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Defenders of the Mwangi
Chapter 1: Hapa Gborki
In the world of Golarion, in the Inner Sea, lie numerous lands of many kinds, filled with peoples and creatures both amazing and terrible.
The Mwangi, better known as the “Mwangi Expanse” to outsiders, is a hot, dense tropical jungle, over a thousand miles wide. It’s filled with forests of tall, ancient trees, rivers and lakes, swamps and ponds. It is as amazing and terrible as any place in this world.
Among the many peoples that call the Mwangi home, one of the rarest are called the grippli. They are a race of folk who walk upright like humans, but appear in every other way like 2-foot-tall tree frogs, with a variety of frog-like coloration. They live arboreally, quietly cultivating their environment to acquire food and shelter, unnoticed by most. Grippli enjoy their peaceful lifestyle, and generally care little for things like power or wealth.
While many presume them primitive and simple, grippli have a long history of surviving and thriving in a jungle that is often hostile to the small and weak. What they lack in size and strength is made up for by their innate wisdom and agility.
One particularly wise grippli was Hapa Gborki. She was a young druid, a sort of nature priest or cleric. With a direct divine connection to nature, her magic and talents were nascent, but growing. She had bright green, mottled skin which looked wet, but was dry to the touch. Her eyes were large and bright red, like many in her family, and could see in the dark. She wasn’t very big or strong, even by grippli standards, but she had learned to cast a few spells and use her cunning to prevail in situations where strength alone would be of little use.
The day had been hot, but the evening came with a cooling rain. Hapa sat perched in the dark, resting on a high tree branch, occasionally snatching a tasty insect from the air with her long, sticky tongue in the post-rain humidity, content to be safe, alone and alive.
Then, out of the darkness, something was flying right towards her. Hapa was just about to leap out of the way when a jungle owl stopped short of her, lighting on an adjacent branch just feet away. It looked at her, twisting its head around comically, trying to focus its far-seeing eyes on the grippli.
She then noticed something odd. There was a small scroll tied to its leg. It was an animal messenger, magically sent to her by someone. She carefully approached it and with a tug on a string, removed the scroll.
Its job done, the owl gave a single hoot, and flew back to wherever it came from, to do whatever owls do. The note was written in Druidic, a language known only to druids.
Translated, it read, “Greetings, Hapa Gborki. I hope this message finds you well. You know our home faces many dire threats, and your help is needed at this time. We are meeting at Ranage’s Circle under the full moon. Please join us.
Your friend in the Green Faith,
Bahari Koto”
Bahari Koto was a gray-haired human who had helped train Hapa to become a druid not long ago. He taught her the druidic language, the principles of the Green Faith, and the rudiments of divine spell casting.
He was kind, and a good instructor. Hapa was fond of him, and looked forward to seeing him again. The full moon was three days away, and it would take at least two days to hike to the Circle.
After a night’s sleep, Hapa rose early, prayed for her spells, and packed her haversack with her healer’s kit and a few sundries. Her only weapons were a small dagger and a club, which was little more than a thick stick, hanging from her belt. She wore a greenish leather outfit that offered her some armor protection, and little else.
Her grippli friends were a little surprised that she was going out into the jungle alone, but she was good at hiding and not being seen, and relied on her stealth, not her strength. She would get to Ranage’s Circle by avoiding danger, not seeking it.
A short way into her journey, she found some wild blackberries and picked a handful of them. She then cast her first spell of the day: Goodberry. With magical words and a wave of her fingers, some of the berries became as satisfying and sustaining as a complete meal. It would save her time because she wouldn’t have to stop to eat or find food.
Not that she spent much time on that, anyway, being less than two feet tall and weighing around twenty pounds. She also has a frog tongue with a range of ten feet, and she uses it to catch all manner of tasty insects. When Hapa goes on a trip, she doesn’t need to carry food or water as long as she’s in her jungle.
She would have to cross a large swamp, but grippli are quite good at moving through them. As long as there was reasonable cover, she’d be fine.
The first day found her making excellent time. She moved effortlessly through the marshes and wetlands, avoiding the hungry mouths of giant frogs, raptors, snakes, insects, insect swarms, and even carnivorous plants. Her sharp eyes simply saw them first, and she hid or found ways around them. She could make herself hard to see, and her coloring worked as natural camouflage, too. If the threat is on the ground, move through the trees. If it’s in the trees, move smartly and quickly on the ground.
Hapa is fifteen years old, and an adult in every way in her culture. She knows her surroundings with an inborn sense of the life within it, and a druid's love for it, with a strong but cautious curiosity.
That night, she slept high in a familiar tree, after checking carefully for any signs of predators. That morning, she again prayed and prepared a small number of spells. The Goodberry spell only works for one day, so she found fresh berries and cast it again, ate one, and kept moving.
The second day was more difficult. As the noonday sun beat down upon the canopy above, the heat became stifling. She paused and rested, aware that she could not let it exhaust her. After a couple hours, it cooled down enough to continue, and she carried on, crossing the trackless swamp, sure she would reach Ranage’s Circle before nightfall.
Then she heard voices, speaking in the Sylvan tongue. They were arguing.
“You said there would be plenty to eat, and what do we have? Nothing! No humans, not even a halfling!”
“Oh, stop your whining! We ate yesterday!”
“We ate Lonny yesterday.”
“He was delicious! Maybe we should eat you next.”
“It’ll take more than your stinky hide to take me down!”
“Wait,” said a third voice. “Do you smell that?”
Hapa realized she was upwind of the creatures. It wasn’t windy, but they could smell her! She got behind a tree and peered ahead. Then she saw them. Three biloko.
Biloko are a cruel and foul-tempered race of fey creatures. They eat humanoids exclusively, and are always hungry for more. They are small, about the size of halflings, yet still twice her size, with dark red skin and glowing red eyes. Instead of hair, they had patches of foliage and moss all over them.They had large, crocodile-like jaws and the ability to persuade their victims magically. They are feared by all the common folk. Nothing good can come from them.
In spite of her cover, they spotted her. “Here’s a tasty treat! Come over here, morsel!”
She felt a wave of magic wash over her. They were trying to charm her, but Hapa had a very strong will, and did not succumb to them. That made them angry.
“I’ve never had the wee frog folk before. It looks yummy! Get it!”
As they charged, Hapa noted that they were no faster than halflings. She was. She could simply outrun them, especially here, but she’d be going the wrong way, and have to double back and try to get past them again. That would take time she didn’t want to waste after stopping for the mid-day heat.
The closest one seemed to be their leader. He had a short spear and a sharp-looking curved dagger. Once he was closer, he threw the spear at her, missing badly, not even hitting the tree she was behind.
Hapa stood behind the tree and cast her second spell of the day: Obscuring Mist. With her hands and fingers she tapped into the magical energies of conjuration, her words creating a vapor of thick mist, twenty feet around and twenty feet high, obscuring all sight within it. Then she started climbing. She didn’t need to see to climb a tree, but she could see it well enough.
“What’s this? Some cheap magic trick? Doesn’t matter. We’ll find you, morsel. C’mon! It’s in there somewhere! It’s just fog, you dimwit! Find it!”
Hapa could hear them go into the mist, searching blindly for her.
“Ouch! Careful with that spear, bonehead. Don’t poke me, poke the bloody frog!”
“There you are! No…”
Hapa climbed up a little higher. Her head poked out the top of the mist, and she almost laughed. This was serious business, though. She had to fight these monsters.
The druid climbed down a little bit, and dismissed the spell. The mist disappeared as swiftly as it had appeared, and the biloko seemed startled to suddenly see again. They looked at each other, confused, looking in all directions, then finally up.
Hapa is a druid who chose not to have an animal companion like most, but rather a magical domain; extra spells on her list, and as a water druid, extra water magic-based abilities. It was time to use one of those abilities.
Without a word, she pointed at the leader, still waving that blade around like it would help. From her finger sprung a projectile, a sharp and magical icicle, which struck him hard in the chest. He fell to the ground, motionless.
“Who’s next? You?” Hapa pointed at the next closest one. He thought of throwing his spear at her, but he had no other weapon. He’d be unarmed, and running from some ice-shooting frog.
He turned to run. The grippli again summoned another icicle, and he fell, dead as the first.
The last one ran for his life. Lucky for him, he ran west. He was far out of any spell range by the time Hapa climbed down, and she let him go. There was some tricky, dangerous swamp ahead of him, and it would be dark by the time he got there. He’ll be all alone, and he’s not a druid.
She searched the corpses. They had nothing she wanted, save one thing. She took the curved blade, testing its heft and feel. It was nicely balanced for her. She’d never owned a scimitar sized for her, but she knew how to use one. This one felt special, and it was so pretty. Even the scabbard was nice. He’d clearly taken it from one of his victims.
Hapa didn’t know where this scimitar came from, but she was happy to have it. She was too small to fight very well in a melee. It just looked so nice. Such a druidic weapon! It even came with a baldric. She cut the strap down to fit her better, and it did. She tossed her crude club. She now had a weapon worthy of a real druid, and it felt great.
“You’ll have an interesting night,” she said to the running biloko, who was far away now, and couldn’t possibly hear her.
“And guess what? So will I! I will meet with my friend Bahari Koto, at Ranage’s Circle, and I’ll be there before the sun goes down!”
She was.
-
Chapter 1: Hoga Nul.
The Mwangi is host to a vast number of humanoids. We’ve met a couple. Hapa Gborki may be small and weak, but she is not defenseless. Biloko are nasty little monsters, but they are found all over the jungle, making it that much more dangerous. She and the biloko are as smart as a typical human, and walk and talk not all that differently. Hapa just happens to be an amphibian.
Hoga Nul is a reptile. In much of the world, in most languages, her people are called “lizardfolk.” In Mwangi, they are called “iruxi,” and they’ve been there as long as damn near anyone. Calling an iruxi a “lizardfolk” in the Mwangi is a party foul, at minimum. To her, humans resemble apes. Should they be called “monkey folk?”
She is not impressed by wealth and luxury. She is impressed by things that are functional, reliable and serve their purpose.
The iruxi have an oral tradition that dates back tens of thousands of years. They live in swamps and jungles. While many can write in their Draconic language, it’s pointless in a place that is so wet, and gets so much rainfall. If you write, it has to be waterproof, and more permanent than writing on parchment, or it won’t last.
Before we look at how Hoga Nul is different from Hapa Gborki, let’s look at how they are not that different.
Like Hapa, Hoga Nul lives in the biggest, swampiest, jungliest part of the known world. She has no interest in things that don’t help her live there. She is practical, intelligent, and sees that her people’s space in this world is diminishing, and more rapidly of late, and she wants to do something about it.
Before you think of Hoga as some kind of environmental activist, you need to understand the iruxi. Hoga is an iruxi, and that means more to her than any cause or belief. Her people survive because their entire culture is built around survival in an unforgiving environment, and not a whole lot more.
She is an activist in some ways, perhaps, but she is not motivated by some sort of idealism or philosophy. She fights for her (and her people’s) survival.
Hoga shares many concerns with the grippli. They would get along well, if they understood each other.
That would be hard at the moment. Hoga speaks Draconic, the language of dragons and most of the reptilian folk found on and underneath Golarion. She doesn’t speak the common tongue of the area; Mwangi, the trade language spoken by humans and most other humanoids in these regions, and is, miraculously, exactly like the language used here. The iruxi stick to themselves, pretty much. They deal with traders who know their language. It’s often used in magical writings, and most wizards and sages know it as well as any dragon.
Hapa speaks Mwangi, though with a very unusual accent, in a voice that sounds a bit like a parrot talking, but she can speak it and even write it, if she has a pen. As a druid, she knows Druidic. It is a language used only by druids, and it’s forbidden for any druid to teach it to anyone who is not also a druid in good standing. She also speaks Grippli, a language that is spoken, but has a variety of chirps, croaks, and noises a parrot couldn’t replicate. It has vowels and consonants. It can be whispered or shouted at a very high pitch. It’s like no other language in Mwangi, or anywhere else.
Hapa is an amphibian who is under two feet tall. She weighs just over 20 pounds. Hoga is a reptile, six feet, eight inches tall, standing casually, without extending her crest. She weighs well over 200 pounds, most of it muscle. Her tail is a good four feet long, and allows her to swim as fast as she can run. She is big, incredibly strong, and not afraid of combat. In fact, she is very good at it. Hoga is a barbarian; a warrior who fights with a raging fierceness that is awesome to behold, which makes her a deadly foe.
That is why she was approached by an elder, a shaman called Rilzor Ahm, one of the oldest males in the tribe. She was taking a break from beating targets with a big club she had crudely carved from a big tree branch. There was still bark on parts of it.
“Hoga Nul, abundance,” said the shaman.
“Abundance, Rilzor Ahm. I am pleased to see you, wise one,” she said, bowing her head to show respect.
“I’ll get straight to the point, Hoga. You’re aware that the encroachment on our lands by greedy and destructive peoples is getting worse by the day. Too many men have come here with thoughts of fortune. They have no regard for our home, and would destroy it for their own gain. That’s what they're doing.”
“Humans…”
“Greedy humans, and they just keep coming here, relentless and seeking riches they must not take. Well, there has been a call for resistance, and that’s why I’m here. The Redcrest tribe has been asked to send our most promising young warrior, and that’s you.”
“You are kind to say that, wise one. Who is in charge of this ‘resistance?’ Why would they want me?”
“There are many. Humans, elves, dwarves and others who think these usurpers need to be pushed back to where they came from. They want to defend our home, and we should, too. They are organizing, coordinating, planning. They will meet at Ranage’s Circle the night of the full moon. I’d like you to be there, representing us.”
“I don’t even speak their language.”
"You will have to learn it, then.”
“Why not send more experienced warriors? I know a few I can recommend.”
“They are busy enough as it is, and they’re not easily replaced. We don’t have as many warriors as we once did. Our best defenders don’t always survive their quests. They’ve died in droves slowing the enemy, but they haven’t stopped it.
You are strong, Hoga, but you’re young and unlearned. You haven’t spent any real time with humans and elves and such. If you are to go to war at their side, you must be an ally. You’ll have to communicate with them, and prove you can be trusted.
They will have to gain your trust, too.”
“Of course,” Hoga replied. “I’ll go. If I don’t like what I see, I can say no and come back here.”
“Your choices are yours, of course. If you refuse, I’d like to know what you saw and refused.”
“That is fair, wise one. It may be an opportunity, but it may be something else.”
“Always true. If you come back, that is your choice, and you are of this tribe. You are one of us. We are you.”
“You think I’ll do this, don’t you, shaman?”
“Yes. I wouldn’t ask you if I wasn’t sure of it. We have to trust at least some of these people. We have to protect what is ours, and we need allies. You will make the right choices. You are more than just a warrior.”
They talked long into the night. Rilzor spent the night in Hoga’s hut and left early the next day. Hoga had a day to prepare, since she lived only one day away from this jungle conclave.
Her route was easy, compared to Hapa Gborki’s. She was not that far from her destination, if she crossed the river. Otherwise, she would be a day late, and that might kill the deal right there.
She had a day to prepare. Hoga did her best to make her club easier to use, but it was nothing special. No matter. It was good enough.
The morning she left, Hoga was met with nothing but familiar folk and a safe environment. Many Iruxi lived here, and she knew most of them. The first leg went quickly. The only real hurdle was the river.
Hoga didn’t know anyone who could help her cross it. She really didn’t need help crossing it. She could swim as fast as she could run, and the river was only about half a mile across. A dangerous swim for most creatures, but not her: As easy as walking.
That’s not to say it was going to be easy. The young Iruxi knew full well that the danger for her wasn’t in the crossing. It was in what was in the river.
Hoga remembered her long, wonderful conversation with her elder, before she left. He’d said many wise and humorous (to lizardfolk, not anyone else) things that night.
In a long monologue, Rilzor had said, “Sometimes, you just have to jump in the river and swim. See what tries to stop you, then don’t let it.”
Hoga was seeing that little utterance as an affirmation. She didn’t jump into the river, she just waded in until she could swim. It was as easy as it could be. The young Iruxi had figured the angles, and would end her swim where she wanted to be.
Hoga noticed a lot of malevolent things in the waters below, trying to chase her, but they couldn’t keep up. The rivers she knew so well were not like they were just a few years ago. She wasn’t old enough to have lived in the old days, but she knew every bit of her people’s oral tradition. Her home was being poisoned, and not just by demons, but by everything else that
came with them. Evil, unlike good, is often indirect. Iruxi don’t really think about abstract things like good and evil. It’s an odd concept to them. They just endure. Survival is the goal, and weighing the morality of who you help or who you kill quickly becomes an exercise in hypocrisy.
She swam fast, ignoring all the slow danger bubbling up from below, and saw her only threat at the bank of the opposite shore.
It was a crocodile, sunning itself on the sandy shore of the south side of the Oonga river, a healthy sixteen feet long. Hoga dove, trying to avoid its notice, and it worked for a while.
Then, it didn’t. She was underwater when she heard the massive creature rush into the river, and swim directly at her. It was slightly to her left, so she broke to the right, swimming fast. If it charged her, she would not live long enough to fight back. She headed for the shore, still, but it would have to chase her now. That gave her a chance.
The Iruxi was too far from the shore to simply outrun the croc. She would have to face it. That would be a problem to most people, but she swam as well as any crocodile. Her club was useless in the water, but she could use her claws and teeth anywhere.
Hoga slowed down, still closing with the shore, then turned to face her attacker.
“Don’t let it grab you and roll. You’re dead if it does,” she thought.
Then it attacked. It tried to grab her left arm, anticipating a death roll. It missed. Hoga got out of the way of the beast’s maw just in time, and was now right beside it. Time to go for the throat.
Barbarians are different from other warriors because they can draw on an inner reserve of strength and vitality when they become enraged. They can really hurt their opponents, but it comes at a price. Their rage can run out, leaving them exhausted and vulnerable.
Hoga raged. Only one of these reptiles would come out of this alive.
She bit it on the neck. The blood was in her mouth, mixed with the clear river water, and it made her hungrier; not for meat, but battle. She attacked with her claws, but only drew blood with one.
The croc was badly injured, but not dead. It fought back, as crocs do. It bit and grabbed her arm this time, and attempted to spin, but Hoga was near the shore. She was stronger than the croc, and planted her feet in the mucky river bottom.
Her arm wasn’t ripped off, entirely, but it was useless, and she had to stay engaged. She bit it again, near the throat, and slashed it with her one functioning claw.
She killed it. The crocodile floated away, and she was too injured to pull the corpse from the moving water. It would be nice to skin it and eat some of it, but she was hurt. Badly so.
She got to the other side, swimming more slowly than usual. The beast had nearly killed the iruxi, shredding her left shoulder and upper arm.
She pulled bandages from her pack, and did her best to staunch the bleeding. She wasn’t well versed in healing, but her injuries required an attempt. It took her a long while, and she wasted a lot of bandage material, but she finally managed to bind her wounds well enough that she wouldn’t bleed much and make it to the Circle soon enough to find a sympathetic healer. The way is easy and safe here.
That’s what she hoped for. What will happen is anybody’s guess. Hoga lives in the jungle. It’s always interesting.
-
Chapter 1: Savjena Sativa
The next person we will see at the conclave is Savjena Sativa.
Savjena will be there for the same reasons as Hapa and Hoga, but she is a very different creature from them. She is not an amphibian, not a reptile. She is an elf.
Elves look a lot like humans. They tend to be taller than humans, have slender, well-formed bodies, large, colorful eyes, and despite their pointed ears, humans generally find them quite attractive.
In cities and in social events, elves are well-dressed. The males wear sharp suits that are quite fashion-forward, while the females tend to favor diaphanous skirts and dresses that embellish their natural beauty. With her dark skin, wavy red hair with streaks of green, and violet eyes, she was striking in both her shape and coloring.
Savjena doesn’t live in a big city, doesn’t wear fancy clothes, and she lives in a small village in the Mwangi jungle. It’s hot. Even simple armor is enough to make people overheat. She doesn’t wear a lot of clothing, like all her people, generally. Humans in the jungle also wear clothing that lets them dissipate heat. Armor is worn in battle, of course, but few can wear it all day without needing to doff it soon afterwards.
The elf began her training as a rogue. Rogues, depending on their choices, can be stealthy skulkers, burglars, thieves, assassins, and worse.
Savjena is no thief. Not that she wouldn’t steal from you if she thinks she should, but it’s not why she’s a rogue. While most rogues have a well-deserved reputation for larceny, not all of them are amoral shysters.
Some use their skills for good. Savjena can disable a trap, pick a lock, and she’s quick enough to hurt you when you aren’t being alert, but she’s not a warrior like Hoga Nul. Not even close.
Savjena is five feet, eight inches tall; on the tall side for a human female, but short for an elf.
She is not as strong as a typical elf, but she’s wiry and has great coordination. What she can’t fight through sheer force, she can outmaneuver and outthink, and that’s why she’s alive.
It’s also why she was selected for this meeting. She didn’t have to come to Ranage’s Circle alone, like Hapa and Hoga. She was well-protected by a group of much older and more powerful elves who had promised her a new path: Wizardry.
The lithe young elf had focused on being quick and tricky, and it worked. She was also highly intelligent, smarter than most of the creatures you will read about here, and she knew it. Becoming a wizard under the tutelage of other wizards seemed a natural step in her evolution. Many fabled elves in the Ekujae (Savjena’s tribe) elven lore were powerful wizards, and it sounded to her like a great way to improve her repertoire.
The reality was months spent learning how to learn and cast magical spells, written in spellbooks, and they’re not learned instinctively. Her particular party had already set up a camp near the Circle, and she was inducted because she had the intelligence to learn it, and she did.
It wasn't easy, but it was fascinating. She learned cantrips (small spells with minor effects) first, and knew almost all of them before she got to more powerful spells. These were the spells beginning wizards learn, and she couldn’t cast the more powerful spells she knew of. Being able to do that only comes with experience, and Savjena was ready to grow.
She was about to learn a lot of things, not all of which would please her.
-
Chapter 1:
Bongo Zoso
The Mwangi, like most lands and countries in Golarion, is populated with many intelligent species and races, but the dominant population, as in most of the known world, is humanity.
The obvious reason for this is that humans are fecund. It is one reason, but only one of many.
While elves and dwarves can live for centuries, humans rarely live to see a century. Most die well before that.
Humans don’t have long to live, and they know it. They build (and destroy) farms and cities, cultures and religions, admirable professions and horrific crimes. Humans come in every color, shape and size as the humans of our world. They do many things, both important and trivial. While elves and dwarves live long and with well-earned ease, most humans do not. They make
things, fix things, rule things, ruin things, and they’re all different. Other races produce heroes and villains, but not at the rate humans can, and not in such variety.
A human may become a benevolent ruler who cares for his people, and does his best to make their lives better. They may become a doctor who saves lives through medicine, a mighty warrior who fights for the good of all, a benevolent cleric using magic to help and protect others, or simply a kind and loving parent. They can just as easily become ruthless tyrants, slave traders, or lead demon-worshiping cults that sacrifice innocent people to their dark gods. It’s a big canvas, and humans paint every corner of it, for good or ill.
Of the millions of humans who populate this magical and wondrous world, the human we will meet now is a young man named Bongo Zoso. Of the humans described above, he would be “a mighty warrior who fights for the good of all.” He’s skilled with weapons, quite strong, and good at tracking, scouting and fighting the threats to his home.
Bongo Zoso is a ranger. He’s trained in both combat and woodcraft. While he is only eighteen, he is again considered a full adult by the Zenju tribe. The Zenju, unlike their savannah-dwelling nomadic cousins the Zenje, are largely vegetarian, and build relatively permanent villages deep in the jungle, cultivating all they need from the bounteous plant life they encourage.
He’s taller than most Zenju at six feet two inches. He is muscular and lean, with broad shoulders, strong limbs, and is both a quick and forceful combatant. He’s fierce with a greatsword, and a very good marksman with a longbow, considering his youth.
His skin is dark, his eyes are a deep brown with flecks of gold, and he keeps his black, curly hair cropped short. He’s handsome and personable, unaffected by the combat he’s seen, and enjoys the company of women as much as any, but he’s so focused on becoming a great ranger, he thinks he’s too young to think about finding a wife or settling down: His heart craves adventure. He wants to test himself and gain experience. That’s a wise choice for those who choose the adventuring life. Dying is bad enough. Leaving behind a widow and/or children would make it that much more painful.
A troupe of his people had brought him to Ranage’s Circle. He’d been selected because he was young, not very experienced, and had the talent and potential to become a great warrior. He’d spent weeks training in both swordplay and archery, and studying the flora and fauna of his homeland, learning to track his prey and detect dangers most would not even notice.
Archery is a solo pursuit. He had coaching, but he was already proficient with a longbow and hit the target more often than not. Improving his sword skills meant practicing with fighters he knew were better than him. Against the younger, inexperienced ones, he did well. Against the experts, he got defeated, but felt no shame. Every defeat was a lesson, more so than any easy victory.
-
Chapter 2: The Conclave
Ranage’s Circle is a large circle of huge cypress trees in the heart of the Mwangi. It was made 1000 years ago, by druids of the now-extinct Jambala Jaeg tribe, wiped out by the demon lord Angazhan, known as the Ravener King, lord of evil ape folk and jungles. They created the Circle as a refuge, a consecrated place that wards off evil, guarded by treants, elementals, and more hidden things. While the people who made it are long gone, the magic there is still potent.
The people camping outside of it had been gathering for weeks, growing in number a little bit every day, camping in tents and lean-tos. Bongo Zoso saw mostly humans, but also a strong contingent of elves, along with dwarves, halflings, and a few other other humanoids such as kobolds, orcs, amurrun (catfolk), iruxi and grippli. There were almost a hundred of them, all convening for some meeting to discuss what to do about their threatened world.
Everyone was to enter the Circle just before sundown. The full moon already hung low in the clear sky, seeming a harbinger of what would follow that night. Bongo ate and rested, chatting amiably with his kin, who were all both excited, curious and a bit nervous about what they would be doing.
—
Hapa Gborki arrived late in the day. She marvelled at the bannered tents and the sheer number of folk who had come. Being a grippli, she garnered a lot of curious looks, but no one tried to talk to her. She knew nobody here, other than the druid who’d invited her, and she went looking for him. It didn’t take long. She spotted him talking to a group of other men, priests and warriors, from the look of them, and practically ran to him, happy to see her old mentor once again.
“Master Koto!” she cried, sounding more like a parrot than anything else I can easily describe. “It’s so good to see you!”
The men talking to him were obviously curious about the little grippli, but respected Bahari Koto enough to let him handle this odd encounter.
“Hapa! Ah, you made it, I see. I hope your journey wasn’t too rough?”
“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” she said.
“Good,” the old man replied. He studied her for a second. “Where did you get that lovely little scimitar?”
“On the way here. I got it from a vanquished enemy, a biloko, to be exact.”
“A biloko? I didn’t think such vermin would carry such a nice blade.”
“Probably taken from a victim. The others just had spears. Not even good spears, and I don’t care for those anyway. They’re hard to climb with.”
Bahari Koto asked to see it. She handed it to him, and he examined it, casting an orison she knew: Detect Magic. With a few muttered magical words and some dextrous movements of his fingers, the minor spell told him a little about Hapa’s newfound weapon.
After concentrating for a bit, he returned it to her.
“It’s magical. How magical, I can’t say, but it’s a fine blade for someone your size. I think your little adventure journey reaped you a fine reward. Keep it. It’s tough, and it will stay sharp and easy to carry while you’re climbing about in the canopy,” he said with a grin.
“I will, Master Koto.” She wasn’t built for fighting, but fights happen. Any advantage counts.
They talked a bit more. Bahari Koto explained more about this event, and why he wanted her there. It had to do with the fact that unlike most druids, she was very stealthy. Stealthy in a way that only a small, camouflaged treeclimbing amphibian can be.She would probably be assigned to a very stealthy position.
Hapa was fine with the idea. She’d prefer that to marching around with a bunch of big, noisy humanoids with no appreciation of quiet and cover.
The little grippli caught herself thinking about what she had just thought. When she had completed her novice training with Master Koto, they spoke only in druidic. She couldn’t speak the language at all when she met him, and that in itself was a lesson in how people can be, rather than how some people are.
There are entire races of creatures that do nothing more than murder and despoil every place they visit. Her tribe had had some troubles with boggards (nasty human-sized bullfrogs that walk and talk, and worship demons), and they just wreck whatever ecology they’re in, and move on once it’s spoiled. A druid can do what they can to regrow it, but it will just happen again somewhere else.
She wasn’t going home. She needed to work with people who share her concerns, and love her home like she does. Perhaps she could, here.
—
Hoga Nul arrived near the Circle in bad shape. She was still 6 miles away when she found the trail, and moved along at her naturally fast pace. She went ahead for a bit, then saw both in front of her and behind her, groups of humans, all traveling, it seemed, to the Circle.
The ones closest to her on either side were mounted on horses, axe beaks (large carnivorous bipedal birds), and other animals. Some rode cautiously toward her, raising their bows or other weapons, shouting things she couldn’t understand.
Hoga raised her one good hand, her injured arm not raising at all. “Does anyone speak Draconic?” she asked, hoping that someone among them could.
“I’m injured,” she said, pointing to her bandaged and bloody arm.”I need healing.”
After some confusion, an old, gray-haired man in a colorful robe approached and spoke to her in Draconic.
“I am Bowana Natao, wizard of the Molako tribe. Who are you, young Iruxi?” he asked.
“I am Hoga Nul. I was sent here to represent the Redcrest tribe by Rilzo Ahm. I am going to meet with others at the Circle.”
“I have heard of him. How were you injured?”
Hoga explained her encounter with the crocodile. He seemed impressed.
The man ordered some of the other humans around, and soon, a woman appeared and examined her wounds. She carefully removed the bloody bandages and chanted what could only be magical words, and with glowing hands, touched Hoga’s shoulder.
Instantly, severed tendons, muscles and bleeding wounds were knit together, and the pain was gone. Hoga thanked her and the old man for their help. She offered to pay them for their service, but they refused.
“If you are here with us, you are an ally,” the man said. “Allies help allies. We don’t need your money. Come, Hoga. You can walk with us. I can translate for you, at least for a while.”
Bowana Natao had helped Hoga simply through the goodness of his heart. Hoga would not forget that kindness. She had scared these people at first, but they accepted and healed her, then walked with her. These Molako were all right.
–
Savjena had been studying magic, learning to cast a variety of low-tier wizard spells. Thanks to her trainers, she had a lot of spells in her spellbook to choose from, but she particularly enjoyed evocation, and decided to specialize in that particular school of magic. She had further learned the Admixture School, the ability to change the energy types of certain spells. She would demonstrate that ability today, completing her novice training.
Her instructors had set up a wooden target, marked and scorched from numerous spells cast on it over the last few days.
“Savjena Sativa, are you prepared to show us your talents?” asked one of the older ones.
“Yes, Elder Kei. I have prepared a cantrip, and will cast it using the four elements.”
“Very well. Cast Ray of Frost four times. At the target, please,” the Elder said with a grin.
Ray of Frost is a cantrip that does a minor amount of cold damage to a target. You aim at the target, and if you hit, it gets a nice frosty nip. Not enough to kill, usually, but a nip.
She spoke a word of magical power, and pointed. From her finger, a ray of cold air and ice flew at the wood, smacking it solidly.
“Very good. Now cast the same spell, but make it fire.”
“As you wish.” She cast it again, using the magic in her mind to change the energy of the simple spell. Instead of a ray of frost, she fired a gout of flame. The wood sizzled momentarily.
“Cast it again. With electricity.”
This time, she shot a tiny bolt of lightning, splintering the surface.
“Excellent. Just one more to go.”
“Yes.” Savjena cast the spell again. This time, a black sphere of acid hit the wood, causing it to smoke as the acid dissolved its surface.
“Well done, young one. I think we can welcome a new admixture evoker to our ranks.”
Another wizard, a female not much older than Savjena, said “You know, I’ve never had much facility with evocations. I tend to cast other spells, but seeing this, I have to say you have real talent.”
“Thank you, Iena,” Savjena replied. “You are a good teacher. Thank you for your patience.”
She had just taken her first step as a wizard. A weak beginner, but a wizard, by strict definition. Given the help she’d received, and the number of cantrips and spells she’d learned for free, she was sure she would be joining her kin in some capable group. She knew she could gain more power with such experience, and she was eager for it. She could be useful in the right party of elves.
Evening was about to arrive. She went to the tent she’d spent months living in, and put on the nicest outfit she’d brought, a sheer and sparkly colorful gown, open at the sides. She then put on her belt, strategically keeping the gown in place, and sheathed her weapons; a dagger on her left hip, a rapier on her right. Everyone would be armed. She was no different.
The elf then cast Prestidigitation on herself, another cantrip, cleaning up her body and her clothing, and giving her hair a nice shine. She didn’t have a full-length mirror to look into, but she was sure she was looking good. She felt good. This would be a memorable night.
-
Chapter 3
The Meeting
As the sun set, people began to file into Ranage’s Circle. Only certain leaders and invited young adventurers went in. Others stayed outside, guarding their camps. Rather than one big fire, there were several small ones started inside the circle, being tended by assistants.
Some elders stood near the center of the circle; a split tree wrapped around a black stone. It was said to imprison some demon or other foul being from the past.
Hoga needed an interpreter, but everyone else spoke enough Mwangi to listen to the speakers and understand them. There were fewer than 100 there in total, but those who’d shown up seemed to have potential. At least, their various tribes and leaders thought they did.
A number of humans and elves spoke, and the gist of all their speeches was the need for a unified front to stop the destruction of their beloved jungle. Hoga was all for it, and eager to join or enlist, or whatever they called it.
The plan was to form various combat groups: Columns of warriors with spellcasters at their sides, augmenting their strength and speed, helping them to fight, and healing the injured.
That’s the kind of support a barbarian needs! She could fight at the front line, attacking and drawing attacks, while others cast spells to make the battle fair. What a great thing that would be!
They were told that tomorrow, before they leave, each young recruit would be assigned to a specific unit with a specific purpose. Her imagination danced with all the possibilities. Rilzor Ahm was right. She wanted to do this.
-
Hapa Gborki sat alone, listening to the speakers. Bahari Koto was one of them, so the only person she knew here was one of the leaders. Some people stared at her. Many had never seen a grippli, she figured, but no one gave her any trouble. There was an effort being mounted to do something to stop the harm being done to her homeland, and she wanted it to succeed. She was in. Exactly what she was in was still a bit of a question, but she was in. It needed to be done. For her, for her people, and any others who would join them.
-
Savjena Sativa was feeling great. She had demonstrated her mastery of evocations. She had learned a mountain of cantrips, and what spellcasters call “first level” spells. She wasn’t a powerful wizard, but she could become one. She just had to live long enough.
She would. Her kind lived for centuries. They don’t die for nothing.
She stood with a group of other unarmored elven female spellcasters. They certainly got a lot of attention. They were all lovely. This was just a simple tradition among elves. They celebrate their own form.
-
Bongo Zoso watched the sun go down, and give way to the full moon that marked this unique occasion. He was very pleased to see this expression of solidarity with such a diverse and disparate group of humanoids. Most were human, but there were elves, halflings, dwarves and other races. All were welcome. All were needed.
The speakers spoke passionately about resistance to exploiters, rising up and fighting back. Good. He knew it was needed.
There was a feast after the formalities, and he enjoyed some food and drink before going off to sleep. Tomorrow, he would be assigned to some sort of unit, some group of people, and go from there. It wasn’t really an army. It was a gathering of the willing.
Sure, some had trained as soldiers of some sort, but they weren’t soldiers. They were adventurers. This was about defending your home, not joining an army. These people lived in tribes, not cities or countries. They weren’t pawns on a chessboard.
Each group would rule itself. That’s as risky as it sounds, but there is a common need. Bongo had to trust it.
-
He got his chance to trust it early in the morning. It was exactly sunrise when he was awakened from a good sleep and summoned to some early meeting, escorted by two armed men.
They took him far out into the woods, away from the base camp he’d been staying in. There was a large tent, with armed men all around. He was told to go inside.
Wearing nothing but the clothes he had hurriedly put on and the dagger still on his belt, he walked in.
He saw two older men, seated at a simple table. Behind them was a display of very well-made weapons and armor.
“I know what this is. It’s a bribe.” the young man thought to himself.
“You’re not wrong, Bongo Zoso,” said the one with the gray beard. “We are trying to entice you. That is a fact. We want you to work with us, and we are willing to sweeten the deal for a young man with your promise.”
Bongo had just gotten his mind read. He knew there was magic that could do such things, but he had never seen it, let alone be the subject of it.
It took him some time to respond. This was a lot. He looked right at gray beard. “You know my name. May I ask yours?” He shifted his gaze to the other man. “And yours?”
The men looked at each other, then shared a laugh. They laughed like old friends remembering some funny incident from long ago.
“I’m glad you think I’m funny. I just don’t get the joke,” Bongo said.
The men paused. “I’m sorry,” said the bearded one. “You are not a part of any joke. We’re just happy that we were right. I am Moro Astar, in answer to your question. I am a wizard, and I’ve seen you grow into a man worthy of respect.”
“I am Elo Aman,” said the other. “ Moro and I are old friends, and I’m a ranger, like yourself. We were not laughing at you. You just reminded us of something funny. To us. We’re not here to play with you. We didn’t bring you here at the break of dawn to make a joke of you.”
“Then bribe me.”
“Very well, then,” the wizard said. “Check your new dagger, my gift to you.”
Bongo drew the blade from the sheaf at his right hip, not at all surprised that it was a much better version of what he’d had.The wizard was wily.
“Nice trick. You’re aware that a dagger is not my favored weapon, right?”
“You like your longbow. You like your greatsword when you close with the enemy. I have weapons worthy of your skills. I will give you any weapon you like, and it will be a good one.
All I need is your fealty to the cause.”
“The cause… There’s a cause?”
“Yes,” Elo Aman interjected. “The cause is the defense of our common homeland. Every creature here is committed to it. I know I don’t have to tell you that it’s under siege."
“You don’t need to read my mind to know I know that. So why did you?”
“There are spies among us,” Moro Astar replied. “I just needed to make sure you were really you. Your role here, if you accept it, is of great importance to us. Much will be asked of you, and you won’t get much recognition for your effort. Not in any official way, that’s a fact.”
“I would not think that what is happening here is in any way ‘official.’ You organized this gathering. It is not condoned by any who would pretend to rule this place.”
“Exactly!” the wizard replied. “The Mwangi is not a place that can be ruled. Many have tried, many have died. We are a diverse population. What I want from you is to lead those who will not be led.”
“You’re asking the impossible from the improbable. I’m no leader, and I don’t need one.”
“No. You can’t lead the leaderless by telling them you are their leader. You must be the guide, the tracker, the scout. Never the leader.”
“Who are these people I must lead by not leading?”
“You will meet them soon. First, take your pick of these fine weapons. And some armor.They are yours, regardless. I owe you that for bringing you here.”
“A fair bribe,” Bongo said. He selected a longbow suited for his strength, a greatsword, far better made and balanced than the one he’d been using, and a chain shirt, lighter and more protective than the leather armor he had.
Not a bad deal. He’d committed to nothing, yet. He didn’t have to.
-
“Let me see that axe,” Hoga said, to another mage in another tent.
“Of course,” the sorcerer said. “I understand it is of dwarven make.”
Hoga grabbed it, feeling the weight of the greataxe. Now this was a weapon that will take off a head with one good swing.
“May I test it outside? I don’t want to risk damaging something in here.”
“Be my guest, young iruxi. I think you will like it.”
She left the tent, axe in hand, and gestured to the men outside to give her room. They did. She swung it around, tentatively, then started swinging it hard, as if in battle. It was well-made and perfectly balanced for a barbarian as big and strong as her.
After a minute, she went back inside. “I’ll take it. What about that longbow there?”
“It’s too heavy for me to even pull,” the sorcerer said. “Feel free to test it out. I think you have the strength for it.”
The bow was huge, and the pull was heavier than any she’d ever tried, but she could do it, no problem. It could put a nasty hole in just about anything. “I’ll take it. I’ll also take that chain shirt. It looks like it will fit.”
“It will. Take it. Let’s go meet the rest of the team.”
-
Hapa Gborki had a harder time finding items she could use. She was very small, and even halfling-sized items were a bit too big for her. She did find a dagger that fit her more like a short sword, but it worked. She also grabbed a wand of Cure Light Wounds, a spell she knew.
It wasn’t new, but had a few charges left. She guessed that she might be the only caster in her party who could use it.
-
Savjena Sativa was also met and persuaded by a couple of spellcasters. Elves, in her case, plying her with masterwork weaponry and magical items. Too eagerly, she thought.
As long as they were giving her stuff, though, she saw no reason to not take it. As a new wizard, she wore no armor, as it could interfere with her spellcasting. She instead accepted a Ring of Protection, which offered little, but was better than nothing. They gave her a nice dagger, and a rapier that looked to have been made by elves. It was pretty, and had a long, sharply-honed blade with a pommel that looked like a dragon’s head. It looked good on her hip.
She also took a light crossbow. She was trained to use it, and could reload it swiftly. A good bow is a necessity to anyone wandering the Mwangi. It had better range than any spell she could cast, at least for now.