The Fun of Oracular Dice

I expect that MUTANT LORD CARL will probably cover this too (he has promised to!) but I wanted to briefly mention what a great time I had tonight at the regular Friday Mutant Future game session, particularly because we seemed to have some pretty oracular dice tonight.  There were some well-timed good rolls by myself and the party, but just as many flubbed ones, by party and Mutant Lord alike, that really appropriately fit the scenarios we were in.  Carl will fill in details on the Mutagenic Substance blog, but as usual, GROGNARDIA offers some good thoughts on the power and pleasures of randomness, a key element of old-school games that seems to have been largely drummed out of newer "point-buy" based and "balanced" rules systems.  Here is a key quote on why true randomness, as represented by die rolling, is FUN:

"There's something powerfully primal about tossing dice and waiting to see the numbers they reveal.  [. . .]  [The] real heart of this particular matter [is] the embrace of events beyond your control as an integral part of the gaming experience. This includes players and referees alike, it should be noted."

Why I'm doing this

As a recent post of mine reveals, I have been reading lots of posts over at James Maliszewski's excellent GROGNARDIA blog about the zeitgeist of old-school gaming, those aspects of OD&D that may feel like "gaps" or "omissions" to some (maybe particularly new-school gamers who grew up playing D&D 3e and its spawn), but feel like opportunities for world-building, improvisation, and, well, adventure for those of us who prefer the older "rules light" systems.  Clearly, I identify myself as being in the latter category, an old-schooler through-and-through.  Why, then, do I decide to blog about a homegrown campaign world?  Doesn't that run counter to the school of thought that says we OD&D'ers should be D.I.Y.'ers when it comes to world-building?

And indeed, I must admit that my primary aim here is neither altruistic nor an explicit endorsement of how I think the hobby should be.  I tend to agree with James M.'s critical views on the era of prepackaged TSR campaign worlds, and I absolutely love the diversity and variation that emerges when each gaming group has its own "house rules" and house campaign settings.  Obviously, I really enjoy world-building myself and never had much use for prepackaged game worlds like Greyhawk.  So when it comes to my work here on the Lands of Ara, I mostly post this stuff for myself because I would be writing it out in one form or another for my own use anyway.  I am primarily working out my own ideas for a forthcoming Labyrinth Lord campaign, here in a public forum.  I don't actually care that much if anyone else ever uses it, because I am going to use the shit out of it when I get my campaign going in the next couple of months.

Nevertheless, I think there may possibly be something of value on my "Lands of Ara" blog for other referees too.  I have had conversations with RPG'ing friends and read blog posts that acknowledge how inspiring and creativity-generating it can be to simply read other people's stuff: adventure ideas, traps, new monsters, discussion of character class parameters, random tables for generating who-knows-what.  Just the other evening I was leafing through the old AD&D Dungeon Master's Guide, reading about magic swords (the "treasure" chapter has always been my favorite in the DMG) and getting some great dungeon encounter ideas therefrom.  We get inspired by what we read; whether we directly utilize other people's stuff in our campaigns or not, reading other people's stuff has its own intrinsic rewards.  This is why I am so enthusiastic about the old-school gaming community right now.

And the Lands of Ara is the best thing I have to offer.  Like many referees, I am a big-picture guy; I like to set up a few broad details about a region, prepare a few adventure hooks with at least a session's worth of follow-up materials, and let 'er rip.  I love to improvise in response to players and their desires and actions, so my campaigns often go "off the map" into unpredicted areas.  But Ara is my favorite continent on which to do all this, and since I am not particularly good at inventing cool new traps or exciting new monsters, this is what you get from me, since I need to convert it into OD&D terms for my own use anyway.  I hope some of it is useful and/or inspiring to others.

Rodians Update

I have been thinking further about rodians, and despite my strong urge to conform the Lands of Ara to the OD&D rules paradigm as closely as possible, I still feel compelled to make rodians more like they really were in the original Ara, which means giving them a few different class options rather than confining them to a single race-as-class.  Thus I offer this update, which is meant to supersede the information given on rodians in this previous post.

While the rat-like rodians are still meant as a replacement for halflings in the campaign world of the Lands of Ara, rodians no longer level as Labyrinth Lord halflings.  Rodians instead have three class options: Rodian Duellist, Rodian Rogue, and Rodian Illusionist.  These I will describe in a moment, but first a few general comments applicable to all rodian characters:

Rodian
Requirements:  DEX 9
Prime requisite:  see class descriptions
Hit Dice:  see class descriptions
Maximum level:  see class descriptions

Rodians may not use large or two-handed weapons, but may use any other weapon or armor permitted by their class.

Rodians are excellent utilizers of urban camouflage and can hide in shadows or
behind other forms of cover when in cities or underground labyrinths on a roll of 1-2 on 1d6, though they must also be silent and motionless.  Rodians are dexterous folk who get a bonus of +1 to initiative rolls when alone or in a party composed only of rodians. Because they are so small, rodians have a lower armor class (-2) when attacked by creatures greater than human sized.

Now the three rodian class descriptions:

Rodian Duellist
Levels as Labyrinth Lord Fighter, no two-handed or large weapons
Requirements:  STR 9, DEX 9 (all rodians)
Prime requisites:  STR, DEX
Hit Dice:  1d6
Maximum level:  10
Note:  May use any light weapons to personal taste but tend to use cutlasses (treat as scimitar) and/or duelling rapiers (treat as short sword) in melee combat and to prefer crossbows as ranged weapons. 

Rodian Rogue
Levels as Grognardian Thief, same armor restrictions as Grognardian Thief
Requirements: DEX 9 (all rodians)
Prime requisite:  DEX
Hit Dice:  1d4 (as opposed to 1d6-1 for human thieves)
Maximum level:  none
Note: I would probably allow a rodian Assassin as well, as per the Player’s Handbook Assassin (pp. 28-30).

Rodian Illusionist
Levels as AD&D Player’s Handbook Illusionist (class description p. 26, Spell list p. 42)
Requirements:  INT 15, DEX 16
Prime requisite:  INT
Hit Dice:  1d4
Maximum level:  none
Note:  Rodian Illusionists mostly come from Suhl, where they study at the remote and mysterious Black Cloister.  There are now some rodian Illusionist teaching centers in rodian-frequented port cities like Jakama and The Free City of Kaladar, but high-level (level six and above) rodian Illusionists must return to the Cloister every other level (every even level from six upward) for specialized teachings and initiation rites. 

A great post on Old-School gaming at GROGNARDIA

Hey, check out this terrific post on the virtues of old-school gaming by GROGNARDIA's James Maliszewski.  James and I entered the hobby at around the same time (late 1970s/early 1980s) and in most areas I find he speaks very clearly about the vibe of the hobby in those days, echoing my feelings and thoughts on such matters.

A quote from that post:

"OD&D shows us that game design is something that happens at the game table more than at the game company that produced the original rulebook. These games inculcate a do-it-yourself ethos that led to an explosion of different "D&Ds," each one a reflection of the people who played it."

This is a good thing.

Pre-History of Noffel pt. V of V

by Sawith, Chief Scribe of Kaladar

The Legend of the Crimson Blades Part II

Excerpted from the journal of Dagbar Karibekian, captain of the Tarandis

Old Calendar year 2288

[Karibekian's journal continues. . . ]

First moon of the storms, day sixteen.
I awakened in my cabin. The sun was already up, and the cabin was stuffy. I leaped nimbly out of bed.
My feet on the wooden decking looked and felt smaller than before. I keep a small piece of brass in my cabin that can be used as a looking glass. Taking it out and looking into it, I found myself staring at a rodent-like face: elongated snout, small pointed ears, fine hairs, and large, wiry whiskers. Only my eyes were the same as before.
Now I fully understood why Olrath had been watching the rats. He saw that they were survivors, immune to the red death.
I put away the piece of brass and bounded out of my cabin. Of habit I ducked at the bulkhead, and yet I was shorter than before, by a whole head. I was lighter on my feet as well. I climbed above decks, eager to see my crew.
I emerged into a warm day, patches of gray clouds dancing round the sun, strong winds. Some of the crew were there, and I spoke with them and we looked each other over. Strangely, I could still recognize each person, despite the change in his or her physical features. Alara, the helmsman's second mate, approached me and asked what we were going to do now. "Sail!" I replied, and rang the ship's bell. My newly reborn crew appeared on deck; of Olrath there was no sign.
"Hear this!" I shouted, "Brave sailors of the Tarandis, we have escaped the red death, and have been reborn. This is only the beginning! Once we complete this voyage, we shall return to Noffel, where I shall commission a new ship to be built, one that better suits our new shape and size, and we shall fearlessly sail these waters as we always have!" There were cheers and shouts from the crew.
"Our first task, however, is to get Tarandis around the horn and up the west coast. So heave to! Unfurl the sails! Attend the helm!"
The crew acted quickly, and soon we were crawling our way west once again.

First moon of the storms, day twenty.
Still battling the winds of the western sea. I put the oarsmen to work two days ago, but their strength is not what it used to be. Our rebirth has made us more agile, more able to climb in the rigging without mishap, and has even improved my sea legs. We are smaller now though, and not quite as physically strong as before. The fourteen warriors who chose against rebirth stay below decks, avoiding the rest of us, sitting apart at mess. If we do not clear the peninsula within a fortnight, I will give the order to make landfall—to rest, re-provision, and let the warriors go.

Second moon of the storms, day one.
Olrath came out of her berth this morning. She also has been reborn—she appears tired. But she also seems very happy, and she spent the day mingling amongst the crew, asking them all kinds of questions. We owe her our lives. She says, “Our own strength and courage have seen us through.”
I wonder: who is this woman Olrath? A sorceress, yes, but of such great power and ability that I find it hard to believe that I’ve never heard her name before in Noffel. Only one magus I’ve heard of has such power to do what she has done aboard the Tarandis. . .
Just after midday, a storm rose up in fury from the southwest, striking Tarandis like a fist. Before we could trim the sails, the ship was blown back toward the coastline, the main mast cracked. The winds howled, the sea boiled, and sheets of rain and seawater pelted the deck. Two of Baris’ oarsmen, above decks for a smoke, would have been swept over the side had it not been for their rebirth. In their new form they were able to leap into the rigging and save themselves.
Hours passed, and the storm only worsened. In all my years sailing this waterway, I’ve never met a storm like this. It blows us back the way we came, into the east. Tonight we sail tied down to our posts, helpless in the face of the darkness and the storm.

Second moon of the storms, day three.
Mid-morning, the storm has abated, but not before snapping the main mast completely. We will erect the spare mast, but I wonder what good it will do. Land out of sight, and a dead calm has fallen. There are no landmarks and no wind. We are lost.

Second moon of the storms, day seven.
Still no winds. Baris’ oarsmen have been working straight shifts for three days, pushing Tarandis north in search of the continent. But gods know how far the storm blew us, and the oarsmen need rest. Tarandis is frozen in time on a sea of glass.

Second moon of the storms, day eighteen.
Dead calm. No sign of land. I read despair in the faces of the crew. I cannot push the oarsmen any longer.

[Note: Here Captain Karibekian’s log begins to refer to “Olrath” as Awra. Perhaps the captain merely surmised this; perhaps he confronted “Olrath” and was confirmed in his suspicions. The log does not tell. –S.]

Second moon of the storms, day twenty-one.
Tarandis still adrift. This morning I was standing on deck with Awra, and a gray sea bird (which sailors call “Suhl” after its piercing cry) came and landed upon the railing directly in front of me. “Suhl! Suhl!” it cried. This is unusual because normally the birds keep their distance from us, flying around the ship but rarely landing onboard. This one perched there and stared at me. Odd as this may seem, I felt as if it were trying to communicate with me.
Awra noticed this too, for she said, “Captain, it seems your friend here is talking to you.”
“Yes, but what is she saying?” I asked.
Awra replied, “Perhaps she is a guide.”
With another cry of “Suhl!” the gray bird took to the air, flying in a long loop to the northwest, then returning to the rail.
Strange things happen at sea, and I have seen even stranger things on this voyage with Awra. My intuition told me that this little sea bird was indeed a guide of some sort, and was indicating a direction to me. On this impulse, I ordered the helmsman to alter Tarandis' course. We would sail to the northwest.
My guide seemed pleased, and gave me an approving “Suhl! Suhl!” before fluttering up to perch on the bowsprit.

Second moon of the storms, day twenty-six.
We have followed the strange bird for five days now. Late in the day, the watch reported seeing something to the northwest. Land! The oarsmen jumped to, and by nightfall we were within shouting distance. No fires or other signs of habitation. Tomorrow at dawn I send a party ashore.

Third moon of the storms, day one.
The landing party has been away two days, and meanwhile I put the crew to work repairing storm damage and taking stock of the ship’s provisions. After the noon watch today, Lors gave me the quartermaster’s report: enough supplies to last for twenty-eight more days at sea, forty if the crew goes on emergency rations.
As a mariner I have heard tales of vessels that have been caught up in storms and blown out of sight of the mainland. Most of these meet with a grim fate. With no way of knowing our exact location, we must hope that this landfall we have made will give us a familiar sign. It resembles no known feature of the Arandish coast that I have seen, but hope is not lost. I await the landing party’s return.

Third moon of the storms, day fourteen.
We have been so busy in the many days since my last entry that I hardly know where to begin. We have begun to establish a settlement here, and Baris and his men have begun harvesting timber from the island's interior in order to build temporary shelters and craft suitable for fishing. Despite the occasionally threatening weather, our good fortune has held and I feel we will survive to establish more permanent settlements by the time winter season fully arrives.
Awra claims that in time we shall forget our Noffellian roots and come to think of ourselves as Suhlians, after our new island home.
Rogath and his men have expressed their wish to leave us, risking a perilous sea journey on the thin hope of somehow finding their way back to the Arandish mainland. Some of the changed felt resentful upon hearing this, and a duel broke out between one of our Suhlians and a human. The latter, unprepared to defend himself against the superior speed and reflexes of our man, was killed--fortunately the cooler heads on both sides, myself included, were able to intervene and prevent further combat and loss of life. But this bloody denouement only widened the rift between the Noffellians and us, and bolstered their desire to be gone.
At the appointed time (two days ago now) we accompanied them to the jetty, and giving them the two ship's boats from the Tarandis, we bid them our final farewell. Awra proclaimed, "Go forth now, thou thirteen unbelievers, to meet your destiny! I now lay an enchantment upon these boats that they may see you swiftly whither thou will. And I lay upon you a curse of forgetfulness, so that should you reach the mainland, not one among you will remember this place or this voyage. But. . ." here she paused, closing her eyes and drawing in a long breath, ". . . your blades will bear the mark of these events forever."
And lo! dark thunderheads swept the sky surrounding that rocky shoreline and the frantically bobbing sculls. And as the Noffellians climbed aboard their two tiny craft and began to row out into the engulfing, black sea, their thirteen swords--just for an instant, in a sudden flash of lightning--seemed to gleam in the windy darkness, every one the same: a dull, deep crimson.
The two boats rowed out of sight and it is not likely that we shall ever see the Noffellians again.

Pre-History of Noffel pt. IV of V

by Sawith, Chief Scribe of Kaladar

The Voyage of the Tarandis
A few years back, I had the great fortune to visit the island realm of Suhl and obtain a copy of the log of Dagbar Karibekian, the captain of the Tarandis during Awra’s fateful voyage aboard that ship.  This document is of great historical interest and importance, for it records, among other things, the last known encounter with Awra before she disappeared from the face of human (and Suhlian) history. It should be noted that Awra used an assumed name to hire Tarandis and her crew, and it is unclear from Captain Karibekian’s log whether or not Awra ever revealed her true identity. However, in the entry dated “second moon of the storms, day twenty one,” the log begins to refer to the magus as Awra. Perhaps the captain merely surmised this; perhaps he confronted “Olrath” and was confirmed in his suspicions.

What follows are selections from Karibekian’s log.  The translation (from the Old Noffellian) is my own.

Third moon of summer, day six
Still in Jakarta port, refurbishing Tarandis’ helm.  A gray-haired woman approached me dockside today.
“You are Captain Karibekian?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“And your ship is the Tarandis?”
“Yes.”
“I greet you.  My name is Olrath.  I come from Margdar, one of the inland baronies.  I wish to hire your ship and crew for a voyage around the southern peninsula, to the Faerie settlement of Al-Nurna.”
“I can take you as far as New Port—no further,” said I.
“This is acceptable,” said she.
“Eight hundred silvers for me, my ship, and her crew.  I further require you to retain and provision fifty warriors for the duration of the voyage north.  Dangerous seas, dangerous ports.”
“It is done.”
She pulled a worn goatskin satchel from ‘neath her weather-stained cloak, and drew out four gold pieces.
“Half payment now—the rest the day we set sail.”
I took the money, hiding my wonderment.  Gold!  Who was this woman?
“We sail in seven days,” I told her.
“Excellent!” said she.
I watched her as she walked back along the pier in the midday sun, losing sight of her in the wash of fisher-folk and merchants who crowd the waterfront.

Third moon of summer, day thirteen.
Set sail from the port of Jakarta today on voyage commissioned by Olrath of Margdar.  The day is bright and warm; there are strong southerly winds.  We are making good headway today.  I anticipate rounding the southern tip of Rakar’s peninsula in twenty days if all goes well.  Olra seems at ease aboard ship—unusual for an inlander.  She sits in the bow, looking out to sea, hours at a time.  As if she believes she is guiding Tarandis onward.

Third moon of summer, day twenty-eight.
Already the warriors onboard grow restless, eager to be on land again.  But not Olrath.  She divides his time between sitting in the bow, and walking the main deck, watching the crew.  Mealtimes in the galley, she asks them questions and plays card games with them.  She seems interested in learning how Tarandis sails.  She is perceptive and unassuming, and I see many of the crewmen have come to like her.  She is their constant companion.

First moon of the stormy season, day one.
Tarandis made the tip of Komar’s point just before sunset today.  That makes a sixteen-day sail from Jakarta, fastest I’ve ever done.  Winds have been good, an easy time for the oarsmen so far; but they’ll earn their provisions once we round the horn.  The western sea is choppy this time of year, the winds unpredictable.  Oh yes, we’ll all earn our sleep. . . I estimate one hundred sixty days to New Port, if all goes well.

First moon of the stormy season, day two.
My lifelong fear has come true: two days before rounding Rakar’s horn, and the red death is upon us.  Three crewmen are dead. . . six more in quarantine in the third mate’s quarters.  Over the years of my captaincy, in morning prayers to the sea-goddess, I have beseeched her to spare my crew from the terrible agony of the red plague, the sailor’s doom.  She has always heard me, until now.  O Kala, why hast thou brought down your hatred?  What have I done to earn the greatest of horrors?  Let us make offerings!  Take Tarandis if you must!  But spare the crew, and sweep away the red terror that threatens us all! 

First moon of the stormy season, day six.
Seven more dead, and ten more showing the telltale red spots around the throat and eyes.  Everyone is afraid.  The red death has killed larger crews than this in under a fortnight.  Of course many of the men wish to make landfall, but they know as I do that we must stay at sea until the red plague passes or kills all of us.  It is a seagoing plague and no captain has ever violated this code.  To do otherwise would endanger all our brethren on shore.  Some crewmen argue that we are too far south to be near any human settlement, but it is no matter.  We are dead.  We stay our westerly course.

First moon of the stormy season, day eleven.
Four more dead, including two of the warriors.  Baris, the chief oarsman, quarantined today.  In a few more days we will have lost enough crew to make Tarandis unable to sail.  Only the shipboard rats remain unaffected.

First moon of the stormy season, day thirteen.
Our progress is slow—the winds are against us.  Tarandis inches her way west, trying to get clear of the horn.Three more crewmen gone.  Baris still clings stubbornly to life, feverish, his breathing spotty.   Olrath spends most of her time below decks of late. Meeting her in the galley this noontide, I asked her what she was doing. 
She told me, “Observing the rats.”
“The rats?” I asked, finding this curious. 
“Yes,” she replied, “They are were well adapted to life aboard ship, and are fierce survivors as well.  They are immune to this plague which kills your crew.” 
Olrath’s habits are strange, but there is a thoughtfulness and purpose behind them.  What do the rats portend?  Will they be the only survivors of the Tarandis?

First moon of the stormy season, day fourteen.
After the morning meal, Olrath asked my permission to call a meeting of the entire crew.  I rang the ship’s bell, and all gathered around her on deck.  She spoke in a strong, clear voice, saying:
“My companions, it is time to drop pretenses and speak openly together.  Our situation is grave. 
“I am a magus—what you would call a sorceress.  While I know this will turn some of you against me, I feel you must know the truth if we are to act together to save ourselves.  I know a way to deliver you all in good health through our present circumstance.  I will need your cooperation.  I ask you not to succumb to your fears about me.  Having lived aboard ship with me these many weeks, you must know in your hearts that I can be trusted, that I serve the powers of life, and that I am able to help you.  Will you trust me?”
Rogath Silverblade, the most headstrong of the Noffellian warriors, rose in anger, shouting, “How can you be trusted?  You are a master of illusion and trickery, and an Exile!  You do not serve life—only yourself!”
Olrath answered, “By serving myself, I serve life.”
Halek Jannara, Baris’ second man and acting chief oarsman, addressed the crew, saying, “The Enchantress tries to bend us to her will and purposes!  What chance do we have to live anyway?  We can get through this without her help.”
Olrath responded, “Do you believe your own words, Halek?  I offer you help and friendship in a desperate hour.  My power can save all of you, but I will do nothing without your assent.  It is up to you to decide.” 
Jannara sat back upon the railing, unsure.
Next, I spoke:
“Olrath, Exile of Noffel!  As a magician, you have violated the decree of the king by entering Jakarta to hire this ship.  You are an outlaw and an exile.  Your powers may be inspired by evil, or perhaps they are not—I cannot know.
“But as I hear you speak, I find that I believe you.  I think that you can indeed save us from our current peril.  This places me in a difficult position, for now I must choose between everything I have been taught to feel about you, and what my senses tell me now.”
I paused.
There was no sound but the gentle slop of seawater against the wooden hull of Tarandis.  Rogath the swordsman clawed unconsciously at the hilt of his weapon as I took a deep breath.  I faced Olrath, looking into her clear, gray eyes, and said:
“For myself, I choose to trust my own senses, and therefore, to trust you.  I will consent to what you suggest, although my stomach tells me that your plan is both magical in nature, and extremely dangerous.”
“That is so,” she answered.
“Then I cannot speak for my crew in this matter.  Each person must decide for herself or himself.”  Addressing the crew, I said, “Our time is short.  You know what we face.  I, for one, have chosen.  I trust the Enchantress.” 
I came below, leaving the rest of the crew to themselves.

First moon of the stormy season, day fifteen.
By sunset today, all of the sailors (including Baris)and thirty-six of the swords-people aboard Tarandis decided to participate in Olrath’s plan.  Faced with death, they must have found the sorcereress’ confidence and open manner more convincing than their fear of her powers. 
The fourteen remaining warriors, led by Rogath Silverblade, refused to comply with Olra, believing she intends to bewitch or destroy them.  These fourteen locked themselves in their berths below decks and wouldn’t come out. The rest of us met Olrath on deck three hours after moonrise.  The sea was smooth and calm.  No clouds, the moon cast ghostly light over the faces of the magus and the crew.
Olrath spoke:
“Friends, I admire your bravery.  You have felt your fears, passed through them, and now you stand ready to do what must be done to save yourselves, this voyage, and this ship.  Your actions this night are testament to the courage and fortitude of all Noffellians.
“I have already begun my work.  Soon, you will feel sleepy—do not resist this.  When morning comes, you will awaken, feeling different and perhaps
looking different than you do now.  So take this moment to look around at one another, and remember yourselves as you are.  Tomorrow begins a new era in your lives and in your history.”
I did as she advised, looking around me in the silvery moonlight.  I stood next to the helmsman, Geb Ollarson, and turning to face him, I observed his shoulder-length gray hair, his craggy, weathered face, his long, hooked nose, his steady brown eyes.  He looked at me also, and smiled.
“Gods be with ye, Cap’m,” he said to me.
I remember nothing else.

[to be continued here. . . ]

Pre-History of Noffel pt. III of V

by Sawith, Chief Scribe of Kaladar

Awra
Awra may well be the single most influential individual in all of Arandish history.  Yet little is known of the circumstances of her birth or childhood.  History does not reveal the names of her parents nor the name of the particular Noffellian tribe into which she was born.  The year of her birth is commonly thought to lie somewhere between 2180 and 2184, but given the unusual length of her life (over three hundred years) and the lack of available information concerning her early days, even this range is considered speculative.
Awra was the originator of most Arandish arcane magical arts, including spellcasting, rodian Illusion, summoning, and most of the so-called Dark Arts, which were later banned by Awra’s famous apprentice, Arlon.  It is said that there exist many long-forgotten styles of magic that Awra conceived and used in the height of her power, but this, like so many of the stories that surround this person, cannot be conclusively proven.
Awra’s rise to public prominence began in or around the year 2219, the last year of Tandar’s reign as king of Noffel.  This was a turbulent year in Noffellian politics.  Tandar had three children: two sons and one daughter.  All three were beyond adolescence and therefore eligible to rule, but Ormin, who from the earliest days had been a great advisor to the king, felt that the Noffellian people should be empowered to choose their own ruler through a process of election.  Many felt that this was a great idea; but many others adhered to the old tribal way of leadership passing down through family lines.  No historical record shows Tandar as having any particular view on this matter.  If he had, there might not have been so much confusion in the aftermath of his unexpected illness and sudden death in the fall of 2219.
Some historians contend that Ormin poisoned Tandar in order to clear the way for the formation of a Noffellian Senate, a vision that he actualized a little over a decade later. But Tandar was a much-beloved king, and acting as the agent of the popular monarch’s untimely demise would have been an extremely risky and uncharacteristic move for the deliberate, cerebral Ormin.  Far from wishing to further this (likely inconclusive) debate, I merely wish to set the stage for the entrance of our principal character.
Despite the long-passed King Tarandis’ hopes to the contrary, none of his own subjects had ever developed any unusual powers like those possessed by the departed Aldors—until Awra.  In the final days of 2219, the young woman came before the Noffellian council of elders and demonstrated that she could generate light spontaneously by speaking a few words aloud.  The members of the council were of course amazed, and took Awra to be an unknowing descendant of the Aldors (so their written record shows).  However, with Tandar’s recent demise and the question of the succession looming in their minds, the council asked Awra to return to them in a few months, at which time the nature and possible usefulness of her power could be discussed in fuller detail. 
Awra did not appear before the Noffellian tribal council ever again.
It is not for many decades that the name of Awra resurfaces in historical records, in the journal of one Yagbath of Scythmoor, a wise woman who lived a recluse’s life in a cave on the southeastern fringes of the Great Western Swamp.  She writes:

. . . and shortly after mye evening fast, lo! a WOMAN did slog thro the rushes and reeds and appeer at the entry to mye home.  A tall ladye, hare was brown and eyes peercing blue.  Coted with muck from hed to foote, so Iye did invite her to staye and wash hersself, and share mye nighly meal.  She did accept, and stayed with me all that night, and tolde me the most [illegible] . . . that she dwelt in the marshes, and had indeede donne so for many a yeer.  For what purpose, Iye asked she.  Said she, developping mye powers.  Which powers be these, Iye asked she.  And she did chant words, quite of quick, and of an instant Iye myeself did riyse up from the log where Iye sat and flewe through the trees.  Like a batt or other byrd, Iye sweres it so.  When Iye did return agin to the erth, this yung ladye did tell me she could move water also, or shape raw erth with hers minde, or make hersself flye as well.  Who be ye, Iye asked she, in wunderment.  Said she, mye name is Owra.

Though no recognizable dates are given in Yagbath’s journal, it can be determined from other textual references that this entry was probably written in the late summer or early fall of the year 2265.  Though many scholars and most elementalists maintain that this journal entry does not prove that Awra was an elementalist -- Yagbath does not report seeing Awra perform elementalist feats, only hearing her claim to be able to manipulate water and earth -- I am inclined to believe that she had at least begun work in this field, and was probably a master spellcaster by this date as well.  We certainly know that by the year 2284, when the Noffellian Senate became aware of Awra’s presence, she had fully developed the arts of spellcasting and enchantment, plus who knows how many other minor powers and abilities.
It is also certain that by 2284, Arlon was apprenticed to Awra and was living with her in the swamps.  Though Arlon would not begin his own journal until 2286, a report submitted to the Senate by scout captain Bandos, who led an expedition into the Great Western Swamp in 2284, tells us:

. . . we found a hermit calling himself Awra, living in a hovel at the south edge of the swamp.  With him were a few young women and men, all called him ‘master’ and behaved solemnly in his presence.  All of these persons—Awra included—appeared to be in good health (bodily and mentally), and living here of their own will.  After filling our water skins, we left them.

The gender of the pronouns used in Bandos’ writing is not ambiguous: the scout definitely believed that Awra was a man.  No historian that I know of has yet been able to offer an adequate explanation for this anomalous report—but the name he used is also unmistakable. 
I surmise that by this point Awra had begun to pass on her knowledge of the magical arts to this select group of young people.  I also believe that had not the Senate chosen to call her into their presence to explain her activities to them, she might have continued training people in seclusion for many years, and never have come into direct conflict with the government and people of Noffel.  But call her they did, and in early 2286, she appeared before the Senate and the king.  It is believed that Arlon was with her at this fateful meeting, though not Arel, the First One’s other famous disciple.
At this time the King of Noffel was Karldoc, a born warrior (and not to be confused with Prince Karldoc the Mad, of our own era).  Karldoc was renowned for his boldness in battle, his quick temper, and his deadly prowess with a sword.

[Continue to Part IV]