Lone Knight

So you want a Dark Sun-esque setting of your own, eh?

At the minimum concept, for an Athas-like sword-and-sorcery post-apocalyptic (how many hyphens are we gonna use here) world, you need:

- a hellblasted desert, courtesy of the apocalypse
- psionics
- using magic is more difficult, destructive, kind of sucks, and gets you In Deep Trouble like as not
- despotic city-states with themes to fight and free the people of
- one Walking Apocalypse kaiju-type monster or entity
- non-metal weapon rules if you insist and you hate yourself


( let's throw some inspirational stuff around to get things started! )

Made it to the end!

I'll admit there were a few patches where things felt wobbly (which was at least 90% the miserable weather because fuck summer, yo), but here we are at the end ~


( Kurukhan, Sage of Brass and Diamond )

Rumours, you say?

Sure, we can do those!

In fact, this one's spun out far enough to also almost be an NPC writeup and adventure seed at the same time *lol*

( rumours and the truth of them abound ~! )

In the alley of the alley of the Way Of Viridian Roots, inside the White Walls, two cycles past Nadir Darkness, is heard ...


"... and we'd better be sharpish about it, the Bone Watch is marching through every district artery and bazaar."

"What? Why. It's not the right time for the ancestors to --"

"Because they can? Because the Seven Masks demanded it? Because the whispers are true and our White Walls have been breached by outsider defilement? Something else? Who knows? It's not our lot to ask."

"If the March can be forced from the eternal cycle, then something far worse than cur outsiders is going to happen, or already happened. Not even the Masks have that right --"

"But they have the power, because the Glimstone in them gives them it. What are you, a fledgling or an outsider pretending to be one of us? Show me your proof."

"You ... Here. See. Are you happy now?"

"... So stop asking questions about what can't change yet and get ready. We only have six cycles."

Sometimes dungeons get … weird.

Different.

Adventurers hie themselves down twisting stairs, or follow a winding passage, or wrench open a door to a pillared chamber, and find themselves in ( a very different place. )

And we made it to the end of a month of dead folks ~~


22. the Voiceless Departed (“silence”)

It’s not always strange gates, crossroad slips or bloodied ceremony. Sometimes, all that’s needed is the right place, the right time, and to want it enough — and the dead can reach out to the living without calamity.

But it’s not perfect. Even if they can see each other, even if there’s a shiver of sensation as spirit touches flesh, no sound can pass between them.

A safe meeting, unaided, for both sides; imperfect, but it can exist.


23. Lady Rose (“vampire”)

For her first century, Rose was a monster.
She justified it with her own grisly death, her dishonoured burial, her horrible freedom from it — none of which changed the horrors she caused in turn.

For her second century, Rose was a bloodstained penitent, learning control.
She walked away from hermitage with a wise dead heart and tempered hunger.

For a century, now, Lady Rose is a dire guardian.
A single drink is all she asks of her supplicants.


24. the Ghost Howler (“werewolf”)

Whether wolf or man or beast between it’s always the same.

He stalks roads and hallways, forests and farms, market squares and city blocks, a snarling, howling tangle of agony and rending fangs.

Only the silver spike thrust through his buried ribcage keeps him from hunting across the entire land.

And destroying those bones will not end him.

Only returning his pelt, flensed from him with silver and spite, will put an end to his rage.


25. Mrs. Dawn (“Frankenstein”)

This time it’ll work. This time for sure.

Every new moon, that’s what she’s said to herself, to her workrooms, to the new corpse laid out neatly on a marble table while she worked feverishly.

But this time —

Alas, no. Not this time.

The dead rise; but not with new life. And a restless soul trapped in dead flesh was not what she wanted.

Another new moon wasted.

She sighs and lifts a holy blade to end yet another experiment.

Next time.


26. the Tiny Ones (“invisible”)

Not every ghost and haunt and spectre brings great harm, or takes over one’s body, or pines from a mirror’s reflection.

Honestly, most of the dead have nowhere near such power, for good or for ill.

So they do what they can, the best way they can.

A shiver of coolness against hot skin.

A knife skitters concerningly across the table.

Candles flutter when they shouldn’t, in answer to whispers of fear or hope.

Faint nudges from unseen souls.


27. Peony (“witch”)

“Why, certainly. You’ve come all this way, after all.”

Peony’s tiny cottage at the end of the twisting paths is no prime travel destination; so if someone is at his door, he pushes grey curls from his face and gets up to greet them.

And Peony has what they come for: philtre to speak with spirits? incense with afterlife visions in its smoke? Bone-knives?

Yes, yes. All of that, for a favour or a kiss.

But if malice is afoot, he knows; and taints his gift.


28. Bloody Tears (“drop”)

The origin of these deep crimson gems is unknown — are they a spectre’s crystallized trauma, the tears of a truly grieving vampire, the congealed mourning of those who lost their most-beloved? All? None?

Impossible to say.

Three things:
They cannot be faceted nor carved.
Owners of a Tear say they bring a gentle ennui that sustains one through one’s own pain. The unliving will not harm one who carries a Tear.

Rumours of curses are unverified.


29. the Doves (“mirror”)

There’s a wandering hunter who answers to Dove. He’s been around a long time, never aging.

Dove comes to the market square at evening-time with a brace of birds or other such, trades for small sundries. He’ll help if you ask him. Quiet, not wild.

Except when his eyes burn bright and pale and he shies from the graveyard.

He’ll still help. Bloodier help, then.

And say it’s the other Dove who’s too gentle for the work, and that was the end of him.


30. Dead-Kindling (“crackle”)

The dead are tied to the living world. And that tie is a weakness —

But not as much as being forgotten.

To truly be rid of the dead?

Purge them. Tear down their monuments. Burn their works, their images, their name into ash.

Listen to the pitiless sounds of destruction; know that for every single one there’s a wail of despair on the other side.

The second death’s not pretty.

And you, you’ll be remembered by others for it.

Don’t you worry.


31. the Ebon Seraph’s Book (“magic”)

It’s the work of a dozen lives — or an exemplar created by a cold hand under duress. Or neither.

The Ebon Seraph’s Book — though that title is not found on it — is a tome of deepest black, both cover and pages, its delicate notations in bone-white and crimson and silver.

Boneservants? Vampire alchemy? Becoming a living ghost? Spells of blasphemy nestled next to purity? All here.

Just a drop of blood on the clasp, there you go …

Towards the end of July I saw a post in the fediverse for AuGhost, for ghostie or spooky things based on a daily prompt, and I absolutely had to go for it despite not at all doing art — not least of which because, posting on fedi, I could challenge myself to stay inside the character limit including title and tags (in my case, 500 characters).

I didn’t want to spam up the blog with small individual entries, though, and I’ve learned from other prompt months that after a point any blog post being updated daily eventually becomes a hell to load and edit — but oh hay, last fall I posted Knightober entries in batches, why not do it that way again?

So here are the first ten days of AuGhost. I initially planned on more spells and the like, but it looks like it’s going more absolutely system-less places, people and things. That’s fine, though.


01. Palesliver Gates (“doorway”)

The fearful say there’s only one Palesliver Gate. The fearful are fools.

Any door, any arch, any crossroads — any verge between one place and the next — may Gate when the passage is right. The shadow of iron-briar leaves opening flickers over, and

between breaths

the next step carries you to the still lands beyond all life.

To call the Gate, they say, touch bone or mourn-cloth or true grief to the threshold and walk without turning back.


02. Sir Michel (“transfix”)

Whatever these shattered walls once were, one thing remains:

A greatsword, plunged deep into one crumbling wall.

A murmur, if touched: Do not free me. A price is paid.

Freeing the sword frees its captive — and Sir Michel does not come gently. A black-bone knight in shattered steel, keening for loss of honour, pride, the chance to repent, he is relentless in his wrath.

If Michel is put to rest, the blade gleams, now proof against the fallen.


03. Soulfire (“flicker”)

“Oh sweetie, now, don’t back out.
“This is what you wanted, remember?
“Did you think you’d make them feel your pain all on your own?”

Of course. All is unjust. But it will be worth it. You just need to do it once.

Just once.

The luminous wisps of the trapped ghost have weight as you swallow them.

It feels strange.

But that’s fine.

Until the ghost fades, that fluttering glow will wrap your spells in truly /grave/ torments when they strike.


04. The Frozen (“winter”)

There are lost ones out there.

Sometimes they scratch at the windows and tap at the door, softly, insistently, like snowfall against glass.
Sometimes they howl in fury, a storm of thwarted life and endless terror.
Sometimes they merely drift just out of sight, a moment’s wistfulness for what could have been.

No matter their form, do not respond.
Nothing you can offer can warm them now.

But they will ask it of you, oh yes.

Please
It is so cold


05. The Lady in Green (“spring”)

Through new-sown fields walks the Lady in Green. She nods in greeting if you call, but doesn’t stop for you; the living are not her concern.

The Lady walks to see the crops prepared — and the bloodgift doing their work.

Fields that pass her test grow well, life sprung from death.
A cry of neglect from the soil brings down her wrath in famine.

The Green Lady, they say, was the first.

Perhaps that’s why the leaves in her hair are red.


06. Joyeuse (“summer”)

In sunshine and warmth, who wants to think of lost ones?

Some do. With all their heart.
As do the dead.

Sometimes you just want to reach out — from either side — somehow.

That’s where the Veil works.

Joyeuse is one of them, a youth with an easy smile and a quick cold blade and a satchel sealed up close.

Letter for a loved one? Warning? A moment’s glimpse, veil parted? Joyeuse can arrange it.

And don’t try to nick his satchel. Bad idea, that.


07. Hunt-Heart (“fall”)

Do not be greedy, nor wasteful, nor cruel when the leaves turn and the hunt begins.
Take what you need, and do so as swiftly, as cleanly as you can.

A swift end, delivered without malice.
And thankfulness, in necessity, for what they render unto you.

Else you may find yourself stalked by your own prey — bone and chill wind and withering relentlessness, they have nothing to fear from you now.

And they will hunt you to the ends of the earth.


08. Wandering Stone (“gift”)

No one knows who moves the Wandering Stone. A generous spirit or two, or itinerant devotees, or even the Veil.

It doesn’t matter. It’s there; that’s important.

The Stone is towering, pitted with niches; a broad dolmen strung with ribbons, paper ornaments and cloth streamers, its niches filled with cakes, notes, old toys, flowers, carvings.

A place to leave things for those with no name, no grave-place.

Many grateful dead follow in its wake.


09. Royal Edge (“sacrifice”)

It is royal, yes; the ancient crest, with crown above, is yet visible on the dagger’s worn blade. And worn indeed, from blade to the browning ivory of its grip to the faintly greening copper rivets holding all in place.

Draw your blood with it and she appears in milky mist, half-armoured, wry smile on her colourless lips.

Royal Edge claims a year from your blood; but that is enough for the Ember Sage Prince to answer your call for one night.


10. the Bone Garden (“maze”)

Once upon a time there was a gardener whose joy was a magnificent mazy path of tenderly shaped cherries and lovingly trimmed roses. Folks came from all the land to wander the twisting paths and lose themselves in the arching boughs and dizzying blooms.

Then came conquest, and death. The garden, blood-soaked, was torched.

The next new moon it rose again, a labyrinth of bloodwood and bone.

The gardener walks its paths, wailing.

Will you enter?

(I regret nothing of that title and you can’t stop me)

All these knightly orders are all well and good, of course, but what do you do with them? Well, you have PCs in them, and NPCs, and spin some adventure seeds out of it.

But what if you need a bit more of a starting point? Like, say, just who’s running the show or at least where this group of unusual folks came from. It’s a good question, after all, especially if a PC is a member of an order, or for that matter any of the other guilds, factions, and various organizations tossed up here on the blog, or written up elsewhere even.

So here are a few tables for inspiration; roll on them for any given order, or pick one of the results, or just use them as a jumping-off point for your own ideas. They don’t give the nitty-gritty of internal group structures or the like, but they should make a start.


Who Do They Answer To?

01. A ruler — king, empress, etc — or a member of the immediate royal family, or equivalent
02. A great lord of some variety, whether duke or daimyo
03. The hierarch of a religious organization
04. No one but their own leader; the order acts independently
05. No one but their own leader; members may have pledged themselves to various lords and masters
06. There is no true group hierarchy, only cells or networks and apprenticeships
07. A sorcerous or mystical or otherwise non-mortal entity, from dragon to ascended soul
08. The leaders of a community or communities


Of course, a group does need funds. (well, sometimes; some may be more professions of faith or shared wellsprings of knowledge than a formal organization. that’s usually not the case with a knightly order, though, unless the order is a federation of hedge-knights in common.)

How Do They Support The Order?

01. Tithes from members (a percentage of income or labour)
02. Subsidized by royalty, nobility, or other secular patron
03. Subsidized by a religious edifice (temple or shrine)
04. Quests taken on for the order itself
05. Individual members take on quests or missions
06. A mutual aid society, informal in nature
07. Donations from those the order aids
08. There is no direct support for the order as a whole

How Are Members Expected To Contribute?
(beyond upholding the order’s ideals, which kind of goes without saying)

01. Tithing an amount of funds, or in kind, or with labour
02. Teaching new recruits or apprentices
03. Encouraging the growth of the order
04. Performing quests and endeavours that bring acclaim to the order
05. Contending with the order’s rivals and/or enemies
06. Offering aid or shelter to fellows, when called upon

Under many circumstances, several of these possibilities are just taken as a matter of course anyway; but even then, there may be an especial emphasis or value placed on a specific contribution in particular.


Also vitally important — when there’s scores of orders and dozens of factions out and about, it’s highly unlikely that all these groups will somehow never cross paths with at least a few others. So how does that shake out?

What does this order think of another?

01. Kinship, in arms or in peace
02. Casual allies, at least on a day to day basis
03. The leadership/established members are considered allies
04. The leadership/established members are considered rivals or enemies
05. The other order is anathema
06. There is old bad blood, but overtures are being made
07. There is currently competition for [hearts/faith/resources]
08. The order wishes to remain unknown to the other
09. A favour of honour is owed to the other order
10. The other order owes a favour of honour
11. Neutrality, with no particular opinion
12. Curiosity, with a side of jocular rivalry

And if the basic beliefs of the two groups are intrinsically opposed (or aligned) and a contrary result comes up, well, there’s certainly some potential adventuring and politicking in the weeds there —

Magpie

This trim longsword sports a blade engraved with shallow grooves along its midrib, and a more rounded than usual tip, along with short quillions tipped with blunt recurved “claws” and a grip composed of alternating plaques of black and white horn pegged into place with brass nails enameled in opposite shade, black against white and vice versa. The pommel is a steel ring, occasionally seen sporting a tassel, a trophy tail, a few dangling ribbons, or other unassuming and fairly random ornaments.

* Magpie doesn’t have to draw blood to wound and confound those feeling its steel. It’s still a sword, of course, and may be used to injure, and grants its bearer a bit of nimble-footed advantage in that regard (+1 to attack); but what it really excels at is wounding perceptions.

By stealing colour.

For every strike taken from Magpie, regardless of actual physical injury (or lack thereof), the victim and all they carry at the time have all their colours drain away. For the next hour they appear in shades of off-white at most, greyer where shadows land — and the victim themselves view the entire world similarly, a bleached existence licked by wan shadowing at best. The experience is unsettling, leaving the victim shaken and more likely to fumble any crucial endeavour (disadvantage on all things).

Magpie’s wielder may choose to prevent the blade from dealing any physical injury from a strike by the sword. Similarly, they may choose to omit the external evidence of Magpie’s colour theft.

* Magpie — originally an unsharpened blade — was forged as a teaching tool. Symbolic of the Empty Totality school’s beliefs in the necessity of learning to see beyond one’s comforting and familiar surroundings, the sword was enchanted by northern school branch’s Forgemaster by request of Lord Midnight Vath, who would drain the colour of those followers who wished to directly understand what disorienting emptiness, and enlightenment, a truly colourless world could bring them.

The sword was stolen in a raid during the Screaming Garden Wars and its subsequent use as — among other things — as a tool of social and political sabotage has been a source of embarrassment for the Empty Totality. The school would give much to have the blade returned.