Arred sat sullenly on his table at the Rock and Gemstone. “Waitress,” he called quietly, but she ignored him. More likely, it seemed to Arred, she simply didn’t notice him. Arred wasn’t nondescript as such – he simply didn’t command much attention. Arred was short and weedy, and his hooked nose, bulging eyes and facial ticks made him look permanently suspicious. He was also more than a little dirty, and it was a poor person’s dirt – the uncleanliness resulting from no baths rather than excessive outdoor labour. Even his close shorn scalp showed visible signs of grime.

Eventually, a waitress paused for long enough to take Arred’s order: potato stew. It was all he could afford after paying for the night’s accommodation. If he couldn’t find work tomorrow, he would have to go back to Derston Vale empty handed.

Arred’s stew eventually arrived. It was almost cold. They must have left it just sitting there on the kithen bench while Arred himself sat there, hungry as a starved dog. “Waitess!” he yelled. Arred of Derston Vale had had enough. As he glared at the waitress, who was rolling her eyes and no doubt preparing some condescending reply, Arred noticed two figures entering the taproom.

The first figure was a man, clearly overweight and balding. He was dressed in fine blue robes with silver trim – he may as well have a Faerie Fire sigil on his forehead saying “Mage”. If Arred paid attention when he was read the city civics, he’d know the blue robe was a Guild robe, and the silver trim put this wizard as one of the seventh circle.

The second figure’s features were obscured beneath a perfectly crafted suit of plate armour. Arred didn’t need to see beneath the armour to know the wearer was an Elf. Lithe movements and slim build aside, Arred had met this Elf before – and his fat friend.

The fat wizard, Rax, gave Arred a friendly smile. Jarim, the Elf, on the other hand started with purpose toward him. Arred glanced ever so briefly at the Elf’s exquisitly crafted, cold-forged Elven longsword and then bolted. Arred sprinted through the kitchen, knocked over a pot of boiling hot potato stew to hinder his pursuers, wrenched open the exit and fell flat on his face.

“Trip wire,” explained a rugged voice next to him. Arred looked up slowly, fear gripping him. Staring down at him was the strangely neat bearded face of that ranger, Lorn. Arred could hear the footfalls of Rax and Jarim behind him as Lorn’s companions blocked his only avenue of escape.

“No cause for alarm,” said Lorn conversationally in response to Arred’s wide eyes, giving him a hand up, “We are, in fact, here to help you.” Arred’s eyes widened still further. “You could even wind up being a hero to your people…”

“Or a martyr,” snickered Rax, earning himself a sharp jab to his ribs from the Elf.

“Listen carefully, Arred,” continued Lorn, “We haven’t got long. Any minute now, Migel…”

“M… M… Migel?!” stammered Arred, starting to sweat visibly, “Migel Del C… C…”

“Yes,” interrupted Lorn, losing patience, “Migel Del Coza, Head of Operations for the Miners’ Guild. Very soon, he will be visiting his diviner friend at the Wizards’ Guild, Ezrendra…”

“Filthy whore,” snapped Rax.

“…and they will begin scrying on our every move.”

“But… what about the Sphere?” asked Arred, regaining his wits somewhat.

“Useless unless it’s on its pedestal,” explained Rax, throwing the artefact to Arred, who stared at it in utter confusion.

“We want to take you up on your offer,” said Lorn calmly, “You and your people can work the mine. We have the full deed.”

Arred was shocked. He had asked the adventurers only weeks ago to allow the people of Derston Vale to mine the mine before giving it to the Miners’ Guild. The trio had refused outright, threatening to have him arrested if he ever crossed their paths again. Arred had foolishly threatened them as he left – saying that, one day, he’d kill them while they slept. His backside still smarted from those bolts of energy Rax ad scorched him with. Now, something had made them change their mind. Arred was in no position to interrogate the three, however, and the thought of being caught by the Miners’ Guild was enough to secure his cooperation.

“What do I need to do?” Arred asked.

“Not much,” said Lorn slyly, “Just return that sphere to it’s resting place, gather your folk and whoever else is in need of food this Winter, and occupy our mine. It has tunnels connecting all the way to Otraxis, and plenty of room for any willing to live below the surface. Some of it is even furnished.”

“And…” Arred began cautiously, “What would you ask in return for all of this?”

“Oh, not much,” replied Lorn whimsically, “Just provide a cheap source of mining for the mines near Otraxis and severely eat into the Guild’s profits.”

Arred went white. Go against the Miners’ Guild? That was death… or worse.

As though reading Arred’s mind, Jarim piped in, “The Perellian Mining Complex is technically not a part of the City. You won’t be bound to obey the Guild Civics – but you will be near enough to competr with their labour force. Just think of it, plenty of work available, paying much more than a farmer’s wage… and no crop shortages to worry about. With no guild fees to pay, you’ll be able to make almost as much as another miner, but for half the price. What’s more, you’ll be unscryable, and under our protection.” At that, Rax shot Lorn an incredulous look. Lorn simply nodded, agreeing with Jarim – much to Rax’s chagrin.

Arred’s mind was a blur. He could live on a tenth of a guild miner’s wage. Farm life had not been kind to the folk of Derston Vale… or, for that matter, Thraan Valley, or Prenton, or Likor Village… all were desperate, facing starvation this winter. Arred could save them all. Then he’d be noticed. “I’ll do it,” said Arred resolutely.

“Whoopie,” grouched Rax.

“Good man,” Lorn complimented Arred, ignoring the wizard, before turning to Jarim, “Now, where would we be now if we had made straight for the Pig and Barrel?”

“Cray Street?” suggested Jarim.

“No, past the docks… Tala Road? Near Flavin’s Pie Shop?” asked Rax.

“Nowhere near there,” argued Jarim, “Stop thinking about your fat stomach for once.”

“Half way, then,” put in Lorn quickly, before another fight broke out, “Fir Street, near the mill.”

“Very well,” said Rax, “But we’re stopping at that pie shop, or you’re paying guild rates for this spell.”

With that, Rax snapped his fingers, and the three of them disappeared. Arred sat down aghast. Such power. These were good friends to have indeed. He paused in thought for a while – or bad enemies.

* * *

One month later, during the harshest Winter in an Age, the Creep was founded and Thane Arred of Derston Vale became a hero and leader to many.

50 years before present day

The three weary travellers stared at the path through the enormous stone gate that led up to the Guild Palace. Spruikers at the market could be heard clearly above the general cacophony of city sounds. The outlawing of voice augmentation glamours had been overturned last year when the Guilds managed to achieve a majority representation on the city council.

“Best green goods in town!” came a cry from a burly grocer. “Ressurect your friends for only five easy instalments of three thousand gold. Don’t lug the corpse, all we need is a finger!” shouted another salesman, no doubt a priest of Chemosh. “Find ultimate fulfilment at Tasha’s House of Plenty!” bellowed a seductive female voice, “Disease free for 10 years!” [how Tasha had convinced that Paladin to work for her was anybody’s guess]. If you needed it, Otraxis had it – and in several varieties.

The travellers climbed the path with renewed vigour. By Emesh it was good to be home. The trio rounded Silver Street on their way to the Miners’ Guild.

“So, 50 gold says this orb belonged to old Farnour’s mother,” cloyed Rax as he bounced an ornately inscribed and clearly ancient metal orb on his pudgy hand.

Jarim sneered – a difficult gesture for him, given his face was mostly obscured by his many-runed Elven helm. “Do you really think that a thousands year old relic belonged to the woman who spawned that fool Farnour?”

“Of course he doesn’t,” replied Lorn, clapping a friendly hand on Jarim’s plated back, “Rax is just baiting you.”

“And picking on Farnour’s age,” put in Rax quickly, “He must be nearly 80 years old!”

Jarim turned his nose up in disgust. “80 years is nothing. I have lived for over three times that number of years…”

“Yeah, but the first two hundred were spent toilet training,” sniggered Rax.

“Rax…” cautioned Lorn.

“Take that back, you fat oaf,” cried Jarim, “Before I skewer you!”

Rax’s hands crackled with arcane energy, “Just try it, you malnourished tree fucker!”

Jarim’s sword was nearly out of it’s scabbard when Lorn stepped between his two comrades, “That’s enough! We’re almost there and I will not have you pair duelling in sight of our benefactors. We stand to make a large and ongoing profit from this deal, and you will behave!” Lorn favoured the pair with one of his famous roguish grins, “At least until we get to the Pig and Barrel. You hear me?”

Both Rax and Jarim smiled and nodded. The Pig and Barrel was their favourite tavern. Where the Children of Emesh were concerned, it was everyone’s favourite tavern. The food was hearty but standard fare. The ale was average. The wine was decent, but overpriced. The spirits could rot your insides by their smell alone. The reason adventurers loved the Pig and Barrel was the exceedingly expensive and permanent mending spell that was cast long ago on the building and all the furniture. No matter what mad raucousness happened of a night, come dawn, everything was back as it should be. The tavern even had a priest of the fourth circle on staff to heal those in need – for a ridiculous fee that only a wounded, drunken and treasure-laden lout would even consider paying.

Thoughts of the night to come spurred the trio on, and cooled – if only temporarily – the tempers of the portly wizard and his Elven companion.

The Miners’ Guild hoved into view as they crossed Elm Avenue. Almost in defiance of its members’ working conditions, the Guild sported enormous vaunted ceilings, and towered many storeys into the sky. The frontage was lavish in the extreme. Bested only by the House of Plenty for sheer gaudiness, the Miners’ Guild sported ornate frescos, coated in golden paint and speckled with rare gemstones. Only a guild very secure in its power would dare have such valuables external to its headquarters.

“Wait outside,” ordered Lorn. Before the pair could protest, he added, “I want you to keep an eye on the Rock and Gemstone Resting House. Let me know if our good friend, Arred from Derston Vale, is still calling it his home in Otraxis. He’ll need to be taken into custody when all this is over.” With that, Lorn stepped inside.

Lorn was uncomfortable. As an outdoorsman, he far preferred his hunting leathers to the merchant’s garb he was currently sporting. His long, brown, matted hair was tied in a restrictive pony tail that flopped forlornly against his back. Lorn’s hands were free of their usual muddy grime, and smelled of perfumed soap – a most distasteful odour. The final discomfort was his beard. While Jarim could not convince him to shave, Lorn did concede to his first comb and trim in five years. He must have lost half his beard to that Elven butcher.

It wasn’t just Lorn’s clothing and grooming that was making him uncomfortable, though: the luxuriant interior of the Miners’ Guild was of a class in society completely alien to Lorn. For a man who would rather sleep on the hard ground beneath a starry sky, the sight of fine tapestries and silken cushions alone made him feel out of place.

“Lorn! So good to see you,” came a smooth voice from one of the overly large doorways. The voice belonged to a middle-aged gentleman, dressed almost like nobility. His red spidersilk shirt alone would have cost enough to feed a family from Lorn’s home town of Hornsridge for several years.

“Good to see you, too, Mr. Del Coza,” replied Lorn, struggling to keep the discomfort from his voice.

“Migel, please, my friend. You’ve more than earned the right to use my first name. Please, step into my office.” Migel gestured toward the door behind the one he’d just entered from.

Office? He must be kidding, thought Lorn as he entered, I’ve seen entire taverns that weren’t this large.

“Excellent work clearing out that old mining complex,” said Migel as soon as Lorn had taken a seat on an exquisite leather seat opposite his ostentatiously large teak desk, “A first rate job. Especially in killing that Beholder. Most remarkable.”

“How did you…?” began Lorn.

“Oh, easy, my boy,” Migel cut him off as a smug grin spread its way across his face, “Once you’d removed that pesky orb, we were able to scry on your progress. It was a most entertaining display as you worked your way through that horde. We should have charged for tickets.”

“Yes… well…” Lorn faltered. His prepared account of events was clearly going to prove unnecessary, “Well… then… erm… speaking of charging…”

“Of course, lad, your half of the mine,” said Migel, solemnly sliding some papers Lorn’s way, “Actually, more than half. Twice that, in fact.”

“A full share of the mine?!” balked Lorn, “But… but… why?” Lorn was totally taken aback. The deal was to remove the orb from its sconce in the heart of the old Perellian Mining Complex – and to clear out any creatures that had come to call it home since the death of Arthus Perellian – in return for half the land rights and a half share of the revenue.

“Why? Well, it’s the least we can do, my dear Lorn,” replied Migel, a sly smile replacing his friendly one, “Especially since the mine is worthless.”

“What?!!” screamed Lorn.

“Yes, I’m afraid,” said Migel, feigning sadness, “Old Mr. Perellian, it seems, was broke a well as dead. Either that, or the new inhabitants knew how to mine.”

Lorn was fuming, “Then why…?”

“Send you in the first place?” Migel cut in, “We needed confirmation that the mine was indeed empty. We couldn’t get that until you removed the orb from its holding place. Pesky little anti-scrying setup, that.”

“You cheating bastard!” yelled Lorn, throwing his chair backwards and waving the worthless deeds at Migel, “I want to speak to Farnour right now!”

“Now, now,” chided Migel, “There’s no need for that. Farnour fully supported this deal. You got what was agreed – twice what was agreed, in fact.”

“Twice nothing is still nothing!”

“Yes, well, that’s too bad, isn’t it? Feel free to mine it yourself. Just don’t forget to apply for a permit. You can pick up the forms on your way out.” Lorn wasn’t sure whether to cut his losses or run the man through. Almost as if on cue, two immensely muscled and well-armed security guards entered the room, and held the door open for Lorn to step out.

“You and Farnour have played us for fools, Migel. We will not take this lightly. The day will come when you both regret your folly. As my name is Lorn Arneth, you will suffer, Migel, as we have suffered, one hundred times over.”

Migel’s face darkened, “That’s Mr Del Coza, to you. Now get out.”

The world is now good enough to write some actual tales. So, this is how I would like to proceed:

• Most of the content should be generated by writing posts: “Tales” of Otraxis. These should be in the form of short (even very short) stories about Otraxis, or Gönd if you prefer. I’m thinking along the style of fan fiction here.
• These stories will start to build a feel and flavour for the City that goes beyond what has been established on the main pages.
• Where a story includes snippets of history or additions to the main canon, either I or the poster will update the pages. Specifically, the Timeline page should be updated to include any major events that are described or mentioned in a story.

In the meantime, I will continue to build on the main pages and keep the site in order. I’ll comment on the Tales, and will probably write one or two of my own. I’d like, as much as possible, to leave the tales up to your collective creative freedom.

With so many authors, though, conflicts with the main canon will inevitably appear. I will decide whether or not something is “out of canon” and put up a comment to that effect against the post. That Tale itself should remain as is… and, if possible, will be explained away as “that’s how it’s heard in the taverns” where inconsistencies remain. If it can’t be so explained, then we just ignore the bit that doesn’t make sense. The place for authoritative canon will be the pages of the site: City of Otraxis, World Information and Timeline (not the Tales/posts themself or comments on the pages of the site).

Hey all… looks like I’m getting too excited about all of this. I’ve already put up a timeline! Eep. You can check it out on the links above, or by clicking here. Please help me out by adding in some relevant historical events and feel free to criticise or improve on any of the existing events. I know some of it’s pretty cheesy fantasy stuff – but hey, we’re creating a High Fantasy setting here, right?

Welcome to Tales of Otraxis. This is where players can write their own content to contribute to the campaign setting!

Otraxis is a city nestled on the Palir Mountains which mark the edge of the Known World. Many vital rivers that feed the Kingdom of Leyira originate in the Palir Mountains, and the River Thienne which runs through Otraxis is the most important of those. Otraxis and its outstanding natural resources have kept the rest of the Leyira thriving over the centuries. It is a small but shining jewel in the remote north of the Kingdom.

What else is known about the city of Otraxis – and the world at large – is up to you, the player, to help decide. I will be feeding you information as time goes on, including maps, drawings and setting information, but you should feel free to contribute whenever you like!

Of course, if you’d rather read than contribute, that’s fine. Enjoy these Tales of Otraxis!