Talmar
A soft rustle in the trees overhead indicated that she was up there. Again.
Welcome to Carimar
Carimar is a large, J-shaped valley, land-
locked by its geographical features. It’s main cities
are Achenar, Volonar, and Westkeep. The people
are a peaceful folk, mostly farmers and craftsmen,
bound by the traditions dedicated to worshipping
Taloria. The focal point for most is around the many
Lifesprings scattered throughout, having a higher
concentration of the magical springs than any other
region on the continent. They currently wage a
losing battle against the influx of Takidor’s
merchants, who bring their strange mercantile ways
to the unsuspecting and gullible Carimarans, many
of whom are being caught up in the tide of wealth
and greed that they bring.
In the southern reaches, nestled against the
towering Ulsgareth Peaks, is Springwood, a small
forest and home to the village of the same name. It
is where one of our heroes, Talmar Woodborn
begins his journey.
Talmar shook his head and sighed, ignoring it for the moment. He willed her to go
away and went back to preparing for his evening meditation. With a calm and
practiced precision, he retrieved the meditation candles from a chest outside the door
of the Keeper’s Hall, and set them on plain, stoneware plates at the four direction
points around the edge of the Lifespring. From a brightly painted jar, he placed a
spoonful of ground incense next to each candle.
It was a simple arrangement, but in the near dark of the just set sun, the four
candles would create a warm, peaceful glow, the incense would shroud them in a
sweet, earthy haze, and Talmar would dip his Spiritstone into the cold, dimly
glowing water, and feel Taloria’s essence soak into it and thus to him. That small
pool, with its luminescent crystals growing along its walls was the center of
Talmar’s rather small world in the Southern reaches of Carimar.
The Springcircle was beautiful in its simplicity. Moss covered rock encircled
the spring where clear water flowed silently out over the lip and slipped away to the
south. It was surrounded on three sides by log buildings with high peaked, shingled
roofs where all major activities in the village occurred. A low, ivy-blanketed, stone
wall connected the buildings and met at a high arching gateway where the stream
exited and the villagers entered up a flagstone walk. It was all shrouded by five great
Lifetrees, whose massive branches stretched out nearly behind the roofs of the
buildings their broad, emerald green leaves covering it all in soft, cool shade.
Lifetrees nourished themselves directly from the blood of Taloria, having
been planted and nourished by the village from time out of memory. During these
growing months, when the leaves overlapped to the point that no sunlight came
through, Talmar was the most content. The constant twilight was tranquil, and would
keep the growing season’s heat at bay.
Talmar knelt on the soft moss and peered into the clear, glowing depths of
the spring. He felt he gazed into the heart of Taloria herself. It had transfixed him
since he first looked into it as a boy, forever being admonished for sneaking into the
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I have watched him these past few seasons, from
the first moment I sensed his presence in the waters
of the Lifespring, knowing that he would be the one
with the power to heal. I have given him visions of
the Shadow, the one whom he must save, for I have
foreseen their meeting, and I must conspire to make
it so.
-Tulbonae, the Seer of Ubera
Talmar is an apprentice Springkeeper, under the
tutelage of Mendalar, the Keeper of the village of
Springwood. He wishes nothing more than to learn
and one day become his village’s Keeper. He feels
the touch of Taloria, drawn to the power in the
Lifespring, knowing that his life belongs in service
to her. He questions though, what to make of the
recurring dream of the beautiful, troubled woman
with the honey-colored hair whom forever calls out
for his help.
Springcircle at night, to stare into the ethereal glow of the Spiritstones growing on
the walls.
From that very first moment he had felt a connection. There was something
powerful in that water, and Talmar had felt at one with it. He could not explain it
then, and was hard pressed to do so now. Mendalar, his mentor and Springkeeper of
the village, had let him make his secret, nightly vigils to the spring, and now he was
an apprentice Springkeeper, learning the ways of focusing the energy that came from
the waters.
The sound of a snapping twig refocused his attention. Milara.
She was spying on him again, hiding somewhere in the dense canopy above.
How or why she had become infatuated with him, Talmar still did not understand.
He was not handsome. He was your typical brown haired, brown-eyed Carimaran
male. He had that rare touch of green in the eyes, but still, it was nothing to gossip
with the other girls about. He was an apprentice Keeper, which was a very mundane
and boring vocation to others beside himself. He did not have the exceptional
woodworking skills of his father. There was just nothing about him that he would
have considered worth being infatuated about, and yet there she was.
Milara was fifteen seasons old, and a very healthy fifteen at that. Talmar was
not beyond noticing, but much to her frustration, he had little interest. The woman
he was meant for lived in his dreams. A woman with hair the color of honey, who
always floated up to him from the chill waters of the Lifespring, her eyes blazing
with blue fire. She never spoke to him, but the message was clear. She needed him,
and always beckoned for him to follow her back into the glowing depths, but Talmar
refused, afraid to enter, afraid of what he might find down there, and that whatever
need the beautiful woman had, he would fail her.
The dreams were almost always the same, and Talmar would wake from
them terribly afraid, sweating, his wool blanket clenched up tightly under his chin.
They were compelling to, and the woman fascinated him. Taloria was telling him
something, if only he could fathom its meaning, and he knew without doubt that his
future was linked with the mysterious woman. He had told no one of his dream, even
his mentor, who might have clearer understanding of such things. Talmar wished to
decipher it for himself. It was Taloria’s challenge to him as a Keeper.
Milara seemed to be obsessed with him of late, taken to spying on him at all
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Lifesprings
Scattered through Taloria, are the magical
Lifesprings. The water that flows from them is
known as the Blood of Taloria. It is here that those
with the ability can feel the power of the goddess
Taloria, and commune with the all-knowing power
that guides their lives.Within these natural springs
grows crystalline rocks called Spritstones. These
stones have the power to absorb the spiritual energy
given off by all living things. They are harvested by
the Keepers of the springs, and tradition states that
they shall be given to all upon reaching their fifth
season, to be worn close the breast in the form of a
necklace, worn until death, at which time the stone
is cast back to the Lifespring so that the person’s
spirit may be joined with Taloria. The Keepers are
the few born with the power to access the energy
built up within the stones, to heal or be used for
other beneficial purposes. Because of this, the
Keepers are the central figures in Carimaran life.
hours of the day, always being there when he left the Keeper’s Hall in the evening,
and always out on an errand at sunrise to catch him by chance on his way in for his
morning meditation. It was flattering but mostly annoying, and Talmar did not care
for her breaking the village rules on his account. Nobody was allowed to climb in
the sacred Lifetrees surrounding the spring.
“Milara,” he said, loud enough for her to certainly hear. There was no
response, but a faint rustling in the branches above. “Milara, please. I know you are
up there, and it is against the rules to be climbing the Lifetrees.” There was another
snap of wood and a muffled cry. “No need to hurry, Mila. It is nearly dark. You will
fall to your death if you keep that—“
He was cut off by a sudden, short scream and several bits of twig tumbled
down in front of him into the waters of the spring. He would have to clean them out
of the water before he could do his meditation now. “Milara, please be careful. This
has got to stop.”
“Tal,” she cried out. “Help—“
He started to get up, but then a longer scream pierced the shadows above,
and then the harsh, sickening crack of bone striking wood. He could see her coming
down through the branches in a shower of twigs and leaves, her limp body buffeted
back and forth. She flopped like a rag doll, tumbling headfirst and Talmar cringed
when her head narrowly missed the larger of the lowest branches stretching over the
spring. For a moment, Talmar thought she might be dropping right on top of him, or
worse, landing on the stone ring around the spring. He was frozen, unable to move
from where he stood and could only turn and close his eyes as her shadowy figure
plummeted down.
By some fortunate quirk of fate, the body plunged down with a loud,
thumping whoosh into the middle of the spring, dousing Talmar in a shower of cold
water. When he turned to look, he could only see the dim outline of her figure,
sinking into the faint glow of the pool, a smoky swirl of blood trailing up above her.
Talmar hesitated for only a moment. It was strictly forbidden for anyone to enter the
spring other than the Springkeeper. You could not taint the blood of Taloria with
mortal flesh. However, someone was about to die, and that tipped the scales easily
enough for Talmar. Leaping forward, he arched in the air, landed with an awkward
splash, and swam madly down toward Milara’s dim outline.
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Even my bloodless heart feels sympathy for the
Carimaran people, those most dedicated to my
mother’s Will, who are so comforted by her
embrace that they are blind to the great Change that
befalls them now. For they will be once again the
center stage for Taloria’s grand tragedy of sacrifice
and death, complacent sheep herded to slaughter. I
have foreseen the great war which will descend
upon them in a raging torrent of water and
shambling black horrors, destroying many if not all
of those who seek to defy Taloria’s Will. Even as I
conspire to bring this devastation upon them, I seek
a greater betrayal of saving those who can bring
Taloria’s end. This Change shall not be hers in the
end, but mine, even if it means my own end, as I
know it must, for the children of Taloria deserve the
freedom to exercise their own Will and create a
world free of tyranny. It shall be Taloria’s choice in
the end, to change or die, and if I know my mother,
she shall go screaming to the very end.
-Tulbonae, the Seer of Ubera.
If I had just kept my mouth shut, he thought. Talmar bumped into her slack
body making its slow tumble down the narrowing walls of the spring. Wrapping an
arm around her torso, he turned and began to kick his way toward the surface. It
could not have been more than three or four body lengths. In the twilight shade of
the circle, the opening above was a black, glass ceiling.
He scraped his way up the crystal-lined wall, grimacing as the sharp edges of
the stones created dozens of tiny cuts along his back. The flair of pain sharpened his
focus and Talmar noticed a subtle change. The water was brighter, and along with it
came a presence, stronger than he had ever felt, swimming in the waters with him.
The water took on an icy-blue tone, cold and intense, though Talmar did not
actually feel cold himself. The presence of Taloria permeated through his skin, sank
into his bones until she filled every part of him, the intensity of her giving Talmar a
burst of energy that propelled him toward the surface.
“Save her, Talmar,” the soft feminine voice echoed in his head, resounding
off the walls, and nearly caused him to open his mouth and draw in a lungful of
water. “Show them your gift, but then you must come. She is dying.”
Dying? The nameless, unknown woman of his dreams. The floating, pale
body, with the undulating hair, and the glowing, eyes that burned with a fire colder
than ice. Talmar knew it was not Milara that she referred too. Now it seemed, he
knew the reason Taloria had sent him the dream. He had to save her.
“Save her, Talmar,” she cooed again, with subtle, commanding force. “You
are the only one who can.”
He could say nothing in response, his lungs burning for lack of air, and even
if able, he was not sure what the reply would be. All that mattered was the wavering
image of dark leaves through the window of the surface above him. Finally, Talmar
burst through, sucking in a huge draught of air. He flailed his right arm up over the
rocky rim of the spring, clasping Milara against him with the other. For a moment he
could only lay there, her head against his chest, the wet curls pressed against his
cheek. Even in the dim twilight, he could see her lips were dark, turning blue from
the lack of air. She was not breathing. Talmar could feel her spirit slipping away
with the murky cloud of blood that seeped into the water.
“Blessed Taloria, Milara,” he gasped, catching his breath. Blood trickled
from a vicious gash on her forehead, around those usually soft, lively brown eyes,
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Carimar struggles against the encroaching
influence of the Merchant Companies of Takidor,
an insidious mercantile force, bent on controlling
trade in all of Taloria and thus power over all. It is
Carimar that stands in their way, a barrier between
them and their enemies in the lands of Esperia,
whose seafaring culture dominates them on the
seas. Combined with the forces of the Windsail
Traders, a t faction of former Merchants from
Takidor, their only hope lies in invasion by land,
and this path lies through Carimar. In their way lies
the Castle Corvu, guarding the lone pass through
the Kulkyri forest and passage to the sea. It is here
that Talshae Corvu, mate to the murdered Embar
Corvu, defends her castle to her dying breath
against the massing forces of the Merchant
Compaines. Aided by the ancient, magical Kulkyri,
she has proven an unbreakable force, but plans
have been laid to bring Castle Corvu down, hinging
on a lone, disgraced assassin, who will go to any
length to regain his former standing.
and into the wet curls of hair. “You cannot die. You will not die!” he commanded, as
much to himself as to her, gingerly touching the wicked gash on her head.
There was heat, flashing right down into the marrow of his bones, intense as
smoldering coals pressed to his flesh, but nothing burned. Still, he let out a startled
yelp of surprise. The source was his Spiritstone, pinned between Milara’s head and
his chest. It glowed with a bright, green intensity he had never seen before, as did
Milara’s. The water sang with the energy of their Spiritstones and was joined by the
voice of Taloria, a soft, resonating sound, like the longest string on a harp. Talmar’s
head thrummed with it.
Fear, awe, and cold had his body shivering. He was doing this, whatever it
was, and Taloria was somehow there with him, feeding him more energy than he
could ever draw on his own. Focus the energy upon the person, let their body heal
itself. It was a simple tenet of Springkeeper work, and Talmar was so overwhelmed
that he could only think in simple terms. So, he focused and opened himself to
Milara’s need, willing her spirit to take what was needed to heal itself.
The moment the suffused green light vanished into the point within the
center of the stone about her neck, a sudden bright flash consumed Talmar’s vision
and then was gone just as abruptly.
Taloria was gone. Somehow, she had known and come to aid him. Before he
could dwell more than a moment on that thought, Milara’s body came to life with a
spastic lurch as she gasped, spluttered, and finally vomited up a torrent of water.
“Mendalar!” Talmar yelled, and to his surprise found his mentor suddenly
kneeling beside him, hooking his hands beneath Milara’s arms.
“Great Mother of us all,” he exclaimed, but said nothing else as he dragged
Milara out of the spring, laying her on the mossy ground to examine her wounds.
Talmar pulled himself out and knelt on the other side, his breath coming in
ragged gasps. The bloody gash on Milara’s forehead was no longer bleeding, a mere
jagged pink welt of flesh. The assortment of cuts decorating her body from her
tumble and subsequent brush along the crystalline walls of the spring were now
faded scratches. Mendalar clutched his spiritstone while his free hand roamed over
the wounds of her body. Finally he glanced over at Talmar, a curious, stunned look
on his face.
“Did you heal her, Tal?” he asked.
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Conspiracies and plots twist back upon one another,
informed by my limited powers to see what is yet to
come. I bring Taloria’s Champions together, as was
done a millennia before, the Order of the Nine,
those most powerful in the exercise of Taloria’s
Will. I have used them to destroy, to shatter the lives
of Taloria’s own children, pretending to be the
bringer of balance against the forces of destruction.
If only it were so, that my deeds had brought good
to these lands, but my mother’s Will is corrupted by
fear, a fear that her own shall forsake her, leaving
her powerless and alone. I can no longer live this
lie. Taloria’s children deserve no less, for it is they
who bring life to Taloria and these lands, and it is
they who deserve to make this world their own, not
my mother. I will make this Change real, breaking
the bonds that have held Taloria’s children at bay
for these many centuries. I will see them grow to
become what the will, shaped in their own image
and not that of Taloria. For she is their dark heart,
the chains of all that has gone before, and they shall
be broken. Heed my words, for I shall destroy Her.
-Tulbonae, the Seer of Ubera.
Talmar was too overwhelmed to even think about what had happened. It was
too impossible to believe. “I…I am not sure what happened. She fell from the tree,
cracked her head upon a branch, but somehow managed to fall into the spring
without hitting the rocks. I dove in to pull her out. She was dying, Keeper! I could
feel her spirit drifting away, but then…” He stopped, struggling to put the images
into words. “Taloria came and told me to save her.”
Milara hacked up more water, moaning tearfully as Mendalar eased her on to
her side to help drain water from her lungs. He continued to tend to her body,
checking all of the wounds, the long, graying tail of his hair draped over a shoulder
and nearly brushing the ground. His stone glowed faintly as he worked, and he
genuinely looked surprised, an expression Talmar seldom, if ever saw on the
generous, kind lines of his face.
“She spoke to you?”
“Yes, Keeper.” It had been no figment of his imagination. He knew. With the
surety that the sun had set itself down in the east, he knew. “She told me to save
her,” he said. The next part, Talmar struggled to speak about, but he knew this had to
be the time. Mendalar had to know. “She told me that this woman I have seen in my
dreams is dying, that I must come and save her.”
Mendalar’s hands stopped, resting now on Milara’s legs, and he chuckled
softly. “I suppose I should have guessed all along. You have always had something
special, Tal.” He sighed, sitting back on his heals. “Ah, Blessed Taloria,” he said
softly. “He is not ready.”
Ready for what? His words made little sense. People were gathering outside
the stone wall, and Talmar felt the unnerving stares of the villagers upon him. Then
the hysterical cries of Terona, Milara’s mother could be heard as she came running
through the gate. The ensuing chaos drowned out any effort to get answers, and for
the moment, Talmar could only sit in stunned silence as Mendalar dealt with a
mother frightened for the life of her child.
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