Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

“So how can you tell,” one of the younger children, one who had come in with the last refugees before the gates were barred, whispered. “How can you tell if your sword has the sword ghost inside of it?”

“Well, little one,” Anx said. “The Dayfather, or the Nightmother–or perhaps both if they are quarreling again–will appear to you in a dream and say that it is thus.”

“Oh, please,” Tova said. “Fill that child’s heads with such nonsense and they’re sure to believe the next rattle they find is from the Creator’s very cradle.”

Hirt, looking toward the child, asked: “Young’un, have you ever had a dream about a truly magnificent sword you’d like to share with us?”

The child, after a reassuring nod from their mother, bobbed their head enthusiastically.

“Tell us, then. Keeps the stories, and our spirits, flowing.”

“Okay, well, I dreamed of a big mountain with fire in it. Like they say that there is way in the south. A vol…a volc…a volca…”

“Volcano,” Tova sighed. “At least lie with the right word, yes?”

“Volcano.” The child furrowed their brows before continuing. “So these people wanted to make a sword, okay? But then one of them said that they should let the Creator make them a sword, and that would be the best sword. But the guy that said that? The other guys didn’t believe him, they laughed. They said if he could get the realtor to make him a sword, he would be their new king and they would totally throw the old one into the vol…volc…volca…fire mountain.”

“What happened next?” said Hirt.

“Well, the guy, he knew that the fire mountain was going to burp up a fire river soon,” the child went on. “So he did what the blacksmith does and made a big mold in the shape of a sword. And he put it on the side of the fire mountain. And then when the fire mountain woke up and the fire river started to flow, it flowed into the mold and filled it up. So when the guy went back, he opened up the mold and the Creator had made him a sword, just like he said.”

“A fine tale,” Anx said. “Now tell me, little one: did the other ‘guys’ keep their word and throw the old king into the fire mountain, and make the fire smith their new king?”

“No, they said it didn’t count because he made the mold, not the creator,” the child said sadly. “I woke up before I found out what happens next.”

“That part, at least, is quite realistic,” said Tova. “The perfidy of human nobles is the one constant in this world of ours.”

“Well, what do you think happened next?” Hirt said, the sweep of his arms encompassing the room. “Come now, someone, finish this tale of fiery swords for our young blade bard here.”

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As told by Anx, a dwarf of Aiov in the northwest

After the Shattering, when the King Over the Isles fell at the Battle of Two Lakes, the Sea Peoples took our homelands from us. Those they did not enslave were forced to flee, but they did so without reason or purpose. The King Over the Isles was also the high priest of Dvagnchi the Dayfather, and his queen was high priestess of Qingvnir the Nightmother, you see.

When the King Over the Isles died, the throne would pass to his designated successor and his wife. If he died suddenly without an heir, the dwarves would call a Great Council made up of all the heads of the Great Holds in the Shattered Isles to elect one among their number to succeed. They would be girded thereafter with the Isthmus Blade as a solemn token of office.

But the Two Lakes was such a crushing defeat that not only was the King slain, but every dwarf who was a possible member of the Great Council had died or was captured. The Isthmus Blade, so they say, was thrown into the great pile of weapons melted down and reforged after the battle. The Sea Peoples poking their new dwarves with their own iron, now that must have made their cruel hearts smile!

One of the few noble dwarves to survive a free man was Tivej. He had this notion that the Isthmus Blade was less of a real thing you could hold than a ghost, a spirit that inhabited a metal shell as a gift from Dvangchi and Qingvnir. He declared that his own humble sword had been imbued with that spirit, and that the Dayfather and Nightmother had told him so in a dream.

For the next eight years, Tivej wielded his sword, imbued with the ghost of the Isthmus Blade (or so he claimed) against the Sea Peoples. He fostered slave revolts, led the free dwarves in guerilla warfare, and eventually declared himself King Over the Isles. When he was betrayed by one of his men, who sold his liege for the Sea Peoples’ gold, Tivej fell in battle, refusing to surrender.

And his sword, the one he said to be possessed of the spirit of old? It was never found. Many since have claimed to have it, or to have another sword possessed by the same spirit, in the centuries since.

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“I don’t think that elves game out very well in your sword-story, blade-bard,” Tova said. “You make us out to be a lot of squabbling adulterers. Vol and Elw never ruled over much territory and they were mules besides. Let me tell you of a true elven blade from the time before the Creator to set the record straight.”

“Is it a real story,” Hirt asked, “or one you made up?”

With a twinkle in her eye, Tobe ignored him. “In the days of old, long before the Seven Sisters of Naïx dotted her shores, the deserts of that land were lush forests. It came to pass than an elf was lost in those jungles, the last survivor of an expedition. He was wounded for want of a weapon, starving for want of food, and dying for want of sweet water to drink.”

“In those days, great insects lived in the jungles of Naïx, the size and bearing of a man or an orc, and they were doughty survivors because they lived short lives, giving birth in their death throes to children that were better-suited to survive than they. If there was a flood, the child would swim; if there was a drought, the child would not thirst. It so happened that one such insect came upon this elf, lost and dying. And in his plaintive cries, she found something at once both pitiable and admirable.”

“Her child, born the next day, could speak the elf’s language and led him to an oasis. There, able to eat and drink, but unable to penetrate the dense jungles, he began to recover. But the insect soon found that she was better-suited to the elf than the mother had been; what had been admiration was now love.”

“So when, in turn she died and brought forth a daughter, the new insect was adapted to love the elf, and to be loved by him in turn, for although still an insect she had the outside form of a beautiful woman. And, for a time, they were both very happy. But she soon noticed him stockpiling food and water, gathering supplies for a trip to the north, to the coast. When she asked, the elf spoke of his wife and children, whom he missed dearly.”

“And so, heartbroken, the insect died that very night and her daughter was born: in the form of a sword, chitinous and sharp, with which the elf could cut his way through the jungle and return to those he loved. He left then,, bearing her hence, and for he remainder of their long lives together she hung by his side through many a trial and travail.”

Tova folded her hands. “That is a true elf-story for you.”

“If she could have a daughter that was better adapted, why not wait until he was out of the jungle and then have one that looked like an elf again?” Anx said.

“Shut up,” Tova said. “That’s why. And besides, it’s your turn.”

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As told by Hirt, a man of Simnel

In the days before Eyon I, the first king of Pexate, the land was rent by petty kingdoms and strife. One of the strongest was a realm which once stretched where we now sit, centered on the city of Simnel. Elves had carved a great citadel for themselves, and ruled as far as their spears would reach.

Their old king died just as their lands had begun to be threatened from the south, and his wife was heavily with child at the time. It was decided by a great council that her child should succeed him. But when the time came, she gave birth to twins–both mules, for it happened that she had been unfaithful to the old elf-king with many who had come through Simnel-that-was. Her son, Vol, had a human father and was fair-skinned and fair-haired. Her daughter, Elw, had a goblin father and had dark olive skin and midnight-black hair.

At their birth, the sword traditionally forged for the new king was hurriedly duplicated, and thus Volen and Elwva were forged. In the elven dialect of the time, Vol was noon and Elw midnight, so Volen and Elwva were the Light-Blade and the Dark-Blade respectively.

Decades of war followed as the Twin Monarchs came of age, and in them Eyon I found his craftiest opponents in the north. Vol was a cruel man, prone to fits of bloody rage on the battlefield, but nevertheless a skilled warrior. Elw was temperate and kind, a formidable diplomat. Together on the throne, they kept King Eyon at bay for years.

The King, in his great wisdom, dealt with them in his own way. He sent emissaries to Vol, promising recognition as King of the North if he would only remove the thorn of Elw, with the shadow-blade Elwva to be handed over as proof of the deed. Vol greedily acquiesced to the terms.

Then King Eyon sent emissaries to Elw, revealing Vol’s treachery. He promised her the title of Queen of the North if she wiped away Vol’s dishonor with blood and collected Volen, the blade of light. The two siblings met in the great hall of old Simnel and fought for hours, forbidding their retainers to intervene. Their final blows, in parallel, struck at each others’ hearts, with the obsidian of Elwva shattering in Vol’s chest and the translucent quartz of Volen breaking between Elw’s ribs.

King Eyon then arrived, took the fealty of the retainers, and collected both shattered swords. “Let these broken blades be a reminder to all who follow me in my line,” he said. “If their bearers had remained unified, and not let the petty strife of their common history drive them to violence, I would never have triumphed.”

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“They call you the blade-bard,” the dwarf, Anx, said. “Does that mean you can sing? Come, sing us a song to pass the time.”

“Oh, that’s not quite what the name means,” said Hirt, looking around the dozens of other anxious, haggard faces clustered inside Kingskeep for safety against the siege. “I run the royal armory’s historical collection.”

The elf from the royal architects college, Tova, snorted in the shadows to Hirt’s left. “What’s bardic about being a librarian of old rusty daggers?” she said.

“You misunderstand,” replied Hirt. “I make the blades sing. Not the whistle of slicing through the naked air, either, but songs of their history.”

“This one would be more interested in the history-to-come, or perhaps the swords-to-come if the city walls are breached,” the goblin from the castle scullery said. “Perhaps the blade-bard knows how the siege goes, if King Uxbridge rides to relieve Simnel as the gobs in this one’s scrubbing-crew have whispered.”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” Hirt said. “But I could regale you with a tale of one of the blades from our collection. To pass the time, that is.”

Tova snorted again. “I could easily tell you a better story of a better sword, avdpas.”

Anx clapped his hands together, causing several of those huddled on the stone floor to gasp. “Now that is the first good idea I’ve heard all siege,” he said. “Let us each in turn tell the story of a blade we know, and thereby pass the time.”

“What if I don’t know any swords?” one of the pages, leaned against the wall, said.

“Make something up!” Anx said, laughing. “You there, blade-bard. You go first. Tell us of a sword. Something wondrous, from before magic began leaving the world. And don’t waste our time with the Purposeful Blade either, we know it’s kept in Aiov.”

“Very well,” said Hirt. “Let me tell you of my favorite blades: Volen and Elwva, the sword of shadow and the sword of light, taken from the Twin Monarchs by Eyon I when he took Pexate.”

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Name: Mississippi Kite
Peckédex Number: 24
Type: Air type, Murderbird type
Weakness: Earth type
Evolves From: Mississippi Kytoon

Description:
These swift and elegant gray raptors normally only eat bugs, but they won’t hesitate to defend themselves or their nests from all comers.

Attacks:
Skree-Kew! – This bold declaration increases the Mississippi Kite’s speed and decreases that of its foes.

Bug Drop – The Mississippi Kite catches a bug in mid-air and consumes it, dropping the inedible parts on its foes for moderate damage while also healing a small number of hit points.

Concert Dive – This powerful dive looses the Mississippi Kite’s beak on unsuspecting foes, but requires two turns to cool down after each use.

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Name: Canadian Goose
Peckédex Number: 23
Type: Noisy type, Waterfowl type
Weakness: Quiet type
Evolves From: Canadian Gosling

Description:
They are the last terrifying visage you see before the grave, wild dinosaurs of the north come south to pillage and plunder. Canadian Geese have all the ill-temper and hostility that Canadians themselves lack, and they will not hesitate to use it.

Attacks:
Toronto Twister – A vicious peck that deals Noisy type damage.

V for Victory – The Canadian Goose leads its fellows in a V-shaped attack on all enemies, with the number of geese and the amount of damage increasing with higher levels.

HONK if You Love Murder – A cacophonous honking that raises the Canadian Goose’s attack power. Does not stack.

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Name: Turkey Vulture
Peckédex Number: 22
Type: Quiet Type, Murderbird type
Weakness: Noisy Type
Evolves From: Downy Vulchling

Description:
Huge and imposing in flight and on the ground, the Turkey Vulture is actually a gentle creature that never harms living beings except in self-defense. Their diet of carrion and relation to hawks and eagles, though, means they are not to be trifled with,

Attacks:
Rip ‘n’ Tear – The Turkey Vulture lashes out with its beak, inflicting damage and gaining life at the same time.

HORK! – The Turkey Vulture vomits up the corrosive contents of its stomach, weakening the defense of all enemies. There is a slight chance that each enemy will have a random status effect applied as well.

Fecal Armor – The Turkey Vulture, uh, protects itself with its poo. This gives it a bonus to defense and immunity to fire-type attacks, but water-type attacks will wash it away.

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Name: Ruby-Throated Hummingbird
Peckédex Number: 21
Type: Sour type, Hummingbird type
Weakness: Sweet type
Evolves From: Hummblebee

Description:
Though their diet of nectar and diminutive size may make them seem sweet, Ruby-Throated Hummingbirds are in fact tiny battle-hardened valkyries, forever picking fights with each other over access to sugary snacks.

Attacks:
Piercing Peck – The Ruby-Throated Hummingbird’s stiletto beak does piercing non-elemental damage to one foe. This attack pierces all defenses.

Sugar Rush – The Ruby-Throated Hummingbird increases its speed and agility, granting it an increased chance to dodge enemy moves or counterattack.

Flower Power – This move heals the Ruby-Throated Hummingbird and offers a temporary defense boost. Multiple boosts do not stack.

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Name: Brown Thrasher
Peckédex Number: 20
Type: Earth type, Mimic type
Weakness: Air type
Evolves From: Tan Thrasher

Description:
This spotty bruiser may want you to think he is tough as nails, but he has a songbird’s heart and a talent for mimicry to go along with his cousins the mockingbirds and catbirds. But if you’re not careful, you may still get an angry thrashing.

Attacks:
Thrash! – The Brown Thrasher lives up to its name with a devastating peck attack that takes one turn to power up. Pierces many types of defense.

Absorb Attack – Being hit while Absorb Attack is active adds the enemy attack performed to the Brown Thrasher’s Secret Song move.

Secret Song – The Brown Thrasher unleashes a mimicry of every attack it has absorbed, in order, up to a maximum of five. The attacks’ element, if any, is changed to Earth type.

Brown Note – Any attacks that cannot be mimicked during Secret Song are converted to Brown Notes which deal minor non-elemental damage.

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