This is great. I thoroughly enjoyed the read so far. This brings back a LOT of memories of my own campaigns, and makes me want to get my hands on Elric of Melniboné. The time frame was a (good) surprise. Keep this up.

Seconded on the great front. I've been following the blog. As someone who occasionally writes stuff up I'm impressed with your stamina as much as anything else.

Quote from: Benoist;457675...The time frame was a (good) surprise...

Yeah, 100 years before Elric keeps the setting largely familiar (most of the Young Kingdoms exist in recognizable form), while avoiding the problems of adventuring under the shadow of the White Wolf and the imminent destruction of the world.

The Elric of Melnibone book for MRQII describes a number of different eras in which campaigns can be set (the time of the Mernii, the height of the Bright Empire, the reign of Empress Terhali, the Dharzi War, etc.). It also describes some alternative timelines, e.g., an 'Emperor Yrkoon' world (in which Elric died in infancy) and an 'Elric's Peace' world (in which the events in Stormbringer do not occur).

Quote from: deleriad;457709Seconded on the great front. I've been following the blog. As someone who occasionally writes stuff up I'm impressed with your stamina as much as anything else.

I've fallen about three sessions behind at the blog, so my stamina isn't really that impressive.

The Journal of Edvund Yrvim - Entry 3 - 'Audience with the Empress'

Bōdric and I reeked of salt water and countless days of uncomfortably close proximity with humans. Consequently, before our audience with Empress Sathril, we were bathed with hot water and scented oils, and clothed with magnificent perfumed silken garments.

I almost felt like my old self again. Alas, there was no time to rest and enjoy our improved condition. We were ushered before the Empress straightaway.


[Empress Sathril]

The unearthly beauty of Her Most Serene Highness, the Empress Sathril the Eighth, Queen of All Worlds, surpassed even the brilliance of the Ruby Throne on which she sat. We were careful to avert our eyes from her angelic face until she permitted it. Even so, my half-brother could not gaze upon her for more than a few seconds, tears threatening to stream from his awestruck eyes.

Although I too was impressed by her exquisite beauty and grace, my entrenched ambivalence toward all Melnibonéan authority thankfully shielded me from similarly being besotted. In addition, my suspicious grey eyes spied a brooding figure by her side, no doubt her chief advisor, First-Husband-Concubine, Prince Quire.

It is difficult for me to recall the interview with the Empress. I felt dizzy with anxiety the entire time, constantly worried that I might commit some inexcusable faux pas. Her voice sounded like heavenly music to me, sweet wine for the ears, whereas my words seemed like cracking glass.

In response to her queries, I related to her, as best I could, the tale of the fall of the House Yrvim, including the ancient and once-mighty Palace of Yr. I reported the death of my half-brother (and heir to the Yrvim demesne and other properties) Carac, in combat with the Mereghn assassins and their mercenaries. Drawing on what Bōdric had told me before we left Ilmar, I stated that High Lord Serec Yrvim was still alive when last seen, but in mortal peril. (I refrained from pronouncing my sincere hope that my accursed father had in fact met his justly deserved doom!) Finally, I conveyed the fate of the House Salamir, as related to me by the warrior-slave Myluk.

Strangely, the collapse of Melnibonéan power on two continents seemed to trouble the Empress little. She did seem quite distressed, however, at the fate of House Salamir, and in particular Lord Salamir’s daughter, Coru-Dro. I assured the Empress that my half-brother Bōdric and I would do everything we could to recover the members of House Salamir, that we were determined to travel to Ryfel and save the Melnibonéan noble family from the indignity of the slave market. She seemed pleased at my words, strangely emphasizing the importance of saving Coru-Dro above all others.

Much of the rest of the audience is a blur to me now. I do not believe that it lasted very long. Subsequently, Bōdric and I were escorted to the Yrvim apartments in the city. I had been hoping to relax and enjoy a glass of rare yellow wine before preparing for our travels, but we were interrupted mere moments later by a royal messenger. It seemed that Prince Quire had come to our apartments in order to discuss certain matters!

“Yet more stress,” I moaned quietly, teeth gritted, “By Kakatal, my ulcer is afire!”


[Prince Quire]

My half-brother and I welcomed the Prince as best we could, our skills at royal courtesy somewhat rusty from lack of use. Quire, however, did not notice, as he was interested only in some frank discussion. He pressed us on our plans for rescuing House Salamir, and emphasized the importance of rescuing Lord Salamir unharmed. I ascertained an agenda somewhat different from that of the Empress. Whereas the Empress seemed to prioritize the return of Coru-Dro, the Prince stressed the primacy of the Lord’s safety.

Interesting…

Prince Quire also made some speculative, rather intriguing remarks about the possible need for Melniboné to abandon this world, and focus its energies on conquering a new one, one in which the humans might still be malleable to the Bright Empire’s capricious will. Somewhat foolishly, I blurted out that our human friend, Adralat Na-Keth, seemed knowledgeable of other worlds. (Catching myself, I held back my own suspicion that Adralat himself was from beyond this world.)

“Interesting,” the prince said distantly, a weird glint appearing in his clever, cruel eyes. “I should speak with this human.”

And with that, Prince Quire departed without a further word.

My half-brother and I busied ourselves preparing for our upcoming voyage. After a few hours, much to my astonishment, Adralat was brought to our quarters. It was a most unusual event, to have a (non-enslaved) human brought into Imrryr proper!

“I just had an absolutely fascinating conversation with that intriguing Prince Quire fellow,” reported the strange human, “He seemed most curious, most curious indeed, about the nature of the Million Spheres. I tried to answer his questions as best I could. What a compelling specimen, Prince Quire is. What dreams he must have! Absolutely fascinating…”

Sighing, I said to Adralat, “I regret that my loose tongue implanted in the prince an interest in you and your knowledge, my friend. I fear that Prince Quire’s interest in other planes of existence is not purely academic. Rather, my impression is that he dreams of conquest, namely, establishing a new Bright Empire, cruelly ruling over humankind, in another world.”

Adralat looked at me somewhat startled. “Oh … ah … er, I see…”

Interlude: The Hot Needle of Inquiry


[By Lawrence Whitaker]

The hornet barge was a sleek, stylized vessel carved from the black sabrewood tree native to Imrryr. The entire hull was carved from a single trunk, intricately crafted by Imrryr’s expert slave shipbuilders, and then equipped with two smaller skiffs that slotted into berths on the starboard side of the ship. The whole vessel was shaped to resemble the dragon hornet; a six-winged insect unique to Melniboné that proliferated in the north of the island during the balmy summer months. Few ships of this style had ever been built and it was possible that Lord Salamir’s Hornet Barge was many centuries old.

Slaves laboured through the night to repair the ship and outfit it for its next voyage to Ryfel. The mast was repaired and damaged portions of the two decks replaced. Time precluded the craftsmen from using sabrewood and so panels of stout oak were used instead, the dark brown of the wood contrasting sharply with the ebony of the original timber.

Designed to carry a crew of fifteen the Hornet could be sailed with as few as three. Today, it would sail with six: Bōdric, Edvund, Adralat, Myluk the slave-warrior and two further slave-warriors who had also been trained in the arts of seamanship. Bōdric, Edvund and Adralat watched the final preparations from the private quay that was separated from Imrryr’s main harbour by a cunning assembly of walls, buildings and warehouses. This private harbour was large enough to berth a battlebarge and the small ship looked strange floating in the immense harbour, dwarfed by the expanse of the quayside buildings. “It should have a name,” Edvund remarked. “It’s bad luck not to name a ship.”

“How about ‘Titanic II’?” Adralat suggested. The Melnibonéans ignore him. The human shrugged. “I suppose not.”

“Hot Needle of Inquiry.” Bōdric said after deliberating for some time. Edvund smiled; trust his brother to want to name a ship after a notorious implement of torture.

“I like it,” Edvund said. “It fits with our mission.”

Bōdric stopped a passing slave who was bringing wine for the ship’s stores and took one of the bottles. He walked down the quay and to the ship’s prow. He raised his voice so all could hear: “In the name of Her Most Serene Highness, the Empress Sathril the Eighth, Queen of All Worlds, I name this ship Hot Needle of Inquiry.” Taking the bottle by the neck he slammed the body of it against the hull; the glass shattered and pale golden wine spilled over the wood. He dropped the broken neck of the bottle into the water. “May the Lords of Chaos watch over her and may the souls of her enemies be damned for all eternity.” He turned back to his comrades. “There. It’s named.”

“Bravo, my brother.” Edvund said. “A fine ceremony.”

“A waste of good wine, if you ask me,” Adralat muttered.

“No one did, human.” Edvund said. Adralat simply smiled and shrugged. “One thing though, Bōdric.” Bōdric scowled.

“What? Did I miss some important piece of trifling etiquette?”

“No,” Edvund said cautiously. “I just wondered if it was wise calling on the Lords of Chaos to watch over the vessel.”

“Of course it is,” Bōdric snapped. “Who else would you call upon?”

“A fair point.” Edvund conceded.

They watched the remaining preparations together in silence. The slaves brought aboard food and clothing of the coarse type favored by the humans of the southern continent. Finally the sail was fitted to the newly repaired mast and the overseer in charge of the outfitting approached them.

“The ship is ready my Lords,” he said. “All is equipped as His Serene Highness Prince Quire requested.” Edvund nodded his acceptance and the overseer departed, leading away his team of slaves.

Something cause Adralat to glance around and his eye was drawn to a slender tower, built to resemble the curving tusk of a great mastodon, not far from where they stood. Half way up the graceful spire was a balcony and on it, watching the preparations, were the Empress Sathril and her consort, Prince Quire. Bōdric noticed the staring Adralat and followed his gaze. “In Slortar’s name Adralat, avert your eyes!” He snapped. Adralat dropped his head.

“She is radiant,” he said. “Truly radiant.”

“She’s the Empress of Melniboné and as likely to cut your balls off for the sheer fun of it,” Bōdric hissed. “So don’t be impertinent.”

“Curious, isn’t it,” Edvund said, “how much interest the Empress is displaying in our preparations. I wonder what makes the safety of Lord Salamir so important? The whole family was disgraced, I’m sure of it. If it was punishment, then being sold into slavery is the ultimate retribution, and so it cannot be that. The Empress must want something from, or of, Lord Sathril. And his daughter.”

“Perhaps our beloved Empress wants Coru-Dro to share her bed,” Bōdric mused. “I’ve heard she enjoys the company of both men and women.”

“And you called me impertinent,” Adralat whispered. Bōdric did not hear him.

“Did you meet her, brother? When you visited Salamir’s estates?”

Bōdric shook his head. “No. I was entertained only by Salamir. He was courteous but aloof. Sullen, almost. He didn’t talk much.”

“No hint as to what disgraced the family name?”

“None. Whatever it was, it happened a very long time ago. But the emperors… they have long memories.”

“I have heard,” Edvund said, “that the memories of all emperors past can be entered through the Dream Couches. That is how every new emperor is trained to command the Bright Empire.”

Adralat looked up. “Through dreams?” He asked. Edvund nodded. “Fascinating. It must be that dream magic is understood by your people.” Edvund laughed.

“Oh my dear, poor, uncultured friend. Our people are the masters of all magic. Why, we have forgotten more about magic than most cultures will ever know.” Adralat ignored the condescension.

“Have you ever experienced these dream couches?” He asked the brothers.

“No,” Edvund said. “Only the most favored of Imrryr’s society are accorded that privilege.”

“Ah, a shame,” Adralat said. “Perhaps, though, if we are successful in finding Lord Salamir and his daughter, it might make for an apt reward.”

The two Melnibonéans exchanged amused glances. “You really are the strangest example of a human I’ve ever come across,” Edvund said.

“I take that as a compliment,” Adralat replied, and offered a mock bow.

“She’s gone.” Bōdric added and glanced towards the balcony. Only Prince Quire remained; he was watching the three on the quay intently. Then, he nodded, as though giving assent for something and disappeared into the tower.

Bōdric sighed. “I think that means ‘Get On With It’. We should, at least, make a show of leaving.”

And so the three collected their belongings from the waiting slaves. Myluk joined them onboard and busied himself by instructing the other slaves in the ways of the Hot Needle of Inquiry. The steersman and Myluk dropped the sail and prepared to be blindfolded as a Sea Maze Navigator came aboard to take the ship through the treacherous labyrinth protecting Imrryr, and out to the open ocean.

Below decks, the three fastened their blindfolds across their eyes.

“What will we find in Ryfel, I wonder?” Edvund said.

“Only the Lords of Chaos know,” Bōdric replied, “and I’m willing to bet drinking money that if Pan Tang runs Ryfel, they won’t be far away.” Silence descended across the Hot Needle of Inquiry as the boat slid into the cavernous tunnels of the Sea Maze, the only sounds being from the oars of the pilot tug boat and the terse instructions of the Sea Maze navigator.

This would be an interesting voyage…

To Be Continued…

Most awesome! The time frame is perfect.

The Journal of Edvund Yrvim – Entry 4 – The Frozen Gem

Our voyage from Imrryr to Ryfel took us across the Oldest Ocean, through the straight that separates Argimiliar from the Island of the Purple Towns, and into the Eastern Ocean. Thankfully, my internal organs did not rebel against the swelling waves on this trip. At last I had found, as the humans like to say, "my sea legs."

Accompanying Bōdric, Adralat, and myself was the mighty warrior-slave of Lord Salamir, the remarkable human Myluk. Also joining us were two earnest human slaves expert at handling Melnibonéan ships, such as our sleek hornet barge, the Hot Needle of Inquiry. They were named Ulor and Brax, and seemed wonderfully, hopelessly loyal.

On the sixth day since leaving Imrryr our hornet barge entered the bay of Ryfel, which slices into the land where the backward realm of Pikarayd (to which Ryfel belongs) confronts the far more civilized kingdom of Argimiliar.

My half-brother, Adralat, Myluk, and I left the hornet barge in a small cove a day's march north of the city. We instructed Ulor and Brax to guard the ship with their lives in our absence. Given the manifest Melnibonéan design of the Hot Needle of Inquiry, and the fact that Pikarayd languishes under the boot of vile Pan Tang, we thought it best to leave our ship hidden and attempt to infiltrate the city with as little fanfare as possible.

I will not squander my limited ink describing our overland journey to the city. Suffice to say that we did not get there until dusk. We managed to convince the city guards – ill kept and badly mannered Pan Tangian cretins – to allow us entry.



Ryfel is the most squalid, fetid settlement that I've ever had the misfortune of encountering. Ilmar was a perfumed palace constructed by the Eternal Lords of Aesthetics in comparison. The only noteworthy structures were the still impressive remnants of the Bright Empire. (Apparently this horrible little place was once a minor outpost of Melniboné.) The most significant building I spied was the mighty Black Citadel, which was mounted on a severe bluff to the northwest of the city, overlooking miserable Ryfel like a savage black eagle eying its prey.

Also worth noting was the octagonal Temple of Chaos. On each point was mounted a statue of a supercilious Lord of Chaos: Mabelode, Slortar, Marthrim, Aesma, Xiombarg, Balaan, Mahluk and Artigkern. Despite my partial Melnibonéan heritage, I have no fondness for the Lords, and hope that we can avoid the grandiose temple during our stay here.

Once in the city, we had a brief unfortunate encounter with some drunken city guards in the least squalid part of Ryfel, the "Old Side." It amuses me to note that poor Bōdric cravenly parted with a hundred of his precious silver coins in order to avoid physical conflict. I would have preferred to have seen them lying in the gutters, their entrails strewn about the street! But I suspect that my half-brother's course was the wiser.

Eventually we found ourselves in a massive quayside inn called the Frozen Gem. A remarkable place, the main floor was a common room filled louts, ne'er-do-wells, and other assorted riff-raff from across the Young Kingdoms in various states of drunkenness. Presiding over it all was an innkeeper, a canny pipe-smoking fellow named Zherez.

While we negotiated for a private room for the four us, Zherez kept looking at my half-brother and myself with his beady, suspicious eyes. I suspect that he may have discerned our subtle Melnibonéan features. Not a good thing in a city controlled by the disgusting Pan Tangians!

My worries aside, Zherez helpfully informed us of the slave auction taking place in the market square the next day. Hopefully we will be able to rescue Lord Salamir and his family then – assuming, of course, that we have not arrived too late!

The morning after our arrival in the squalid, degenerate city of Ryfel, Adralat, Myluk, Bōdric, and I headed over to the market square in order to observe the slave auction and, hopefully, purchase the freedom of Lord Salamir and his family.

For many hours we watched with boredom (tinged with melancholy, in my own case) the proceedings, conducted by an irritatingly loud Pikaraydian named 'Manirez.'

An impressive group entered later in the morning. In front was an important looking, stick-thin Pan Tangian (whom we later learned was named 'Nhagren'). Behind him was a palanquin born by mighty, sweating slaves. Inside the palanquin was one of the most corpulent creatures I've had the misfortune of gazing upon. Truly, this creature had abandoned his humanity long ago, degenerating into a horrific sphere of adipose. Apparently this blob was none other than the Pan Tangian governor of this backwater port, one 'Lord Boorg.' Both Pan Tangians were accompanied by a large number of the 'black guard,' the Pan Tangian soldiers who maintain some semblance of order in Ryfel.

At the back of this band was a figure even stranger and more disturbing than Governor Boorg – a Pan Tangian covered in tattoos that appeared to be runes, and dressed in a cloak made of (I believe) human skin. This manifestly malevolent human wore a necklace of bones, had bones placed in his hair, and a bone shoved through his nose. Clearly a sorcerer of some kind (we later learned that his name was 'Malagan'), he was accompanied by a massive wolfhound – or so it looked at first glance; the beast could very well be a demon of some kind, given its size and demeanour.


[The Pan Tangian Sorcerer Malagan]

The auction continued for a few more hours, with Governor Boorg purchasing many attractive women and strong men (presumably the former for his harem and the latter for his gladiatorial pits). No one dared to bid against the grotesque governor.

After some time a number of mercenary warriors, all dressed in blue, arrived at the square. They were led by a well groomed blond fellow with brilliant blue eyes, who, like his men, also was dressed all in blue, and who looked like some kind of aristocrat. The 'Blue Captain' (as I referred to him in my mind's voice) alone seemed uncowed by Governor Boorg and his entourage.

Intriguingly, Bōdric claimed to recognize the mercenaries. Apparently he had come across them at some time during his many travels throughout the Young Kingdoms. To my half-brother's obvious frustration, though, he could not place the mercenaries, or name their leader.

After some time there was a commotion at the edge of the market square, as some late traders arrived with three slaves covered in hooded cloaks. Once the slaves were ushered onto the auction stage by the auctioneer Manirez, their cloaks were removed, leaving them shamefully naked, and revealing them to be the Melnibonéans whom we sought: Lord Salamir, his wife, and their daughter Cora-Dru.


[Lord Salamir]


[Cora-Dru]

Although my innate civility prompted me to avert my eyes from their naked forms, I nonetheless spotted an interesting rune tattooed onto the chest of the Cora-Dru. Helplessly curious, I scrutinized the rune from afar. Alas, I could not identify it, but I recall its form as follows:



The bidding for each member of the noble family began at 500,000 silver coins. Blast – by the Grey Lords! The absurdity of our 'cunning plan' to purchase the aristocrats with our own money slapped my stupefied mind like a cold wet fish. There was nothing for us to do but observe who purchased the Melnibonéans.

Governor Boorg and the 'Blue Captain' entered into a bidding war for each Melnibonéan. In the end, Boorg purchased Lord Salamir and Cora-Dru, whereas the 'Blue Captain' succeeded only with Lady Salamir (our lowest priority, given our instructions from Empress Sathril and Prince Quire).

Unlike all of the other slaves sold today, none of the Melnibonéans were branded. I was grateful that, at least, they were spared this painful indignity.

Boorg, his entourage, and his newly purchased slaves left the square, heading for the massive Black Citadel at the edge of Ryfel. We decided to follow the 'Blue Captain' and his mercenaries, trailing them (thanks to our slave Myluk's skill) to a ship at the docks. The ship bore the markings of the Isle of the Purple Towns. At least we now knew, roughly, where all three of the Melnibonéan captives were held.

Our plan to purchase and liberate the Salamir family at the slave auction was a pathetic failure. I cannot believe that we did not consider requesting a large sum of money from the Empress in order to assist us in our mission!

Uncertain of how to proceed, Adralat, Myluk, Bōdric, and I returned to our room at the Frozen Gem. We sat in glum silence for several minutes.

“Well, gents, I see no reason to linger here in despair,” Adralat said suddenly with grating chipperness, “I think that I’ll go down to the common room, mingle with the locals, and see what I can learn. Sound cool?”

“Cool?! Er, whatever. Begone human!” snapped Bōdric, clearly angered at our predicament.

“But take Myluk with you to protect you from harm,” I advised as Adralat opened the door. Our burly warrior slave departed with the strange wanderer from another world.

My half-brother and I sat in our room for the next three hours, alternating between brief frustrating discussions about what to do next and periods of resigned silence. At last we decided to head down to the common room ourselves to see what Adralat was up to, and to sooth our nerves with some of the alcoholic beverages consumed by the barbarians in this uncivilized crumbling outpost.

As we descended the stairs towards the common room, we saw that it was full of rowdy sailors, merchants, soldiers, and less respectable types, engaging in a wide variety of activities: gambling, telling jokes, singing (poorly), accosting serving wenches, and – above all else – drinking. The patrons seemed to be from every one of the Young Kingdoms, united only in their vulgar manners and savage hedonism. Overseeing the broiling chaos with the serene calm of a Lord of Law was the innkeeper Zheren, puffing away at his clay pipe.

Suddenly, much to my surprise, the stick-thin Pan Tangian whom we had spied earlier in the day leading Governor Boorg’s entourage at the slave auction – the wan administrator known as ‘Nhagren’ – stormed into the common room. He screamed the name ‘Aneera’ at the top of his lungs several times, irritating my delicate ears. Eventually, a rather comely red-haired courtesan appeared. The Pan Tangian grasped her wrist and departed abruptly with her for the ‘entertainment’ rooms on the second floor of this den of iniquity.


[The courtesan Aneera]

Bōdric and I made the rest of our way down the stairs into the roiling horde of unwashed humanity, weaving our way to the bar with some difficulty. We ordered a couple of murky blackish ales – apparently the least unpleasant beverages on offer here. As we left the bar to find some seats, I accidentally spilt some of my ale on a brutish fellow sitting at a table with another similarly brutish fellow.

“My apologies,” I said in my least condescending tone, hoping to avoid any further interaction with the gruesome animal.

“Oi! Oi! Pig! You’ll pay for messing me cloak!” shouted the savage, as he leapt to his feet in order to assault me.

Bloody hell.

Suddenly Bōdric and I were forced into a brawl with these two louts. Without warning I was struck in the head, leaving me bruised and dazed, a trickle of blood coming from my right ear. Acting swiftly, my half-brother plunged his fist into the face of my assailant, knocking him out immediately. Outraged at this development, the other brute drew his blade. As he did so, though, I uttered my Rune of Reflection. Consequently, as my new foe thrust his sword towards me, it rebounded against him, drawing blood (although not enough to end his pathetic life, alas). Shocked, the primitive animal dropped his weapon and cowered away from me, screaming, “Witch! Witch! Witch!”

Silly idiot. I’m a sorcerer.

Around us the rest of the common room had descended into chaos, as additional brawls broke out. Like chaos-infected primates, the other common room inhabitants had decided to imitate our encounter with their own petty violence.

Looking worried that the fool’s yelping might attract further unwanted attention – despite the wild mêlée swirling about us – Bōdric quickly knocked him out with two rapid strikes with the pommel of his sword.

Across the room we spied Adralat calmly gambling with some rogues, apparently undisturbed by the madness churning around him. Behind our strange human companion, like a protective demon, Myluk stood guard, pounding any fool who approached the table into immediate unconsciousness (or perhaps even death). Glancing at each other, Bōdric and I silently agreed to return to our room immediately, rather than trying to join Adralat.

Upon returning to our quarters, I bandaged my head, and silently thought about what had transpired for a few minutes. Then I turned to my half-brother and announced: “Bōdric, I have a cunning plan. I think that we should grab the administrator Nhagren now. He is our key to finding Lord Salamir and Cora-Dru!”

Bōdric looked at me with surprise. “Are you sure, Edvund? The risks seem very great. Very great indeed. Perhaps we should see what we can do tomorrow. What more we can learn…”

“No, Bōdric,” I replied firmly, “We must act now. The longer we wait, the more Lord Salamir and his daughter risk being harmed … or worse.”

“We act tonight.”

[Apologies for the size of the picture.]