To Legends Treatises

The New World is a vast land, many times the size of any other province. Most of its area remains unexplored, but a general layout places mountains along the northern coast, plains fading into endless forests as one moves toward Rilhaven, and even greater mountains in the south. Here, too, are said to be strange, arid lands hidden within the southern forests and swamps.

The native people were thought to be the Eldritch, though there are races, such as the people of Taeidor and Sía, who may be still older.

Such a large land inspires many tales – the legends of the New World could fill volumes. But here are just a few to whet your appetite.

The pirate Kassim sailed the Known Lands about a hundred years before the founding of Aranor. His exploits are recorded in hundreds of tales, and he is remembered as the first of the Romantic Pirates. With mysterious origins, the dark-haired swashbuckler roamed the seas, always with a new ship, a new lady (though he was said, in his later years, to marry), and new adventures.

Though the tales, over the years, have doubtless gained much color, he was nonetheless a documented historical figure. Among the official records are numerous complaints to Masallan and Old World authorities, and a dungeon and execution record in Faol, where he was kept for a scant three days before he escaped.

One of the most persistent tales is that Kassim hid his largest stash of treasure off a small island along the northern coast of the New World.

Carlisia, a Masallan historian and author of numerous books on the legendary pirate, interviewed a man named Ulric on his deathbed about thirty years ago, regarding Kassim's largest treasure.

Many have searched for the treasure, but there are numerous groups of small islets along the northern shore, most of them meeting the description of the one above. And caves are not rare in such sea-battered rock.

Perhaps Maelmuire long ago found the treasure and added it to their wealth. Or maybe some adventurer discovered the stash and goes there whenever he or she is in need of some gold. Knowing Kassim, however, the treasure is probably still there in the darkness, awaiting discovery.

Along the northern coast of the New World lies Maelmuire, and just across the bay, the famed Liathan vineyards. Founded by a poor gypsy family eight hundred years ago, the first bottle was traded for an axe. Today, a bottle can go for more than 100,000 silver.

Many generations of that gypsy family lived at the vineyard, making their famous wine. At the height of Liathan’s popularity, though, something mysterious happened. The Maelmuirian traders went over to get their usual supply, and found the vineyards quite abandoned.

Only two days past, the vineyard had been bright and clean, with servants, growers, vintners, coopers, and the owner’s family all wandering about among the grapes. Now there was a cold mist in the air, with boats creaking at the docks and doors left open in the buildings up on the hill. Everything was left as if the entire vineyard had just walked away-- tasks half-finished, food still on plates.

The scene was so eerie that the Maelmuirians fled.

That was two hundred years past, and since then, brave and greedy souls have pillaged the storage casks and cellars, taking probably all of the wine. But the risk is great, for many of those who go there do not come back, or if they do, they often are dead within moons by means of some curious accident. While many places carry such legends, there is a documented reality to the Liathan curse, and only a few have gone there and are still alive to tell the tale.

As you may have guessed, visitors to the vineyards are fewer and fewer. Not only is there the threat of the curse, but the Maelmuirians patrol the sea, and there are said to be no bottles left among the ruins and overgrown vineyards.

You can see the ruins from the sea – old buildings standing up on the hill. They are ruins which will likely hold their mystery forever.

In the middle south of the New World, east of the port of Auralay, there are many Eldritch ruins. Some are ancient and decrepit, while others are in strangely upkept states of repair. It is a land of mountains, vast forests, and thick, stagnant swamps. But if you travel far enough, the trees give way to a dry, arid land, all made of rock which the wind has carved into odd formations, spires, and arches. It is a labyrinthine land, with no water to be had and few, if any, animals. Beautiful and stark, it is home to one of the most persistent legends of the New World. The City in the Stone.

A city so vast as to defy imagining, it is carved into the living rock of this strange land. The natural features have been incorporated into the building of the city, and many of the city’s walkways move through caverns or ravines.

So perfectly blended with nature is the architecture that from overhead, the city looks little different from the endless maze of formations that surround it.

The city is said to be home to a strange and unknown race, a people half-human, half-serpent, and legends speak of them as wise and enlightened, with many temples and sanctuaries.

Who they really are or if the City in the Stone truly exists has never been firmly established – the legend springs from two written accounts, but it isn’t clear with either of them whether the author was simply creating a tale of fiction, or if the stories were truly taken from the journals of explorers.

The city of Taeidor lies along the northern coast, high along a mountain ridge that overlooks the sea. It is a small town, some say little more than a village, with perhaps a few hundred people carving out a living from the mountain and the forests down in the valley below. Their village is so inaccessible that few people can claim to have visited it.  And the villagers, a people of pureblood race and possibly, of fae descent, are strange and different.

Though little is known about them, they are famous for one thing – their dragon.

It is said that over a thousand years ago the dragon came, threatening to devour their village. Instead, the people made a bargain with the beast, promising a tithe every three years. By lottery the maiden is selected, and with great ceremony she is tied to the altar to await the coming of the dragon.

In exchange, the people of Taeidor are granted protection from and by the dragon, and some say that they get strange, ancient magics from the beast.

Whatever the case, it is clear that the villagers value their relationship with the huge creature, and do not welcome the adventurers who inevitably come every three years in an attempt to save the maiden. The people are reportedly cold to such visitors, feeding them substandard food and giving them little if any talk.

The dragon is an ancient mountain dragon, beautiful and shining to behold. Its size is legendary, and its wisdom is said to be immense.

Hundreds are the warriors and mages who have died on that mountaintop in a vain attempt to protect a village from something it does not even desire protection from.

Fur is usually considered the garb of rustics – it’s cheap and warm, but tends to hold dust and dirt, and doesn’t wash well. Still, some avant-garde nobles will wear finer-looking pelts, especially those of pure colors. And there is one fur that no one argues is cheap – the fur of the Pendock.

It holds a light golden cast to it, and shines in the most brilliant of manners. Neither too long nor too short, it is so thick that your fingers cannot burrow down to find the leather beneath. Soft and deep, ‘young’ Pendock fur is gently coated with an oil that softens and rejuvenates the flesh.

I say young, because unlike most furs which ‘shed out’ and lose their luster over time, Pendock fur actually ‘ages’, losing its light coat of natural oils but gaining more golden coloration, more highlights and shine, and if possible, more softness over the years. In fact, the more mature a Pendock fur is, the more valuable it is.

The mystery? No one knows what a Pendock is.

The fur can only be purchased in Auralay, at a single shoppe. The gentleman there gets it from a ‘person’ who lives in the forests east of the city, and claims to know nothing else. No one from Auralay has ever seen a Pendock, or anything that might bear such a fur. The only hint of an answer comes from a persistent rumor that Pendock fur is not fur at all, but actually feathering from a strange, ground-dwelling bird.

Whatever the case, the fur is much treasured throughout the known lands, and sells for insanely large amounts of gold.

In the southern tip of the New World lies a scattering of boulders and rock spires. Maelmuirian legends say that there once was a great, towering mountain there, but that long ago it rose up from the ground with a fierce rumble, soaring upward to become the ‘Cold Star’, a star of particular importance to Maelmuirian astrology. The mountain was said to have ‘roots’, much like a tree, and when it lifted away into the heavens, its roots were dangling behind it. These roots left caverns and tunnels in the ground, and indeed, some of the most extensive caves in the Known Lands can be found there.

The caves are twisted and shift quickly from wide to narrow, branching and curling so that one swiftly becomes hopelessly lost. If you persist long enough, though,  you will eventually find your way down, deep into the caverns, to a long, wide corridor. These are the World Caves.

Or so they say.

In the legends of Maelmuire, the great hero Targred discovered the World Caves and began a long trek. The vast caverns held huge lakes and rivers, ancient bridges, abandoned ruins, and strange, subterranean creatures. Along the route he found corridors leading upwards into twisting caves that allowed him to reach the surface again. Each time he would find himself in a different land – some tropical, some frozen, some of ancient forests where the trees towered to the skies. He traveled the World Caves for thirty years, walking under the oceans and seas to emerge in wondrous new lands. The World Caves, it is told, connect all the lands of Carador through underground passages.

Those who have attempted to verify the legends end up getting quite lost in the initial caves in the south of the New World, but a few have claimed to find an immense cavern far below the surface. Perhaps some have indeed found the World Caves, and are even now exploring places where we can only dream.

Tramelles are considered, by huntsmen and adventurers, to be the most aggressive, mindless killers in the woods. Twisted tree-like creatures, they lay in wait and then lash out with tentacle-like limbs, ensnaring their prey and dragging them into their dark, ragged maw.

Slow to move, they are nevertheless difficult to kill, and when one attacks a village, the results can be devastating.

Luckily, they are creatures of the deep woodlands, and are seldom encountered.

Mindless killers they may be, but one, at least, is said to be different. For west of the Moors there lies a valley in which dwells the Great Tramelle.

The creature is so large that it appears to be a small forest, all interlaced with twining roots as thick as a man’s torso. It would take a day to walk across the breadth of the creature, if any were brave enough to do so. And indeed, some have been, for the Great Tramelle, it is said by the locals of Mirim, is an intelligent being, and if you can make your way to the heart of the ‘forest’, you’ll find a huge, sprawling tree from which all the others grow.

Within the dark tangles, they say, dwells a mind of ancient wisdom, but the creature can speak no words. Instead, it communicates with motions of its limbs or crude scrapings in the moist earth. In Mirim, there are a people called the ‘Tree Speakers’, and they are said to make an annual pilgrimage into the heart of the Great Tramelle to speak to it regarding the affairs of the world, for its roots are believed to extend to all corners of Carador. Their methods of communication are esoteric at best, but they claim to gain great wisdom from the creature.

Most, however, stay well clear of the place, for tramelles are very well known for their predatory ways.

The haunted city of Antara was, not too long ago, a haven for magicians of all kinds. They delved into many magics, and left some odd things in their wake. One of them is Mirror Rock, said to have been enchanted by a sorceress.

It is north of the city, easily found on an outcropping overlooking a lake. It is a tower of stone, and one side is all of mica, smooth and dark of color.

On nights of the full moon, the moonlight sometimes shines off the surface so brightly that it is nearly blinding. And this is the time for scrying.

If you stare into the light until your eyes seem no longer able to see, the silver brightness will begin to shimmer and writhe, and then the enchantment will emerge.  Before you will be the most potent of scrying devices. In Mirror Rock you can see the future, the past, or the present . . .and more.  For those who become adept at the rock can see into people’s hearts, can know their inner secrets and fears.

The full moon used to draw many to the rock in hopes of glimpsing secret knowledge, but these days, with Antara abandoned, Mirror Rock is usually empty of visitors.

On one of the islands on the southern tip of the New World there is a huge cavern, easily visible from the sea. When the tide is up, small ships can actually row into the cavern itself.

If one climbs up the far wall of the cavern, there is a cave mouth that leads along a corridor that suddenly drops away into a gaping hole. The hole, they say, has no bottom, but one thing is for certain – the echoes are the best in the world.

Reports claim that echoes can be counted for the space of sixty heartbeats after a loud shout, for the sound winds its way not only along the walls of the pit, but through the passages that weave in and out along its sides.  Visitors to the caves have included explorers, adventurers, and interestingly enough, musicians and even architects who study the sounds of the caverns in an effort to better understand just what makes sound travel and bounce.  Someday, the properties of the Great Echo Caverns will doubtless be included in the design of a theater where the merest whispers of the actors on stage can be heard in even the last row of seating.

West of Cuan lie the famous Moors, crossroads of the Realms. It is a place where the worlds touch upon their fringes, and strange occurrences are to be expected. A single roadway travels through the Moors, to Mirim, a town that is perched right in the midst of them. Traders and adventurers alike make their way along this track, but to those who venture off, only despair can be expected. The creatures that haunt that land are not the creatures of Carador, and magic twists and warps. It is said that even your mind will be molded by the forces of the Moors, causing you to see visions, have strange dreams, and suffer from odd hungers, melancholies, or memories of things you’ve never done.

Those who do return to civilization often do so with only a portion of their mind left to their command.

Still, the town of Mirim has people who make their lives from traveling the Moors, gathering rare herbs and stones, or traveling the pathways none dare to travel. One woman in particular, a once-gypsy named Clesonne, is renowned for knowing the pathways of the Moors. But her secrets are her own, and will likely remain so.

History is full of references to giants. Huge men, eight or ten arms tall, who dwell in lonely places. Most of these are probably just reports of trolls whose size has been exaggerated somewhat. Still, there is a skeleton in a museum in Masalla that measures almost four paces from foot to head.

But the world could never have held creatures of the scope that might have wielded the Giant’s Axe. Or could it?

Found in the great forests to the north and west of Antara, in a place where the mountains can be seen screaming toward the skies just beyond the canopy of the leaves overhead, there dwells a stand of immense trees, some so large that forty men could stand, hand in hand, in a ring around one.  In the bark of one of these trees, about twenty paces off the ground, there is an immense axe, its blade caught in the wood.  If you can imagine the scene, it looks just like someone took a swing at the tree and then was called off on urgent business, leaving their axe behind. 

The axe, though, is simply huge, the shaft being more than two arms thick, and the double-headed blade big enough for four people to comfortably lie upon its surface.

A creature capable of wielding such a tool would have been so immense as to make whole deer into single-bite treats! 

If such creatures exist, why has there never been a single report of one being sighted?  All the tales of giants, impressive as they are, describe creatures of much smaller proportions.  And yet, if they don't exist, how do we explain the giant's axe, its leathern-gripped handle (dragon leather, experts say) browned and polished by years of being held?

The New World is certainly big enough to hold mysteries.  And it's certainly not beyond imagining that a race of immense creatures could be living somewhere in the high mountains or deep woodlands.  Giants and odd swamps, dragons and hidden treasure, ancient wines and lost cities in the stone -- of one thing we can be sure, and that is that the New World won't cease to amaze us with its collection of strange occurrences and locales.

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