Dark Rain

    When I say that the forest wages war on its despoilers, I do not mean that in a merely figurative sense. Of course there are the vines and saplings that spring up at a seemingly supernatural rate in any plot of cleared ground, the seeds of millennia finally seizing their chance at a place in the sun. These are difficult enough to deal with. What I am referring to is the Dark Rain.

    I am at a loss to classify it as tree, animal, or machine. It walks on eight monstrous legs, arched like those of a spider but cased in bark-like skin. Where the legs meet, a massive trunk towers up into leafy branches. Here and there among the branches is a leafless bough, shorter and oddly straight until it splits into two backward curving arms, connected at the ends by a vine-like rope. It is, in fact, an organic crossbow. (Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that the crossbows the Liangyese use are manmade imitations of this.) It can load and fire quarrels grown and stored within a hollow tube inside the leafless bough.

    The number of weapon-boughs varies with the age (and hence the size) of the thing. The boughs have a limited range of movement so aiming often requires the tree to turn or bend. When one bough is out of bolts, it twists around to aim the next bough at its target. From this fact comes another of its names, the Twister. A common song of the Foresters contains the line "And then the twister comes. Here comes the twister." 

    How the creatures sense their targets is unknown. Generally a dark rain will patrol along a seemingly random path, attacking only those who pose a serious threat to the forest. The Yeng are such a threat, but lately the boars of the Swine God have also been targeted. In the past, each twister hunted alone, but lately there are rumors of several working together to coordinate attacks on Yeng outposts-- and darker whispers of organic trebuchets that move and fire of their own accord. If true, these tales indicate that the war is about to reach a new and deadlier stage.

The Strife-of-Tongues

    Tei Pao looked uneasily at the clearing, a circular patch of open space somehow devoid of trees or brush. A clump of rocks lay near but not quite at the center. Otherwise low grass covered all until it reached the edge of the surrounding forest. He held up his hand to signal Huin behind him. The mercenary stopped short with a surprised huff and glowered at him. "What is it?" he whispered.

    Pao didn't turn. "I don't know," he replied in a low tone, "but something feels off."

    "To hell with your feelings."

    "Why are there no trees-- hell, no shrubs? Nothing but grass." He paused. "There aren't even any fallen branches. How is that possible?"

    A handful of birds drifted lazily out from the canopy and began to descend toward the floor of the clearing. Tei Pao glanced at them, then back to the clearing. "The whole thing looks far too circular to just be random. I don't like it. I say we go around."

    The birds settled quietly on the ground and began to peck around. Huin snorted. "We've been hacking through the undergrowth for hours, and when we finally reach open ground--"

    Suddenly and silently, bright red tendrils erupted from the floor of the clearing a few feet behind the birds. There were half a dozen of them, long, thin, and sinuous. Each one arced forward and grasped at a bird, grabbing at the heads. Two birds managed to take wing, but the pursuing limbs shot after them like a frog's tongue catching flies. In barely enough time to even register what was happening, the two men watched the red streamers wring each bird's neck, breaking them, and then flinging the carcasses far into the trees in one continuous motion. Then they silently slithered back into the ground. Soon, only the grass remained, but with a few scattered patches of feathers or specks of blood.

    Without a word the two men turned and moved back along the trail they had just made.

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    An unknown civilization in the distant past buried unageing monsters in the earth to guard their graves. Sages aver that the ancient and proper name for these abominable things is Strife-of-Tongues. The woodcutters of the Yeng call them Lickers.

    Each licker is housed inside a spherical casing made of some substance with the look of bone but the feel of stone. Whether this is its natural shell or its arcane cage is unclear. It is thought that the sphere amplifies vibrations in the soil, helping the Strife-of-Tongues locate its victims. The sphere and the organism inside is generally found two or three yards beneath the surface. A system of roots grow down through tiny apertures in the lower half of the sphere to anchor it and presumably to take in nutrients. The top of casing contains ten to twelve larger holes, each about two inches wide. These are for the use of the "tongues", red prehensile appendages of a leathery texture and impressive strength, anywhere from ten to twenty feet in length. They bore swiftly through the ground and burst through the surface to strike at anything that comes within their range.

    Smaller animals such as birds or mice are killed as quickly as possible and the carcass thrown outside the circle. Larger creatures are given a warning to frighten them away. This generally consists of the tongues snapping at the intruder like whips, or perhaps wrapping around the leg and attempting to drag it back towards the edge of the circle. If the trespasser persists in its encroachment on the licker's territory or attempts to fight back, the attack of the tongues becomes lethal. They may attempt to constrict by wrapping around the ribs and squeezing. Or they may try to grab the head and snap the neck. Occasionally they get creative and grab two of the creatures limbs, then pull each in a different direction until flesh and bone separate.

    Any remains will be pushed or hurled outside the circle. The licker keeps its territory (considered to be anything in the range of its tongues) meticulously free of most debris, so as to not impede its detection of intruders or the mobility of its tongues. Branches and other deadfall from the trees are cleared away, and any sapling that grows higher than a few inches is also uprooted and cast out. One thing that the licker will not interfere with, however, is stone. To be sure, if it is hit by a stone weapon, it will retaliate if possible. But if a rock lands on its territory, it will send out a tongue to feel it, and upon feeling its texture, ignore it thenceforth, accepting it as just part of the landscape. It is thought that this is some innate programming in the creatures' behavior by whatever wizard first dreamt it up, so that it would not attack the megalithic stones used to build the burial chambers that they were (generally) placed to guard.

    These dolmen-like structures sometimes still exist within the licker's circle, although occasionally the ravages of time or changes to the environment have wiped them out or buried them far deeper than their rooted guardian. The few of these tombs that have been explored and looted have yielded curious artifacts but very little clues as to the nature of their builders.

    Larger debris such as fallen trees may tax even the great strength of the tongues, and it will take time for them to clear them. They may start a fire by means of friction and retreat below ground, leaving the log to burn to a more manageable state. Such blazes can easily become larger conflagrations should they reach the surrounding forest.

    There seems to be no limit on the lifespan of these organisms. Any tongue that is cut off will regrow within a matter of weeks, although it may take up to half a year to reach its full length. The few that have been killed were ones which were partially unearthed due to earthquakes or landslides. The casing once broken (a difficult task), the creature within appeared to be little more than a pink pulsating blob of indeterminate shape. Any attempts at communication via mundane or magical means proved unfruitful. Once dead, the strife-of-tongues quickly decomposes, releasing a foul-smelling vapor which contains bacteria highly lethal to any who breathe it in.

    Fortunately the territory of a licker is usually fairly obvious to spot and avoid, being a near perfect circle of grassland within a forest, often with a megalithic tomb toward its center. A submerged licker is incredibly difficult to combat, but should you manage to destroy all of its tongues you should be free to access the dolmen and plunder it.

Lin Flora

    In the darker parts of the forest, perpetually shadowed by the interwoven branches above, are infestations of dream moss. While not unique to Lin, it is most common here, and the local variety is the most potent. Dream moss emits a vapor which causes vivid hallucinations, almost inevitably of something hostile to the victim. This may take the form of a natural beast, an enemy combatant, or some nightmarish chimera from the depths of the subconscious. You may even face an apparent duplicate of yourself, with all your skills and abilities. In the combat that ensues, the effects of the illusion are so intense that one will take actual physical damage-- not to mention whatever harm one causes or receives in the real world while they are gripped in the nightmare's delusion. Despite the sinister nature of the visions it induces, dream moss is sought out and collected by some of the foresters, who sell it to apothecaries as an ingredient.

----

    The lulun, or faefire mushroom, glows softly with a blue bioluminescence. Upon detecting passersby via vibrations in the ground, it releases a gas which causes first euphoria, then overwhelming calm, and finally a deep and dreamless sleep which can last for hours. During that time it will send out a vast amount of spores in the direction of the sleeper, so that as many as possible will be carried away by the sleeper when they wake and leave. Not necessarily harmful in itself, but in a place like Lin falling asleep in the open is rarely a good idea. Luluns are widely sought for their use as a sedative.

----

    The purple terror is a plant which grows in the canopy and sends down vines to suck up moisture from the ground. They are commonly found near ponds or streams. The vines are prehensile and terribly strong. If a creature is caught by them, they will wrap around it and pull it up into the air to trap it. There are tiny, sharp protrusions which stick into the victim and drain its fluids into the plant. Purple terrors can be noted by the bright and beautiful purple flowers that blossom in the canopy-- and by the bones of man and beast caught in their tendrils.

    The purple terror and the lulun often grow close by each other, the purple terror predating on those who fall asleep in the lulun's circle. This still works to the lulun's favor as the victim is hoisted high in the air by the vines, and its spores are dispersed by the wind over a wide area.

The Swine God

    Vast herds of boar inhabit Lin, dangerous enough for humans armed only with flint or bronze. But the Yeng have managed to hold their own and slowly press forward, driving the herds before them.

    Angered at the loss of their territory, the boars retreated further into the sanctuary of the trees. Rooting about for truffles and fallen acorns, they murmured their complaints to the earth. And somehow, in her silent yet restless slumber, she heard.

    The Swine God ripped its own way out of its mother's womb. After draining the corpse of its blood, it went to the nearest sow, drove off her young and suckled milk from her. The beast grew rapidly and soon was the undisputed leader of the largest herd.

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    Thu Khar, the Swine God, the Iron Boar, stands ten feet high at the shoulder and is nearly eighteen feet in length. Three tusks grow on the right side of its snout and two on the left, all dagger-sharp. Its saliva will cause burns to human skin and damage to the eyes. Its hoofs are caked in blood and there is always a swarm of flies about it. Its sides and flanks are plated with a thicker hide nearly impervious to most weapons. Visually they resemble the skin of a rhinoceros but with a faintly metallic sheen. The rest of it is covered in shaggy, matted fur, black save for a rust-colored mane along the head and spine. A great stench precedes it and lingers in its wake.

    As long as its heart is intact and its body is in contact with the earth, Thu Khar will heal rapidly. (Note that severed pieces of the beast do not count toward this.) The effect is more pronounced in the summer than in the winter. A cut or a stab will close and mend in a matter of seconds or minutes in the summer. In winter it could take up to a day. A limb or eye will regrow within a day during summer, but will take about a week or so in the winter. The head will take a week to regrow in summer and up to a month in winter. The body is inert while the head is gone or regrowing. During this time Thu Khar's remaining offspring and the herd will guard it ferociously.

    If the heart is damaged, the regeneration will focus on healing the heart first, provided the body has contact with the earth. Any natural ground counts as "earth" in this case. An artificial floor or pavement does not. A dirt road counts, a natural deposit of gravel counts, but a gravel road will not. If the heart is reduced to ashes or cut into chunks and separated, it will not regenerate. If there is a stake or blade through the heart, the heart will reform around it and begin operating again. Once the heart is reformed, the body will begin to heal itself as above.

    A corpse blade will cut through the armored hide almost effortlessly. The same goes for Ayis. A wound inflicted on the Iron Boar by Ayis will not regenerate, no matter what.

    The Swine God leads its forces in an unrelenting campaign against humanity. It wages war with an almost human intelligence, laying ambushes and crafting rudimentary traps. Those whom it slays, it eats.

    In its youth it mated prodigiously. (Now it is far too large for any sow, not that that stops it from trying.) Its children are about halfway between its size and that of a normal boar. They have similar armor and a variety of extra tusks, but not its healing ability. Some have split off to lead herds of their own, and are beginning to show signs of growing to their sire's image and size. Those still in its herd often lead scouting or raiding parties, or aid in the setting of traps.

    Thu Khar and its spawn seem able to communicate with each other and to a certain extent with the herd. It will not be possible for a player character to communicate with any of them, however, by any means.

    The Iron Boar has caused havoc for Yeng and tribesmen alike. The vastness of its herd has begun to exhaust the food supply of other animals in the region and even cause problems for the trees as the hungry swine damage bark and root. Its territory is to be avoided if possible, but it is always seeking to expand or shift its domain as vegetation gets eaten up. One way or another, the Swine God must be stopped.

Forest of Lin, continued

    The official entrance to the Forest of Lin is the town of Fǔtóu, or "Axehead". Built where the River Yun emerges from the forest, it is the main hub of operations in Lin. Supplies and personnel are shipped here for processing and distribution among the camps as needed, and raw timber is in turn brought here, documented, and shipped downriver to Mutsai.

    Unlike the camps, Axehead is a permanent settlement and therefore boasts many of the amenities one might expect in a town of its size. Laborers from the nearby camps may come in on their rare rest days to spend their earnings on wine and women. But they are not allowed to get too wild. In some ways Axehead is run even more rigidly than Mutsai. Everything here is the property of the Yeng Clan.

    There is tension between Axehead and Mutsai. The officials here feel that the clan leaders demand too much of them and offer too little support. Meanwhile Mutsai generally accuses them of laziness and carelessness. These frustrations have not led to an actual split-- neither group could function without the other, after all-- but the embers of a true quarrel are there, and who can say what further events may inflame it.

    The area closest to Axehead has been deforested and replanted several times. Rows of trees stand in straight lines, each square plot planted in a different year. In addition there are wide fields of farmland and pastures which keep the town and many of the closest settlements fed. Yeng officials grumble about using land for crops when it could be used for timber, but the costs of shipping food in upriver from Mutsai make this a necessity. One hardly feels oneself to be within a great primeval forest here. It is only as one goes further upriver that one begins to encounter pockets of old growth.

    Expansion into Lin naturally followed the course of the River Yun and its various tributaries coming down from the central highlands. Water travel is still the most reliable means of navigating the area but one must always be on the lookout for the vast flotillas of logs which are continually being shipped downstream. It is helpful to have a guide with knowledge of the frankly arcane patterns, schedules, and techniques of the shipping, and even then a logjam may set one back days. Where the rivers do not go, paths have been made across the cleared land for oxcarts to drag logs by, although this is much less cost effective than using the water. Still the Yeng are determined to harvest the pockets of old growth that remain away from the waters' edge, and little by little these ancient groves are shrinking as they are whittled away. But as you go further north or east you approach the tree line and begin to glimpse the true Forest and the camps along its verge.

    The camps naturally must follow the line of trees, and as one area becomes depleted and is replanted, the buildings are disassembled and moved to a new location. Many structures are basically tents, but some that require a bit more complexity have been nevertheless been designed with this function in mind. Pins holding together interlocking beams are removed and the whole building is taken down and carried off to be rebuilt at the new site. Generally speaking nothing is allowed to be left behind or abandoned, but occasionally one will find a building that for one reason or another was left behind.

    The camps are dangerous places where rough and hardened men wage war against the forest which always seeks to take back its own. Both predator and prey are dangerous here-- more lives have been lost to a boar's tusks than a bear's claws. There are even plants which will seek to strangle a man and suck his blood. And there are hostile minds as well. Most of the native tribes will periodically attempt to raid the camps near their territory. Perhaps a third of the forest is even rudimentarily explored, and only half of that is safely under control. Whispers also abound of ghosts and forest devils, and of a certainty there are mind-reading apes in the central highlands, which raid native and settler alike.

The Forest of Lin

  While Mutsai is the headquarters of the Yeng, the great bulk of their resources come from their extensive holdings in the Forest of Lin, northeast of the city. The forest was granted to the Yeng by royal edict when they were raised to noble status. At the time, the forest was a relatively unexplored tract of wilderness, little understood. Even today, after a century or so, there remain vast swathes that are outside of the Yeng's direct control. Yet they jealously insist on their claim to the entire forest and will brook no rival to enter.

The forest itself is immense, a remnant of the primeval forest which once dominated the entire coastline before rise of the sea and the coming of men. Level around the perimeter (for the most part), it begins to rise as one goes further in, culminating in rugged and forbidding mountains in the heart of the wood. While the Yeng have not succeeded in conquering that area, they have established a great ring encircling the edge of the forest. This boundary is perhaps a few miles in width and is patrolled by automata shaped like beasts of prey-- bears, tigers, packs of wolves and so forth. Humans whom these beasts find within the boundary are set upon and attacked without mercy. The only exceptions are those bearing a certain type of talisman which the Yeng create. This apparently marks one as a non-hostile and allows safe passage among the wooden watch-beasts.

Such passage is necessary from time to time, for the absence of humans from the boundary has created a haven for animals of all kinds, and deer and other such creatures flock here to escape from hunters. At times their numbers swell too greatly and they become a threat to groves of newly planted trees, and must be culled. And of course, where there are prey animals one will find predators. Living panthers and lynx slink among the wooden ones, and while these are permitted to help keep the herbivores numbers at a healthy level, at times a predator will become a danger to humans and must be sought out and put down. And, rarely but not unheard of, stranger and more deadly things lurk among the shadows of the boundary.

The only safe route through the boundary, officially, is the river Yun. Travelling up river by galley requires a permit from the Grand Lodge, bearing the Seal of the clan. Any vessel found on the river without a permit will be confiscated by guardsmen and the passengers imprisoned. Unofficially there may be a way in along the southeast, where an undulating stretch of land known as the Bubble holds an extensive cave system.

There is another path which leads into the forest but it would hardly be described as safe. An ancient Ghost Road from the Mi Dynasty breaches the western border of the wood and continues to the ruins of a city about twenty miles within.

The Wood Fane

  The Wood Fane stands to the west of the Grand Lodge, and is dedicated to the Wood Elemental. Liangyu recognizes five elements or agents which undergird the structures and processes of creation. While "mu" is literally translated as wood, this force or power is not strictly limited to the substance of timber but is associated with all vegetable life, particularly with growth and greenery. Indeed another name for this power is "The Greening". The Yeng have always paid especial homage to this entity, as the Huo do to Fire.

North of the altar is the eight-sided tower of the god, with out-jutting roofs on each of its eight stories, each story narrower than the one below it. The tallest building in Mutsai, there is nothing quite like it in all of Liangyu. The roof tiles are copper which has long since aged to a fine green, while the wooden walls are painted red. The overall appearance is not disharmonious and recalls the image of a large pine tree.

On each set of eaves perch eight wooden owls, every feather delicately carved and every talon dagger-sharp. Their heads swivel to track approaching visitors. They have never been seen to shift position, but each day they are in a new configuration.

Only the priestly caste of the Yeng Clan are allowed to enter, so information about the layout and contents of the tower is practically non-existent. There is talk of a brick-lined chamber, a room known as the "Dragon Palace". It is said to hold a relic of great antiquity and value, but accounts vary wildly as to the precise nature of the artifact.

Behind the tower are a stand of toon trees. When the stems bud red, this is heralded as the start of spring. Chickens are sacrificed along with grains of wheat from the previous harvest. A festival is held in the great plaza south of the Fane and the Lodge. Lute music is played throughout the day, and a dumpling with sour filling is traditionally consumed.

The Grand Lodge

    Roughly two hundred years have passed since Jiang presented his first automaton. His descendants, the Yeng, carried on his work. Today, the automata are found everywhere, some serving as laborers and others as soldiers. The robots form a vital part of the workforce and are indispensable to the kings' military. To this day no one outside of a small circle knows the secret that gives these creatures a semblance of life. Those who have examined them claim to have detected no trace of magical or mechanical power. Only the highest echelons of the Yeng are privy to this knowledge, and they are sworn to secrecy by mighty oaths. Furthermore the Yeng are aware that their position depends on their control of the automata and their sole access to the secret. They are surrounded by noble clans which purchase their product while envying and despising their success. This has made the Yeng far more loyal and tight-knit than many clans of higher birth.

    During their active years, the leaders of the Yeng and their immediate family dwell within the Great Lodge. This complex is the wooden heart of Mutsai and the core of the Yeng's operations. Here orders and payments to the Yeng are received, here their plans are hatched, and here every fresh batch of automata is brought for final inspection and activation. The outer area is a great square collection of garages and bays, built around an inner courtyard. On the outside, each of the great bays is fitted with two sets of doors which close to guard the privacy of the operations within. The doors on the inside, facing the courtyard, are less cumbersome and fitted with windows high up to let in the sunlight. Activities are directed by the position of the sun-- in the morning the bays of the west side are used, and operations move eastward to utilize the light most efficiently, with the north side being used at midday and the east at evening. No torches or lanterns are allowed within for fear of a blaze getting out of hand. The south is reserved for offices, stables, storage, and the great Main Gate.

    All entrances are guarded by members of the Yeng Clan chosen particularly for their strength and intimidating presence. They carry long-handed dagger axes for lethal combat and truncheons for non-lethal. Their leader is a man named Ilok the Butcher. As the name may suggest, he came from humble origins in a Yeng village serving as a meat cutter. He still carries his large meat cleaver as a side arm. It is said that a thief may expect to lose a hand, and a spy a foot.

    The imposing edifice of the Main Gate is carved with stylized trunks and branches. Despite its name, this gate does not directly lead into the courtyard but rather a separate area for those who have dealings with the Yeng. The foyer within is an imposing and grand room which boasts exquisite murals and moving dioramas, most depicting scenes of industry in the Forest of Lin. Beyond this room customers are ushered into the Spring Hall to a table where they may conduct their business. A fan hangs in the ceiling, powered by a waterwheel in an underground stream far below. Along three walls curtains of water drops, pumped here by some device, drip in a musical staccato mimicking rain.

    Only a small side door allows access from here to the courtyard, and this is off-limits to guests. The courtyard itself is broad enough to cart material from one bay to another, and works often drive oxcarts across as needed. A red square border marks the central area where no one is allowed unless they are of the Yeng clan. It is patrolled by wooden dogs which are said to be able to smell the Yeng bloodline. If an outsider approaches, they will bay with the sound of oboes or bark with the noise of flutes. If the intruder persists they will attack. Only a select few ever enter this square to access the house within, mainly the leaders of the Yeng and a handful of trusted servants from lesser branches of the clan.

    The house is where the current heads of the clan live. These are not necessarily the oldest, as they must still be vigorous enough to inspect and activate the merchandise on a daily basis. Those who lose their vitality are retired with honors to mansions outside of the city to live out their last days in ease. But these current managers dwell here in the house. They dine on the ground floor (the only floor where servants are allowed) and sleep on the second. No one else is allowed up those stairs, and it is presumed that all work is done by automata. What lies on the topmost story is anyone's guess, but it is whispered by some that this is where the Yeng store their most treasured items, guarded by hulking automata with curved blades.

Excerpts from Livy

 [After Hannibal's attack on the city of Saguntum, an ally of Rome, Rome sent Fabius to the Carthaginians to demand whether this was done with their government's approval. They refused to reply, and told him to say what was really on Rome's mind.]

Fabius, in answer, laid his hand on the fold of his toga, where he had gathered it at his breast, and, "Here," he said, "we bring you peace and war. Take which you will." Scarcely had he spoken, when the answer no less proudly rang out: "Whichever you please-- we do not care." Fabius let the gathered folds fall, and cried: "We give you war." The Carthaginian senators replied, as one man: "We accept it; and in the same spirit we will fight it to the end."

[Hannibal's troops are nervous about crossing the Alps, so he gives the following speech.]

 "What sudden panic is this which has entered those breasts where fear has never been? Year after year you have fought with me, and won; and you never left Spain until all the lands and peoples between the two seas were subject to our power. When the Roman people demanded the surrender of the 'criminal'-- whoever it may have been-- who laid siege to Saguntum, you were justly angry and crossed the Ebro bent upon obliterating the very name of Rome and setting the world free. Then, at least, none of you thought of the journey long, though it stretched from the setting to the rising sun; but now, when you can see that much the greater part of the distance is already behind you-- when you have made your way through the wild tribes and over the passes of the Pyrenees, when you have tamed the violence of the mighty Rhone and crossed it in the face of those countless Gallic warriors who would fain have stopped you; when, finally, you have the Alps in sight, and know that the other side of them is Italian soil: now, I repeat, at the very gateway of the enemy's country, you come to a halt-- exhausted!

 "What do you think the Alps are? Are they anything worse than high mountains? Say, if you will, that they are higher than the Pyrenees, but what of it? No part of the earth reaches the sky; no height is insuperable to men. Moreover, the Alps are not desert. Men live there, they till the ground. There are animals there, living creatures. If a small party can cross them, surely armies can? The envoys you see with us did not, in order to get over, soar into the air on wings. Moreover, their own forebears were immigrants. They were countryfolk from Italy, who often crossed these same mountains safely enough-- hordes of them, with their women and children, whole peoples on the move. Surely, then, for an army of soldiers, with nothing to carry but their military gear, no waste should be too wild to cross, no hills too high to climb.

 "Remember Saguntum, and those eight long months of toil and peril endured to the end. It is not Saguntum now, but Rome, the mightiest city of the world, you aim to conquer. How can you feel that anything, however hard, however dangerous, can make you hesitate? Why, even the Gauls once captured Rome-- and you despair of being able even to get near it. Either confess, then, that you have less spirit and courage than a people you have again and again defeated during these latter days, or steel your hearts to march forward, to halt only on Mars' Field between the Tiber and the walls of Rome."

[They reach the Alps.]

 The nature of the mountains was not, of course, unknown to his men by rumor and report-- and rumor commonly exaggerates the truth. Yet in this case all tales were eclipsed by the reality.

 The dreadful vision was now before their eyes: the towering peaks, the snow-clad pinnacles soaring to the sky; the rude huts clinging to the rocks; beasts and cattle shriveled and parched with cold; the people with their wild and ragged hair; all nature, animate and inanimate, stiff with frost. All this, and other sights the horror of which words cannot express, gave a fresh edge to their apprehension. As the column moved forward up the first slopes, there appeared, right above their heads, ensconced upon their eminences, the local tribesmen, wild men of the mountains, who, if they had chosen to lurk in clefts of the hills, might well have sprung out from ambush upon the marching column and inflicted untold losses and disaster.

The First Automaton

     During the celebration of the Solemn King's Jubilee, the Pavilion of Unburdened Skies was thronged with well-wishers. Costly gifts from across the realm were presented. At last, as the shadows lengthened, there came a man from one of the local villages. His name was Yeng Jiang, and he was a woodworker by trade.

    Four burly apprentices followed him, carrying a man-sized object covered by a sheet. Standing it upright, they bowed and withdrew. Yeng Jiang stepped up to the object and unveiled it. It was a wooden figure of a man, exquisitely carved.

    "What a magnificent sculpture," the king noted. 

    The woodworker bowed. "With your permission, my Liege, it is so much more." He touched it on the chin.

    Gasps and cries rang out as the wooden figure moved. Slowly at first, then more steadily, it shifted its weight from one foot to another, as though testing its balance. Then it bowed toward the king. A moment later it was up and beginning the steps of a country dance. Astonishment turned to awe and delight as the figure capered about, moving with increasing quickness and dexterity. It leapt over a table and spun in a pirouette. It ended the dance with a head-over-heels flip, landed, and stood with arms outstretched to receive the court's thunderous applause.

    Even the usually reserved king was smiling at the display. All was well until the automaton struck a coquettish pose and began waving and blowing kisses to the ladies' gallery. "The impudence!" growled the king. "There must be a man inside of it. Seize the thing!"

    Yeng Jiang held up his hands. "Mercy, Great Lord! It is no man. Observe!" He again tapped lightly on the figure's chin and instantly it ceased all movement. Undoing a cleverly hidden latch, he swung open the automaton's hollow chest. It was empty, save for a wooden heart quietly beating.

    "It has no will of its own," explained the woodworker. "It does only what I have laid out for it to do."

    The king stroked his beard in silence for a moment. At last he spoke. "You have accomplished a significant feat. What would it take to turn your creation to a more... practical use?"

The War Palace

    When the Yeng built the War Palace, they placed it on the western side of the city, so that the palace's eastern wall is a segment of the city's western wall. Two gates that formerly led into the countryside now lead into the palace complex, although only one of them is for public use.

    The whole complex is more or less patterned after the old one at Peach Grove, but it is somewhat less open and ornate than that one. Thought has been given more to defense than to elegance. The entrances are narrower and the walls thicker and higher. It is whispered by some that the Yeng have built secret passages and listening posts throughout the complex, although this has not been confirmed.

    The complex itself is divided into five compartments, running from south to north. The southernmost, the Court of Imminent Appeal, is nearly a little city in itself. Here countless petty officials and servants have their own small apartments, and there are a handful of minor government buildings which each serve some obscure sector of the beaurocracy. The Far Gate on the south wall opens to the countryside, while the Oak Gate on the east wall leads back into Mutsai. It is through one of these two gates that most visitors to the palace pass through.

    On the north of this area is the entrance to the next section of the palace. The Armory Gate, as the name suggests, leads into the area which houses the royal arsenal, The Court of Unkindled Flame. Barracks and stables are also found here. Anyone serving in the King's guard will have a bunk and locker in this court.

    Passing north through the Pheasant Gate one enters the third department, the Court of Proclamation. Most of the royal bureaucracy works in this area, centered on the building known as the Outer Hall. Legal changes, judicial decisions, and royal decrees will be published here.

    The Gate of Reply, sometimes confusingly called the Main Entrance, leads into the fourth court, the Court of Enlightened Counsel. Here the King meets with his various councils and holds audience. The Ash Gate on the east side leads into the city. Few are allowed to pass through this gate. Only the King, his personal couriers, servants, and guards will generally use it, and that rarely. However, the Scions are allowed to enter it to attend the War Council in the latter half of the morning, after the King has finished with his administrative council.

    North of this is the Tiger Gate, painted a royal purple, which leads to the private living area of the king and his concubines. This area is designated as the Court of Undisturbed Tranquility. There is a banquet hall here which is reserved for exclusive dinners with the king and a select few. The King's House is here, along with various houses for concubines and apartments for eunuchs. Obviously this is where the king spends most of his time. The Queen's House stands uninhabited, for a chief wife has not yet been selected, and at Fennu's ascension his mother left the palace to live in seclusion on a country estate. She has not been seen in some time. Beside this house is the tomb of the former king, Chengshi-- but that name is never spoken here. By longstanding tradition, it is forbidden to use the name of a deceased king of the Huo line (and here is another place where Shan and Huo differ). Each deceased king is given a posthumous title. Fennu's father is properly referred to as the Reclusive King, although in less reverent circles he is called the Recumbent King.

    Fennu has stayed within the palace for much of his reign, infrequently entering the city and rarely going out into the country. He has never returned to Peach Grove, even during the times it was recaptured by the royal armies. This has made many uneasy. Traditionally the Altar of the Center is where the King makes sacrifice to the Lord of Heaven at midsummer, to ensure stability and prosperity. A fane has been erected on a hill about a days' journey from Mutsai, but it is unclear whether this stopgap measure will meet with Heaven's approval.

    Fennu has thus far ruled with a light touch, not overburdening the people with taxes or conscription. This has won him a fair measure of approval among the wider populace. But there are whispers in isolated corners of the capital. He is certainly a good king, they say, but isn't there something about him? That grin, for instance-- positively feral. And when you look at him from a certain angle, does he look-- not quite human? And his appetites are prodigious, even for a king. Nevertheless, they hasten to add, somewhat more loudly, he does not seem to be ruled by them. Unlike his father, he has not neglected affairs of state for affairs of the heart. Certainly none of the concubines (and there are quite a lot of them, aren't there?) seem to have captured his special attention.

    If he has not neglected the ship of state, he has also not given as free a rein as his father did to the Yeng family of artificers, or to the nobles. It certainly seems that he intends to bring both into line. How he intends to do that remains to be seen. It is doubtful that he can control one without the other.

The Scions (Roll Chart)

     Although there are many provinces in Liangyu, they are controlled by about two dozen clans. Some of these are descended from retainers of the Huo at the time of their ascension to power, rewarded with fiefdoms for their loyalty. Others are cadet branches of the Huo, given lands to tame in the hopes that they would not vie for power at home. Some houses were ennobled by the previous dynasty, the Mi. Their loyalty has always been somewhat suspect. And a very few are older than the Mi: ancient lines of tribal overlords and petty kings that were allowed to keep some measure of status under the shadow of the great Unifier. This is a strange and disparate lot even by the standards of this strange and disparate land.

    The Huo Kings demand that each of these noble houses send a male of their line to serve at court for the duration of the war. These hostages are commonly called Gongzi, which roughly means something like Lordling or Scion. The full title would run something like X, Scion of House Y and Member of the King's War Council. The Scions represent an unusual class in this city. Some have embraced their calling as members of the King's Council and seek to support the war effort with efficiency and fervor. Others have succumbed to the temptations that privilege brings, and spend much of their time in decadent pursuits. Most have ambitions, goals, and vendettas which may or may not match up with those of their clan.

    For the DM, this roll chart may be a starting point for creating unique Scions for the party to interact with. A Scion can be a useful patron or a powerful antagonist.

Personal Name, d20

1  Ai

2  Mian

3  Yan

4  Zhe

5  Dan

6  Shen

7  Fengren

8  Yuan

9  He

10 So

11 Jin

12 Guang

13 Ruoshan

14 Buzhu

15 Shing

16 Zifu

17 Ki

18 Huang

19 Jia

20 Dun

Clan Name, d20

 1  Jiang

 2  Ji

 3  Yao

 4  Si

 5  Yun

 6  Ren

 7  Gui

 8  Peng

 9  Balu

 10 Zhen

 11 Mi

 12 Kiu

 13 Fo

 14 Kai

 15 Wen

 16 Hong

 17 Fang

 18 Gong

 19 Chen

 20 Sun

Clan Symbol, d20

1  Sun Bird

2  Two Cups

3  Three stars

4  Stag

5  Five Bats

6  Pheasant

7  Stone Chimes

8  Dagger-Axe

9  Pearl in the Fire

10 Double lozenge

11 Rhino horns

12 A sprig of coral

13 Pomegranate

14 Pine Tree

15 Peach

16 Lotus Flower

17 Tiger

18 Heron

19 Tortoise

20 Kirin

Clan origin, d6

1 Ancient line, Pre-Unification

2 Cadet branch of the Mi

3 Ennobled by the Mi

4 Retainers or Allies of the Huo

5 Cadet branch of the Huo

6 Foreigners annexed by the Huo

Physical Appearance,  d6

1 Short

2 Fat

3 Average

4 Slender

5 Brawny

6 Tall

How old was this Scion when he first came here?

d20, add ten to roll. 11-30

How long has he been here?

d20, add ten to roll. 1-20

Temperament, d6

1 Testy

2 Proud

3 Mocking

4 Relaxed

5 Reserved

6 Outgoing

Servants and Retainers, d6

Their morale is...

1 Unanimously loyal, to the death.

2 Mostly loyal, some outliers.

3 Fond of their lord but lack respect for him.

4 Fear and respect; loyalty but no love.

5 Frustrated.

6 Borderline mutinous.

Vice, d6

This Scion's weakness is...

1 Women. Can't resist a pretty face.

2 Wine. A connoisseur of all types of alcohol.

3 Gambling. Lives for the thrill of the game.

4 Hunting. Lives for the thrill of the chase.

5 Narcotics. High off his gourd.

6 Music. Acquiring a collection of musicians.

Home, d6

1 Cheap house in dockyards

2 Barracks (officer in the guard)

3 House in Oldtown

4 Palatial estate in Oldtown (entire block)

5 Estate in the country

6 King's favorite, has a house on the palace grounds

Rumors (optional), d6

1 High-voiced and beardless. May not be the man he makes out to be.

2 Was sent here as punishment for some crime against the clan.

3 Is plotting against the head of the family.

4 Has connections to Mutsai's criminal element.

5 Is rumored to dabble in esoteric practices.

6 Has the ear of Clan Yeng and has even been inside the Grand Lodge.

Mutsai: The Underground

    The automatons execute basic tasks and can respond to certain stimuli. While some are used for very basic (and deadly) security, they are not sophisticated enough for urban police duty. For that, the Yeng rely on human sentries. The Watch have made and kept Mutsai a model of order. They are meticulous, professional, and very well paid.

    The diligence of the Watch necessitated creativity on the part of criminals. Mutsai had been built with an underground sewer system rather than the usual canals. Criminals began to use the sewer tunnels for movement, meetings, and hideouts. Gradually they dug tunnels of their own. A network sprang up, crossing and crisscrossing beneath the city.

    The underground is not part of the Watch's circuit. The Yeng have tried to renegotiate the contract several times and the Watch always refuse. They will fill in tunnels from above, but they will not go below.

    Things grew more complex with the arrival of the nobles. Quarrels between the Houses led to an increased interest in the underground by thieves, spies and assassins. The Houses responded to this security threat in various ways. House Fo planted a moss which gives off hallucinogenic vapors. House Kai released a swarm of razorlings. And House Wen brought a particularly insidious breed of python from the south, which has proceeded to infest the entire system and prove a greater annoyance than the human vermin. To deal with the various threats once and for all, a few have suggested binding ghosts to the sewers to sweep them clean of life. The Yeng are concerned that one of the Houses may actually attempt this, with potentially deadly consequences.

    But there are other ghosts in the underground already. When digging the sewers, the Yeng uncovered a complex of ancient tombs. They walled it off, but as the population has increased so has the volume of sewage. It has begun to seep into the once-sealed vaults, causing unrest.

    It is rumored that the Yeng are seeking to form a new security force to patrol the underground. Such a group would certainly face danger from predators, criminals, and agents of the various houses, not to mention the restless dead. And it is quite possible that the Watch would view them as rivals. I urge those interested in the position to perform their own research before applying.

Mutsai

     Mutsai lies in a bend of the Yun River, in the territory of House Yeng. The city was planted by them shortly after they were granted noble status. Prior to this they had been mere craftsmen and artificers, but their invention of the automatons propelled them to a position of wealth and influence. The Yeng founded Mutsai as a base for their future endeavors.

    The first part of the city, Oldtown, was laid out as a walled square with three gates on each side. Each gate opens onto a broad tree-lined boulevard. Branching off from these main thoroughfares are lesser streets marking off blocks or "wards". Most wards are themselves enclosed with walls patrolled by the town watch. Guards are supposed to check anyone entering or leaving a ward. In the center of Oldtown is the Grand Lodge, headquarters of the Yeng. Just east of it is their Ancestral Hall. Directly on the Lodge's west side, where one might expect to find altars to the gods of soil and grain, there is instead a towering temple to the Wood Elemental, patron deity of the Yeng. The great marketplace is directly north of this central area. The northeastern quarter of the Oldtown contains many warehouses. The great forest of Lin is closest to this part of the city and vast reserves of timber are brought here for storage. The southeastern quarter is where most of the recreational establishments can be found-- taverns, gambling halls, and the like.

    The Yun River flows close to the southeast corner of the city. Docks and storage buildings line the shore. A collection of squalid tenements and tottering shacks gradually sprang up in this area between the walls and the river. The Dockyards, as it is called, has an ill reputation. Its winding and narrow streets are a stark contrast to the clean and orderly Oldtown. The sewers also empty into the river in this section, which gives it an unpleasant smell and poor health.

    When the Huo capital fell, the King decided to accept the invitation of the Yeng to retreat to their territory, instead of entrusting himself to one of the older noble clans. The Yeng built a palace for him west of the city, guarded by thick walls with cannon emplacements at the corners. Two gates of the west now open on the palace area-- one for general use, the other only accessible to the King and his immediate agents. It is officially understood that the King is the guest of the Yeng, and that they retain full control over the city proper, but the palace is entirely under the King's direction.

    Once established at Mutsai, the King took steps to ensure the continued cooperation of the remaining noble Houses. Each clan leader was ordered to send one of his sons to the royal court, ostensibly to sit upon the War Council. The unspoken truth is that they are hostages. They are, however, kept on a loose leash. Most have raised families of their own in the time they have been here. A few have managed to purchase estates outside the city. The rest are mostly scattered throughout the western side of Oldtown, close enough to be near the palace but maintaining a healthy distance from each other.  The noble houses have longstanding rivalries with each other, and plots and schemes are incessant.

    The Yeng, however, continue to run the city like a machine. Even the taverns are kept under a tight leash. Patrols are constant, and any disturbances are swiftly dealt with. The Watch pride themselves on maintaining law and order above ground.

    Below ground is another story.

The Huo

    The ascension of the Huo occurred roughly three hundred years ago. Prior to this, Liangyu had been ruled by the Mi Dynasty, descendants of a powerful sorcerer. This dynasty had at first been strict yet efficient, but gradually slid into tyranny and corruption. The Huo took the lead in their overthrow and assumed their vacated position.

    The Huo set about to fix the damage caused by the Mi's misrule, and were mostly successful. They reinstated the worship of Heaven and forbade human sacrifice. They repaired old roads and built new ones. A network of canals connected the various river systems. Harbors were established along the coast. The farmer, the craftsman, and the merchant were allowed to prosper.

    But ease and idleness bred indolence and ennui. The recent kings have been more concerned with wine and women than the needs of the people. This decadence led directly to the current conflict. The loss of their capital forced them to flee eastward, establishing a new court at Mutsai.

Canids in Liangyu

         For as long as Man can remember, the clans of the dogmen have descended from the Imavant to claim land for themselves. While the long struggle bred resentment towards the species, there were some canid tribes that impressed the Dukes with their skill and honor. When the rebellion broke out the old Duke, wary of a war on two fronts, brokered an alliance with these clans. In exchange for their help, they received land. Some were settled in the westernmost valleys to keep any other canids outs. Others were given fiefdoms conquered from the King's vassals.

        This was not wildly popular at the time, but many Shan have gradually come to accept it. The canids have proved dependable allies and bold comrades in battle. Being carnivores, they subsist on hunting and herding. So whenever the humans are tied down with the harvest, the dogmen are still available to guard the front or run raids-- much like the wooden legions of the east. As for the Xin, they have been widely accepting of the new arrangement, being used to all manner of strange folk who cross the desert to trade with them.

        Canids are still banned by law from entering Hei Chao itself, but several of the chieftains attend the Autumn Feast in Zhigen. Many canids have taken up human beliefs and practices. Some incorporate Zaldohin into the Liangyese pantheon, others identify him with the Lord of Heaven. The canids in Bao have taken to wearing silk and have even established a memorial hall to their ancestors. The emphasis on familial loyalty and piety appeals to them innately.

        Canids seem to have a more intense sense of morality and loyalty than many humans do, although their exact definition of such things may differ strongly. Exactly how this plays out in the lands they hold is a matter of debate. The men of the west hold them up as exemplars of virtue, and say that the human peasants who tend their herds utter no word of complaint. The easterners rejoin that any who do speak up are likely to end up in the cooking pots of their inhuman masters. Lurid accusations aside, some critics point out that the canids are likely to multiply and require more land. They feel that a repeat of the old war seems inevitable-- this time in the heart of Liangyu itself.

The Last Fortress

 No fiction this time. I had a difficult time coming up with what Lust's stronghold should be. I finally settled on a dungeon. But then I ran into another difficulty. The AI art generator blocks the prompt "Dungeon of Lust" for some reason (can't imagine why). So I had to cheat a little. The first set was generated with the prompt "The Dungeon of Longing."

And the next set was generated by the prompt "The Prison of Desire".

Hopefully I'll get back to Liangyu next week.

The Hall of Gluttony

        There are acres upon acres of fields and pastures, orchards and stocked lakes. As you draw nearer, you pass bakeries and confectionaries, breweries and factories. The hall itself is set upon a hill. Once there was a pleasant garden here, but that is long gone. In its place is a sprawling compound. The back is given to vast kitchens and stockyards. Smoke and steam rise unremittingly from a forest of chimneys. The front of the structure is shaped like the head of some gargantuan boar, with the entrance lying in its open maw. A red carpet leads up to it. From within issues a smell like a thousand dive bar dumpsters.

        The Cult of the Tongue hold their debauch incessantly, with a fervor that eclipses most saner faiths. Each member trades years of promise for days of indulgence, in a vain attempt to infinitise the ephemeral. To be sure, you may leave if you will. But the wills of most here have swiftly atrophied.

        Newcomers to the cult earn their place within the first hall, Edacity. Its red walls and Corinthian columns glow dully under a wan sun. Stripped like athletes for the course, the neophytes rowdily begin. Some sample as many different varieties as they can; others gorge themselves on the same thing repeatedly. Troughs for vomiting stand against the walls. These beginners must still purge their stomachs occasionally to continue the meal. Once they no longer require this step, they are ready to move on to the next hall, Gulosity.

        Gulosity is more sedate, if only because those who make it here have begun to lose the use of their legs. Solomonic pillars hold up the vaulted ceiling. Two long tables hold the course. Wax of a thousand scented candles pools on the pea-green tablecloth, catching crumbs and other fragments. Servants are quick to whisk away empty trays and replace them with fresh viands. Some is organic, birthed from the earth and blessed by the sun. Some is sludge churned from a machine. All is defiled by Gluttony's touch.

        The marble floor is slick with spilt drinks, vomit and worse things. There are privies and washrooms nearby but most cannot bear (mentally or in some cases bodily) to leave the table for so long, and have brought chamber pots with them to do their necessary business in. Pages stand in the shadows, ready to empty them when filled.

        In side chambers are sunken dens for consumers of hashish, opium, and other drugs. The Halls cater to those who seek nothing beyond the present. The Dens are for those who reject even that gift. Here intoxicants and narcotics of all kinds are to be found-- anything that dulls or distorts the senses. All is for the asking, in extreme overabundance. The mind is destroyed some time before the flesh finally gives out. Bodies are regularly carted out from here and dumped in the fishpond or the pigs' feeding grounds.

        The final hall, Esurience, is for the most devoted. A more intimate setting, but no less ornate. Fruits the size of skulls are piled against the wall. Crows fly through the hall, tearing live flesh from guests so engrossed in their feasting that they do not notice that they themselves are being consumed. Swarms of flies and other insects buzz around the heaps of decaying food.

        Looking around, one sees evidence of bodily corruption. Tumors, immense folds of fat, skin stretched near to the bursting point. But it is the souls that are the most debased. It is not unheard of for one guest, craving something new, to attempt to devour his neighbor.

        When one of Gluttony's elites can truly eat no more, they are congratulated and ushered down a long stairway. Far below the overburdened foundations of the house lies a vast cavern, hollowed out by eons' worth of grease and refuse. The Lord of Excess reclines in a great pit in the center. Gluttony on his throne resembles nothing so much as a corpulent maggot feasting on humanity. Here his Perfected are brought before him, having fattened to the ultimate limit. One by one they are lowered into his ever-gaping jaws, too bloated to even think, much less scream.

Tombs of the Xin

    I have hitherto refrained from addressing the rather distasteful subject of graverobbing. However, as I know many among my readers take part in (and in some cases have developed a reputation for) this practice, I am bound to touch upon it.

    The Xin tombs (at least the ones worth plundering) are generally laid out in a spiral pattern ascending toward the center, representing the soul's journey up the World Mountain to the Bright Halls. This is known as the Luóxuán style. But the various executions of this theme may differ wildly. A tomb may be at the summit of mountain. Another may be on an upper level of a tower wrapped in a coiling stairway. Or the path to the tomb may be underground within an artificial mound. Always the path will spiral inward, clockwise, generally with stations as checkpoints representing the Heavenly Barricades of popular belief. There may be side passages containing treasure or ceremonial artifacts.

    Traps are to be expected, as are supernatural guardians. Unlike most Liangyese, the Xin do not utilize ghosts as guardians. They feel that to keep a man's soul trapped in such a way is to deprive him of his destined apotheosis-- a worse crime than even murder. Necromancers who dabble in such activities are advised to not draw attention to themselves while sojourning here. But "animated" corpses (which function on a basic set of spells without any need for full sapience) are allowed, as they are in the rest of the country. There are also tomb guardians of a more otherworldly nature.

    Five or six centuries ago, it chanced that two wizards arrived in Xin from parts unknown, bringing arcane lore from their own distant homelands. At that time a particularly ruthless breed of tomb raiders were operating in the area, and the Xin were eager for stronger security measures. Enter Talhaller and Beshu. These two hired themselves out and summoned familiars to fill the role of immortal sentries. Their business rivalry was the stuff of legends, and their dedication to the hustle impressed even the Xin. Talhaller's particular brand of sprite was the Guardian, a capriform entity armed with a spear and capable of long leaps. Beshu, on the other hand, summoned the Watcher, a large floating eyeball with a vast set of powerful tentacles. Both species are to be considered highly dangerous.

    If you do decide to plunder a tomb, there are several factors to consider. First, it may well have been plundered long before you got there. Second, the local gangs may present a problem getting in or out. A crime lord may decide to back you if you present it to him nicely and ofer him a cut-- but only if he thinks your plan will succeed. Of course you should first make sure he isn't closely related to the deceased, or too concerned about divine retribution. Law enforcement presents its own set of headaches. I am told that the local rates for bribery are considerably higher than would otherwise be typical, due to a variety of economic reasons.

    These days, of course, the Xin are more enlightened and have left off placing fabulous riches in their graves. Modern dogma states that the gods really fancy pewter and stone, having plenty of gold and silver up there already. Basically any tomb built in the last hundred years is not going to be worth your time.

    My scribe Hoshab informs me that I am legally obligated to state the following: The Cutthroat's Compleat Guide to Liangyu does not endorse the plundering of tombs and the desecrating of corpses. The author does not offer advice in the hopes of encouraging any manner of illegal or immoral activity, and will not be held responsible if said activity results in unpleasant consequences for any parties involved. On your own head be it.

The Vault of Greed

    Greed's Temple to Mammon stands on a high mountain range. It is said that one can see all the kingdoms of the world from these peaks. The facade is of classical design with gilt pillars, but the building itself is more modern. It appears to have been added on to by varied minds in diverse ages. The temple contains all the amenities one would expect for the center of one of the world's oldest and most established religions, including a state of the art broadcast studio. The Lord of Lucre presides over services every Monday morning, but followers can catch up on the latest message at their convenience, on air or online. Greed is second only to Lust in media exposure.

    The Temple is open to all, but the Vault is only for members. The chamber containing the first great door is modelled on something like classical lines. Made of Tyrian bronze, the Gate of Grasping will open only to those who pay the steep entrance fee. Members from around the world bring many such investments in hopes of profitable returns. After paying, the new Initiate is sprinkled with "gold dust", actually ground-up pyrite, and allowed within. This section is as far as most followers get. The price of admission climbs higher as the Vault gets deeper.

    Deeper within the mountain one comes to a somewhat Baroque chamber lit by a sky-well and ringed with bookcases full of ledgers. This room contains the next door, the Gate of Avarice, made of steel bars covered with silver. Here, would-be entrants must surrender all belief and even opinion to the Great Device. A detailed record of each one's words and deeds is kept, to be used against him if the Device deems it advisable. The policy of the Device is slowly but continually shifting, so that what was acceptable one year is anathema the next. Bent to its will like grass to the wind, the new Adepts enter Avarice and trudge ahead, past exhausted mineshafts that are now used for storage.

    At the end of the long sloping tunnel is the last chamber. The room is artificially lit from the top, where steam from a nearby hot spring is piped in to simulate clouds. The moisture is constantly peeling flecks of sky-blue paint from the cavern ceiling. In contrast, the walls of the grotto are given over to a hideous riot of rococo excess and golden statues. Here one finds the final door, the Gate of Cupidity. Its slender bars are of titanium alloy, coated with gold. A steady rhythmic sound can be heard from behind the doors. One might almost mistake it for the heartbeat of the earth herself. It is thousands of hearts beating in depressing unison, the last sacrifice of Greed's most devoted followers. Having been divested of their final fragment of humanity, the newly Hollowed are given a gray suit and and a beige briefcase. They are then sent forth into the world, conquering and to conquer.

    And yet the hearts drone on in dull monotony: "More... More... More..."

Gods-in-Waiting: The Xin

 

       North of the Shan hills lies the land of their allies, the Xin. The Xin capital, Zei Shufang, lies at the terminus of the Great Road, the trade route that brings goods from the distant west. Access to this trade route has made the Xin wealthy, earning them the envy and ire of the Huo kings and many of the feudal nobility. The former King had been making plans to move his capital to Xin and take control of it directly at the time when the Shan started their rebellion. The Xin were not eager to have their ancient liberties infringed upon, so it seemed natural for them to join the Shan. The alliance has prospered, and they continue to do a brisk trade (with hefty markup), despite catering to a smaller number of provinces.

The Xin stand out. Brown and red hair are common, a mark of their mixed ancestry. The laws of the marketplace govern their conduct. The quiet stall sees no traffic, so Xin tend to be loud, outgoing, and shamelessly self-promoting. Whereas in the rest of Liangyu even nobles are expected to be reserved and self-deprecating, a Xin commoner will begin listing all of his skills and accomplishments within moments of meeting you. He will constantly be mentioning people he knows who could get you a really good bargain on this or that. And he will keep bringing these things up at every opportunity.

Like his pride, a Xin man wears his passions openly. Lamentations of sorrow or boisterous declarations of love are given with drama and earnestness. He is also quick to lash out with word or hand if he feels slighted. But his anger passes just as quickly, and he will soon be laughing and buying the next round of drinks. A Xin seems to have little thought of revenge or resentment. When pressed on this, he may shrug and say "Grudges earn no gold." Or he may laugh and say "If it's a fight you want, just wait till I'm a god. Then we'll have a proper match."

And here lies another oddity about the Xin, their view of the afterlife. It seems to be a matter of perspective. While a pious Shan's view of the Bright Courts centers on his deified ancestors, the Xin is fixated on his own future apotheosis there. Both are theologically correct (at least, according to the ancient traditions), but the two attitudes could not be more strikingly different. A Xin's entire life is thought to be a grand journey toward a glorious enthronement.

Perhaps it is this self-assurance which makes them so ostentatious with regards to appearance. They wear exotic furs and expensive fabrics worked into bold patterns of varied hues. Jewelry is also popular, the gaudier the better. It doubles as wealth storage, at least for those strong or nimble enough to keep hold of it. There are plenty of quick hands eager to relieve them of the burden.

Thieves of all stripes are a constant problem here. Most work in highly organized networks, each with its own chieftain who plans heists and protects underlings with bail and bribe. In return he takes a fixed cut of the loot. Lone wolves do crop up occasionally, but they rarely last. It is a difficult thing to dodge both criminals and the law, particularly when they work so well together. Of course, you could always hightail it for the desert, but you'd better have a faster horse than the gendarmerie.

The introduction of western horses has changed life for the Xin. Liangyese horses tend to be small, best used in teams to pull wagons or chariots. The new horses being imported are stronger and swifter, allowing for the the development of true cavalry. The Xin have taken to them quickly, riding into combat wearing bright silk over bronze armor and yelling piercing war cries. Fearless and energetic, Xin warriors have made a name for themselves both as soldiers in the war and as caravan guards along the Great Road.

The Xin have profited greatly from the war, both in plunder and the arms trade. It is rumored that some of them are playing both sides by selling to the enemy, hoping to drag the war out as long as possible. This is hotly denied and would be a major scandal if it could be proved.

The Last Book

    A little book lies unopened on the floor of Sloth's tomb.

    It was once larger. Far larger, they say, containing all of the Great Books which had yet to be written. Not the most well-written or the most read, but the most crucial-- the books that shape the destiny of a world.  Whenever an author completes one of these in the realm outside, the text of that work disappears from this tome. The strange volume has diminished greatly over time, as its pages vanish from beneath its cover to appear in the hands of humanity.

    What the truth of this matter is, I cannot say. I did not open the book on either of my visits, as my purpose was otherwise and time was pressing. But I can attest that it was noticeably smaller the second time I was there. Rather disturbingly so. I can only guess, but surely there is room for only one more book within those few pages.

    The Last Book! What will it say? What minds will grapple with it, and to what path will its words bend them? Who will wrest this Book, the Last Book, from the House of Unbeing?

Greater Lizards of the Western Hills

 

   Wajue are reptiles roughly the size of a sheep when full-grown. In the wild, they use their forepaws to dig dens on south-facing hillsides. Wajue mate for life, and each pair has its own den. Dens are often clustered closely together for mutual defense, and wajue take turns standing watch to warn of approaching danger. If they sense a threat they will emit a loud yelp which alerts the clan.

    Wajue are opportunistic creatures, as likely to snack on rodents or birds as they are to eat fruits or fungus they find on the forest floor. They not above scavenging other creature's kills. Markedly clever, they are known to set ambushes and lie patiently in wait for unwary prey. They have been known to dig their way into henhouses, and many farmers view the wild ones as nuisances. In some places they offer bounties.

    Their social behavior has made domestication a relatively straightforward process, and tame wajue often fill the role of both cat and dog for many Shan. They are excellent at pest control, being able to dig after vermin and pounce swiftly on landing birds. Their instincts make them natural sentries. Often they are used to guard grain silos both from pests and prowlers. Grain is one of the few things wajue do not eat.

    Tame wajue have sometimes been exported outside of Shanguo. While they are not common, they can be found in eastern towns or even the trade cities of the north. But the wild ones are only found in the hills of Shanguo. Wolves, tigers and snow leopards will fight them but not feed on them. Bears and zhao will eat them if they are hungry.

    Zhao will eat just about anything that size, unless they are well-trained. These winged reptiles were once common in the river valleys of Shanguo. Their appetite for small farm animals led to a campaign against them. Nests were discovered and destroyed. It has been a long time since any of the fliers have been spotted in the wild. But many eggs were taken back to Hei Chao, for domestication.

    The zhao is unusual in that it is capable of carrying a human while flying-- a small human, at least. There is a definite weight limit to what they can carry, so zhao riders tend to be on the smaller side-- maidens, youths, midgets. Although its scales offer some protection, the zhao is not suitable for direct combat. Zhao riders serve as scouts, sentries, and couriers. Being able to bypass the long ground journey to maintain lines of communication has been critical to the war effort thus far.

    Tame zhao are conditioned to accept human presence from the moment of hatching. Those raised at Hei Chao are the only living ones known to exist, and the breeding pool is dangerously low. The Shan would pay handsomely for any eggs found in the wild. Of course, the Huo might well pay more.

    The keening cry of the sheng echoes through the densest forests and most forbidding slopes of Shanguo. Bipedal and surefooted, these herbivores can navigate terrain that would leave most creatures bewildered. They are uniquely suited for the steep rocky slopes, their thick soles shielding their feet while providing excellent traction. Their senses are keen, and their feet can pick up tremors in the earth, alerting them to the presence of creatures miles off. Their spatial awareness and agility allow them to pass through woodlands with swiftness and even stealth, flitting among the trees like gray ghosts.

    The sheng are sacred to the Shan, who believe that their ancestors sometimes reincarnate in this form. The hunting of these beasts is punishable by death, and only those of the Shan bloodline are allowed to ride them. For a long while this law was hardly necessary, for the beasts will not easily bend their necks to strangers, but must be raised from the shell to accept the smell of particular humans and their close kin. These days there are enemies who would pay dearly for sheng eggs, and the nests must be closely guarded.

    The use of sheng in mountain warfare should not be underestimated. Both as mounts and as pack animals, sheng allow for quick movement across terrain that would bog down man or horse. The ability to deploy armies from Hei Chao swiftly across treacherous mountain trails has saved the realm from canid invaders from the west countless times in the past. Now it is used to harry and confound the wooden soldiers of the east in brutal hit-and-run strikes.

    There are other large reptiles in Shanguo but only these have been tamed by men. None are known to prey on humans, but this does not make them harmless. The large duckbill, for instance, grows up to fifty feet long and has been known to capsize boats if they come too close to it. Hornbrows, stonepates, clubtails and spearflanks should all be treated with caution if approached in the wild.

    The canids say that such beasts were far more widespread long ago, but a race of serpent-men slew most of them.

The Tomb of Sloth

     In the primal war between Good and Evil, some spirits refused to take a side. But abstaining from a choice is itself a decision, and they soon found themselves in the thrall of a new master. After the great expulsion, they were tasked with building a monument for him.

    The Tomb of Sloth is found on the borderline between Cowardice and Apathy-- claimed by neither but frequented by both. As the only serious rival to both God and Satan, Sloth's memorial was originally intended to be far larger. Unfinished buildings dot the surrounding landscape, slowly falling into decay. The plain hums with murmured words, indiscernible, drifting on the wind. The ghosts of things half-formed haunt this place-- thoughts half-finished, deeds half-done. 

    The tomb's attendants are a sordid lot, their forms now bestial, now human, now some unholy parody of living flesh. Their vacant minds are in such thrall to Sloth that their very bodies have rebelled, twisting into strange shapes from sheer revulsion to the unremitting monotony-- desperate for change, any change. Their movements are languid and awkward as they slink, squat, or sprawl about the monument. Anyone approaching the structure will soon learn why, as the weight of Sloth's influence causes the steps to slow and the spine to stiffen. The air feels thick and sound is muffled.

    The interior of the mausoleum slopes downward to a natural cave, lit by fissures in its roof. A statue stands here depicting the Recumbent King. Gathered around are the lieutenants of Sloth's Inner Circle, half submerged in caked mud. Their eyes track you as you approach. Those that have a free limb may attempt to hinder you. As Sloth's agents, their gaze is hypnotic and their touch paralyzes. Proceed with caution. Within the base of the sculpture is a tunnel, near choked with debris. There is barely room to slither through it to the lower cavern which contains the sepulchre itself. (It may perhaps be easier to climb over the monument and drop down through the natural opening beyond, but such insolence will not go unpunished).

    The weight on one's body and mind increases as one draws nearer to the Lord of Torpor. His presence saps like summer heat and numbs like winter chill. Yet the cave itself is lukewarm. The tepid waters which hollowed out this space vanished ages ago. The silence of the dry air is broken only by the shallow breathing of Sloth himself, stretched out on the top of his tomb. He has lingered here for untold centuries-- even dying is too much of a bother. He has outlasted his most devoted followers, who leave behind little more than a few hardened skulls and the sands of a spent hourglass.

    Thus to enter. Leaving is another matter. Sloth's oppressive presence will hinder movement and deaden thought. It will also daunt your will. You may feel it impossible to drag yourself back through the cramped tunnel and the grasping sycophants and the lurching hulks of the plain-- certainly not without a rest first. A quick sleep, a cat nap. Just a brief shutting of the eyes... of course, I don't need to explain to you that such a sleep would have no waking. If you truly must visit this place, it would be best to bring some form of magic that can bear you swiftly away.

    How did I escape? That's another story.