TWINS. Chitinous and tottering, with six legs and stalked eyes. Ponder taps his foreclaws when speaking, Tuppence always keeps hers clasped behind her back.

BOOKSELLERS turned librarian under the circumstances. There is a 1-in-6 chance to find a bit of useful information from their waterlogged stock, but they tack on surcharges for every little thing. The late fees are exorbitant. Damages calculated at twice the price of the book for a single dog-ear. Value tax added for anything practical learned. Each of the Debris are into them for their own weight in gold but who cares? They’re stuck on an island full of jewels. They can settle their tab in fifteen minutes with a bucket and a shovel.

MISERABLE. They hate each other, nagging and judging. You can set your watch by their reminders of “what mother used to say”. They are also entirely co-dependent. At least they each agree that the other is better than the rest of this motley rabble. Those loons don’t even recognize the value of money anymore.

AN EMBARRASSMENT; They feign the cunning merchant, but owe more than their lives are worth in import taxes back in the World Above. The mostly ruined shipment they’ve been loaning out to their bored neighbors was their last chance to make the money they needed to avoid the taxman’s rope. No logic, no evidence, no emotion will keep them from sneaking out a pile of the Salt Mother’s beloved treasure with them during any escape attempt. They will do their best to foil any escapees who try to leave them behind.

A GLANCE AT THEIR WARES:

A less than generous biography of the scion to the throne of Rus Volgrad. Appears to be about one of Rahvd’s ancestors. (it’s actually just about Rahvd).
A grimoire inscribed with Obscurus Runes and bound in human flesh. If deciphered, it is revealed to be the amateur poetry of a lich. Quite bad. Edgy and tasteless.
A quarto of longing ballads written by a possessed bard to their (now-exorcised) demon.
The High Handed Enemy. A book of poisons carved in tree bark.
Empire’s End; an account of the fall of Terminus. Long & dryly written. A random spell scroll has been hastily scrawled on the inside back cover.
A stack of unpaid fines levied against The Twins. Snatched away by tittering claws when found.

UR. Grimy & dagger-toothed, she hunches—moving with her knuckles in the dirt. Her face is mazed in a long, serpentine tattoo of black ash, jabbed in with a hot barb. She looks adolescent, but is the oldest of the Debris by millennia. She fell, long ago, from an ice bridge and into the cold darkness beneath.

SILENT. The others think she’s touched, but she’s really quite clever. It’s just that her brain isn’t wired for speech. She was born before we developed that skill. Words just don’t fit right in her mind meat. She can’t bridge the neural connections. This shortcoming is a great annoyance to her. She is trying to find alternatives.

ATTENTIVE. She keeps her distance, but is always watching. She has seen Jacquese sleepwalking and understands his plight. She feels bad for him. She likes the hushed cadence of his stories even though she can’t understand them. She knows exactly how dangerous Rahvd is.

POLITE. She wants to eat The Twins, but abstains, despite their disagreeable nature.

SHE IS A VESSEL. Before she fell and found herself here, she was learning the great art of her people. She had been given the bones that her grandmother wore, but had not learned to wield them. She fears their power; both her potential to mishandle them and others potential to use them for ill ends. So, she has hidden them in The Tangle where they cannot be found. They do not appreciate being abandoned.

Sorry for the radio silence over the past couple of weeks. My dog passed away earlier this month and the blog had to take a back seat. I meant to have something fresh on the Dunes ready, but here’s a couple more NPCs while I chew down my backlog.

TL

ART

Tuppence & Ponder by Robert Allen Burns

Ur by Robert Allen Burns

WRITTEN TO THE TUNE OF

Ovlov—Am

Donovan Wolfington—How to Treat the Ones You Love