Recent posts, stories, and updates shared by this member. Friends-only entries appear only when your account has permission to read them.
6 posts shown on this page.
The tarn cries before dawn. I stand at the gate of my home, the palisade dark against the grey sky. Behind me, the hearth smoke still rises from the hall where my father sleeps. Before me, the road winds down to the river, and beyond it, the wide world of Gor. My pack is light: a short sword, a shield, dried bosk meat, a waterskin, and the small, smooth stone I carried from the river as a boy.…
The banners of Ven'dara hang heavy in the late summer air, gold and deep crimson, snapping above the Cylinder of Wine. It is the Festival of the First Pressing, and the great plaza before the Ubar's palace has become a sea of tunics, and laughter. Long trestle tables groan under skins and amphorae, and the scent of crushed ta-grapes, roast tarsk, and paga-spice rolls through the crowd. Musicians…
Lady Kyrielle will be standing in my place until my return, should you need assistance in any way.She can be reached evenings, here in Ven'dara, the rest of the time send her a buzzen message. Thank you.
In the Chamber of the Ubar, high in Ven'dara - Ubar Ortossi sleeps, and does not sleep easily. He stands not on the marble of his palace, but on black loam. The air is cold, too cold for the month. Above him, the trees of the North Forest rise like the pillars of a temple that has no roof - great Tur trees, their trunks wide as tarn cages, their canopy so thick the sun of Gor is broken into onl…
Tal, Ortossi of Ven'dara. The mists hang low over the marshes beyond the Olni, and the tarsk have been rooting in the black mud since dawn. Your kaiila is saddled, your spear is sharp, and two guards from the Ven'dara hold wait at the gate with hunting sleen on leash. Do you wish to ride out now as Ubar, with horn and retinue, or go quiet and alone, tracker style, belly low in the reeds? The t…
I am Ortossi, Ubar of Ven'dara. Ven'dara stands high-walled and proud on the edge of the northern trade routes, her banners of crimson and steel snapping above the gate towers. For twenty winters I have held the Chair, by sword and by will. The Home Stone is secure. The city thrives. Now I leave it. Word has come from the north - beyond the Barrens, beyond the last outposts of the Wagon People…