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The morning mist of Ar still clung to the cobblestones as I stepped from my carriage, the crisp air carrying the scent of woodsmoke and damp earth. My satchel, heavy with tinctures, salves, and my precious listening-crystal, thudded comfortably against my hip. Ahead stood the Orphanage of the Tri Moons, a sturdy, warm-colored edifice of local stone, its windows gleaming with a meticulously ke…
The summons arrives, as all edicts from the Priest Kings do, with an absence of flourish and an abundance of undeniable command. I was tending to a minor noble's fractured ulna, when a tall Elder Initiate, silent and swift, appears. His eyes, black beads in masked faces, convey the message before their guttural voices intone it. "The Nest requires your presence, Physician. An Initiate…
**The Silent Structures of My Soul** *14th day, Second Passage, Year of the Burning Sands* The lamp casts long, dancing shadows across the vellum, its light struggling against the encroaching darkness outside my small study. Another day closes in Gor, another cycle of sun and stars, and I, Elizabeth, Physician of Ar, find myself once more with quill in hand, pouring out the contents of a he…
The cold was a betrayal. It wasn't the searing, life-giving heat of Gor’s sun, nor the gentle warmth of our hearth. It was the biting, unforgiving cold that had claimed everything. Six cycles ago, the Gorean peaks had ripped open, a geological tremor followed by a cascade of ice and stone that swallowed the mountain pass. Kael, my Companion, had been returning from the northern settlements wi…
I remember the shock. The forest had been silent for days, the only sounds the rustle of Gor's unique foliage and the distant cries of the creatures. Finding a human infant...it was like stumbling upon a stardust fragment in a field of granite. As told before, my instincts kicked in over disbelief and so, Elara came home with me, to a dwelling usually accustomed to solitude and the hum of dia…
The sun, that bloated, copper orb they called Lar Torvis, beat down, a relentless drummer against the high canopy of the forrest. Sweat, slick and stinging, traced paths down my temples, pooling just behind my earlobe, but I barely registered it. "Focus Elizabeth, focus." The scent of crushed star-thyme, earthy and sharp, was a familiar balm, a marker of my profession, my purpose. Each leaf,…