Lars, your storyteller, is about to begin. Take a seat and listen, won’t you?

Why was I compelled to become a teller of tales, you ask?
The question is fair, I’ll admit. Some will say it was to make my livelihood telling lies to people who enjoy believing them, but actual truth is often more fantastic than anything made up by myself.
I will begin with an introduction. I was named Lars by my Shak’rahn mother, who was never told who my father was nor is such a thing unusual. Raised in a society traveling on the desert, each member of the tribe was my family. I knew a thousand mothers and fathers just as I knew them as my brothers and sisters. We praise freedom more than laws, and thus we choose not to confine ourselves within the oppressive borders of a city for longer than we must.
Away from the tribe is another matter. If one desires material items or must find comforts other than what they can depend on their tribe for, a trade is often required to pay for such things. There are, however, other barters one may make, such as a quest in compensation for sparing one’s life.
Not so long ago, this very thing happened to me as I walked through the desert at night, accidentally interrupting a sacred ritual performed by a demon. They call themselves Myriad, and rightfully so since each of their kind are individually distinct and unusual save for their one defining trait: their beast-like horns from their heads. This particular demon was possibly the most unusual I had ever heard mention of, with skin like new leaves, horns of bright red, and hair from the top of his to the bottom of his back. Details more exact than that, however, still defy me; it was the anger of the beast I was focused upon, that and my very life.
“You have desecrated our Ritual of the Moon,” said the beast in a voice like thunder in a cavern. “Your life is forfeit to me unless you take upon a task and complete it before the rising sun.”
I could not make my voice speak the words my mouth tried to say in protest, and it so irritated the creature that he drew back a clawed hand as if about to tear out my throat. I tried to close my eyes so I could not see the hand fall, but some mystical force kept me staring fixed upon him as the beast spoke yet again.
“Listen, mortal, as you have few precious moments left in which to do so. You must find for me the most beautiful, the most intelligent, and most desirable bride of the nearest settlement. You will return to me with word of your find that I may go and claim her, and if I am not satisfied, I will plunge my hand into you and devour your spirit.”
Not really knowing whether or not it could do such a thing, I hastily accepted. With a wave of its clawed hand, I found myself in a sleepy village with only hours to find a bride. The beast said I would know her by a mark found on her abdomen, just below her right breast. This, of course, would mean that not only would I be stealthily moving from home to home in the night and evading watchers, but I would also have to steal a look upon the flesh of every unmarried female as she slept in her chambers.
It was hours before I found an enchantress worthy of my imposing master. Inside I went, thanking the One Spirit that I had gone unseen thus far, then crept into the bedchamber. Gracefully draped over fine pillows and wearing a gown of white so shear that crimson moonlight could touch her flesh through it, she certainly met my master’s first condition. Through the gown I could see the mark he so described, and so I assumed that she met his other conditions as well, for who else could my master had meant if not her?
As quietly and invisibly as I had entered, I did attempt to remove myself from her chamber, but in the excitement that my life might actually be spared, I failed to notice a carved wooden comb had found its way under my foot. As it snapped under my weight, I looked to see if I had been caught only to find her perfect eyes looking into mine.
I was certain she would call for her father, but instead she began hurling pillows at me, as if she thought me so little a threat that she could eject me from her presence with bedding for a weapon! I staved off the attack with my arms protecting my face, and when I was finally able to bid her to stop, the room indeed looked as though the wind itself had been captured inside and sought to escape. Perhaps the enchantress found my expression amusing, because it was only then I saw a smile upon her beautiful face.
Of course, all of this is exactly what I told her father as he unfortunately caught me departing her rooms. He could see that his daughter was barely dressed, but he still believed every word I uttered. After all, what kind of father would admit his offspring is less than I described, especially in her very presence? I then informed him I would tell my master of his daughter and, if my master so chose, a proposal would follow at the rising sun that morning. However, if I were detained and unable to return, my master would come looking for me and would certainly be angered with whoever caused the delay of his happiness.
It was then this tale took its most bizarre turn; the daughter’s father paid me handsomely to tell the Myriad not to claim his daughter! What else could I do but leave with his money the pleasant memory of his offspring?
I didn’t find the Myriad at sunrise, and I often think that perhaps I was never meant to complete my quest but instead be caught and punished doing it. Still, to this very day, this is why some lovers call secretly meeting late into the night the “Ritual of the Moon.”
Thank you for listening, and if you find that you are too laden with stones and can spare the weight, a few sils in my bowl will indeed be thanks enough.

From the alcove, Nedim stumbled toward the compound with his hands wrapped beneath a rolled strip of cloth. Guards on either side of the entrance started to move to block his way before returning silently to their posts. Both guards swallowed as their lord passed between them, the anger on his face enough to give them pause.
A well-groomed Medaran met Nedim as he entered the house. “You’ve returned sooner than expected, my lord. Is there a problem?”
Nedim stopped and eyed him with suspicion. “And why is that?” Nedim asked.
The servant averted his eyes. “No reason at all, Lord Nedim.”
Nedim smiled. “We were heard, you and I. We have been discovered. I dispatched one, but his accomplice fled into the shadows.”
The color drained from the servant’s face. “Why would you smile at such a thing, my lord?”
“Because I believe I know who arranged for our plans to be heard.”
The servant fell to his knees and held his head low. “I knew nothing of such treachery, my lord. Believe in me and I will put things right. You will never be discovered…”
“No,” Nedim interrupted. The rolled cloth fell to the ground covered in blood. “There is no evidence in plotting. You will arrange to have Parisa’s final daynight absolved and her contract fulfilled. You will have that order drawn up, taken to the palace, and wait for morning until a vizier can confirm it.”
“We must get you out of those… stained clothes, my lord,” the servant begged, careful to avoid the word “blood.” The servant then reached out to Nedim to draw him further into his house but stopped short of actually touching him.
“No,” Nedim refused. “Have a dromid saddled and brought to me, and another packed with clean clothes and enough supplies to reach the next city.”
“Alone?” asked the servant.
“Yes, and without question. After you have freed Parisa, our accuser will have neither plot to reveal nor person to accuse. I have business for the next fading, and I expect everything here to continue as always until my return.”
“Yes, Lord Nedim,” the servant agreed. “You are brave to take such a burden onto yourself.”
Nedim suddenly looked upon his servant with pity. “Keep the house in order. While I am away, any burden on this house shall be yours to bear.”
“It will be so, my lord.”
Nedim took his mount and led the other dromid laden with supplies out of Armaris as the transitioning sky gave way to the rising sun. Nedim took neither of the main roads out of the city, traveling instead Windward toward the mountains across the Great Desert of Minhar. Before the sun reached mid sky, three figures met Nedim among the dunes. Behind them, a Shak’rahn tribe was breaking camp.
“You are still without a wife and child,” said the Vastan as Nedim approached.
“Good and evil are always a choice,” Nedim countered. “As is survival. So what for me now?”
“You’ve done well,” the Des’tri spoke. “Are you sure you would not wish your lady to be with you?”
“In this place, she was never mine to begin with.”
“She still could be,” Cerese added, “if that is truly your wish.”
Nedim shook his head. “If my orders have been carried out, she has been freed to live her life as she will, even if that must be without me.”
“You could become a powerful ally of the Shak’rahn if you remain in Armaris,” said the Des’tri. “All who you’ve met believe you are their lord.”
Again Nedim shook his head. “The one thing that has ever made me happy has been lost to me forever. It is time for something new, not the life of someone else.”
“Where will you go?” asked Cerese.
“I have new clothes, two mounts, and provisions for a fading. I was hoping to stay with the Shak’rahn, if my Des’tri will have me again.”
“Welcome back to your tribe, Nedim,” said the old one. “We will discuss the matter of your trials when the sun rises again. Is it good to have a home again?”
“It is,” Nedim agreed as he and the others joined the tribe preparing to move along. “Wait. What trials?”


This presentation of “Nedim’s Quest” is directly from the 128-page Kindling Moon Rulebook & Realmbook. If you liked the story or not, if you’d like to see more adventures with Nedim or Cerese or not, let us know below. Thanks!

The kindling moon had risen into the crimson night, and a dark figure garbed in the clothes of a Shak’rahn warrior moved quickly through the city of Armaris. As he rounded past the Leeward gates of the closed market, two city guards stepped to bar his way.
“Hold,” the smaller Medaran commanded. “What is your business?”
The warrior held the edge of his cowl close so as not to be recognized in the dim light. “I am on an errand for my Des’tri,” he answered in a whispered voice. When the guard scoffed at the declaration, the warrior revealed an ornate and sealed scroll case. “As you are aware, the Shara of your city has declared that we may keep to our own affairs unless we have broken your laws. May I pass?”
The guards both rolled their eyes before stepping aside and allowing the warrior passage deeper into the city. Once he was out of their sight, Nedim pulled back the cowl to let the cool night air onto his face. He smiled at the thought that, while every Shak’rahn caught stalking the city a night claimed to be on an errand for his Des’tri, he in fact was doing exactly that.
Nedim had been with the desert tribe for almost a full fading of the moon, and in that time he had learned much from the desert warriors he had once feared but now respected. The guide and leader of the tribe, the Des’tri, somehow possessed knowledge of events that could come to pass. By ensuring or changing key events, the Des’tri could avoid dangers and invite fortune.
What the tribe leader had not done was told Nedim why she or her tribe was so interested in his quest or why they felt compelled to provide assistance. They trained him to pass as a Shak’rahn, gave him the money (mostly sils and sunstones) he would need to barter with, and the Des’tri told him where the objects of his quest could be found.
One was named was Parisa, his wife. The other, Cala was his daughter.
Even thinking their names in his mind made Nedim ache with a sickness. He could see them as though he had only left them, holding both close while the disease consumed them and passed him by, tearing his heart out as it took them both away. The wisest of the scholars that he had paid the last of his fortune to told him that which he sought was in another place, and even if he went there, it would be another their hearts belonged to.
Nedim didn’t care. He had told himself he would have no qualms about cutting out another’s heart if it would replace his own. As if to counter those very thoughts, he remembered hearing the Des’tri’s advisor, the Vastan, impart one final bit of knowledge as he left for the city: “Good, like evil, is always a choice.”
Shaking his head clear, he remembered where he was and what he had set out to do. He again donned his disguise and followed the path as he’d been told. Off from the Haggler’s Court was the compound he sought, and nearby was the dark and shadowy alcove where he was told he must wait.
How long he had been there had just started to worry him when his patience was rewarded. He could hear two sets of footsteps shuffling toward him. Nedim tensed and touch the hilt of the long dagger beneath his clothes. A voice spoke, one that sounded both familiar and cold, and another voice answered as arrangements were made.
“Parisa’s indenturement with me ends tomorrow,” spoke the familiar voice. “She is with her husband and infant now. When she leaves to spend her last daynight in my service, ensure that her husband meets his end with the blood on her hands. I have already been assured that a vizier will suggest a sentence under my supervision far more benevolent than the alternative. With her daughter’s welfare hanging in the balance, she’ll have little choice but to agree.”
“It will be done, Lord Nedim,” answered the second voice.
Nedim’s mind numbed as he listened to the details. Parisa married? Himself ordering a murder? The plan was falling apart. Parisa was supposed to have been his, in this realm like any other. Even if he killed himself, no matter how deserving, it still wouldn’t win him what he had come for unless another innocent perished.
But how could it have been him that gave the order? He couldn’t imagine his own voice sounding so cold, arranging lives and deaths like a fallen Divinity. Closing his eyes, he commanded his mind to quiet, focusing on the task at hand. When all was finally silent, he realized that everything was too quiet. No voices, no movement, nothing at all. Were the two conspirators still there or not? Nedim decided he must risk a look around the corner if only to confirm that he was again alone. To his horror, his twin was taking the same risk, and Nedim came face to face with himself, prompting him to back away into the alcove.
“Who are you?” the familiar voice demanded, stepping fully into the alleyway.
Torchlight reflected from the street revealed to Nedim his own face glaring back at him, a cold stare that matched the tone. The resemblance was identical except for the emotionless eyes. Is that what he was destined to become? Is that what he already was in this realm?
The murderous Nedim grabbed a fistful of the vengeful Nedim’s clothing and wrenched him closer. “Nothing to say, assassin? A spy perhaps? A Shak’rahn blackmailer?”
“Last chance, Nedim,” a different but familiar voice spoke. The vengeful Nedim looked up to see Cerese seated on the wall overlooking the alcove, the kindling moon’s light illuminating her hair. “Choose.”
The murderous Nedim glanced up in turn. Cerese smiled back. With an innate sense of understanding, he knew that it had not been him that Cerese was speaking to but his opponent instead. With his free hand, he tore away the disguise to find himself looking at his twin, leaving the vengeful Nedim little choice. Both men reached for their weapons.

On to Part 3…

“Are you awake?” The voice sounded as though it were a thousand measures away.
With the greatest effort, Nedim forced his eyes to focus until he could see the bright eyes and pleasant face that belonged to the sultry voice. She stared down at him, unblinking, somehow drawing him into conscious with her will alone. Nedim blinked once, just enough to clear his eyes and see what held back her mane of flame-colored hair: two red horns twisting up from her forehead.
“Is something wrong?” she asked with an amused tone.
Nedim pushed and kicked his way back from her until he felt relatively safe she wasn’t pursuing him across the dune. Except for the beastlike horns, she looked like the concubine of an exotic ruler. Dressed impractically for the desert, she wore the scarves of a harim dancer and her limbs were adorned with baubles: gold and silver, rings and chains, and precious stones. She was a beautiful creature and all the more dangerous for it.
“Who are you?” Nedim asked.
“My people have been helping unfortunates such as yourself since the desert was young,” she replied. She seemed to be waiting for something, as if Nedim possessed some knowledge he had not yet recalled. Then, suddenly, many names came to his mind.
“Tricksters,” Nedim whispered to himself, unable to prevent his thinking out loud. “Demons of the desert. Shape stealers.” There had been tales told to him when another word was used, an insult when used in the wrong tone: Myriad. As the word escaped his lips, Nedim recognized the disdain in his tone but could not take it back once he spoke it; he might as well have told a cornered Rahjan that his claws weren’t sharp enough.
As he feared, her pleasant expression collapsed into fury as she fixed Nedim with her stare. “Do not trust that I won’t abandon you here, Medaran. I am aware of the stories you tell to frighten your children into obedience, but insult my heritage again at your own peril.”
“So you would kill me for a few unkind words?” Nedim asked cautiously, trying to sound more confident than he was. “How am I to know you haven’t truly come to torture me?” It was a gamble; show a little backbone and perhaps she would think him less easy prey. Of course, she could have bound or murdered him already, but he decided not to think too much about that.
The Myriad appeared to be considering Nedim’s words, and her anger subsided as she straightened herself up. “Fair enough. I offer my name, Cerese, as proof of my intentions.” He could still hear her warning tone through her gentler words, a reminder of her earlier threat.
Nedim stood up and cautiously turned away from her as he contemplated the gesture. If Cerese were as evil as the legends said, she couldn’t have truly meant him harm and not have done so already. Looking around, the two of them were standing in a desert bowl with dunes towering on all sides of them. Since he had no idea in the least were he was, he could do worse than trust someone that had already passed up the opportunity to leave him for dead. Nedim turned back to Cerese to find her also facing away from him as though distracted by something he was not yet aware of.
“Very well, Cerese. Thank you for finding me…”
“I didn’t find you,” she interrupted, still looking away. “I was waiting for you. When you stepped into the Elemented Circle and made your offering, here is where your quest led you.”
“Then you know why I have come.”
Cerese turned and started toward him. “You are here to replace that which you have lost, a wife and a daughter. They were taken from you, and you intend to take them back from someone else, no matter the cost.”
Nedim stood aghast at Cerese’s words.
When Cerese was easily close enough to reach out and touch him, she added, “But are you are prepared to actually kill to get it? You may be aware of who it is you must wrong to make your life right, but can you kill to take what it is you’re after?”
Nedim felt guilt wash over him as Cerese correctly bared his intentions. “Do the powers you serve often provide services to future murderers? What do they intend to gain by helping me?”
Cerese smiled. “You haven’t murdered anyone yet. Perhaps, with guidance, you’ll decide differently when your moment comes. If you believe that you’re prepared to kill, know that the act itself feels very different than one imagines while committing it, not to mention how it haunts you afterward.”
“So, why are you here then? Are you a guide?”
Cerese suddenly looked toward the sky, again as if noticing something, then looked sternly back at Nedim.
“My time here grows short. I offer you this choice: Command me to do for you what it is you have come here to do and swear to serve the Nameless Two for all time, or take your chances and try to fulfill your destiny yourself… alone.”
The same brilliant eyes that dazzled him when he awoke now bored into Nedim, demanding his decision then and there. Cerese betrayed nothing with her expression, leaving Nedim to make his decision alone.
Alone. Exactly as he understood he must proceed.
“I’ll take my own chances, but I thank you for the offer.”
Cerese smiled pleasantly. “Good choice.” Stepping back from Nedim, she added, “Far’sahn, traveler of worlds, and may a thousand fortunes smile upon you.” The sand at her feet ignited into a pillar of flame that consumed the Myriad in moments, and then Nedim was alone.
With a quick glance around at his surroundings and a note of the sun’s position in the sky, Nedim navigated the shortest dune to climb out of the desert bowl. When he reached the top, he couldn’t help but laugh. A tribe of desert travelers, the Shak’rahn, was camped out next to the bowl. Cerese must have known this, of course, but she let him make his choice without the all the facts.
As he approached the closest dromid rider, two people began moving to intercept him. Not wanting trouble, Nedim stopped and showed his open palms, revealing himself as someone unarmed and unthreatening. One who approached was the oldest female he had ever seen, while the other was a Vastan acting as either her guard or advisor.
“Do’meen, Nedim,” the old one grinned. “We would be the first of a thousand smiling fortunes.”

On to Part 2…