Writing some magical forests

The idea was that I am running an elfgame forest campaign for my young son and his friends, teaching them how to GM.  They find a portal in the city, a la Ultan's Door, that takes them to a magical wood.  But what is special about the woods?  I wanted something that invoked wonder, fear, or awe; that invites them in to spend time there.  

Coming up with one coherent, fully realized idea seemed daunting, and I have less than a week to the game.  But a good blog told me that coming up with a bunch of diverse short ideas would be easier, and so it proved.

So in the spirit of Amanda Lee's fantastic cities, I speed-wrote a list of 101 notes on magical forests (Thank you for the inspiration Amanda!  I used Trello, not post-it notes, but I type faster than I write).  

I plan to use several of these for next week's game.  Some are about forests, some about tree species or ferns or moss, and some adventure hooks and random oddities.  I don't know, creating this fast is HARD.  My brain go rest now.

101 notes on magical forests

1. Teleport between crystal trees, scattered in every grove
2. Animals all speak but different languages, balkanized war, no one speaks of the possum genocide
3. Blue trunks, red under-leaves, weep healing sap but under the new moon, causes madness
4. everything living in and near this forest is a plant, on the inside, including the people.  Animals mimics or just plant-evolution, or a viral plague/curse.  Sun bathing and eating plants.
5. The forest is full of tiny dragons, of many annoying varieties. Like chipmunks will eat your rations, tie that shit up WELL
6. Owlbears can fly: all live in fear of the annual owlbear migration.  Only saving grace is they hate the sound of bells.  Beware pepper spray dealers, they are largely charlatans.
7. The forest is the back hair of a sleeping giant troll.  cut a tree down sure, but don't dig too deep. Rumbles and moves
8. The trees are their own society, alien and unforgiving.  They watch and remember.
9. Brakes of bloodthorn vines snake through the understory: detour or  donate your fluids, most animals sail over/through and the bandits have secret passages.
10. The forest is cursed, all who enter shrink down to mouse size.  Beware the witch's cat!
11. Time passes oddly under the boughs of the wood, a day in an hour, an hour in a day.  The moon shifts the time tides.
12. Elves made of briars and old bones claim these woods and live in great mounds of thorn, where they watch outsiders compete in games of agility and strength, with thorns waiting below.
13. Forests where animals pretend to be trees, illusory sight not sound.  hide from the bandersnatch
14. Forests full of grazing cows, just full of them, you could walk from one cow back to another.  And you should, because the ground is infested with heart grubs.
15. Forests so thick with vines you travel faster up in the canopy than on the ground.  the ground vines move like vipers in the shade, higher up you go, the more they stay still in sunlight.
16. Forest gaps change the season: it's always late spring there, until the breach in the canopy is healed.
17. Children's laughter echoes through the forest, and shadows flit from place to place.  You cannot see them, but they can touch you and play pranks.  Keep them entertained, you don't want them bored.
18. Fire in this forest happens every day, at noon.  The understory grows magically.  No vines, no dead trees--you gotta climb a trunk or find a stream when the flames come.
19. In the middle of the forest there is a wide clearing, an old fire.  Every day, fire-breathing deer walk it, keeping it from regrowing.  Their golden pelts are magical.
20. Pigs roam this forest, all the size of two hands together.  They are voracious and adorable, but nothing dares to eat them.  They mass at the sound of a terrified oink.
21. the soil of this forest smells like sulfur, and the wind stings the eyes.  Beware the old stump holes where trees died, if you step on the leaves you could fall into choking gas pockets.
22. The purple flametrees have explosive seeds, shooting out barbed seed shards for dispersal.  If large mammals get too close on foot, they drop them.  Clever climbers may harvest.  Cut the trees down and the wood explodes in pieces.
23. The sap of the pines in this forest rusts metal like acid.  Forget firewood: year after year, pines grow more abundant near the town.
24. The tree trunks move a little each day, a foot or two, stretching towards sunlight or a dead body.  Camp carefully.
25. If humans eat of the fruit of the forest, its madness will take them, the beguiling whispers of trees.  Their eyes and blood turn green and direct sun hurts, but they never need eat again.
26. The forest grows more dense than can be walked in many places.  If the forest gods do not receive their offerings, it will grow dense wherever direction you walk, an hour hence.
27. the old trees send suggestions and messages into the minds of animals.  Some are angry.
28. the forest has no floor, only roots and open space above the Dark.  Falling through means falling down from above, most of the time.
29. The forest is inverted, hanging upside down from the back of the world.  All the animals climb.  If any fall, they make a soft landing on the orange clouds, but then how to return?  and what is deeper down in the cloudstuff?
30. the forest is silent.  the forest floor is warm and breathes, up and down.  You walk on a titanic creature: its immune system will find you.
31. The trees have a Congress, and small trees don't have a vote.  They want a vote, and are willing to fight for it.
32. The forest animals are sacred and indescribably delicious/power-inducing.  Killing one summons the forest spirit, who hunts poachers and demands odd prices to restore the balance.  Most prefer to die.
33. Mushroom rings in the forest constantly transport the unwary the underforest, the white reflection of the overforest, hanging down into the dark.
34. The rare forest jabberwock has been spotted, fleeing from the bandersnatch.  Save it, or the kingdom is cursed for the next decade.
35. Forests where leaves are daggers, splinters from the wood slowly worm their way to your heart and the pollen is intoxicating.  Beware spring and windstorms.
36. Every dryad is a trapped human, all want free, but the trees will defend their prizes.  Do not lean on trunks.
37. Bandits hide in this forest, the shadows of the great white oak trunks lead to caves below, old sites of a forgotten time.
38. The swordwood is central to the local economy, a dense workable metal substitute.  These woods are patrolled, permit-only, and where the kingdom's worst prisoners often disappear.
39. The raccoons are at war with the deer.  Make peace, or they will shed blood on the summer equinox and the badger horde will be set free.
40. This forest shelters the last free goblin clan, where they craft in peace, free of the demands of the kingdoms forges.  The Duke plans their capture.
41. The robber baron rules this dry forest with an iron fist.  The frogs are his spies, and all pay the water tax.
42. The forest hugs a river.  The bottom of the river is very dark blue, almost black.  Sometimes, you see green eyes down there, looking at you.
43. A forest of green and brown flesh, where leaves are skin flaps and the bats all drink tree blood at night.
44. The forest is the body of its guardian spirit, a great white cat.  It is angry.  When you wound the cat in life, gashes open like ravines.  Dare you kill it?
45. At the center of some trees, there is a round bar of gold, inscribed with symbols.  The forest is under constant threat from loggers, and will soon vanish.  The symbols describe what happens when the forest is gone.
46. Ornery goats of all colors roam these woods, eating everything they can reach.  All are magical.  If you try to stop one from eating your stuff, watch out.
47. Forest trees like feathers, drawing back into the ground when touched.
48. Forest trees like black holes, gravity pulling until its had a meal.
49. Forest trees whose pollen, leaves, nuts and bark all make you sleep for 100 years, during which time its roots eat you.  Gather firewood at your peril.
50. Something hunts these woods in packs (velociraptors), grabbing children, taking down livestock, leaving behind scales and head-high claw marks on the trees.  Sizzling blood, spitting in defense.
51. These woods are the lush territory of a protective ogre.  His territorial Xs are everywhere on the trunks.  Visitors are allowed, but they must keep to campsites and trails, and not hurt the woods.  A boy is lost there, with a toy axe.
52. Every good campsite is cursed by old runes on the rocks; sleep on the forest floor at your own risk, and up a tree at your discomfort.
53. The longer you stay in the woods, the greener your hair grows.  it is harmless but semi-permanent, but folk believe it is a contagious illness, and if you want to enter the city/town, you need to get clean.
54. Bury yourself in the mould of these woods for one week, and your skin will be like bark for a month.  Folks will be afraid.  Bodies buried here come back as wooden people.
55. Rare giant trees spot this forest.  Each is a town dominated by a different clan of lizardfolk.  All clans are currently at war.  Bring a tree down and you can lead them all.
56. Squirrels here talk and repeat all that they hear.  Be wary of what you say, and ask careful questions.  They sometimes lie.
57. The forest trees are all many-headed serpents, the leaves frills and the buds mouths.  Wake them at your peril.
58. Tree octopi infest these woods.  Their camouflage is excellent, but their aim is terrible.  Flee the wriggling tentacles, and watch for the big ones.
59. Two trees form an arch every few hundred meters.  These are the elf-roads, walk them at your peril, but many have sheltered there when the dark knight rides by.
60. These woods were made by a wizard, and nothing works right.  The trees grow densely at right angles, the sky is a distant memory, and the animals are all hybrids: bat-snakes, frog-foxes, owl-dragons.  There is one female frogfox left, and the Princess wants to save it by breeding it with her male pet frogfox.
61. The forest is the cemetery for a great city.  Each tree is a core memory of the buried dead, and burning smoke from their wood makes visions.  The smoke also drives wildlife and monsters crazy, as the forest spirit seeks revenge.  You must solve a murder done ten years past.
62. The forest is urban, home to a great elven city.  The elves spit and shit on the underdwellers below the canopies, who do all the work for little pay.
63. Wyverns hunt the edges of this forest, their venom turning victims into trees.  The forest expands, year by year, as rumors of gold dust in the streams spread wildly.
64. A gold rush threatens the woods, and the forest creatures debate war against the offenders. You have been captured and brought to the summit, and asked to defend your people.
65. The forest moves at night, small trees more than large.  They  take care not to step on animals or people, for the most part.  Young thickets have been known to follow cute  people around for days and weeks, however.  Do you dare to hurt their feelings?
66. This tree was a vampire staked through the heart, and the stake grew.  Stakes from it are extra deadly to vampires, but the bats that roost in its branches are bloodthirsty and dangerous.
67. The forest absorbs sound, no more than three yards for a whisper, ten yards for a shout.
68. The forest is swampy.  Muddy quicksand is everywhere, as are giant leeches, mud snakes, and wary tiny fairy dragons.  In every clearing lie the bones of greedy sorcerers.
69. Something moves under the forest--a great worm.  All that walks on the ground is his prey.  His tunnels lead places.
70. Hordes of nethershrikes migrate through the woods one week each spring and fall, drilling holes through anything and pollinating the trees. Refugees have come into the woods, unknowing.
71. Every tree is hollow and hosts a hive of killer bees.  Smoking pots allow the kings harvesters to enter, but fire is a constant risk in dry years.  Someone is setting fires--can you stop them?
72. Each different species of tree is colored brightly in one dominant hue, with magical wood.  But sad blue is taking over the forest year by year, making the folk of the woodland villages cry.
73. As you pass through the woods, trees and shrubs feel you pass.  They will block you way, turn you aside, just for fun.  They enjoy jokes.
74. This forest was an ancient battlefield.  At night under a full moon, magical energy seeps from the earth and ghostly warriors reenact battles amid the trees.  But now it is happening more and more often, endangering local villages.
75. Forests have four names.  If you know one of them, you may pass.  If you know the second, you may harvest wood.  If you know the third, you may speak to the trees and learn secrets.  If you know the fourth, you may command the trees like an army.
76. Ferns in this forest will grow upward if you crush or harvest their fiddleheads, lifting interlopers into the sky.
77. Moss in this wet forest grows so dense and deep that it shrouds trunks and rocks, and hides caves, treasures, monsters, bandits, and old secrets.  Some would not like those secrets un-mossed.
78. Tamaracks are conifers that leaf down once a year, and their needles dry out to be needles in truth, punching through boots and exacting a bloody cost from hungry mushroom hunters.
79. This forest is the roof of an ancient crystal palace, and when a tree falls, oftentimes a way down is ripped open for a season.
80. Little skeletal monuments dot this forest, at the base of nearly every tree; crush one at your peril.
81. The dense understory (bamboo, rhododendron) hides a hungry clan of tiny killers, who throw darts and spears to herd prey into bamboo stick traps.
82. A war was once won from this jungle, as halflings tunneled down to escape a flying army of invading elves.  Find the tunnels and you have an easy walk from village to village, but don't get lost down there.
83. Night in the jungle brings out the grue-cat, who waits beyond the firelight.
84. The forest streams are enchanted.  Some heal, some make you sleep, and some do stranger things still.
85. A forest bird from these woods will always know its way back home, and to its cage.  The people here are the great mail clearing house of the region, but a warlord (or magical bird flu) threatens them.
86. Bloody-horned unicorns stand guard over these woods once a year, where the Forest Queen is reborn.  To see her born is said to grant healing, wisdom, or youth, your choice--if you can escape after.
87. The forest extends over water, roots thick enough to walk on in most parts, rising and falling with the waves.
88. This jungle is where the walking fungus comes from, the one that assassins use to kill people after one year, their skin turning sallow, the fungus bursting from their skull.  It is said a cure lies within.
89. In this flooded jungle, great feather-legged spiders skim the water between the trees, preying on all who paddle through.
90. The forest trees are massive hollow spheres of bark and leaves, where they root and blow with the storms.  For some reason, they are now encroaching on the lands nearby.
91. This forest is endless, a hole at its center forever sloping down, gravity bending sideways, stranger and more dangerous as you go down.  Bringing specimens of its exotic wildlife back to the emperor can make a career.
92. A forest floating in the sky, starting off normal at the edges, where it is young, and in the old center, floating upward and taking the earth in its roots with it.  One can carve a tree out to fly it like a bird, but be careful, it's a long way down when you are deep in.  And what lies underneath?
93. Forests that are black as a winter night even during the day.  Follow the old paths, and pay any toll you must to stay on the trails.
94. Floating forests where vines and roots connect everything, above and below, and bringing the right species of trees together creates light shows that royalty clamor for.
95. When you carve something on the trunks of these trees, it disappears and reappears on the skin of your worst enemy.
96. When you carve on the trees, they read what you write, and respond to you in kind, with great wisdom and insight.  Trees know many things.  But a tree can only handle 100 carvings before dying, and the forest is very old.
97. The moss that hangs from the trees here is prized for burial shrouds, but it also can be used to cause a false death.  The only way to wake them is to find the tree their shroud comes from.
98. Dwarves are found all over these woods, happily mining.  They are kind, gentle, and helpful, and are slowly poisoning the local water with their copper extraction.
99. Every mushroom in these woods is bioluminescent, and some species make excellent lanterns that last for weeks.  But their light is also attractive to some monsters.
100. When the wind passes through these woods, the seeds it transports sprout everywhere downwind, growing like wildfire across pastures and farms.  It's dangerous to breathe here, lest your lungs grow an herb or vine. Normally beaten back with fire, the wind has shifted this year, putting a republic at peril.
101. The trees are massive, stretching up to the sky. The beasts are giants, and the understory, darkness.  It's safer in the light, but getting there is challenging.  An old vine road used to traverse it, but it has been years since someone returned on that road.

Thank you so much if you got this far, all comments are most welcome. And please let me know if you have any good combinations to suggest, I want to make a good impression in the first session. 

Bad. Session.

I want to talk about my flair tonight¹: I had a bad session.

I consider myself a journeyman Game Master, one with a lot left to learn about our craft. I have run two longish campaigns so far, and many one shots in a few different dungeon crawly RPGs. My first effort was a 24 session online 5e campaign that crashed and burned when a couple players got bored--totally fair, I was beyond stressed at work and thought DMing required writing half a novel for backstory. My second long 5e campaign, in its 25th month now and 68th session, has gone much better (a backstory of <2 pages)

But tonight? Tonight it was boring. All the excitement and tension wasn't there, the beats were off. There were good moments--a teleport trap, the death of a ghost shark, a good trick by an enemy. But the dungeon I ran was very linear in design², in a way I missed, so searching became, for half an hour, "figure out what the DM is thinking".³ They were never scared, only frustrated when their superhero powers didn't immediately kill the baddies.

So yeah, flat. Hard to feel great about--I just didn't feel the magic tonight, in prep or at the table. I felt...in a rut. Attacking in similar ways, using the same tactics and tricks, not exciting my players. I wanted to resolve odd situations using the fiction; 5e has a rule for nearly everything. Is it this sclerotic 5e system that's the problem? Is it me, being too nice a DM and not being focused enough on the details of combat?

Why did this happen? How can I fix it? Will the next session also suck? I circle my wagons around these questions, firing bullets inwards. I worry about losing my touch, about losing my players again. I thought I had this stuff figured out.

My wife tells me, cheer up, your friends look like they had fun, and, not every night has to be perfect. You are going to have bad nights and good ones. And then my darn fortune cookie weighs in, telling me bad games are the tuition we pay for good games.⁴

So I take a breath.

I pause and think about what this group enjoys, listening again to what they said and did in the game. They love OSRing puzzles and traps, overcoming obstacles and enemies through cleverness. I start planning the next session, thinking about how to turn the big fight they just started into a puzzle to solve, like a 1-HP Dragon.

But stop, not yet. First I need to rest, and recharge, I haven’t been sleeping great—allergies. Enthusiasm is a weight to carry to the table, heavy as an AD&D 2e sourcebook. So if I am going to run a good game next time, the first thing I need to do is…stop thinking about running games for a bit.

So I…decide to redesign 5e completely, finish a draft of my Shadowfight system, volunteer at our local block party, go to Renn Fair, create a new elfgame magic system, and play with the kids all weekend while my partner rested. And I tried to sleep 8 hours a night.

It wasn’t restful, but it was balancing, and I am recharged in the way that matters: I haven’t thought about the game in days. I am looking forward to playing with my friends again.

So I had a bad game. Happens. Will again. And honestly, I am good with that, because this past week? Pretty darn fun.

______________________________

1 And by flair, I mean a part of a job that I don't really like (this is an Office Space reference--if you have not seen it, it's deeply funny and set in Austin). The job here is the GM job. ^↩ 

2 It was the castle dungeon from the main Pirate Borg book--it needed more spooky traps, more interconnectivity, more surprise. As it is, the underground portion is more or less linear. I tend to run dungeons from prepped modules, because I don't always have time to prep my own, but I try to pick good ones.^↩ 

3 2-Is that Type 4 railroading, or Type 3? ^↩ 

4 Well, honestly, it said failure is the tuition we pay for success. Which is BS: sometimes failure is just failure. It only stays a failure if you give up, but sometimes that is the right call. But that's hard to jam inside a fortune cookie, innit? ^↩

Every wizard alone

"No man is an island,

Entire of itself;

Every man is a piece of the continent,

A part of the main."

--John Donne

"Give me a place to stand, and I will move the earth."

--Archimedes (apocryphal)

Everything I have, I earned. I am no man's beggar, no god's liar, neither servant or ruler. Freedom comes when you have no ties and make no chains.

True freedom is when you have the power to not listen to anyone. Society can go fuck itself. The gods can go fuck themselves, in exotic ways. This world? A stop on the road. A cage.

Dreams set us free, if we listen. A dark shape chased me, and I killed it, my hands like knives. The stars called me, and I followed them to a nebula, soaring through prismatic afterbirth. I was naked at school, and I hid in stone, warm in the sunlight, full of old secrets. Alone in a dark forest, I walked down the roots of willow trees, into the crystal sky of another dimension.

At night our minds flail at the cracks between universes.

For we don't fit. We don't fit this world, and we bend it just with our thoughts. We are giants. Saints and Legends dress it up, call it faith and belief, and Kings try to forget it, massive children nestling into the soft down of the world. Fools all, to ignore what dreams teach.

Wizards know that thoughts control the Real, that ideas span time and space. That the right words at the right time are everything. Congratulations, you have a daughter. I love you. This is your son. I am sorry, there's nothing more we can do. Thank you; I will love you always. Good bye.

To reality: I do not consent.

To be a wizard is to be infected by a great hunger, for while we know we are free to shape this place, finding the words is maddeningly hard work. And even once we find the words, using them in the world is like sculpting clay with a dull hatchet. So we seek great Teachers, the Names of godlings and spirits, the lost knowledge of foolish civilizations. We make unwise deals with Powers, dark and light. We spend our money on tomes, scrolls, artifacts, rumors, and endless experiments, on wizard towers and telescopes, monsters and astrolabes. I once found the word for Fire in the guts of a baby dragon, written on his intestines in a script only I could see.

For this is the promise, and danger, of wizardry: we bend the world, like we bend our dreams. The clouds bear portents for our eyes. Ravens caw wisdom. The eyes of our enemies flash darkness. The constellations speak. Is this real, or a dream? Yes. And like all dreams, it is a story we tell ourselves. Wizards can descend into lies, and be lost.

When a wizard starts lying to themselves, it is often subtle at first. They won't miss the puppy. I bet they enjoyed it. They meant me harm, they deserved it. My magic never deceives me. My life is more important than yours. My work is more important than everything. I don't want to die; I will not die.

When a wizard is fully lost in their dream, the land buckles under their feet and the air warps. People become objects, figments, unreal. Whatever they pursue, nothing will get in their way--nothing.

This is the sum total of my counsel to you, young Wizard: escape the madness. How, you ask? You are a wizard, work it out yourself. You don't owe me a damn thing: keep it that way, if you want to be free.

--Wizard Tenric, Archmage of Reyent, copied from his (now burned) Public Letter Collection

*For the previous entry in this collection, see 'Every master a king'.

Every master a king

 "When you know the fourfoil in all its seasons root and leaf and flower, by sight and scent and seed, then you may learn its true name, knowing its being: which is more than its use."

--Ogion the Silent, A Wizard of Earthsea

The important part, when you are hanging by the neck from a tree in the woods, is that you tied the rope knots yourself. You bound yourself here. You will be reborn in this place, of this place, one with this place. You will be Real.

There are other paths to power. Power from other people, from connections high and low. I don't know you well: you first may have pledged to tend a forest, or run a city block, or defend an oath to honor or glory. Ideas and places are interchangeable--the important bit is that you know the weight and cost of every inch of where you stand.

Here I am. This is Mine. I ken the flowers, every house, all the implications, all the days past. I am resolute, I am committed.

Resolve makes me a pebble that will not break. Commitment shows itself in my actions every day--I tend my place, I defend my place, I live my oaths. I am a King, and the health of my people is my word made manifest.

Mortals hang labels on the different ways Kings meet their Oath: druids, rangers, paladins, mafiosa, country lords, monks. Druids and rangers marry one lovely place at first, then more as they grow in strength. Paladins have only the one oath to keep, but it ricochets through their lives, weighting their choices forever. Many a rogue and lord has grabbed onto a place, a keen eye on all that moves within it, and found unexpected power. And monks? Monks descend down through the labyrinthine layers of self, Kings of one vast hidden kingdom, unlocking door after door until the universe opens.

The titles you earn will announce themselves: King of the Woods, Lord of Underhill, Master of the East Valley. Once you become a warden of a place, you need nothing but its health and your safety, in that order. Wealth is nothing but a means to those ends. Anything more is a distraction: if you want power, hire wardens to guard your place, buy a sharp spear, and then throw the gold away, into the crowds or bushes, away away away. Only the oath matters, and the kingdom. The better you know it, the more you grow.

Hold tightly to your promise and your power: do nothing but what you must do. Kings make for terrible tyrants, if their oaths lead them down dark paths, but a forsworn King is a raging calamity, a mad dog that must be put down. Regret and anger are sparks to burn a soul to ashes. Ashes.

I once held in my hands the flowers of the woods of Loso, and I knew her mould as my bed and bower. She is burnt now. One tree remains, high and tall, but with one sturdy limb jutting to the side. I know what I must do. I know. And yet here I am.

—Transcribed mutterings of a street vagrant, City of Glass, Year of the Yellow Hawk.

*For the previous entry in this collection, see 'Every hero a legend'. The next entry is "Every wizard alone."

Every hero a legend

 "When the legends die, the dreams end; there is no more greatness."

--Tecumseh (apocryphal)

If the world is a tree, its roots are legends. We cannot see them, but the sap rises. We cannot know they are real, but the tree sways in a storm. The world is grounded by faith in things unseen.

Here, belief makes the imaginary real. So be careful: when I tell you about a hero, you imagine who they are, what they are capable of. The feats of daring and might and mercy, you put yourself in their place. You give them a gift.

But so it is, with legends and heroes. We all believe in what our heroes do, even it is not true. Especially if it is not true. We do not know them, we have not seen these deeds, so our faith is weak. But we are many.

And for every resonance between the legend, and who they truly are--it ties them to us. We make them more Real, tougher to kill, stronger, world-shaking.

This is the power of tales, this is the power of song, of love and tragedy and memory. Saints draw faith down like a river, heavier and heavier, personal. But Legends? They are wound round by blind threads of faith, thin, hard to escape, a net binding.

Here.

The path of a Legend calls many: warriors, charming thieves, swashbucklers, monster hunters, performers, and local heroes like yourself. If you would truly become one, ask yourself: what have you done? And more importantly, what do folks believe you can do?

Physical might and force of will are what a legend needs: the first to do great deeds, the second to be a compelling tale. You don't need to be strong, just dangerous and unforgettable. Some might call it charisma or magnetism, but I have seen enough sheep to know that a goat stands out. If you would be a legend, go your own way, and spread your story.

When you come to town, spend your gold and carouse and tell your boastful tales. Hire a singer to sing your praises in the taverns, or do it yourself. Live life to the hilt: let all envy you, but most importantly, let all talk about you.

The power will come as your fame grows.

Your name will no longer be your own. All heroes and villains are given new names by the people, often followed by an epithet. Already in the streets, they are calling you Brin the Bloody, and that is a dangerous one indeed.

What, you don't like it? If you want power, young Legend, you will live the stories they tell about you. It is not every day an Ogre dies to a lone spear.

But be wary: you are caught in a web. Fame is a dagger at the throat. If you become a villain in the eyes of the people, either lose your power or become a villain in truth. And yes, in this way, legends can become monsters. If we let them, stories can trap us in weakness, in error, in endless regret. What is an Ogre or a Dragon, but a thing caught in a myth it no longer tries to escape?

Legends never truly die, if their story lives on. Tyrants, heroes, killers, singers--all linger here, and if killed, wait just beyond the Veil to return. We are stones that history flows around, fires that refuse to go out.

So go forth, young hero, and may your deeds be told to children a thousand years from now. Burn bright.

-- A translation*, from Tradespeak, of Teller's counsel to Brin the Bloody in a quiet tavern, overheard and recorded by the scholar Raman, several years before Teller's Deathsong.

*For the previous entry in this collection, see 'Every Cleric a Saint'. The next entry is "Every master a king."

** The image shows Achilles killing an Amazon, a scene from the lost epic Aithiopis, the sequel to the Illiad (precursor of the Odyssey).