The Nightly Travellers

"We had followed them into the valley, and found there an obstacle course of sorts, made of Areal thresholds. Apparently they train to leave, make, and enter them as a sport - it's no wonder we were never able to catch them."
— Rastann, guard

There are orders aside the speakers that look for wisdom and truth. The Nightly Travellers believe it can be found in the Area, and live almost exclusively there. As the nature of the Area makes reconnaissance nearly impossible, nobody knows what they are doing there, where they camp or live, and where they will come out. Also, since paths are shorter in the Area, they can travel vast distances very quickly, and have thus always eluded capture.

"I will take your daughter with me. She shall learn to weave, spin, and dye the mountainsides and shallow seas."
— Night Traveller Hmakinga

The Nightly Travellers are not the friendly helpers they claim they are. They steal children, to raise them in the Area. People staying within the Area for long often become strange and incomprehensible, and nobody knows what this upbringing does to the children.
When Nightly Travellers leave the Area, they create astonishing, intricate Areal relics of strange effects, and rulers become worried when they are sighted.


Artists' notes
There are a whole lot of other, friendlier orders with altruistic goals, but describing the freakish, strange orders with intransparent agendas is fun. The others will get their time as well, of course. Meeting a Nightly Traveller is like the opening scene of an urban fantasy novel, when you see a modern mage do something incredible with casual ease.

The Horr

[...]
After two and a half days locked in their cabins - luxurious cabins, but even a golden cage was still a cage - it was relieving to finally get fresh air again. It had been an unpleasant surprise when the captain had announced they weren't even allowed to watch the takeoff. Furthermore, not leave the preinstructed corridors or make any drawings of the ship, interview the crew, or a number of other, seemingly absurd instructions, that had made Orjugran call them a delusional band of oversuspicious scoundrels, just less polite. Captain Korslamin had laughed about the garren outbreak of disapproval, but only shortly; explained that she expected everyone to follow the rules, and that she would personally put a spell on any deviant.
Now, the maneuvers that might have told the passengers how the legendary dustship flew seemed complete, and the crew was friendly; so was the weather, which was unexpectedly sunny for a spring day in the Pillar Street.
Orjugran, who was happily lolling about in the sun, Vasmir, with an excited Mokri on his shoulder, and Benové met on the middle deck, where other passengers were stretching their legs as well. Vasmir blinked into an almost cloudless sky; the days before and during departure it had rained in varying strength.
"It gets drier towards Lozir", Benové yawned, "in case you're wondering why the rain stopped." The mapper was knowledgeable about climates and could tell them much about their travel destinations besides that. She stretched and, a little more awake, leaned on the railing betweeen Vasmir and Orjugran. Mokri had went to play with some other solano and a ball.
Below them stretched the sea, dotted with single rock spires. Many spots were so shallow the ground could be seen - reefs, shipwrecks as well, countless fish. Vasmir regretted to have missed the seafolk settlements off the coast. But the trip with the dustship was worth some sacrifices. The movement was completely smooth, and the Gral-én'tach was so big it seemed like a village. The crew had leisure while things were calm, and played with each other, the solano, or the many flying animals living aboard. On the afterdeck, the message master was teaching some of the half-meter-tall hallromm butterflies and his apprentice, a handful of yaafs chased each other around the masts. Vasmir followed the hallromms with his eyes to the first of the three floatrocks above the ship. He spotted a stately bush on it, covered in pink blossoms, which was buzzing with the coming and leaving butterflies. Benové sighed blood-curlingly and conversation-demanding. Vasmir noticed she had for the first time taken off her many bags. She looked slim and, most of all, bored.
"No maps? Papers, compasses, measuring tools?", Vasmir bantered. Benové looked to the sailors. Four out of five wore wizard's belts, and she had seen over twenty collectors. After Korslamin's urgent instructions, she didn't want to imagine the reaction if she turned up with drawing tools. She groaned inside. Maps of the Pillar Street were really lucrative, and the air view was fantastic.
"I suspect I couldn't take it as well as you when they threw me overboard, just because my solan dug a hole through two decks", she said loftily. Vasmir looked, made uncertain, for Mokri, who was peacefully playing with her companions. No signs that the pound-o'-rodent would bring doom upon the world's largest dustship. Orjugran giggled.
"Well", Vasmir answered with dignity, "if one will create destruction worthy of mention in history, one should at least survive it to tell the bards the story correctly."
Benové inclined her head to show she yielded, Orjugran applauded lightly.
"The Gral-én'tach will not fall from the skies from a simple digging fit of a solan." The sailor nimbly set down on the railing and took the half step down to the deck. The railing didn't reach the hip of the many raganaj sailors. Her solan, an wiry creature, spryly scurried over her middle wing to the ropes and hurried to the playground. "They tell each other how things are done aboard. Don't worry", she turned to Vasmir, grinning.
The sailor's name was Map'heela, she was amiable and very proud of the ship. It was her pleasure to indulge them with stories about passengers and journeys, the weather was pleasant, the sea colourful in the shallow waters and mysterious in the deep. When Benové had Map'heela about to take her to the navigator to gain permission to map, the sea arched below them. Moments later a smooth island rose, quickly gliding forwards, followed by an enormous tailfin that slapped the water thunderously.
"The horr."

Map'heela said it quietly into their astonishment. The tailfin had been just the first, many more backs and fins followed; some horr rose up further from the water and fell back heavily. The swarm was seemingly endless. It was said it was so big, it all but spanned the world. Orjugran was at first stiff with astonishment, then broke into ardent restlessness, ran to and fro and gestured wildly, while she buried Map'heela in questions.
"Do they pass Gdera in the north or south? Do they rest in the Ryaq? How many are there? How old do they become? Is it true they eat ships?"
"That you can check yourself", Map'heela laughed, then jumped over the railing to follow other sailors into the rigging. The shadow of the floatrocks quickly crossed the deck while the ship was lowered, until they were only a few dozen meters from the surface, and could see the young horr under their parents. Some fountains they blew up almost reached the ship, and it seemed to Vasmir like the horr also came up higher out of the water now. The Gral-én'tach was enormous, but the horr dwarfed it. Orjugran hung far over the railing, tail twitching excitedly.
"Can we go too?", she inquired breathlessly and punched Vasmir with the elbow. She pointed towards one of the smaller rocks, which had so far been floating below the ship. Now they were low over the water, and two carried raganaj and other passengers. Vasmir liked flying with Orjugran, but it was part of the game to play hard to get.
"I dunno; with all those fountains and your twitchy tail, we might drop into this grinding apparatus of fish."
"Oh, I'll warn you, and I'll hold perfectly still", Orjugran assured him eagerly. Devotedly, and suppressing a grin, he held open his arms. Orjugran stepped on his foot, stressing to hold her trembling tail still, and held on to Vasmir's arm. Vasmir swung over the railing and let them fall. At least his worries about the fountains were real, but Orjugran kept her word and warned him about every single one. The floatrock was just large enough they could stand on it comfortably, but Vasmir had to use his wings to keep them from falling, while Orjugran was pointing in every direction. The procession of horr endlessly swam past them. After three hours, they had crossed its width and rose up again, and Vasmir and Orjugran returned aboard. Benové and a crewmember sat in comfortable, slightly oversized low seats; she just laid finishing strokes on a map.
"Navigator Pakrahna bought my powerline maps", she said contently, stamped the paper and handed it over with both hands.
"We appreciate quality", said the navigator and returned Benové's politeness. Orjugran loosed her flood of impressions on Benové, enriched with gestures and sound effects. Finally, she sat down exhaustedly. A moment she was still, then started rummaging around in her pockets. Finally, she pulled a paper out that had been folded many times, on which she put two marks with Benové's pen. Mokri, who sat on Orjugran's chair's back, squeaked inquiringly.
"Go on a dustship - check. See the horr - check", Orjugran said more than satisfied and put away the paper. "Now, a hiller in Lozir, and I'll call this journey a success."

Artist's notes
I hope my use of prepositions isn't awful. I'll be happy for corrections. This is one of my first attempts to provide prose for Genius Loci and was written in German first. From names to my personal expressions this was hard to translate; I think it went okay, but I'd love to hear opinions.

Die Horr

Artist's notes
This was the original German text to the translated English version above that I provide here for your interest. While I ususally get along fine in English, I am a native in a different tongue.

[...]
Nach zweieinhalb Tagen eingesperrt in ihren Kabinen - verschwenderisch ausgestatteten Kabinen, aber auch ein goldener Käfig war ein Gefängnis - war es wohltuend endlich an die Luft zu kommen. Es war eine unerfreuliche Eröffnung gewesen als die Kapitänin angekündigt hatte, sie dürften nicht einmal dem Abheben zusehen. Außerdem nicht die vorgeschriebenen Korridore verlassen oder irgendwelche Zeichnungen des Schiffs anfertigen, die Mannschaft ausfragen und noch eine Anzahl anderer teils absurd scheinender Anweisungen, die Ordschugran dazu veranlasst hatten die Mannschaft als wahngeplagte Bande von vermutlichen Halsabschneidern zu bezeichnen, nur weniger höflich. Kapitänin Korslamin hatte über den garrischen Unmutsausbruch gelacht, aber nur kurz, erklärt, dass sie Folgsamkeit erwartete, und jeden beflüstern würde der die Anweisungen missachtete.
Jetzt waren anscheinend alle Manöver abgeschlossen, die den Mitreisenden hätten verraten können wie das legendäre Staubschiff flog, und die Mannschaft war freundlich; ebenso wie das Wetter, das unerwartet sonnig für den Frühling in der Säulenstraße schien.
Ordschugran, die sich wohlig in der Sonne räkelte, Wasmir mit einer aufgeregten Mokri auf der Schulter und Benowe trafen sich auf dem Mitteldeck, auf dem auch andere Passagiere herum spazierten. Wasmir blinzelte in den fast wolkenlosen Himmel; die Tage vor und während des Abflugs hatte es wechselnd stark geregnet.
"Es wird trockener Richtung Lozir", gähnte Benowe, "falls ihr euch wundert warum es nicht mehr regnet." Die Kartnerin kannte sich mit den meisten Klimalagen aus und hatte auch sonst viel zusätzliches Wissen über ihre Reiseziele zu bieten. Sie streckte sich und stützte sich etwas wacher zwischen Ordschugran und Wasmir auf die Reling. Mokri tummelte sich mit einer Handvoll Solano mit einem Ball.
Unter ihnen erstreckte sich das mit einzelnen Felsnadeln gepunktete Meer. An vielen Stellen war es so flach dass man den Boden sehen konnte - Riffe, auch Wracks von Seeschiffen, unzählige Fische. Wasmir bedauerte dass er die Seevolksiedlungen vor der Küste verpasst hatte. Die Fahrt auf dem Staubschiff aber war einige Entbehrungen wert. Die Bewegung war absolut glatt, und die Gral-én'tach war so groß dass sie den Eindruck eines kleinen Dorfs machte. Die Mannschaft hatte Freizeit während die Fahrt so ruhig war, und spielte miteinander, den Solano oder den vielen Flugtieren die auf dem Schiff zuhause waren. Auf dem Hinterdeck bildete der Botenmeister einige der halbmetergroßen Hallrömmfalter und seinen Lehrling aus, eine Handvoll Jaafe jagte sich um die Masten. Wasmir folgte den Hallrömms mit den Augen bis zum vorderen der drei Flugfelsen die über dem Schiff hingen. Er entdeckte einen stattlichen Busch darauf, mit rosa Blüten bedeckt, um den ein emsiges Kommen und Gehen der Schmetterlinge herrschte. Benowe seufzte markerschütternd und gesprächsheischend. Wasmir fiel auf dass sie das erste Mal ihre vielen Taschen abgelegt hatte. Sie wirkte schmal und vor allem gelangweilt.
"Kein Kartenwerk? Papiere, Zirkel, Messgerät?", fragte Wasmir neckend. Benowe sah zu den Seglern. Mehr als vier Fünftel von ihnen trugen Zauberergürtel, und sie hatte über zwanzig Sammler gesehen. Nach Korslamins eindringlichen Anordnungen mochte sie sich nicht vorstellen wie die Reaktion ausfiele wenn sie mit Zeichenwerkzeug aufkreuzte. Sie stöhnte innerlich. Karten der Säulenstraße brachten wirklich viel Geld ein, und die Luftperspektive war fantastisch.
"Ich glaube nicht dass ich so gut wie du überstünde wenn sie mich über Bord würfen, nur weil mein Solan ein Loch durch zwei Decks buddelte", erwiderte sie leichthin. Unsicher blickte Wasmir zu Mokri, die friedlich mit ihren Gefährten spielte. Keine Anzeichen dass der pfundschwere Nager den Untergang des größten Staubschiffs der Welt herbeiführen würde. Ordschugran kicherte.
"Nun", erwiderte Wasmir würdevoll, "wenn man schon geschichtsträchtige Zerstörung anrichtet sollte man sie wenigstens überleben können um danach die Dichter zu belehren."
Benowe neigte den Kopf um ihre Aufgabe zu bedeuten, Ordschugran applaudierte verhalten.
"Die Gral-èn'tach stürzt nicht von einem einfachen Grabanfall eines Solan ab." Eine Matrosin setzte leichtfüßig auf der Reling auf und ging mit einem halben Schritt aufs Deck hinunter. Die Reling reichte den zahlreichen Raganaj an Bord nicht bis zur Hüfte. Ihr Solan, ein drahtiges Geschöpf, wieselte flink über ihren mittleren Flügel in die Seile und beeilte sich zum Spielplatz zu kommen. "Sie erzählen einander wie's an Bord läuft. Keine Sorge", wandte sie sich grinsend an Wasmir.
Die Matrosin hieß Map'hila und war freundlich und deutlich stolz auf das Schiff. Bereitwillig erzählte sie von Fahrten und Passagieren, das Wetter war angenehm, das Meer farbenprächtig im flachen Wasser und geheimnisvoll im tiefen. Als Benowe Map'hila schon fast soweit hatte sie zum Navigator zu bringen um eine Genehmigung zum Kartieren zu bekommen, wölbte sich unter ihnen das Meer nach oben. Augenblicke später erhob sich eine glatte Insel die schnell vorwärts glitt, dann folgte eine gewaltige runde Schwanzflosse, die mit einem Donnerknall aufs Wasser schlug.
"Die Horr."

Map'hila sagte es ruhig in ihr Staunen hinein. Die Schwanzflosse war nur die erste gewesen, es folgten viele weitere Rücken und Flossen; einige Horr stiegen weiter aus dem Wasser empor und ließen sich schwer fallen. Der Schwarm schien kein Ende zu nehmen. Es hieß er sei so groß dass er fast die Welt umspannte. Ordschugran war erst in Staunen erstarrt, dann in begeisterte Unruhe verfallen, wuselte hin und her und gestikulierte wild, während sie Map'hila mit Fragen überschüttete.
"Schwimmen sie nördlich oder südlich um Gdera herum? Rasten sie im Ryaq? Wie viele sind es? Wie alt werden sie? Ist es wahr dass sie Schiffe essen?"
"Das kannst du selbst überprüfen", lachte Map'hila während sie über die Reling sprang und anderen Matrosen ins Segelwerk folgte. Die Schatten der Felsen liefen übers Deck während sie an Höhe verloren, bis sie nur noch wenige Dutzend Meter über dem Wasser hingen und die Jungtiere unter den Eltern ausmachen konnten. Einige der Fontänen reichten fast ans Schiff heran, und es schien Wasmir als ob die Horr jetzt auch höher aus dem Wasser kamen. Die Gral-én'tach war riesig, aber die Horr waren um einiges größer. Ordschugran hing mit erregt peitschendem Schwanz weit über die Reling.
"Können wir auch?", fragte sie atemlos und boxte Wasmir mit dem Ellbogen. Sie zeigte auf einen der kleinen Felsen die bisher weit unter dem Schiff gehangen hatten. Jetzt waren sie nur noch knapp über dem Wasser, und zwei trugen Raganaj und Passagiere. Wasmir flog gern mit Ordschugran, aber es gehörte dazu dass er sich zierte.
"Ich weiß nicht; mit den Fontänen und deinem Schwanz stürzen wir womöglich in dieses Mahlwerk aus Fisch."
"Oh, ich warne dich, und ich halte ganz still", versicherte Ordschugran eifrig. Ergeben und unterdrückt grinsend hielt Wasmir die Arme auf. Ordschugran stellte sich auf seinen Fuß und hielt mühsam den zitternden Schwanz still während sie sich an Wasmirs Arm klammerte. Wasmir schwang sich sitzend über die Reling und ließ sich fallen. Zumindest seine Sorge über die Fontänen war echt, aber Ordschugran hielt Wort und berichtete von jeder einzelnen. Der Fels war gerade groß genug um bequem darauf zu stehen, aber Wasmir musste die Flügel einsetzen damit die in alle Richtungen zeigende Ordschugran nicht fiel. Der Zug der Horr schwamm unendlich an ihnen vorbei. Nach drei Stunden hatten sie seine Breite überquert und stiegen wieder höher, sodass Wasmir und Ordschugran an Bord zurückkehrten. Benowe und ein Schiffer saßen in bequemen, etwas übergroßen Sitzpfuhlen; sie legte letzte Hand an die Legende einer Karte.
"Navigator Pakrana kaufte meine Kraftlinienkarten", erklärte sie zufrieden, stempelte das Papier und überreichte es beidhändig.
"Wir wissen Qualität zu schätzen", sagte der Navigator und erwiderte Benowes Höflichkeit. Ordschugran ließ ihre Flut von Eindrücken auf Benowe los, unterstrichen mit Gesten und Lautmalereien. Schließlich ließ sie sich erschöpft in einen Pfuhl fallen. Einen Moment hielt sie still, dann begann sie in ihren Taschen zu kramen. Schließlich zog sie einen oft gefalteten Zettel hervor, auf dem sie mit Benowes Stift zwei Markierungen setzte. Mokri piepste fragend.
"Staubschiff fliegen - jepp. Horr sehen - jepp", sagte Ordschugran überaus zufrieden und räumte den Zettel wieder weg. "Jetzt noch einen Berger in Lozir und ich nenne diese Reise einen Erfolg."

Listeners

Listeners are the voices' armed forces and carry out their orders. Many were voices themselves and trust them implicitly, but anyone can become a listener when approved by the voices; some join the ranks as pilgrimage or for repenting crimes and sins.
Some rulers grant listeners ambassadorial status and help in their tasks, others point out that listeners, other than voices who are utterly truthful, are just regular people and might have their own agenda. The treatment of listeners has been in debate for ages.

"The council doesn't care if the voices send an army of listeners! We will not agree to any search of the catacombs unless we hear it from a voice that they need to!"
— Short Jugiel, councilman

All listeners are skillful warriors, focusing on traditional weaponry associated with the Four, as well as experts in manners and travel. Accompanying the infirm voices is a common task, but they do much more; they seek out collectors, negotiate with elementarians, acquire artifacts... They often hire more hands for extensive tasks.

"No, I have no idea why I am taking a sealed spear across half of Lozir and into the Singing Ryaq. That's what trust is for, and I trust the voices with my spirit."
— Shagruun, listener

Artists' notes
Stuff for legends is what listeners are. Some of the greatest heroes currently alive are in service to the voices, like Vranu Whiteblade. Many of the fantasy settings I enjoy, particularly computer rpgs like the Elder Scrolls, have several orders to join, and the listeners are one of those - handing out tasks of increasing difficulty to the heroes, with appropriately increasing prestige for surviving each one.

Area thresholds

"This was the fourth threshold we stepped through in these mountains. The map says nothing about it, so they must be new - I worry who would poke holes into the Here in six valleys."
— Szagrat, traveller

An Area threshold is where one can step over into the Area. Natural thresholds are, as many things about the Area, seemingly random - any crossing could lead into the Area, a riverbank, a door, a line between shadow and light.
Artificial or drawn thresholds are easy to make, but require precision, and are best done by signmakers. Each of the four corners, then the opening, of the threshold-to-be is marked with the First Sign "Create Threshold". Because this last, fifth sign must therefore always be made into the air, and First Signs are complicated, it's hard to successfully create a threshold artificially.

"That was your tenth, no, eleventh, attempt at it. I suppose we can always wait for a Nightly Traveller to happen by when you're having such trouble with that damn threshold... I'm just joking!"
— Jagir, to Vramde

Artists' notes
Because Genius Loci is also built as a roleplaying world, sometimes I think in terms of difficulties for dice rolls. But imagining how it actually looks is exciting; making a threshold should be mysterious and strange. Most travellers know how to make one, even if not all are good at it.

Council city Gamahan

"Seriously, there's only two species in your village? Odd."
— Kalimaik Gennidar, Gamahanian, to a traveller

Gamahan is Sawa's council city, and as such invites emissaries from all lands and tribes for talk and trade. Like all three council cities it's an own state, and may be the oldest city in the world; legend tells it stands where the spearbearer put down the spear Lefenned for the first time after the making of the world. The architecture is rich and diverse, and filled with primeval mechanics that are taken care of by the engineers from the neighbouring state Lebridge. Gamahan spreads over a cliff, with two thirds up above, and the rest down in the plains.

Gamahan means "circled land" in the old language Sorit, and the four city walls are perfect circles, spreading flawlessly over the cliffs. Each of the four boroughs is dedicated to one element and shows it proudly, with the western quarter (the Forest or Green Borough) being practically a forest, while craftsmen flock in the eastern quarter (the Earthen or Yellow Borough). The city's center is the Plaza of the Heavens, a gigantic open space surrounded by the world's supposedly most ancient structures, among them the famous Magician's School. Gamahan is infamous for its predatory paperwork - travellers may find themselves dutiable citizens sooner that they think.

"I'm supposed to pay taxes for what now?"
— Taqil Horan, new citizen

Most places have a traditional costume, but Gamahanians dress eclectically, only striving for a simple elegance. Common clothes are straight trousers and short-sleeved pullover shirt. In the third circle, nobody wears a hat; otherwise, clothes are combined freely.


Artists' notes
I made an ambitious street plan of Gamahan early on which had to be discarded because of its many mistakes; but the general structure, and some of the deep secrets have never changed. Although almost everything else about the council cities' role has - the geographic location, population, inner workings...
I don't dare call the image a matte painting, but it's drawn over a photo. I use this technique for concepts sometimes.

This article was sponsored by Samuel Ruggieri ( CEO http://voyagergames.com ) via my Patreon account ( http://www.patreon.com/JenniferLange )

Art on deviantArt: Gubra and the Great forest caravan

Two new artworks are now published on deviantArt with new quotes: A concept of the gubra, and a caravan trekking through the mid-level of the Great Green forest. Both have their own articles in the blog as well, which the gubras share with their Lord Gahatenge, while the forest has more room to itself.

Art on deviantArt: Segrame race

I'm trying to get away from only showing concepts of Genius Loci, and provide proper paintings instead. Of course, they take much more time, and sometimes it simply takes too long to keep up the speed of three or four blog entries per month, especially since some need more than one image. Such is the case with the coming article on mounts. For now, there's the zehgraams (German: Segramen) on deviantArt: http://ranarh.deviantart.com/art/Genius-Loci-Zehgraam-race-563588823
And also with some WIPS and sketches on cgsociety.

The Stairs of Grandrock

Gdera's northernmost country Grandrock is hard to reach because of its position high up its plateau, a series of cliffs and steep rocks making up its southern border, encompassing the entire land. This is not natural, however. Long ago, a placespirit - whose reason for existence is wildly debated - caused the plateau to rise, effectively cutting off Grandrock from the southern lands. Ages later, another placespirit enslaved anyone nearby to erect an elephantine staircase up the sheer cliffs. When the stairs were done, the remaining workers threw themselves off the cliff. Needless to say, the natives dislike the cliffs very much and won't even lead their flocks near it. To the unaware traveller though, the stairs are a blessing; their rise is perfect, and there are even niches to rest in on the long way up.

"Yes, we're safe from invasion. We were safe from Frullahan's insane expansions. Nobody enters the lands unnoticed, the cliffs are all but impossible to climb. As captain of the guard, I praise the stairs. As a being with a heart, I despise its memory."
— Quarin Tolmor, the queen's guard

The plateau is the most widespread relic known to remain of a placespirit, whose powers are normally restricted to their direct domain, which can still be very large, but not usually along an entire country's border. This has given rise to the belief the spirit was the result of a speaker exhausting herself to death with a spell, although there's no proof of that.
If the staircase itself is cursed is debated as well. There is an unusual amount of dead spirits around and on it, and the majority of those who die here become spirits. The Grandrockers take no chances and, while money doesn't stink, they much prefer traders arriving by boat or by Area over those that took the stairs.

"We have no friends. Our neighbours are scared, travellers are few, allies are too hard to reach because of the plateau. I hear some pity us, but they don't call either. We are quite alone."
— Penaka Ultor, citizen

Artists' notes
Every decent fantasy setting needs some monumental landmarks, doesn't it? There are a few in Genius Loci, but the stairs are among the useful ones, which I discovered while telling their story is worse to the natives than an entirely useless one. It's like employing knowledge gained through torture - you can't ignore it, but you feel dirty using it.

Flight

Flying is a popular travel method and sport in Lozir, the land of earth and air, but just as well in the Gderan blue forest and parts of the Ryaq's island realms. The few flying animals that can be trained into mounts are rare and often expensive or difficult to keep, but technology - thanks to the efforts of the Bargassian engineers - is quite advanced on materials and techniques and makes flying possible for many folks.

 "I heard the rrani lords raid dustships. Don't know if it's true, but I wouldn't put it past them, and it certainly would explain why dustships are such a rare sight here in the Ryaq - or at least better than some weird notion about our weather."

— Kenaha Chimeen, Ryaqer

The most widespread version of flight is done with sailflyers, which are used throughout Lozir; the blue forest has very similar equipment. A triangular rigging is fitted with a sail, and pilots need to jump off heightened positions for takeoff. The flats around the Lozirian rock island were difficult to travel by air before the denizens erected the sailtowers, which are climbed to gain the necessary altitude.
Flying with animals is an entirely different matter. The large, docile dur birds of Gdera carry passenger baskets, while the fierce rrani are flying predators of the Ryaq, prestigious but difficult to manage and seen almost exclusively with the rrani lords' tribes.

"... and then I almost lost a finger in the hinge when the spring suddenly slammed shut. Other than that, this new foldable sailer is ingenious, I will definitely have one made."
— Onbimgi aht Runar, Bargassian

Finally, there are the dustships with their ever so secretive crews, and sometimes a garden ship can still be found in Gdera. Garden ships grow an enormously large garden of gaseous plants and hang a handful of tiny huts below, where little more than a large family lives, and the ships are very fragile. Few are left, and their dwellers are considerd a peculiar lot.


Artists' notes
Oh, flying, mankind's oldest dream. Seriously, it's one of the coolest things in fantasy to make up flying creatures and airships and things that will never work with our physics, but are so wonderful to imagine having. Of course in the blue forest people can also just jump off the next tree and float down slowly, because the air is so light there, but that's not flying, that falling with style (end of quote ;)).

Mappers

Among the travelling professsions, mapmakers or mappers are equally regarded and well-paid as discarded as scoundrels and liars. Indeed, in the many changing lands recent maps can be invaluable, and the mappers know it. Whether the traveller has to put up with overgrown paths in Gdera, new volcanoes in Sawa, or treacherous desert ways in Lozir, without knowing the lay of the land no-one gets anywhere. Maps can be pricey, depending on their age and quality. Mapmakers are scientists, surveyors, and merchants in equal parts, which makes the average mapmaker proud, self-confident, and devious.

"Contrary to popular belief, we do care what happens to our maps. It's not about criminals hiding stashes - we couldn't care less - but that people believe us to be amateurs when the map's wrong. We are very, very good."
— Mexin, mapmaker

Mapmakers usually have a speciality; some map power lines, coasts, weather, political borders or cities, mountains or rivers, seaways or inland paths, or any number of things. They are also sometimes hired by criminals for "special maps", or devious potentates to fake maps for the political opponent - these projects make half of the mapmakers' bad reputation, and are a cause for conflict within the profession. A reliable mapmaker improves the public perception of a king, and is highly sought after.
The Mappers' Guild is one of the most adamant organisations there are, it - unlike some members - is uttely incorruptable and sworn to science only.

"We should have bought a more recent map."
— Elirad Truum, traveler

Artist's notes
I like character types that are regarded as scum by some and heroic adventurers by others. Mapmakers are free in their choice of work and very knowledgeable and well-travelled, people children in the villages crowd around in the tavern. And what more interesting thing to find or be presented with than a map?

Travelling by Area

Because the Area doesn't follow the same laws of nature as the Here, it can be used for several purposes, fast travel being the most common. Most paths are shorter in the Area - if one knows how to walk them.
And travelling such a weird place is tricky: all who leave the Area are left with an urge. The compulsion is never the same, rarely dangerous, but often inconvenient, and irresistible.

"After we had reached the gathering, we had barely explained ourselves when we collectively broke away and drew several perfect circles on the mountainside. It became weirder still when the resident stone giant came by, nodded, and hurried off."
— Ashgarnor, emmissary

The Area can be travelled in corporeal or mental state, or by "half-travel". Each has its ups and downs; only corporeal travel allows to transport items and be almost immune to the whispered urges, but doesn't allow changing the environment. Mental travel grants great control over the environment, and protects against injury, but there's a danger of mistaking the dreamlike world of the Area for reality. Half-travel means one can be touched, but influence and carry very little.
Some places have a counterpart in the Area and serve as landmarks; most do not appear in the Area, while yet others are indigenous.

"I bought red floatdust for an insane price after leaving the Area. I thought I was ruined; the next day, one of Glazier's aides happily bought the whole stash. Shortly thereafter, glass armour was introduced, of which I was sent several pieces. I wonder..."
— Atchilemarek of the Roaring Tam, Brighthold merchant

Artists' notes
The Area is not just there for decoration, it has its uses, ranging from strange to creepy. It's quite something if a place has a mirror image in the Area - many things are represented, but not exactly as they're in the Here. Since teleportation is so damn difficult, many who had to be somewhere yesterday use these routes.

Dustships

Dustships are called so because the main element of the airships' workings is the famous floating dust. Rocks lift a hull like a naval vessel, sideway sails provide thrust, the dust is the main adjustment tool. Aside from those general workings, little is known; dustsailors are a secretive lot and guard their ship's secrets with their lives. Regiment aboard is liberal, but closed to outsiders; dustsailors not even have darlings on land. It's a great honour to be accepted into the crew of a dustship. While many sailors are skilled fighters, the ships follow a code on nonviolence and are all unarmed.

"We are proud to have played part in the construction of some of today's greatest structures. I could do without all the spying engineers we have to pluck from the dustworks before they've figured everything out, though."
— Appandanurast, captain of the Upwards

Dustships transport all kinds of things; easily spoiled goods or passengers, or they offer messenger services. The "grounders" regard them with a mixture of joy and wariness - exotic goods for moderate prices, but the feeling of still being conned somehow.
Widely known dustships include the strong Upwards, and the great Gral-én'tach.

"The trip would take us fifteen days, unless we travel by dustship. I'll rather pay to be behind lock and key in luxurious quarters than make my way through the Red Desert this time of year. The view's nicer, too."
— Gutria, traveler

Artists' notes
I like flying ships as much as the next fantasy artist, and I am very fond of this particular idea. It's fun to figure out the engineering, how the crew handles the ship, what the captain is like and so on. It also provides nice storytelling devices for fast transportation, secrecy, and power. I play in a roleplaying group with half-magical wooden spaceships that are just awesome, and which made me bold in my choices of airships.
I have invented several ships so far which I am eager to employ, their captains and specialties, and plot ideas to use them for.