The key instigator of the Reclamation, the Synodic Church has grown to reach every major city across the Duchy, and is the only officially recognized religion across the islands. It is led by the Kiryx, who oversees the organization out of the ornate temple-complex that is known as the Tomb of Poleon. Despite being officially a holding of the Basileus, the Church is allowed to house its bureaucracy and main shrine on its hallowed grounds.     The charter gives them the right to police their district within the City of Naxos, thereby making the Kiryx a baronet in all but name. In return, the Aspida, the militant wing of the church, must be incorporated into the Naxian Guard in times of emergency. For the most part, the Aspida are used to fight marauding pirates or rebel Ta Ktini, and with the aid of the secret police of the Church, the Mati, root out cells of Ansharian faithful.     In regular life, the Synodic Church is a ubiquitous part of the life of any city, with the local Ki

    In the eastern part of the land once called the United Kingdom of Alleghany, a dry grassland stretches as far as the eye can see, and as everyone knows, anything you can see over but not the other side of may as well be infinite. These old rolling hills have seen the dawn of the Old Kingdoms, the wars of unification, with their knights and lords, as well as the recent modern conflicts with mechanized tanks and orderly regiments of an industrialized nation. Few people have ever called this land home, but for those who do, they know that their proximity to the borderlands lend to their generally precarious life.     It is here that lies the township of Munro Ford, upon the humble banks of an eponymous river, which permitted such a town existing in the first place. The folks here live a simple country life in their town and surrounding hills, where the sea of amber grass hits the mighty walls of ancient craggy brown stone that marks the edges of the old dominion of the Marcher Lords t

     Merric tied down the last line, cinching the tarp tightly with his right hand. This had taken longer than it otherwise would have, but what could be done when working with only one arm? The winds had been furious the last few days he had been on the road, constantly disturbing and loosening the line securing his "stock", and frightening Holly, his ever-loyal donkey.     He had fled the Central Kingdoms, Whiteton specifically. He had ran a small arcane supply store, but after several bad seasons, his debts were called in, which he could not pay. So, he liquidated everything as fast as he could, loaded all he owned into a small two-wheeled rickshaw, and promptly left without a word.      Merric had set off to the east, where he heard a war was brewing, and war meant soldiers , and soldiers needed to buy things . His grand plan was to peddle enough items, at wildly inflated prices, to hopefully start again. Another shop, somewhere. He had zero stakes in whatever nonsense w

 "Hello caller, you're on the air..." "They are out there, you know. They've been here for years, longer than us to be sure." "Now, among the red towers of brick and neon, concrete and glass, they emerge from the deep-dark. Hundreds, thousands, maybe more, come forth as legion. They come, however disjointed, they remain unified in spirit." "What are their goals? Nightly, they move from neighborhood to neighborhood, victim to victim, engaging in ten-thousand guerilla actions. Clad in their domino masks and black gloves, none know whom specifically, but there is little doubt in general." "And what happens when you confront them? Dead eyes shine in the dark, reflecting only that light they steal from the world. No emotion, but equally no peace." "Today, the naïve are unaware of the danger that pervades this city, their families, their own lives. Do they not think that the ambitions of these thieves does not rise higher? Higher

      The rain pounded down thick and sharp, like the volley of an enemy force. Lady Matilda Bathurst of Selburne rode atop her armored steed, which moved at the head of the marching column. Her forces were supposed to have set out for the Dunbari camp over a fortnight ago, and she wore her displeasure openly upon her face.     This was hardly her first time leading her forces, and had in fact done so many times in war, but this time felt different. For most of her life she had led soldiers in the civil war that had consumed her family lands, fighting her own kin and countrymen for years, and always effectively, efficiently. This, however, was the first time she led her army on behalf of another realm, and the managing of logistics and supply proved hectic and sprawling.     And, now, here they were; travelling well past the end of travelling season, laden with supplies. There had already been minor battles with the Anlari, and many skirmishes beside those. With it all in full swing, s

Hey Everyone, Spring is upon on us, and Guest Writer Month is behind us! A final thank you to everyone who submitted, and I look forward to the next one! It's always exciting to know that a bunch of new eyes and brains came by to check out their friend's work, and then maybe looked at some other pieces! If you have anything you'd like to submit for next years Guest Writer Month, please feel free to reach out to me via email (rollforwriting@outlook.com). If I get enough interest and submissions, I might figure out a sooner date. As you may now, we are now in the second anniversary month for Roll for Writing! The first written piece for the month drop this coming Saturday, but it's not the first thing to come out-- if you haven't been following this on social media, I recently also released the first Roll for Writing Presents over on the new YouTube channel, which you can go to here! There will be new short stories every weekend for this month, and then I will be taki

Editor's Note: This is a content warning for those sensitive to certain topics; self-harm, child loss, graphic descriptions of violence.            Sylvia bent over the lifeless bodies of the newborn infants she had just spent six hellish hours delivering. Screams of anguish poured from her diaphragm, blood soaked her nightgown from the waist down. Her husband William knelt beside her, stroking her shoulder in a futile attempt at comfort. The midwife, an elderly Inuit woman, knelt on her otherside. “Please miss,  you must lay down. Your body has suffered incredible stress, the birth was not a good one.” “My babies, my babies, this can’t be!” Sylvia shrieked, deaf to the woman’s words. “Shh, shh,” William was muttering as he rubbed her shoulders. “Maybe it won’t be, I have already sent for the spirit leader of my tribe. He should arrive any moment.” “Don’t be a fool! How dare you give my wife this false hope! You can clearly see the babies are dead, and besides, no one cou

  Uncle, it is happening again. The rain has come. I have spent thousands of nights praying that the world would realize something when they pulled your small body from the river. How delicate life is. How precious. How it floats and swells and then vanishes in even the gentlest currents. I prayed you would be more than a forgotten proverb. In a story about big men in faraway places. Their empty fists and uncalloused fingertips meeting tabletops unscathed. And the rain falling faithfully in turn. They say they are here to protect us. That we are safe behind a blinding cloud of rubble and the dust of month-old bones. But I always wonder why they did not protect you; my most precious kin. I wonder what it is that must be offered to deserve their protection. Because your fluttering pulse and brand new eyes for an old and broken world were not enough. A child’s body and a child’s heart is not enough. They didn’t protect you when the squall of fire and metal touched down on the land tha

It’s the sense of being an outsider, I think. An odd, directionless haunting that tells me I do not belong. There’s a new awareness of intersectionality in my life lately, with more than too many big, complicated feelings trailing off of it. The friction on the seam where two facets of identity knit together. And in that awareness I’ve grown to understand the vague, faceless sense that has followed me through life: That I am an interloper. Spending time in male spaces I’ve always felt vaguely repulsed: the machismo: the casual objectification of women: boasting about and embracing their emotional trauma — hiding in habits and socialization that I fought for years to unlearn and outgrow. “My parents beat me and I turned out fine.” Men talk about work. Men talk about hobbies and productivity and video games and sports and drinking and women and casual violence and anything to distract from the black, sucking emptiness where their capacity to feel was ripped out of them when they were boy

 Hey everyone! Spring is nearly upon, and may soon grant us reprieve for our seasonal cabin fever. I had a few things I wanted to go over, and some programing notes! First off, for the next three weeks, I will be showcasing pieces from some other very talented writers I am proud to call my friends! Keep an eye out in the coming Saturdays. A short schedule, which will also be up on the Facebook. • Intersection, by Josh Luffred, 3/16/2024 (Next Saturday!) • Rain, Again, by Charlena Kea, 3/23/2024 • Gemini, by Brian Rydquist, 3/30/2024 Please check back in to see their pieces! Sharing my small platform with others has been something I have wanted for some time, and I am pleased to finally do so. After this month, we have the second birthday of Roll for Writing! I am beyond excited and pleased to share some stuff I have been working on for months now. After April, though, I am taking the month of May off, so there will not be any uploads until June. After two years, I think it is high-time

      The smallest island in the Duchy, Ios was long ago promised to the Triton by Poleon himself as part of the peace struck long ago.     Today, a Triton serves as Baron of Ios, but as part of a long tradition, does not taking a voting role upon the Despot Council. Instead, they serve as a liaison between the Naxians and the Triton Kings beneath the waves.     Ios, itself is off-limits to any visitors, is vigorously patrolled and guarded by Triton warriors who only ever warn once before attacking any that attempt to land. No non-Triton knows why they protect Ios so fervently, but stories say that it is integral to the eldritch rites of the Triton priests. As far as what can be gleaned from ships passing perhaps too closely, Ios is covered by the same kind of jungles that can be found across the islands, and a small mountain protruding from the center.

      The smallest of the Baronies, the Donusians are actually a set of smaller islands in the extreme southeast of the Duchy, farthest from Naxos. Much of these islands are dominated by forests consisting of perhaps the greatest strategic material in all of Naxos; Naxian Oak. This wood is twice as sturdy as any other lumber, and does not rot in seawater once treated in a certain way, which is a closely guarded state secret. For this, by ancient Royal decree and modern Ducal orders, these trees may only be used to make Naxian warships for the Navy.     The only official permanent settlement, Makria, is dominated by vast lumber yards, smaller shipyards and drydocks, and the equipment needed to load large amounts of lumber onto ships headed to Avgi or Kythnos. The population in Makria is unique, in that it is one of two settlements in the Duchy that satyr make a majority of the population-- the other being Oneiro, a baronet on the Isle of Naxos. This has long led to suspicion of the Baro

      The second largest island in the Duchy, Ieraklea is perhaps the most specialized of any territory found across the islands in that a majority of the land is used for farming, as it has the only largescale portions of arable land found anywhere in the Duchy. Outside of Dino, the capitol, rice paddies and fields of barley stretch as far as the eye sees.     Agriculture is the dominant industry in Ieraklea, and a majority of harvests are sent directly to Poleons' City. There is a history of maltreatment on the island; with everything dedicated to farming, finding suitable workers has always been an issue. So, the former Despots, now Barons, have relied on slave labor in the forms of prisoners or indentured minorities to meet demands.     Farther away from Dino, similar to Mykonos, enormous fields roll on; some portions of the island are left intentionally un-farmed, as to provide an area of land to rotate to as to not completely exhaust the soil. Further southwest, the plains ar

      Once the site of the first human habitation in the islands, Keros was blasted into a craggy wasteland at the start of the Tauromachy. Today, the only people who live here all year is the garrison and staff of Alasiofos, the training fortress and headquarters of the Naxian Marines & Navy.     Alasiofos' main citadel lies atop the seaward cliffs, fortified with magic to prevent collapse. The citadel itself is divided between the two forces, and both have been tailored to the needs of each. The complex itself is labyrinthian in size and complexity of navigation.     Beyond the walls, Keros supports next to nothing that would be called life. Indeed, the terrain is so unforgiving that as part of final testing, Naxian marines must survive a fortnight as a unit out in the wastes, living being the only standard of success.     The "Baron" of Keros is the title given to who ever is assigned as the master of Alasiofos, and does not have voting powers on the Despot Council

      The ancestral homelands of the Leoi, the island of Mykonos is a dramatic landscape of expansive rolling grasslands, lush jungle, and sharp grey peaks overlooking the sea.     The only permanent settlement, O Protos, lies on the north shore, where the plains meet the sea. This "city" exists as a complex to house the Baron of Mykonos, and to host the visiting bands when they visit, or at the annual meeting when the various leaina decide matters for all Leoi.     The plains of Mykonos, ironically, are some of the most fertile farmland anywhere in the Duchy, which for strict carnivores such as the Leoi who subsist off of hunting, fishing, and very limited herding, does little good. As such, these rich grasslands remain largely undisturbed.      To the western portions of the island is a track of jungle; unlike other islands, these trees hold religious significance to the Leoi, as only leaina may enter as part of their coming-of-age rituals, or during certain lunar events.