Pantheon Press

I hope you all had a great New Year! 2010 is shaping up to be a great one for Pantheon Press!

We have been going full steam ahead in writing, testing, and generally preparing for the release of Fortune's Fool our brand new Tarot Card based game system!

We have also partnered with some old and new friends for the art in the book. Andrew DeFelice is back on board and will be using his master Photoshoppery skills to enhance our rules. We have also recruited Chris Kimball to do our cover and some awesome original interior art.

We will be at GenCon again this year running it and selling it too. Keep an eye out for games we run at NerdNYC's "Recess" and any local gaming stores we visit. We will announce any opportunities to play and learn more about Fortune's Fool here on the blog, on our Facebook Page, and Twitter.

As always, we love our fans and if you have any questions please feel free to (vacuum) email us at info@pantheonpress.com

The Adversaries Almanac is now available for purchase! Ripe with 18 full-color entries, it'll provide you with a bad guy for just about every campaign level. Sexy assassin? Check. Fallen paladin? Check. Crazy tattooed dwarf? Check!

Check out the Pantheon Press marketplace to buy yours today.

And remember, the discount code GNOLLOWEEN is still good for the rest of this week!

Tyr "Tearbringer" Mal'dorr
There is but one rule in the goblinoid clans that populate the lands northeast of Emberstone—strength equals power. Until recently, this was exemplified best in the Mal’dorr (Goblin for ‘hidden knife’) clan, which was led by the hulking bugbear Molok. As strong as a minotaur with a command style to match, his clan survived, but never flourished. They barely fought back assaults from other goblinoid clans, and attacks on the nearby human settlements were almost always failures. On one such raid, a young hobgoblin named Tyr lost his eye. He also lost any respect he had for Molok.

Tyr believed that cleverness could be another form of strength, and therefore another form of power. Why announce your offense with a screaming charge when you could slip behind enemy lines under the cover of night and slit their throats while they slept. Both tactics had the same result, but the latter left you with far more of your own forces still alive. As he continued to watch Molok stumble blindly into battle, Tyr saw opportunities abound. A contingent of archers in the trees could take out the enemy before they were seen. A force hidden in a nearby cave could emerge after the battle was already joined to catch the
enemy from behind, and they would be crushed like an eyeball in a raven’s beak. Tyr’s mind was naturally suited for tactical combat.

Tyr knew that he couldn’t take Molok in hand-to-hand combat, so he devised a plan to wrest control of the clan from the bugbear. He had heard rumors of a poison dusk lizardfolk hermit living near the edge of Emberstone. On the pretense of scouting a strike against the Groo’bin clan, he sought out the lizardfolk. After several weeks of hard travel, he found the hermit and paid her a handsome sum to brew up a powerful toxin called “sapper.” The poison, which Tyr sprinkled into Molok’s food when he returned, was a subtle one. The next time Molok’s adrenaline flowed, he would be rendered as weak as a baby kobold.

After a few days of poisoning Molok to make sure it would take effect, Tyr called the bugbear out to the fire pit of their camp. Tyr challenged Molok’s authority, saying that he was no longer fit to lead the clan. Then, Molok punched Tyr right in the face, as he did to all would-be usurpers. Tyr knew this was coming, and though his jaw was broken, he managed to stay on his feet. He continued to taunt Molok, taking blow after blow, until each hit felt no stronger than a mother’s touch. That’s when Tyr drew a short blade and stabbed Molok right in the chest. He was nearly beaten to death, but he won leadership of the clan.

Tyr’s first campaign as chief of the Mal’dorr was against the human lumber camp of Oakstone. While his clan triumphed, killing all the humans, it was not without losses. Tyr lost three of his fiercest warriors and one of his fingers. He learned not to underestimate his enemies, even if they are just woodsmen with simple axes. Tyr made sure that one human escaped, and then set a trap for any retaliating forces amongst the deadly water-powered lumber saws. He and his clan lay in wait for over a week, despite many of the smaller goblins’ insisting on burning the entire camp to the ground. His patience paid off when a well-outfitted battalion entered the camp and set off the trap, leaving them wounded enough for the goblins to finish them off. The Mal’dorr ended that day with more spoils than they had seen in a generation.

Tyr repeated this stratagem at two other settlements, earning him the nickname "Tearbringer” among the humans, but while his goblins were quite happy with their growing hoard, Tyr felt like he was merely picking at scraps. He knew there was greater plunder to be had closer to the human’s City-States Region where trade prospered. One night, he gave his clan a choice. They could leave all the treasure they accumulated behind and join him in his travels, or remain and forfeit the greater glory of future conquests. The Mal’dorr split in half that evening, but Tyr felt no ill will to those he left behind; the goblin mind doesn’t accept change quickly.

Tyr and his remaining clan moved northwest, sneaking their way past Bergen and into the hills flanking the Bergen Pass. When they were almost run down by a speeding carriage moving along the trade routes there, the Tearbringer feared he had gotten himself in over his head. In an attempt to even the odds, Tyr and his goblins began a search for their own mounts. They were naturally drawn to the large wolf-like worgs that populated the hills. Smarter than the average predator, Tyr knew they could not simply be captured and trained.

He found a smaller pack and approached them diplomatically, with offerings of raw deer meat. To his surprise, the oldest worg spoke Goblin, and the two found that they were of the same mind. They quickly entered into an arrangement beneficial to both sides: Tyr’s goblins would ride the worgs, while the worgs would get a steady supply of food from successful raids.

The hobgoblin and his new clan then launched a campaign of terror, striking against the caravans of goods and money within the Bergen Pass. Tyr soon became known as the bandit king of the hills, and his reputation as the Tearbringer spread. They usually hit the wagons carrying gold toward the mining settlement of Gunpowder, with the worg riders blocking the route while Tyr and his second-in-command, a bugbear barbarian named Dox, closed in from behind. Seeing the fearsome goblinoids, most simply surrendered their cargo, and the few that have survived a fight with Tyr’s clan tell stories that help to fuel that fear. While they usually use traditional weapons, Tyr’s clan is close to mastering the use of firearms. If they do so, they might be unstoppable.

Tyr is a particularly cunning hobgoblin. He is tall, but not gaunt, and agile, but not slight. Tyr’s body is a network of scars that cover burnt orange skin. His long hair is almost black with tinges of red, and he usually keeps it in a ponytail. He wears an eye patch over his missing left eye, and the rest of his clothing is functional warrior’s garb. He wields a notched scimitar in close combat, commanding his minions into flanking positions to gain advantage. His typical raiding party consists of six goblins riding worgs, Dox, and himself.

As we've mentioned before, we'll be at NYC's the Compleat Strategist tomorrow afternoon for our big official introduction of Nobis. And while you're there, you can participate in the Competition of the Spirit, the annual tournament that pits fencers from all regions against one another. Choose a fencer from our list of pregens and go a couple of rounds against another fencer of our choice. Will you be victorious or will you suffer a humiliating defeat? You won't know unless you show up!

If you're a user of NYC's mass transit system, the lines will be a little weird this weekend, so give yourself some extra time to get there.

As we mentioned last week, our next book, Adversaries Almanac will be available on our store in the next few weeks. To pique your curiosity, we present an excerpt from the entry on "Emperor" Naron, a twisted sewer dweller who calls the vermin there his subjects. With art courtesy of Jesse Cutler. Enjoy!

EMPEROR NARON
The Naron family was blessed. Vodon Naron, head of the household and husband to Jelina Naron, was a very successful local politician. Many a district prospered under his fair representation. Jelina, daughter of a very influential shipping guild family, was an accomplished poet and artist whose works sold for not a tiny sum of money. When they were married their families rejoiced. What a great success this union would be! Truly their future was bright! They had three children all within a year of each other and all boys: Jerro, Piotr and Lorin. Jerro grew very tall and strong and aspired to be part of the military. Piotr was very smart and had a fierce curiosity for all things written. Then there was Lorin. He was...quiet. Lorin had no special skills or even had any ambitions to pursue any sort of career. Although his parents were very successful and his brothers were all coming along, Lorin never truly excelled. He was just not a part of the success of the Naron family. He seemed to choose not to succeed even when given every opportunity to do so. His parents and brothers were very disappointed in him. They told him so almost every day.

His studies were average at best. He had no desire to spend much time with any friends and it took monumental effort just to get him to speak to even his own family. But there were some things he did spend time with. When his family was hosting a garden party on their estate Lorin was often found in his family’s cellar feeding the rats, millipedes, and other vermin. After the family took a day trip to visit relatives, Lorin showed up at the coach dirty, stained, and smelling of dirt. This childhood phase became more and more of an obsession. Eventually he took to sneaking into the cellar to sleep, leaving the comfort of his opulent bedroom for the cold, musty dampness of the place he felt the most comfortable.

His brothers would tease him incessantly. They and their friends would sometimes find him outside under a tree petting and talking to an insect. When Lorin saw them coming he shooed the creature away and just sat there huddled with his arms wrapped around his knees as the taunts, punches, and pokes came. Eventually they would get bored and leave him. When he would return home, his mother naturally chided him for his being dirty and again banished him to his room after he got a painful scrubbing from her. Then the lecture from his father came. Again. As it always did. Speaking of success and how blessed he and his mother were and how his brothers showed great promise.

One day, things changed for Lorin and not in a very good way. As he was at a picnic with his family and relatives, he walked away from their spot and found a good-sized snail slowly inching across the roots of a large tree. He had a piece of bread with him that he crushed and moistened in a puddle nearby and placed it near the snail to see if he would perhaps enjoy eating it. Lorin sat near the creature against the tree to watch it. It was slow but it eventually reached the bread that was laid in its path and it slowly oozed onto it. Lorin, happy that his new friend was eating, relaxed and started to drift off to sleep in the cool shade of the tree. He was not asleep long when he awoke to a crunch. His brother Jerro stood over him, smiling. Piotr was not far behind, laughing so hard he was doubled over. Jerro lifted his foot and Lorin saw the crushed snail. Its greenish gray insides dripping down the root of the tree. Jerro quickly wiped his shoe on Lorin’s jacket as he sat in shocked despair. “Here is your friend, Lorin. You can keep him close to your heart, now.” Lorin looked down at the dripping ooze on his jacket then at the crunched snail shell, then at his cruel brothers laughing at him. Lorin, for the first time ever, stood up for himself. He launched furiously at Jerro, taking him off his guard and knocking him back onto the ground. Lorin punched and throttled his older brother with a fierceness no one ever though him capable. Piotr, shocked, tried to pull him off but Lorin would not be budged. As Jerro screamed, Piotr ran to tell the family. His father ran over and pulled Lorin off of his crying bloodied brother.

Incensed, his father slapped Lorin across the face. “You have disgraced your family for the last time!” He marched everyone abruptly away, ending the picnic, and headed home. When they arrived late in the evening, the servants had already gone home. As his wife tended to the injured Jerro, Vodon was alone in his study with Lorin. He told him that he would be notifying the headmaster at the military academy that Lorin would be their newest student. He was going to send Lorin away to be taught discipline and proper behavior. Come the morning, Lorin would no longer be a burden on his family and he will be whipped into shape by the sternest tutor in the academy.

As Lorin sat there, hearing his father scream and screech about sending him away he felt oddly soothed by a feeling of cold peace. He could have sworn he could hear chittering, scratching, and squeaking. What was even odder his father heard it too and looked around. As his father peered into his fireplace the sounds got louder and louder until a wave of rats, insects and other vermin vomited forth from the fireplace. Then from cracks in the floorboards. Then bubbling up from the first floor windows. They swarmed over Lorin’s father as he screamed and slapped at them uselessly. Lorin watched as their tiny mouths tore pieces from his father’s clothes and flesh, he stared as tiny stingers and mandibles pierced his father’s flesh and injected him with venoms a thousand times. Still feeling a cold sense of calm, Lorin stood up and listened. A cacophony of buzzing and squeaking among the sounds of muffled screams emanating from the vermin-choked mouths of his entire family filled the Naron home. His mother and brothers met the same fate as his father. He smiled a wicked smile as the swarms finished their work and, as if in celebration crawled to Lorin and amassed at his feet and simultaneously buzzed, clacked, clicked and squeaked as if cheering and paying respect to their lord and master. Among the carpet of vermin were two huge dire rats who placed tokens at his feet. They were somewhat crude but were adorned with the markings of Oloren, the Blackened. He was still laughing as he left his home forever, the bloody, swollen bodies of his family left in tortured death poses.