What Can I Do With It? is an introductory piece of fiction for Silkgift: The City of Sails, one of the supplements for Cities of Sundara, which is available in versions for 5th Edition and Pathfinder.

Ella was working late in her lab when she heard a familiar sound from down the hall; a low hiss followed by a kind of strangled growl. She cocked her head, waiting to make sure there wasn’t an explosion, and then climbed her step stool to get down her can of tea. She put the kettle on over her corner burner, and waited for it to heat. She took it off just as the pacing started, pouring two cups and adding the diffusers, along with cream and a little bit thistle dust for sweetener. Then she took the cups and walked down the hall. She was slower these days, but Garrick’s workshop wasn’t far.

Ella didn’t bother knocking, she just edged the door open with the toe of her boot. The long-haired shipwright’s apprentice was standing in front of an assembly that Ella recognized. He rounded on the sound of the door opening, the shout swelling up in his chest transforming into a long sigh as he saw it was Ella.

“I thought you went home a few hours ago,” he said. For him, that was the same as an apology.

“I don’t sleep much these days,” Ella said, holding out the much larger mug toward him. “Is that lubricant formula still not cooperating?”

“No,” he said, taking the mug. Garrick held it close to his face, but didn’t drink. He ran his calloused fingers through his hair, and stared at the results of his latest attempt. “Something’s going wrong. I don’t know if it’s the heat, or the sand quality, or-”

“Have you asked the important question?” Ella cut him off, sipping at her own tea.

Garrick stopped, frozen still as a statue. After a second he blew a sharp breath out of his nose, and took a sip of the tea. “What can I do with what I have?”

Ella nodded, and stepped past him, getting up onto a step stool to look at what was in his pot. It was a thick, oily sludge with bits of grit in it. She took a stirring stick, and prodded it. It was thick and heavy, almost like tar as she lifted some up.

“Is it tacky when it dries?” she asked.

“No,” he said. Then he took another sip of his tea, his eyebrows meeting.

“And the grit?” Ella asked. “Does it make for a solid grip?”

“Fairly,” Garrick said, a frown on his mouth as well as his brow. Ella waited, but for all the sparks she could see going off in his brain, nothing was catching just yet.

“You spent two years tooling a shipyard, Garrick,” Ella said, sipping her tea. “What would you do with it?”

He opened his mouth, but whatever words he’d been about to speak in haste were belayed as his brain caught a grip. He glanced over at the resin, and his eyes narrowed. Finally he said, “If it seals better than tar, it would be a godsend for a deck in a squall.”

“Start with a gangway,” Ella said, climbing back down and smiling at him. “Then work your way up from there.”

Growing the City is a piece of fiction for Ironfire: The City of Steel, one of the supplements for Cities of Sundara, which is available in versions for 5th Edition and Pathfinder.

“Space” said Shenara Locke as their assistant, Marak Colthon, entered the room. Marak was used to these seemingly apropos of nothing comments from the seneschal, and waited until she could be a little more forthcoming.

“Space” said Shenara again, staring at a map of Ironfire that had been unrolled out on the table and weighted down with several paperweights made from polished slag. She pointed at the small communities outside the main walls of the city, near the gates at Oak Gate and North Ward. Both had a few buildings there, beyond the protection of the city’s wall.

“If we build a wall around these two areas, and have another dividing it in two, we will have space to expand the city and can also increase the security, ” Shenara continued, now making more sense. “We’ll need to consider whether or not it would be a good idea having the warehouses at Oak Gate inside the walls, though. Given what they store, it may be better to keep them outside.”

Looking at Marak, Shenara told him, “I want you to look into the matter and come up with some preliminary estimates as to the cost of construction. One you’ve come up with these, and any recommendations as to how best to go about it, I’ll look them over, then present it to the Iron Council and see what they say. I doubt this will be an immediate priority, but it is a potential plan for the future, especially as parts of the city inside the walls are getting heavily populated.”

Marak sighed inwardly, as this looked like it was going to be a lot of work with no immediate use. Still, the idea did have merit, and it wasn’t as if they couldn’t find the stone to make the walls from. That should reduce the costs of an expansion, he mused, as he left to start the planning. And perhaps there was a way of dealing with Oak Gate’s warehouses after all.

Putting in the Hours is a piece of fiction for Moüd: The City of Bones, one of the supplements for Cities of Sundara, which is available in versions for 5th Edition and Pathfinder.

It’s not uncommon for the more junior members of organisations to do the less pleasant or tedious tasks that said organisation needs doing, and the Silver Wraiths, despite their more unusual nature, were no different.

Amalia al’Tiran was bent over a workbench in the cooler depths of the College of Bones in Moüd’s North District, scrimshawing the bones of a skeleton with arcane marks in Hausfaran. Essential work, as it identified that the undead bearing the marks was created by the guild, but no less tedious for it. The Silver Wraiths prefer working with the corporeal undead and, given the choice, Amalia preferred working with the raw materials of skeletons to those of zombies. It’s cleaner work, as all the meat has been removed from the bones, and that’s not the only benefit.

The guild has preservative methods to keep the flesh of those bodies intended to be zombies fresher, and the bodies were often kept chilled as well but, even with those, the dead bodies had a tendency to smell like, well, rotting flesh and, should those preservative methods fail, the heat of the desert could make smells rapidly far more unpleasant, not to mention that the flesh itself would be revolting to work with.

Amalia finished scrimshawing the bone she was working on, and moved onto the next with a quiet sigh. Essential, but boring, work, and she couldn’t wait to be finished with this stage of her apprenticeship so that she could move onto the more interesting jobs. But the time needed to be put in first, and doing the job she was given efficiently and competently ensured that her superiors would consider her worthy of ascending in the guild. Scrimshawing the bones of skeletons it was, then. And at least it wasn’t zombies.

Leaving Moüd is an introductory piece of fiction by Neal Litherland for Moüd: The City of Bones, one of the supplements for Cities of Sundara, which is available in versions for 5th Edition and Pathfinder.

“Leaving us so soon?” the young man with the orcish teeth and the rakish glint in his eyes asked as he leaned on the counter. The rustle of parchment maps filled the travel station as other customers planned their routes, and cool air puffed out from grates in the floor where water ran. “It might look pretty straightforward as cities go, but I can promise you that Moüd’s got secrets worth digging for.”

“I’m sure it does,” Argor said, putting on a smile that was trying to be polite but wasn’t quite managing. “But we’ve done all we came here to do.”

The orc-blooded man shrugged, as if to say their business was none of his, before spreading his hands on the wooden counter top. “What direction are you going, and when would you like to start going there?”

“To the coast,” Argor said. “And as soon as can be arranged.”

The young man pursed his lips, his eyelids narrowing slightly. He looked like a big cat contemplating a course of action. “One of the sand trains leaves this evening, traveling through the night.”

“That-” Argor started to say before Ceravil cut him off.

“Will be fine,” she said, offering a smile of her own. She felt Argor’s irritated gaze on her, but wouldn’t turn to meet it. “We had an unfortunate accident coming here in the first place. Better to trust the guild when it comes to getting out of the desert.”

“Hard-learned wisdom,” the man said, nodding hard enough to make his long braids sway. “And a lesson I wish I could teach others who come through here.”

He named a price. Argor bristled slightly, and the negotiation began. Ceravil stepped away to let Argor do what he was best at, running her eyes over the maps and pamphlets. Silkgift caught her eye, as did Hoardreach. Those places were far from here, but after the sights they’d seen in the City of Bones, she felt a need for a change. The smell of a clean sea, or the sights of a place of wonder she’d only ever heard about. Behind her Argor opened his coin purse, carefully counted a fee, and handed it over.

“I’ll send word when your passage has been arranged,” the man said, giving them another grin that showed off his too-long lower tusks. “A pleasure doing business with you.”

“I never want to set foot here again,” Argor grumbled as they turned their steps to the heat of the street. “The dead stay below, the living stay above. That’s the way it’s supposed to be.”

“You say that now,” Ceravil said, clucking her tongue and smiling slightly. She watched as the newest arrivals to Moüd came down the street, bearing the accents and fashions of a dozen different lands. She smelled the scents of spices and cooking meats, and looked off in the distance at the bulk of the city’s hanging gardens. “Once the chill in your skin fades, you’ll remember this place more fondly.”

He grunted, but Ceravil knew. The footsore miles and uncomfortable seats always faded from Argor’s memory, but the wonders he saw in their travels always lingered.

Travelling to Moüd is an introductory piece of fiction by Neal Litherland for Moüd: The City of Bones, one of the supplements for Cities of Sundara, which is available in versions for 5th Edition and Pathfinder.

The desert wind howled beyond the walls of the stranded wagons. Ceravil had her hood pulled low, and a cloth wrapped around her mouth and nose to keep the gusts of sand out. Argor had a blanket around his shoulders, and his head down. They’d been stranded for days now, buried by the wind and sand up to the broken axle that had left them in such dire straits. The ox had died, its leg snapping when it stumbled, and they’d had to put it out of its agony quickly. Accusations had been thrown, arguments had started and fears vented… now they sat in tired silence waiting to see if the desert would devour them or not.

Then they heard it; a rhythmic thumping sound. It was far away at first, but it grew steadily closer. It was joined by the creak of hawsers, and the shushing of sand skids. Argor kept his head down, but Ceravil’s ears all but twitched as she listened… and hoped. The sounds stopped close enough that the sand shifted, and made the broken down wagon lurch. Ceravil loosened the knot on the back flap, and stepped out into the blowing storm.

Something loomed nearby; a shrouded form that towered over the wagon. It was wrapped in black cloth, but white tusks protruded from its skull. Beneath the head, a flap shifted. A man in a gray cloak looked down at Ceravil, seated on a pillowed bench resting in the colossal creature’s rib cage.

“How many are you?” he yelled over the howling winds.

“Two,” Ceravil shouted back.

“No beasts?” the driver asked, holding back the flap as the wind tried to snap it. The silver skull on his hand gleamed, even in the dimness of the sand storm.

“No!” Ceravil said, shaking her head hard.

“There’s room,” the drover said, gesturing over his shoulder at the train of wooden wagons on sand skids. “Be quick! If we stop for too long even Milara won’t be able to pull us out!”

Ceravil nodded, and ran back to her wagon, stumbling in the storm. Argor was on his feet, his eyes shining with hope.

“Grab the strongbox,” Ceravil snarled at him. “And the hesh bag. The Wraiths will want their due when we get where we’re going.”

Argor looked like he wanted to spit, but he kept his words behind his teeth. He snatched up the heavy leather satchel, and kicked the secret panel of the wagon open. He pulled out the strongbox, and the small parcels of valuable goods they’d squirreled away. The necromancers of Moüd would get their gold, and with a little luck they’d still have enough left to turn this disaster in a profit in the City of Bones.