Bound I to Humakt
Serve in awe,
Yet practice double labour…
With skaldic verse, and tales of war
I also serve Donander.
- after Archilochos of Paros, c. 660 BCE.
Glorantha is primarily a role-playing world. Yet based as it is on epic and myth, its incredible richness and diversity cries out for celebration in story and poem. In this section you will find a few of my own Gloranthan stories.
A novella of the Hero Wars, available here for download in PDF Format. Cradledaughter the vingan summons a dying humakti to a hill of swords as the Far Place erupts in bloody rebellion. Sections of this novella have been published in Questlines and Ye Book of Tentacles under the title ‘Fires of Mist and Wind-blown Snow’. Helden was awarded the best Gloranthan Fiction for 2001 by Issaries Inc.
Two exiles – a skald and a vingan – enter the ruined city of WhiteWall. ‘Ruin’was first published in Ye Booke of Tentacles VI. Available here in PDF format.
A Cradledaughter short story set at Lagerwater stead, published, with supporting articles, in Tales of the Reaching Moon #20. The tale is full of insights into the relationship between Vinga and Elmal.
What is the finest music in all the world? A Lagerwater tale, first published in the Convulsions II Handbook.
A Far Place myth concerning three very lucky sheep. The long form of the story that appeared in Dragon Pass: Land of Thunder.
Short descriptive pieces to inspire and evoke campaign storytelling.
A short storytelling game piece written to introduce new players to the Far Place, first published in Questlines.
Spot the pastiche.
A tale of the Left Hand Doraddi clans of Jolar, from the Tales of the Reaching Moon Pamaltela Special, #12.
Four women journey a proud unbending highway. Four women in caravan, alone and without guards, an unusual sight even on the great concourse between Sartar and Lunar Tarsh. They journey in the bosum of Ernalda. Three ride shaggy mountain horses; the fourth, untiring, trots alongside on bare feet. Before them, a red glow suffuses the western sky. All around, fantastic shapes of fused and melted rock erupt from the glassling plain. The hour is late. A tiny bird follows their progress at a distance, gliding lazily on the still air.
The city of Alda Chur gleams in the distance behind, all gold and polished marble in the late afternoon light, the melted glass of its ancient wall glinting as brilliant as any captured star. At this distance it seems devoid of anything so mundane as artifice: it is surely alive, a slumbering beast perhaps, or a discarded tool of the giants – some relic of the Before, the Darkness Time when gods and monsters trod the dying earth.
There are giants still, in Dagori Inkarth: and slumbering dragons beneath the rain-kissed hills. Kierston the Lawspeaker starts at the thought, for it gives her little cause for peace.
from Red Earth.