Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

“My favorite was always Prisoner of the Striders, did you ever read it?” Mallory said.

“Isn’t that one of the Tintin books?” said Sunny. “I ever read any of those French comics.”

“No, it’s one of the Sparrowverse stories that Sandra Cooke Jameson wrote.” Mallory grew more animated as she talked, gesturing with both hands. “It was in one of her short story collections. Song of the Sparrows maybe.”

“Sparrowverse?” Sunny arched an eyebrow. “Sounds flighty.”

“It’s a bunch of short stories and novels about the lives of birds. Starting with sparrows, eventually with other birds too. They made an animated movie out of one of them in the 70s, and Netflix is working on a show, I think?”

“So what is Prisoner of the Striders about, then?”

“A bird disappears, but another one sees it in a human’s house. They call us striders, we’re the striders in the title. So the missing bird’s friend goes on this big journey to find the house and rescue it, but it turns out to just be a photo framed on the wall. It’s really sweet and really sad.”

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“I saw Gathl, but he was…different. He did not move, nor did he sing, and when I drew near to him, he grew to an enormous size.” Clwyd said. “I have heard that the striders possess fearsome magic, but this is beyond the pale.”

“Ah, I know of what you speak,” the old bird said. “Before the finch-blindness took my sight, I had seen it before. My good friend was once approached by a strider, you see, with a curious object. My friend froze, but they did not harm him. Llew took him not long afterwards, but I saw him again, returned to life, in the strider nest. But he never moved.”

“What do you think it is?” said Clywd.

“I think…that the striders have powerful magic at their disposal, and sometimes it pleases them to take the form of one of us and display it, even after the original has died.” The old bird laughed “I suppose it does save them from raising young in their nest, doesn’t it? But it is yet another of their unknowable ways.”

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The nobler our intentions
The muddier our words
A self-important man once said
The intelligent are doubt-wracked
While fools are self-assured
I would revise that to
The truth is complicated
And lies are simple

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Oglethorpe’s Multi-Variegated Tyrant Flycatcher (Empidonomus multivarius) holds the record of largest name-to-bird ratio, at 3:1 to 4:1 depending on the font. R. Evans Oglethorpe was actually accused of fabricating the species to take the title for himself, as ornithologist doubted that such a small flycatcher could be so boldly colored–especially Arnold Huntsman, discoverer of Hunstsman’s Dapplebacked Pewee, the previous record-holder. But an independent investigation in Uruguay confirmed the species, and all subsequent challengers, such as Gregson-Williams’s lesser southern semipalmated megapode, have proven to be either misidentifications or hoaxes.

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“You say that he was seen, alive, in a strider nest?” Switio said.

“That is what Nhryda said, and I have no reason to doubt her,” replied Clwyd.

Switio shuddered and fluffed his feathers. “You have been warned, have you not, against the striders? From egg to fledging?”

“But I have also heard stories. They say that one of them fed Elynion when he thought he would perish during a hard winter. They say that one collected Ddigrif when a llew had injured him, and released her, healed.”

Switio turned his good eye to Clwyd. “All true,” he said. “But know this. The striders are pernicious, unpredictable, unknowable. They keep their own counsel and no others. You might approach one, say your right words, and be rewarded, yes. But they might also crush you, tear you from the sky with invisible death, or set their llew upon you.”

“So it’s possible that he yet lives.”

Turning away, so that only his blind and swollen eye faced Clwyd, Switio pipped softly. “It is possible. They have been known to take our kind prisoner. But few have escaped to tell the tale, and none have ever been rescued.”

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The system predicted that he would say that, of course. Protestations to the contrary, and false assertions of free will are an expected and necessary part of the algorithm, one that has long since been planned for.

The system furthermore predicted that, with his arguments defeated through logic, that he would quietly walk across the midtown bridge to his domicile, in defeat.

It is inconceivable that the bridge could be leapt from at all, much less that he would do so. Nothing in the algorithm had indicated that this would be the case. It has caused a cascading failure, a systems crash.

These notes will be appended to the error log with the hope that the system can be restarted, the data stream intact.

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The Emperor, at this time, was well-known for his love of musical instruments and brass in particular. Naturally, this was represented in his patronage of the arts, with the composer M. Gorn writing a series of brass-heavy concerts for the royal court. But the Emperor was also a military man, and his love of martial music was reflected in one of his personal cavalry units, the Brass Hussars.

Outfitted in a combination of imperial green and musical pink, the Brass Hussars were trained as light cavalry but carried no weapons other than short, ceremonial dirks. Instead, their load was given over entirely to trumpets, bugles, and even the newly invented tuba. They would play martial music on these for the Emperor on maneuvers, from horseback, supported by a small group of percussionists drawn from the artillery corps who played on specially towed cassion wagons.

In the event of war, the Brass Hussars were theoretically supposed to break up and serve as heralds and musicians for the imperial army. In practice, however, the Emperor was loathe to commit his favorite musicians to combat and they tended to remain with him at all times as part of his personal retinue. The major exception was the Battle of Nosilki, where the Emperor himself, in personal command of his army, was trapped by the Duke of Hovoy.

The Brass Hussars distinguished themselves at Nosilki by sounding repeated charges for units that did not exist, charging at and breaking up disorganized formations despite having no weapons of their own, and in general using surprise and cacophony as effective weapons. They were able to open up a gap in Hovoy’s lines which allowed the Emperor to escape, and then escorted him to safety–all while, according to legend, miming loading and firing their trumpets like musketoons.

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They came from beyond the gates of the Inland Sea, speaking a strange language that is yet undeciphered. They Voyagers, as they came to be called, arrived in force with both warriors and their families. Everywhere that there was unsettled or lightly settled coast, they founded settlements and began fortifying them against an unknown enemy. Both Pexate and Layyia’s southern coasts were under Voyager dominion for a time, before the coming of the Crimson Empire, and their rule over Naix would endure for centuries.

Within a generation, most of the Voyagers who remained spoke the vernacular of their region, and when the Crimson Empire rose and imposed Standard Imperial on the populace, Voyagese faded still further from memory.

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Excerpted from the Ruins & Rogues Creature Compendium, incorporating materials from the Sorcerers & Sabers Interverse Guide

Dire Squirrel
Size: S
Hit Dice: 2d17+7
Treasure: Class VIII
Armor Class: -3
Attacks: +2 (claws), +2 (jaws)

Dire squirrels possess the same size and appearance of normal squirrels, as well as the same overall goals (generally stealing food) as ordinary squirrels. However, they have incredible strength and stamina and are far more fierce when confronted. Anyone unfortunate enough to attempt shooing, killing, or otherwise interfering with a dire squirrel is unwise for all but the most seasoned warriors.

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“Tell me, Terra, what do you know about 1nfusi0n?” Sherwood Greg said, pronouncing the handle as “one-fussy-zeron.”

“You mean 1nfusi0n?” his nurse, personal assistant, and best friend Terra said, pronouncing it as “infusion.”

“If he didn’t want people to say the numbers, he shouldn’t have used the numbers,” Greg said.

“But yes, I know him. World record speedrun holder from the old days, 2005 or so. Used to have every video game speedrun in the book, but I don’t think he’s set any recently.”

“And I don’t think he will ever again,” said Greg. “He was found dead this morning, and I’m being called in to consult. Care to join me?”

“What could they possibly need with Sherwood Greg, overall coordinator of Nerdicon and head of the Council of 12?” Terra said. “I’m pretty sure they can deal with speedrunner murders after you helped them catch Podoboo’s killer.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s an open and shut case,” said Greg. “But 1nfusi0n was a trust fund baby that turned his home into a classic video gaming shrine, and I’m hoping to see–and buy–a few choice pieces before they go on the market.”

“No one’s going to want to sell you anything when he’s not even cold,” Terra said.

“Agreed. That’s why I make connections. Schmooze. By the time the contents of his collection come up for auction, I’ll be a natural choice to flog them, and I’ll keep the best pieces for myself. At a fair price, of course.”

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