he fought against - only greater. Fortunately, for us all, he became bound to Avolire Castle and with him Everard's hunger.

Miraculously, due to their proximity to Avolire Castle and its prisoner, Oadren and her people recovered from the hunger. Her neighbors, alas, did not fare so well.

---

Magic, unlike science and medicine, cannot be learned in a university setting -- not that this fact hasn't prevented said universities from offering courses and degrees in enchantment and divination. A structured magical curriculum, in the words of renowned magician Ezora Oovakey, "is just fine for the casual layperson or researcher, but no one may call themselves a magician if school is their only experience." True magicians, in professional opinion, hail from the Magician's Guilds.