The two Anlari soldiers ran through the dark brush, too scared to look back. Guided only by what scattered moonlight made its fraught journey through the canopy. One acted as support for the other, who bled blackened ooze from a fetid wound, a gaping hole in his mail and tabard.     Only what seemed like moments before, their entire squad of comrades were patrolling for soldiers from the ever-approaching Dunbar host, which their liege had been fighting. Suddenly, in a blur of frightening speed, a tower of steel, a warrior in fearsome steel armor, and clad in a red and green surcoat. The had immediately shouted at the figure to identify themselves, when a curious thing happened. A small blue light came from beneath the great helm of the Red & Green Warrior, and then a much brighter blue light came from the bush just off to their side. Spectral hounds then leapt into the squad, their spears and swords striking more air than mark. The jaws of the hounds savaged those they found.

     Author's Note: Hey everyone! Just a heads up that I'll be dropping a couple fiction pieces before the next module on Naxos! Enjoy, and Happy Holidays!      In from the orange-lit sunset, the drifter in a long jacket and longer shadow walked like a shade into the saloon. He moved through the nearly-barren space, with only a few other souls than his own; a tender that looked so far removed from his environment as to be part of the furniture, and an old-timer, rattan hat and overalls. The drifter sat down.     "Whatever's cheap" came from his mouth. With the apparent command words uttered, the bartender slowly began pouring a stringent-smelling brown liquid into a small glass. Neither said anything more.     "Where're you from, young'un?" the old timer finally asked.     "Down south ways, near The Marshes" the drifter replied after a moment.     "What brings you here north ways?"     Gunfire, a chattering staccato, echoes ou

      After nearly a century of rule, the Merchant Republic was more or less stable, but largely only concerned with its own power and internal conflicts, leaving most Naxians to fend for themselves.     In the City of Naxos, however, the once minor Cult of Poleon had been steadily growing since the fall of the Empire, with many wanting something to latch onto in uncertain times. The militant wing of the Cult, called the Aspida, began acting as a guard for areas around Cult-held districts, angering merchant and nobles alike. But when they attempted to repudiate these fanatics, they found themselves either being boycotted or attacked by the angry mobs in the streets. When they backed off, the cult just expanded more as many began flocking to it in cities across the islands.     When it became clear that the Cult of Poleon could not be ignored or defeated ,a Forum was called to meet with the Kiryx, the leader of the Cult, to reach an agreement. But the Kiryx only had two demands; the rei

      After the collapse of the Old Empire, an immense power vacuum was left in Naxos. Various noble families still claimed the throne, but needed coin to finance their ambitions. These houses began to patronize mercantile groups and families for support, and they did oblige. Over time, however, power shifted from the nobles to the merchants; they could continue without the nobles, but the nobles could not without the merchants.     While the nobles continued their infighting, the merchants consolidated themselves into the Naxian Commerce Union, who would decide on mattes of trade and finance. This outraged the nobility, but without support or coordination, they could never mount an effective resistance. After years of instability, many commoners chose the Commerce Union. Over time, the nobility eventually fell in line as well.     With the long running civil war effectively over, the merchants somewhat unwittingly won the generations-long conflict. Their Commerce Union acted as a gove

      With the basic mold of Naxos established, successive Tyrants went to great lengths to attempt to build on the successes of their forbearers; the Roads of Cassander that linked the towns and villages of the Island of Naxos to the great city and standardized sea routes; the Dromoi Nerou of Demetrios, that solved drinking water for the City of Naxos.     The biggest act came under Tyrant Antigonos, who ordered the first great war fleets north to Thrace, where once the mythical homeland of their people was said to lay. Under the pretense of protecting and expanding trade, the Naxians began seizing ports and establishing them as colonies. When other nearby Thracian Kingdoms retaliated, Naxian forces would attack, and then annex their territories. With this great expansion of lands, the Naxian population exploded, and many Thracians who were conquered were assimilated by either relocation, or conscription. Over time, and as their fleets and armies expanded, the eye of Naxos turned to t

      After the fall of Aegos, Poleon instructed his people, who had been vagabonds since the razing of Keros, and the destruction of their mythical homeland before that, take over the lands formally ruled directly by the Minotaur; the isle where Aegos once stood, and the larger surrounding island. They used the rubble to construct the city that would give the people their name; Naxos. The first buildings were built with whatever was on hand, but over time, where replaced by the iconic white marble and grey granite that defines Naxian construction.     With city construction in full swing, Poleon sought to reward his allies. Despots, the lords of whole islands, were named-- including the Leoi, who were named as Despots of Mykonos. For the Satyr and Centaur, however, less favorable terms were given. As they had initially been allies of the Minotaur, and fought against his people, they were both offered amnesty, but nothing more. Many satyr accepted this, but many more joined the centaur

      For a time, the Naxians grew and flourished, and began to resemble what would be recognized as Naxian. For the Minotaur, however, their success was alarming. They feared that unless something was done, that the humans would overrun the islands. So they set their enslaved Leoi warriors upon them, to cull.     The Leoi were set upon the Naxians in the night, and slaughtered many of them. After many nights of this onslaught, Naxian fighters and hunters tracked and slew the Leoi in turn, taking their hides as trophies, and warning against any future attacks. Believing this to be an attack made by the Leoi, of their own volition, they secretly sailed to Mykonos to retaliate. Instead, they found the true and sad life of the Leoi left on their home island; starving, and nearly all men taken as slaves. It was then and there that they learned of the true origin of the treachery they suffered; the Minotaur.     This revelation was brought back to Keros, and the outrage was immense. They be

      As written, confirmed history is concerned, the people who came to be known as Naxians are an amalgamation of various peoples who were blown off course into the archipelago that lies in the Central Ocean. But even labelling that as confirmed is stretching it, as this is what is supported by archeological evidence-- these migrations occurred before the advent of writing by humanity, and other peoples were unconcerned with the goings-on with them.     That said, the oral tradition tells a much more concise story. The hailed from a northern land that once stood near what is now Thrace. They lived in idyllic pastoral hills, and worshipped the bountiful Sun and its children, who lived as demigods amongst them.     But one day the Sun demanded more and more from its supplicants; more than what could be provided. For this, the Sun grew red and angry, and its children lashed out until there was nothing but jagged stones jutting out from the sea. Those who survived built simple ships, and

 Hey everyone! Spooktober is done, long live Spooktober. Diving into a specific event of Port Astor history, one I actually first thought of like 4 years ago, was a neat experience, but it left me wanting to explore more worldbuilding projects. Which is neat, because worldbuilding was how I initially got into writing in the first place. I think the first time I did anything resembling it was way back in 4th grade, when we had to draw a fictional map, and a short story or history about it. I've been hooked on it ever since. All that is to say that I am going to share some world building work that I have been... working on! Originally conceived as a setting for a TTRPG campaign I am either already running, or hoping to run in the future; The Duchy of Naxos! It's a Greco-Roman city-state set on an archipelago. We'll be starting from early origins and history, and then covering up to what passes as modern for the setting, culture, and nearly everything else! I look forward to s

 This is part three, and the finale, of this year's mini series! You can read part two here .                Anton dropped his bag down the shaft. After jimmying the outside doors, evading city employees and security, and going in a general downward direction, he had found it; the Plague Tunnels of Port Astor. He then dropped down himself, kicking up dust that hasn’t seen the light of day in nearly a century. Anton turned on his headlamp, which only stubbornly obliged. It revealed where he was; in the alley way between two buildings. As he stepped out into the forgotten street, he could make out one of the ancient signs; “ARTHUR’S IMPORTS & RARE BOOKS”. He cleared some of the dust from the window, which hung in the heavy air.                 He shined a light into the store, and as he did, an immense clamor was heard from within. Anton jumped back, and would have screamed if he hadn’t stifled it. He was, after all, trespassing. The shop door was still in place, and secured wi

  This is part 2 of this year's 3 part mini series! You can read part 1 here if you missed it. October 10 th , 1929 It’s with great resignation that I begin this diary, in the hopes that I can one day look back upon it in happier times. I have lost my employment as an accountant, as the clients I oversaw have themselves gone out of business. With fewer and fewer accounts, the firm of Fuchs & Royce chose to let me go, as I am was a junior member. Tomorrow, with great vigor, I will begin hunting for new work.   November 29 th , 1929 I went to my cousin Edith’s this holiday, out in Fields across the Channel. I thought that perhaps some time out in the country with family would do me some good, and perhaps it did. I had a wonderful series of conversations with her, about family history no less! It was curious as the topic had never garnered such interest from me before, but with so little else in my life at this moment, I suppose that it just struck the right nerve at the

                      In 1930, a mysterious disease overtook the western city of Port Astor, in the state of Jefferson. During its run, it killed one in five; nearly one-hundred thousand. Where it came from and how it started are hotly debated topics by local historians, but the official story is that it came via ship from the Far East. During that time, however, there were no similar outbreaks in the ports of East Asia. The situation garnered national attention when federal forces, sent to the city to enforce a quarantine, opened fire, and shelled the John Astor Bridge, killing dozens and maiming hundreds, when they tried to flee the city.                 The most affected area was the neighborhood of John’s Landing. One of the oldest parts of the city, it featured tight, narrow and twisting streets. After the plague, much of the neighborhood was abandoned, and buildings condemned due to damage, or fear of the disease that might linger; a haunting warren of brick and cobblestone.

  Hello everyone! Welcome to spooky season! We made it back here again, after a surprisingly mild Summer here in the Pacific Northwest. I know that a good chunk of the country cannot say the same, but I hope that it has mostly passed by now. I wanted to do something a little different this year, since I was still fairly new at this last Autumn, still getting my legs wet with running a blog, and so I didn’t have much material for this season; pretty silly for someone who calls themselves a horror writer. That’s why I’m happy to announce that for this Spooktober that I’ll be starting what I hope to be a regular tradition of The Plague of ’30; in 1930, Port Astor was ravaged by a mysterious disease that force the entire city into quarantine. No one knows where it came from, at least officially. In that year, and the follow years to some extent, Port Astor was a scene of unspeakable dread and terror as people struggled to survive, mortal and supernatural alike. Each year will focus o

       You can see them from the inner banks of the Athabaskan, a million small flames that shimmer like dying stars just beyond the water. They exist apart from the angry red-lit city of Port Astor, and still in its shadow. They are campfires of the great diaspora that clings to the edges of civilization, holding onto the last vestiges of the world they know. Beyond them, the unyielding wilds holding the unknown. The tents do not move on, and may never do so, forever in a stasis. Decaying tents, ever-expanding middens, and debris of their humanity for them to stew in. They camp alone, together. Not a single force, but a patch-work quilt of desperate vignettes; unable to afford proper housing, lost jobs and futures, those fleeing abuse only to find more over the horizon, and those suffering form their own abuses. They are drawn here, to this place, like they heed an unheard call. A dread horn that calls to those who have known misery in their heart, and cannot dream of better tomorrows

  “ Hello caller, you are on the air. ” “I took this job about 6 months ago, and it’s been tough going. I worked security back east for years before moving out here to the West Coast; apartments, scrap yards, abandoned buildings owned by some investment company that is nervous that someone might have the audacity to go into an empty building. My ops manager said something about ‘liability concerns’, but honestly I chalk it up to old dudes in pinstripes being stingy assholes.” “When I first came here, though, to my new site in town, I knew that there was something wrong here. They got me watching out at a waste dump; you know, like where shit flies outta the water system? It stinks, literally, hah! Slow work; easy work. At first. My first thoughts were that this was another warm-body site at another industrial zone where no one in there right mind, or their little brother’s, would ever think about fooling around. My first clue that this might not be true was in the post orders, whic