The Wayward and the Wanderer - Signed Paperback

Welcome to the World of Atlaran, where ancient wilderness and ancestral runes clash with modern innovation and arcana.

Many stories unfold every waking moment, but our particular window in time falls around the journey of strangers brought together by chance. In the ancient city of Siger Rejafyr, the rediscovered wonder of flying ships and a grand festival draws in all kinds.

Sylfie, a wayward musician whose songs fuel her magic, has taken a job protecting the Kestral airship during her maiden flight at the festival. She meets Jax, a wandering Kotala mage with questionable control of his abilities thanks to a mysterious whalebone ring. Together they happen upon a path that leads them across continents, challenges their morality, and forces one to come face-to-face with demons of their past.

The Obsidian Archive is a fantasy series of epic proportions based on a Dungeons and Dragons campaign in the homebrew world of Atlaran. The series is penned by Astrid Knight (fantasy author), Blake R. Wolfe (fantasy author), and Taiylor R. Wallace (dungeon master/editor) and is sure to not only take you on a wild adventure through the heart of this incredibly lush world, but also pull on your heartstrings in all the right ways. Perfect for fans of Critical Role, Dimension 20, The Adventure Zone, and The Lord of the Rings.

Chapter One - Sylfie

Winding through the streets of Siger Rejafyr in midafternoon, Sylfie Alterra did what she did best—she played her lute and searched for a pocket to pick.
Of course, in the largest city on the continent, it wouldn’t be difficult for her to find a mark, especially with the airship exhibition starting in a couple of hours. Technically, she was on the way to work that job, but there was nothing in her agreement she made with the Caskers that said she couldn’t pick up a little extra work before she was on the clock. There were scores of people all milling about in the cobblestoned streets, a busy day for an already busy city. Scanning the crowds, a few potential targets already stuck out to her—disinterested men waiting outside of shops for their wives, well-dressed women yelling at their children to behave themselves as they skipped in the path of passing strangers. There was an unending wellspring of distracted folks with deep pockets. Sylfie just had to choose.
She counted herself lucky. She had been through a lot of backwater towns in Amnobelyn lately where the pickings were slim, even if she wanted to get money through more ethical means. The promise of a huge festival celebrating the spring equinox and the new year had brought her here. People were careless at such events, and most wouldn’t notice a missing coin or two. It made the harsh boreal surroundings more bearable. Amnobelyn was known for the cold thanks to the Isring at its heart, otherwise called the arctic in the common tongue. Siger Rejafyr was far enough south on the Auroraplate Peninsula that at the start of the summer, it was actually nice out. Sylfie even felt comfortable enough that she had sold her coat once she’d arrived. It had fetched a decent amount of coin, but mercenary work and other “freelance” activities were her only sources of money. There was always more to be found, especially today.
As she searched, her fingers moved along the strings of her lute of their own accord, plucking out a song that she could play in her sleep. She caught a few of the passersby staring at her as she played, and she couldn’t help but smirk. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling to her, being watched and admired. “Freelancing” didn’t just mean petty theft, after all. Where she had grown up, Sylfie had been taught to use many tools to accomplish what she needed. Sometimes, that meant her looks. A lot of the time, it meant her talent with music. Those two combined often earned her more than just a room for the night and a hot meal. It was the same method that had kept her alive growing up, and it hadn’t failed her yet.
It helped that she had used the same lute her entire life. Any luthier would have looked at it and thought nothing of it. It was a simple instrument—spruce wood, the lacquer dull and worn, the sound board weathered and faded in certain common fingering positions. The strings were replaced every few years, which was all Sylfie was able to afford. But other than that and the tuning pegs that she had replaced a couple years prior, it was the same lute she had learned to play on when she was just barely big enough to wrap her arms around it. Music was not just something she did for coin, however. It was an extension of herself, an involuntary life-sustaining thing. It was the breath in her lungs, the reflexes in the tips of her fingers, the blood under her skin. It was not an action she took. It was her. And when she needed a little extra help, music flowed from her in the form of spells and bewitchment. But it was magic just to take part in the creation, with or without spells at her disposal.
Her pinky slipped off a string, and she cursed as the metal nicked the flesh. Her stupid fingers. Marin wouldn’t have messed up such a simple tune.
Sylfie stopped, a passing stranger having to dodge around her. Her left hand gripped the neck of the instrument, tense as she stared down at the ground with eyes wide. Her breath caught in her throat for the briefest of moments.
That thought had taken her by surprise.
An uproar of laughter from a gaggle of women across the street brought her back out of her paralysis. She exhaled, throwing her shoulders back and lifting her head again. Focus, she implored herself. She didn’t have much time as it was. Best not waste any of it dwelling on all that.
Now half-heartedly plucking away, Sylfie went back to eyeing the crowds and looking for the ideal candidate. This sort of thing, though not in the same way as music, was also second nature to her. Just with a look at their expression, their posture, their clothing, she could pick out the most vulnerable-looking sod from a mile away.
Which is exactly what she did. And it was no surprise that it was a man.
A Human city guardsman, to be specific, though Sylfie didn’t think that would be too much of a hindrance. Given his blank expression as he pretended to look over the crowd with any sort of diligence, she could pretty well tell that there wasn’t much going on upstairs for him. He scratched absently at his head, his plain brown hair going askew, matching his rumpled uniform that looked like it was peeled off a bedroom floor naught but a half-hour earlier. Like any lowly town guard, the ensemble was made up of bronze-tinted steel plates over a green brigandine with a bandolier and a dark cloak. A crest shone over his heart of the city’s banner of a bronze shield and emerald field with three running wolves. Sylfie smirked and flipped the lute to her back with the battered cloth strap running across her front. She fluffed out her white wavy hair, smoothed out her powder blue dress, stuck her chest out and made a beeline for his spot on the sidewalk underneath the shade of a bakery awning.
“Pardon me!” she called, maintaining the best balance of sweet and sultry in her tone she could. The man looked startled as she approached him. He stood up straighter, a hand flying to the rapier hanging from his belt. Once he saw that he was being approached by an innocuous Half-Elven girl, though, the tension in his shoulders relaxed. “I’m so sorry,” Sylfie continued, stopping just a little too close to the guard, popping her hip out and batting her eyelashes. “I know you’re busy, but do you know where the exhibition this afternoon is?”
The guard smiled, and Sylfie smiled back, though probably for an entirely different reason than him. It was just funny to her how easy it was to get a man off his guard. Even when he was a literal guard. They were such simple creatures. Clearing his throat, he pointed down the main stretch of road and said, “Oh, yes. It’s just down the street this way. Once you go past this cluster of buildings, you can’t miss it.”
Sylfie nodded, though she knew exactly where the airship was. Its balloon even peeked over some of the buildings from this angle. From the smug look on his face, though, it was a small price to pay to play the air-headed woman for a moment so that he wouldn’t be looking at where her hands were going. Judging by the neckline of her dress and where his muddy brown eyes kept wandering, she was sure she wouldn’t have to worry about that anyway. “Thank you so much,” she said, making her round blue eyes as big as possible. “This city is so large and confusing. I’ve been lost so many times already.”
“Of course, miss,” the guard said with a proud little grin.
Lowering her eyelids, Sylfie leaned toward the man, her own grin coy and mysterious. “You know, I could use an escort. A girl like me could get into a lot of trouble in a crowd like this.”
The guard’s grin faded, his eyes going wide. Sylfie knew exactly what that look meant—he didn’t know the first thing about how to act with a woman actually showing him interest. The way his body tensed up screamed inexperience. She could definitely work with that. “Uh, I can’t really leave my post…”
Sylfie stepped forward, closing the gap in between them, her body pressing up against his. “Oh, come on,” she crooned, walking her fingers up his uniform jacket. Her other hand maneuvered around to his side, finding the pocket of his trousers, gingerly slipping into the fabric with barely a rustle. “You would be protecting at least one defenseless citizen. And maybe after the business part is done, we can have a little fun in a less crowded area.”
He gulped. “That’s probably not a good idea.”
Her fingers brushed up against a hunk of velvet and string, and once they had a decent hold, Sylfie pulled away from him in a sudden motion, wrapping her whole hand around the object and crossing her arms over her chest, making sure her prize was kept out of his sight under her arm. Throwing on her best scowl, she huffed. “Why not?” she asked, her voice gone from saccharine to offended. “What, am I not pretty enough for you? Is that what it is?”
A flash of pink rose up into his face. “N-no, of course not!” he stammered. “That’s not what—”
“Then what? You think you’re too good for me?”
“Definitely not. I just—”
“Save me the excuses. Offer is off the table,” Sylfie interrupted, already walking away from him. Looking at him over her shoulder, she arched a discerning eyebrow at him, turning up her nose. “I hope you know most men would kill for an hour with me. Hope your sense of duty for directing foot traffic is fucking worth it.”
She didn’t give him a chance to respond as she stormed off into the crowd. Maintaining the role, she didn’t look back at him, but she could just picture the stupefied look on his face. It was as if she had walked right up to him, kissed him on the mouth, and slapped him in the face all in one breath. She silently congratulated herself on the performance. A solid execution. Not her best showing, but it got the job done. At least she didn’t have to actually sleep with this one. That was always a win in her book.
As soon as she was sure she was well mixed in with the throngs of people, she uncrossed her arms and dropped the act, examining the object she had managed to snipe off him. Sylfie smiled to herself. In the palm of her hand was a round coin purse, made of soft maroon velvet and a simple loop of twine to close it off. Pulling the purse open, she inspected the contents. There was enough coin in there that she couldn’t count it all without taking it out and separating it, but the sunlight that managed to sneak in glinted off mostly ruddy gold metal. She clutched the pouch shut and put it into her own threadbare bag. That was set to last her for a while.
Pulling the lute back around her body, Sylfie played again, the light notes drifting above her into the air. The job at the exhibition was sure to get her more money than that, of course. She wasn’t in danger of starving at the moment. As she plucked out the lilting melody, she wondered why she did it if she didn’t need to. It was energy she didn’t have to expend, after all.
The grin on her face faded while her fingers moved of their own volition. Music—no, creation was second nature to her. But so was stealing, lying, and manipulating. The only difference was that the last one, she wasn’t so proud of.
And she knew exactly who was responsible for it.
She shook her head, pulling the lute strings with a little more force as the crowd thickened. The cacophony of excited conversation swelled, and as Sylfie rounded the corner, her fingers slowly drifted to a halt, her muscle memory not enough to overcome the awe-inspiring nature of what sat in the town square.
Two massive, rigid balloons as long as two city blocks hovered in the center of the crowd, bound to a multi-story wooden platform behind a stage. Below the balloons hung a small wooden ship with crew members looking like insects rushing around on the deck. Underneath it, tourists gawked in disbelief, eyes wide and mouths open. Sylfie had to close her own mouth as she stared up at it, overwhelmed by the sheer size of the thing. The ship itself looked like a repurposed sailing vessel, carefully placed in a chain hammock. Triangular masts extended up from around the ship’s port and starboard in three places, attached to the chain slings that ran under its hull. Where the old sail masts would’ve been, there were massive smokestack-like barrels funneling heat into the balloons. Former gunports on either side let out excess heat and ash. Random bursts of dark smoke curled around the dirigibles and stern in wispy tendrils, giving the monstrous vessel a mysterious air.
Well, she thought, I think I’m in the right place. Tightening her lute around her body, Sylfie darted through the crowd to find her temporary employer under the looming shadow of the Kestral.